Ricky

Beginning

         As Ricky laid his head down on the wood table, he felt eyes on him. He decided to ignore the feeling so it’d just go away. Instead, the annoying sensation continued, prickling, until he gave up and lifted his head, leaning back in the gray plastic chair as he scanned the classroom where he was having study hall. The room was normally a science class, so instead of desks, there were tables, with two students at each. The tables were arranged in such a way that the students were facing each other. That made it easy for Ricky to find out who was watching him. His green eyes examined the table across from him, noticing that most of the kids were working, except for one girl, who was glancing around the room, obviously bored. That’s when Ricky realized the feeling of being watched was gone. She must’ve been the cause of it, he decided, as he looked her over, for lack of anything else to do. Her hair was long and a strawberry blonde. When she glanced back at him, he saw that her eyes were a blue-green, different enough to make Ricky zone out until he realized that he was staring at the girl who had been staring at him. He blinked, then, shaking his head, looked away. He slid down in his chair, using the back to lay his neck on. It wasn’t exactly comfortable, but he’d been doing it long enough that he was used to it. He closed his eyes and zoned out, not quite asleep.
         Ricky wasn’t the most popular and well-liked kid at school. In fact, he was so avoided in the halls; it was almost as though he was the most feared. He didn’t really know why, but he had been told that it was the way he dressed and his lack of friends. Ricky had shaggy black hair and green eyes. Supposedly it was his dark baggy clothes and the spikes he wore that scared people away, but he knew it was also his attitude and quick temper, which just about everyone knew about. He had showed his temper flaring a few times, but that was enough to make the boys who picked fights back off. Nowadays, only one person willingly talked to Ricky and that was Drake, who was a year younger than Ricky. Ricky was a junior, with no classes with sophomores, so the two didn’t see each other much, but Drake practically idolized Ricky. Sometimes it’d get on Ricky’s nerves and he would snap, but other times he actually somewhat enjoyed having Drake around, because Drake would run all Ricky’s errands, getting his lunch, going to his locker and stuff like that. Drake never really explained why he would do Ricky’s every bidding, but Ricky had noticed that Drake wanted to be as fear-inducing as his idol.
         Ricky was forced back to reality by the sound of a chair scraping across the floor, creating a high-pitch squeaking that seemed to give everyone chills. Ricky had slowly taught himself over the years to control the seemingly involuntary twitches and movements most people allowed, so he didn’t show that he, too, had had a reaction to the noise. His eyes had opened, but he hadn’t moved yet, so his neck was somewhat sore. He glanced over at the clock and saw that there was still almost ten minutes left in his only study hall. Ricky never did his homework in there, but he always got it done. It seemed to most that a tough kid like Ricky never did homework, but Ricky didn’t take pride in slacking and getting held back. Most likely, it was because he had someone looking up to him –Drake- and Ricky didn’t want Drake to fail just because he thought it was cool.
         “Ricky Claver,” the teacher called out, scanning the room. Ricky looked over and saw a pass in the teacher’s hand. He simply sighed, then he responded.
         “Yeah,” he called back. The teacher and the rest of his class for that matter, turned to look at him, which annoyed him, but he didn’t show it.
         “The office,” the teacher explained, her brown eyes flickering over the pass, then back to Ricky. Ricky slid his chair back, making the spine-chilling sound again, waking the sleepers yet again. Some gave up trying to sleep and sat up, looking around. Ricky got up, picked up his book bag off the floor and-just to annoy people-pushed his chair back in, scraping. He then strolled up to the gray-haired teacher standing next to the door, who handed him the signed pass. He took it, then, opening the classroom door, he wandered into the nearly deserted hallway, walking slowly. Walking slow always dared any teachers to stop him, but he didn’t seem to ever get asked for his pass.