No Stopping Us
Here's the first actual chapter of my story, I don't think it's very good, but some constructive criticism would be great, thank you. <3
Chapter 1
Brody
The first day of school, September 9, 2004. A new life, a new school, a new beginning, a new city, a new state, and time to create a new me. I don’t want to be the same kid I was in eighth grade, the one nobody wanted to talk to because I was prone to snapping at the merest sight of teasing. I don’t want to be that kid anymore. I want to be the kid that has friends, the kid who has backup when he needs it. So I guess that’s what brings me here, to this new school here, trying to start a new life where nobody knows me and nobody’s heard any crap about me.
So, when my stereo blares “Lemon Parade” by Tonic on some obscure radio station that I haven’t bothered to set, at six-thirty in the morning, I’m scrambling out of bed with an excitement that only the first day of school can bring, the only excitement I will have for school for the next ten months. Still being, naturally, a little groggy, as I stand, in my still unfamiliar room, I manage to trip over my guitar case and catch myself, using only my face, against the wall. I stand, leaning against the white wall, my cheek pressed against the smooth surface, and then push myself up slowly, walking silently down the hard floored hallway until I reach the bathroom door. The house is still relatively dark, shadows folding across the floor quietly, while all the lights remain off, because Mom isn’t up yet and won’t be for another half an hour. I shuffle into the bathroom, splashing cold water onto my face to wake up and then shuffling back to my room to put on a slightly baggy pair of pants, accompanied by a black shirt that proclaims “Taking Back Sunday” in large, white block letters. Descending the stairs on my mission to retrieve breakfast, I pull my socks on haphazardly, barely managing to not trip as I reach the bottom of the stairs and proceed to the kitchen where my breakfast consists of a rather charred piece of toast.
An hour later, after Mom has woken up, it’s into the car, accompanied by a black backpack and some pocketed money. The drive to school takes all of ten minutes, in which Mom asks me more than twice if I’m nervous. I think she’s more worried about this than I am and I can’t blame her, after last years’ incidents, I’d be worried too, that is, if I wasn’t me. As she pulls up to the front doors of the school, with only ten minutes to spare in which I have to locate my class, she wishes me a good day as I shuffle out of the car, a semi-tall freshman on his first day of high school with no friends.
------
By some miracle, I skid into class only five minutes late, rather to the delight of my teacher and the surprise of a few students as I thrust the door open a little louder than I’d meant to. The words “Ms. Wyland” are proclaimed on the whiteboard in a spidery cursive text, and the first words out of my mouth are, “Sorry I’m late, Ms. - er - Wyland. I’m new, I wasn’t sure where this class was.” She shrugs it off with a, “Oh, no, honey, don’t be silly.” I blink softly, staring at her and then letting my eyes rove the classroom and the occupants. English, yay.
Picking up her clipboard, Ms. Wyland claws a nail silently down what I assume is the seating chart, then looks up at me. “Brody West?” I raise an eyebrow though I doubt anyone notices, due to my shaggy dark brown hair covering the majority of my forehead.
“Yeah, that’s me.”
“You’ll be sitting there, by Miss Kitrell. Can you please raise your hand, Jennifer?” A cute brunette girl halfway across the room raises her hand slowly, the nails carefully manicured to a flourish with acrylic nails. I maneuver through the staring students sitting in their desks and sit gently down next to Jennifer. Ms. Wyland promptly begins going over the school rules, all of which I’ve heard at different schools, they’re all the same. Hardly a minute after being nearly put to sleep by the repetitiveness of Ms. Wyland’s voice, I’m tapped on my upper right arm softly by the brunette girl. I glance up tiredly with my baby blue eyes, or maybe they’re green right now. Anyways...
“Hey, you’re new? I’m Jennifer Kitrell.”
She speaks in a soft whisper that manages to make me crack a small smile, she’s really pretty with just the right amount of make-up on, it’s not slopped on like icing and it looks fairly natural. “Yeah, I just moved here from Washington. I’m Brody West.”
“Wow, I’ve always wanted to go to Washington, I love the rain. It doesn’t rain much here.”
I stretch lazily, bringing my arms out in front of me and pulling my muscles taut, when I return my arms to normal, Jennifer’s staring at my left arm in agony. “What’s that?” It takes me a few seconds to realize what she’s talking about, glancing down at a semi-deep gash in my arm.
“Uhm...”
“Miss Kitrell, Mr. West, would you care to stop your flirting and pay attention to the rules?”
Jennifer’s eyes, previously glued to the self-inflicted wound on my lower arm, ricocheted from the offending sight and to gaze innocently at Ms. Wyland. “Oh, uhm...Sorry.”
Ten minutes of complete and utter silence, penetrated only by Ms. Wyland’s relatively youthful drone, and we’re dismissed into groups for the twenty-five remaining minutes of class to mix and mingle, a type of meeting thing. Jennifer and I are in the same group, seeing as she sits next to me in the first place. Halfway into a conversation about skateboards, in which I have little to no interest in whatsoever, Jennifer grabs me gingerly by the wrist in a cold, small hand, forcing me to drag my eyes from the guy who’s talking and send them to her hazel eyes. “Can I help you?” My tone is curious, not sarcastic, and I allow a smile to press my lips that quickly fades as I see the look on her face, the worried look I’ve seen too many times. “Shit, what’s up?”
“I need to - uhm - talk to you alone...over...here.” She looks a little anxious as she pulls me away from the groups, leaving me no time to give a parting word to the rest of our group as she takes me to a secluded area of the classroom.
“What’s wr--?”
“Brody, do you cut?” She’s let go of my wrist and the look on her face makes me want to hug her.
“No, why?”
“Then what’s that?” She traces an acrylic nail slowly along the cut and I feel the hairs on the back of my neck bristle, “Don’t lie to me, I mean, I may not be very smart but...I know self-mutilation when I see it...” She trails off slowly and I bite my lip as I’ve become accustomed to doing so often when caught in a lie.
“Okay, fine...Look, can we talk about this later? Don’t tell anyone, please.” I give her a look that makes her fold her lips together, close her hazel eyes and then open them, gaze averted, and nod slowly.
“Deal.”
Chapter 1
Brody
The first day of school, September 9, 2004. A new life, a new school, a new beginning, a new city, a new state, and time to create a new me. I don’t want to be the same kid I was in eighth grade, the one nobody wanted to talk to because I was prone to snapping at the merest sight of teasing. I don’t want to be that kid anymore. I want to be the kid that has friends, the kid who has backup when he needs it. So I guess that’s what brings me here, to this new school here, trying to start a new life where nobody knows me and nobody’s heard any crap about me.
So, when my stereo blares “Lemon Parade” by Tonic on some obscure radio station that I haven’t bothered to set, at six-thirty in the morning, I’m scrambling out of bed with an excitement that only the first day of school can bring, the only excitement I will have for school for the next ten months. Still being, naturally, a little groggy, as I stand, in my still unfamiliar room, I manage to trip over my guitar case and catch myself, using only my face, against the wall. I stand, leaning against the white wall, my cheek pressed against the smooth surface, and then push myself up slowly, walking silently down the hard floored hallway until I reach the bathroom door. The house is still relatively dark, shadows folding across the floor quietly, while all the lights remain off, because Mom isn’t up yet and won’t be for another half an hour. I shuffle into the bathroom, splashing cold water onto my face to wake up and then shuffling back to my room to put on a slightly baggy pair of pants, accompanied by a black shirt that proclaims “Taking Back Sunday” in large, white block letters. Descending the stairs on my mission to retrieve breakfast, I pull my socks on haphazardly, barely managing to not trip as I reach the bottom of the stairs and proceed to the kitchen where my breakfast consists of a rather charred piece of toast.
An hour later, after Mom has woken up, it’s into the car, accompanied by a black backpack and some pocketed money. The drive to school takes all of ten minutes, in which Mom asks me more than twice if I’m nervous. I think she’s more worried about this than I am and I can’t blame her, after last years’ incidents, I’d be worried too, that is, if I wasn’t me. As she pulls up to the front doors of the school, with only ten minutes to spare in which I have to locate my class, she wishes me a good day as I shuffle out of the car, a semi-tall freshman on his first day of high school with no friends.
------
By some miracle, I skid into class only five minutes late, rather to the delight of my teacher and the surprise of a few students as I thrust the door open a little louder than I’d meant to. The words “Ms. Wyland” are proclaimed on the whiteboard in a spidery cursive text, and the first words out of my mouth are, “Sorry I’m late, Ms. - er - Wyland. I’m new, I wasn’t sure where this class was.” She shrugs it off with a, “Oh, no, honey, don’t be silly.” I blink softly, staring at her and then letting my eyes rove the classroom and the occupants. English, yay.
Picking up her clipboard, Ms. Wyland claws a nail silently down what I assume is the seating chart, then looks up at me. “Brody West?” I raise an eyebrow though I doubt anyone notices, due to my shaggy dark brown hair covering the majority of my forehead.
“Yeah, that’s me.”
“You’ll be sitting there, by Miss Kitrell. Can you please raise your hand, Jennifer?” A cute brunette girl halfway across the room raises her hand slowly, the nails carefully manicured to a flourish with acrylic nails. I maneuver through the staring students sitting in their desks and sit gently down next to Jennifer. Ms. Wyland promptly begins going over the school rules, all of which I’ve heard at different schools, they’re all the same. Hardly a minute after being nearly put to sleep by the repetitiveness of Ms. Wyland’s voice, I’m tapped on my upper right arm softly by the brunette girl. I glance up tiredly with my baby blue eyes, or maybe they’re green right now. Anyways...
“Hey, you’re new? I’m Jennifer Kitrell.”
She speaks in a soft whisper that manages to make me crack a small smile, she’s really pretty with just the right amount of make-up on, it’s not slopped on like icing and it looks fairly natural. “Yeah, I just moved here from Washington. I’m Brody West.”
“Wow, I’ve always wanted to go to Washington, I love the rain. It doesn’t rain much here.”
I stretch lazily, bringing my arms out in front of me and pulling my muscles taut, when I return my arms to normal, Jennifer’s staring at my left arm in agony. “What’s that?” It takes me a few seconds to realize what she’s talking about, glancing down at a semi-deep gash in my arm.
“Uhm...”
“Miss Kitrell, Mr. West, would you care to stop your flirting and pay attention to the rules?”
Jennifer’s eyes, previously glued to the self-inflicted wound on my lower arm, ricocheted from the offending sight and to gaze innocently at Ms. Wyland. “Oh, uhm...Sorry.”
Ten minutes of complete and utter silence, penetrated only by Ms. Wyland’s relatively youthful drone, and we’re dismissed into groups for the twenty-five remaining minutes of class to mix and mingle, a type of meeting thing. Jennifer and I are in the same group, seeing as she sits next to me in the first place. Halfway into a conversation about skateboards, in which I have little to no interest in whatsoever, Jennifer grabs me gingerly by the wrist in a cold, small hand, forcing me to drag my eyes from the guy who’s talking and send them to her hazel eyes. “Can I help you?” My tone is curious, not sarcastic, and I allow a smile to press my lips that quickly fades as I see the look on her face, the worried look I’ve seen too many times. “Shit, what’s up?”
“I need to - uhm - talk to you alone...over...here.” She looks a little anxious as she pulls me away from the groups, leaving me no time to give a parting word to the rest of our group as she takes me to a secluded area of the classroom.
“What’s wr--?”
“Brody, do you cut?” She’s let go of my wrist and the look on her face makes me want to hug her.
“No, why?”
“Then what’s that?” She traces an acrylic nail slowly along the cut and I feel the hairs on the back of my neck bristle, “Don’t lie to me, I mean, I may not be very smart but...I know self-mutilation when I see it...” She trails off slowly and I bite my lip as I’ve become accustomed to doing so often when caught in a lie.
“Okay, fine...Look, can we talk about this later? Don’t tell anyone, please.” I give her a look that makes her fold her lips together, close her hazel eyes and then open them, gaze averted, and nod slowly.
“Deal.”