Cheeseburger

Cheeseburger

Armin:

Looks like it's gonna be a good day weather wise, I think as I walk to school enjoying the pre-afternoon warmth. I can't really handle the full on heat of the afternoon without sweating like a dog, so this is my favourite time of day. The morning, that is.
So I'm walking to school, it's a few miles but doesn't take that long as it's basically a straight road all the way there. I hope I don't have PE today, I think as I check my timetable. Shit. I do.
I know it's a cliche, but I always get the shit kicked out of me in PE. It's not my fault, I never do anything, in fact I try my very hardest to avoid everyone, but that's not really the point. Those...fucking jocks.
I shouldn't get angry. I just look like an idiot. That's why people don't like me, I look like an idiot. I'm gawky and crossed-eyed when tired, and I'm pretty much always tired. I don't think I'm an asshole or anything, I mean maybe a bit selfish, but who isn't? No-one.
I arrive at school, it's only 8:20am so the place is pretty empty. I don't like crowds so I always try to get in early, or, failing that, late. I unload some books into my locker, I don't have to use them until the afternoon. PE is first and second period. It's monday. Great way to start the week. They don't usually do anything too severe to me unless it's friday afternoon and they can get away with it. So it's probably just be a bit of pushing around and verbal, which is easy to make look like you aren't bothered by. I think. Well, I try.
I make my way to PE early, I'm just going to skip registration. Or that is my plan until I reach the PE changing rooms. I'm not desperate enough to change in the toilets, that place looks like it has AIDS growing on the walls.

Clara:

out of the shower and It's only 8:20, Ive got time 2 get ready. Better late than ugly.
My mother's calling from downstairs, something about breakfast. No way am I eating this morning, I had 2 sandwiches yesterday. My stomack is still a bit bloated, i can feel it. I wish i was bullemic or something.
"u're gonna be late!" she calls from the kitchen. i'm a bit annoyed. i mean, like, she wears at least 5000 times more make-up as me and spends like 2 hours getting ready everyday. shes so...fuck. what a bitch.
anyway i'm out of the bathroom and ready by 8:47 which is a good time for me. it's PE first period which i kinda wanna go to. i went to this party on friday night and i hooked up with Thomas, he's a linebacker and pretty popular so i feel kind of good about it. he's not bad looking either of course. anyway, it made johnathon INSANELY jealous, he actually like punched Thomas later when they were both drunk and arguing. i was passed out in whoevers party it was's bedroom at the time so i missed it which is a shame still i can't wait to see what happens between those two in PE, i think the boys are playing basketball today and we're doing gymnastics.
i go downstairs and find my mother drinking some disgusting looking green weedy shit.
"what the hell is that?" i ask, trying to look totally disgusted.
"haha, i'm not really sure. your father says it's healthy." she replies sounding really dumb.
"that's great, are you giving me a ride to school?"
"oh, sure, of course i mean, come on." she spits out a little of that green shit and i almost barf.
we're in the car now, on the way to school.
"you know" my mother starts, then is cut off as she waves to some 30 looking guy wearing jogging gear. he's kinda cute, a *little* bit flabby but i guess that's what the running is for. he looks kinda like that guy from one tree hill, the evil dad. i guess. whoah, we're at school already.
"see you at 4!" my mother yells loudly as i get out the car. it gets some people's attention. i want to die.

Raymond:

Fuck. It's fucking monday. Again. I've got a splitting hangover and I am in a complete state of dysania lying in my bed. My father is standing at the door of my room telling me to get up.
"Listen, you're not the only one with a hangover, son, get your lazy ass out of bed." He's saying with a smile, it kind of makes me smile too, unwittingly. Damn, he's won now. I'm getting up.
"You seen my watch? I know you were wearing it the other day." He asks, not accusingly. Curiously.
"n..." I manage, he gets the idea.
"There's a pot of coffee made, I gotta jet, fuck the watch. Your ass is going to school today, man, you stayed off all last week, I don't want another letter." He explains, sounding very parent-ish.
"Don't worry - I'm not even gonna be late." I promise.
"Attaboy." He grins that classic Ritchie Ashburn grin and heads off. I hear the door slam and fall back into bed for a few minutes. My cellphone rings. The high-pitched jingle pierces my ears.
"What?" I ask, still irritated at the preceeding noise.
"Don't 'what' me man, what the fuck happened to you last night?" It was Thomas, Waterston High's most precocious drug dealer. Of course, you get on his bad side, he turns into a total prick.
"Ah, shit, I forgot. I'll bring the money into school. Cool?" I ask.
"...I guess so. Be fucking discreet about it though man. Don't come charging down the halls waving the $200 in the air, you know McDonald's after me." He says, sounding a little desperate. Desperation did not sound good on Thomas. Oh, by the way, McDonald is our school principal.
"I'm not stupid, Thomas, I'll catch you in the changing rooms in PE." I assure him, he is happy with this and we finish the conversation. I heard Johnathon Reid tried to punch him at this party on friday night and Thomas caught him the next day with some buddies and hospitalized him.
I jump in the shower then throw on some pants and a t-shirt, the weather looks nice I won't need a sweater. I arrive at school about 20 minutes late.

Armin:

Okay, it's okay. No-one has said anything to me yet. I'm standing in the corner of the room, maybe no-one's noticed me? Crud! I dropped my glasses. Yeah, of course I wear glasses. They fall behind me.
"Armin, you seem to have dropped your glasses there." Casey Dylan says in a mock-concerned tone. Here it comes.
"Give'm back...please." I ask, my voice a little shaky but not embarassingly so.
"...just give'm them back, man." Says Derek Whitman, a guy only slightly bigger than me but considerably more popular. He's kind of cute.
"Shut up, fag." Casey Dylan says laughing, then throws my glasses at me forcefully. They fall to the ground and the frame dents a little but I can still wear them. I'm sweating. Crud.
When we actually get out onto the basketball court it's not as bad, most of the jocks won't say anything to me since the coach is around, I kinda get pushed around a bit but I guess that could be attributed to the fact I weigh about as much as a sack of potato peelings. I'm picked last for the team, typically. It's not because I'm the worst at the game, it's kind of like a joke.
"Armin, you join Derek's team." Coach Johnson says with a hint of compassion. He knows Derek and I get on well.
The game eventually passes, speaking of which I got a few good ones in. No baskets though. Derek gave me a few chances but I could never really get the ball up high enough. I got tripped up at one point while the Coach wasn't looking, he was yelling at Raymond Ashburn for coming in late. Raymond was kind of grinning throughout the lecture. It looked put-on to me, an ugly face.

Clara:

ohmigod! I just heard that on saturday morning thomas and some of his friends beat the shit out of johnathon and put him in the hospital and he has a broken jaw. so that's why he didn't call! i figured he was just angry at me or something. anyway thomas is just playing basketball over at the otherside of the gym-hall acting like nothing even happened this weekend. he hasn't even looked at me. what if he only hooked up with me cos he was drunk or something? that would suck. johnathon is so gonna break up with me. and monica and claire were laughing at me earlier, it was so obvious. i don't know why. i've heard rumors about thomas too, that he's like a fucking drug dealer or something. what if he gave me a disease? i can't remember if he used a condom. i gotta talk to him. i wait until everyone's going back into the changing rooms to confront him. i pull him aside and stand down this little hidden place under some stairs near the door. he looks confused or something. i am so pissed off right now!
"What is your problem?" i hiss totally sounding like my mother.
"What? What's wrong?" He asks, pulling this funny face.
"What's wrong oh i'll tell you what's wrong, you loser. you are totally ignoring me!" Im getting kinda loud so i calm down a bit.
"What? I thought, y'know, it was just some fun on friday night." he says, can't even look at me. "I thought that's all it was." he adds totally pointlessly.
"You are such a fucking jerk." then i remember "yeah and you attacked johnathon! he is my boyfriend, you asshole!"
"What the hell is wrong with you?! it was your idea! That pussyshit had it coming."
"First of all, pussy shit? fucking gross. and stop yelling you asshole! just get away from me!" I yelled, this guy was seriously a jerk. I pushed him out the way and stormed off to get changed. monica and claire were standing right at the door of the gym hall as i was leaving. had they heard the whole thing? they were laughing so i thought yeah they had.
"Fuck you, bitches." I said, giving them the finger. They stopped laughing. yeah that's right, fucking losers. you're all losers.
i get changed quickly and go to the cafeteria to get a bottle of water. it's morning break, so i head round to the place where me and my girlfriends stand and talk. i tell them about thomas and they're really supportive it makes me feel better. those skanks monica and claire are gonna get theirs though just you wait and see.

Raymond:

I arrive at school, can't be bothered with signing in so I just head straight to PE and get changed. As soon as I walk into the gymnasium Coach Johnson stampedes up towards me like an impotent bear and starts with the "YOU CANNOT BE LATE FOR PE AS IT IS CLEARLY A VERY IMPORTANT SUBJECT WHICH WHILE LEAD YOU TO GREAT THINGS WHEN YOU LEAVE SCHOOL FOR THE BIG BAD WORLD". I kinda stoned so I can't help but chuckle a little at this constant stream of grunts pouring from his mouth, though I try hard not to as I know it'll just get him more riled up, and it sure does. Eventually, once he's through explaining to me how I'm throwing my future away he lets me play. I get thrown on Casey Dylan's team. The guy's an asshole, but I gave him some free pot a few weeks ago so he doesn't start shit with me, probably hoping he'll get some again but he never will. The only reason he got it the first time is because it was totally shit.
"Sup, Ashburn." Casey says to me, slanting his head like his spine just slipped a disc.
"Same old shit." I say, then start giggling at the sound of me reiterating this cliche. I shouldn't have gotten high.
"Haha, are you stoned, Ashburn? You crazy fucker." He says without giving me a chance to answer. I guess it's more noticeable than I thought, good thing Coach Johnson is totally oblivious to narcotic symptoms. Or maybe this Casey fool just wants me to be stoned. You know how that is.
Basketball is pretty fun when you're stoned. Each time I score a basket I get a hard-on. Every time the ball bounces my head throbs warmly. I can barely notice my hangover now. In fact, I think this may be what a weed-fuelled hangover feels like. After what feels like 30 seconds, the double period is over and I'm half-naked in the changing room. My beer belly is very fun to poke this morning. I'm getting suspicious looks from some of the guys around me but I'm way past caring. Man, my Dad has some good fucking weed. I gotta steal it from him more often, or get the name of his dealer.

Mr. Phibins:

It's the morning break, the kids are milling around trying to socialize and convince all their peers that they are worthy of each others time and respect. Of course, not a single one of them is worth the other's respect. By the time they all realize this though, they'll be 60 and it won't matter anymore.
I'm retiring at the end of this school year, a few years early but I want to do some travelling before I'm too decrepit to go anywhere interesting. I've always wanted to see Iceland. Maybe I'll move out there to die.
Ha, I must be depressing you. I'm not bitter about being old, it's relaxing. You get old, you stop caring what people think. I have a wife and two children, grown up now. I'm done building things.
The stuff that passes for clothing these days is getting ridiculous. I saw a girl come in this morning wearing what was surely a bathing suit with pockets, and a young man wearing what appeared to be a duvet cover with some kind of gang insignia embroidered on it's front. I don't understand this need to be outlandish. I suppose the gang duvet did look a bit comfortable. I'll never understand those high pulled g-string though. Wouldn't it feel like having something stuck in your ass all day? Wait, maybe that's why they wear them.
Yeah, thank god I'm old.

Armin:

I'm sitting at one of the outdoor lunchtables, eating a sandwich I prepared last night (tuna & sweetcorn) and thinking about video-games. Sometimes video-games depress me. I use them as a substitute for a social life. I love immersing myself in these fantasy worlds and kind of taking on the identity of the characters, but then I think about it and I feel like a nerd. Which makes me think about how I've never had a relationship. Which gets me down.
Regi sat down opposite me at the table. This guy was actually not bad looking, but he is really dumb. People make fun of him for it, so he's relegated to the underbelly of the Waterston High social hierarchy. Like I said though, he's good looking so I like to talk to him every now and then.
"Hey, Arnie." Regi said, he always called me Arnie. He's some kind of vocal dyslexic, is that a condition? Well he has something. It's not that he doesn't remember my name, the guy likes me, I think, but he always says certain things wrong.
"Hey, Regi. What you got next?" I ask him, just starting some small-talk.
"Uh..." He gets his timetable out of his pocket, studies it and seems to reach a conclusion: "Arts & Crafts" he said, with an enthusiasm. He did like to draw, he was really pretty good too, but he drew the most mundane things. By mundane I mean, kitchen tables, TV sets...boxes...lots of boxes. All shapes and sizes of boxes. It was like he had no imagination. You'd think he'd fit in with the popular people. I guess he was just too much of a kid, but what the heck is wrong with that?
The fact that kids like Regi get picked on is one of the main things wrong with high school. What is there to gain from it? Do these people actually think, truly in their minds that it gets anyone anywhere?


Raymond:

It's morning break, I meet Thomas and give him his money round the back of the brown huts. No-one ever comes here, no teachers, no students, no janitors, no nothing. They know what kind of shit goes on back here. They are afraid of us. Of me. That made me feel powerful.
You know the cliches everyone spouts about high school? Every last one is true. I mean it, I've never met an original high school student yet. If anyone turns and tells you they are original? It's just further proof they are fucking idiots.
Anyway, As I get the money out of my jacket inside pocket, I ask Thomas about what happened with Johnathon. He doesn't tell me the reasoning behind kicking his ass, or anything thing like that, just how much damage he inflicted. I know he's exagerrating greatly because he claims - "i seriously saw a bit of brain fly out. I'm not even kidding you, fucking brains." Idiot.
"Yeah, you probably gave him brain damage." I say, just playing along.
"I dunno, man, but ha ha, he probably already had it to fuck around with me, know what i'm sayin?" Thomas is just so funny.
We complete our social and financial transaction and part ways. I go to the cafeteria to get some orange juice. In the queue, I end up in front of Clara Thompson. She's hot, fucking retarded though. Still, when she closes her mouth and looks like she's deep in thought, she's about an 8.
"Hey, Ray." She says, with that so-cal, nasal squeal.
"Hey." I say, only half turned toward her. With any luck, this'll just be a hey-hey exchange. Of course, luck's in short supply.
"Were at the party on friday?" She asks. I was at a party on friday. Not the same one as her, though.
"Uh, yeah. It was pretty cool." I vague.
"Did you see Thomas and Johnathon fighting?" Oh yeah, this girl is Johnathon's boyfriend.
"I heard." The queue is moving excruciatingly slow. Do I want orange juice this much? Yes, I decide.
"What a jerk, huh? You know Johnathon's in the hospital. He has a bone fracture!" The way she says fracture makes my skin crawl and my dick hard at the same time. I have got to get out of this conversation.
Clara tells me she has a social studies test this afternoon. I could not, no matter how long and hard I attempted to, care less about this piece of information.
Front of queue. Orange juice. Leave.

Clara:

okay so, um. it's morning break, i talk to michelle, sandra, hailey and kelly and sandra has this new prada bag i seirously want. it must've cost so much. anyway. i get some water at the cafeteria, and i run into raymond ashburn. he is pretty good looking, if he lost a little weight he'd be hot. we have a cool talk. he agrees thomas is the biggest jerk in the world. someone really needs to do something about him. he should be expelled. maybe i could make a petition? no that would be lame. anyway. when the bell rings for 3rd period i forget which class i'm in so i decide not to go and just smoke some cigarettes with sarah renton and sarah mccrow. those two are so funny. but then this weirdo, Greame Houston comes up to up and he's all like staring at us.
"what the fuck are you looking at?"
sarah mccrow says. we all laugh even though it's not funny.
"What time is it?" this weird greame houston asks. Everyone know's his name ever since he staple this kid in the eye last year. he only got suspended. i would have him expelled. this school is filled with psychos!
We all just laugh at him.
"Go stare at Coach Johnson, weirdo. We all know how much you like him." This is funny because once he tried to *kiss* him. Coach Johnson went insane and literally grabbed him and threw him out the gymnasium. greame houston's excuse is that he was drunk but no-one cares.
me and the girls make fun of him for a while about the coach johnson thing and some other times he's acted like a loser for a while, then it's fourth period and i know i'm in english because i get Mr. Kramer for that and he is hot, even if he teaches a gross subject. don't tell anybody i said that though, seriously.
Before greame houston leaves, he tells us how we're all going to pay. we just laugh.

Raymond:

3rd period is Art, for me. We're making some crappy wire sculptings. I don't really get into it and just pretend like I'm totally inept at this particular art form. Mr. Grey can tell I'm bullshitting, but I think he agrees the wire sculpting thing is crap as he doesn't push. The conversation is particularly slow with the co-eds today. They all seem depressed, which is fine with me.
4th period is English. I have Mr. Kramer for that. Clara Thompson gives me this obnoxiously cheery wave as I enter the class. She probably likes me. Mr. Kramer is about five minutes late, which is good for him, he usually doesn't make it until halfway through the period. He's a bit of an asshole. He's like, a jock with a brain. Well, I guess that's a bit of an oxymoron, but he's cocky and is always making fun of the nerds in the class, and he has got to be fucking at least one of the girls in the class.
"Okay, everyone bring out your answers for those...uh, Hamlet questions." Kramer commands absent-mindedly. Around half the class have forgotten to complete the questions. That's cool with Kramer. Unless you're me.
"So how many pieces of homework will you have done this year, now, Mr. Ashburn?" He snarks "Zero, or is it less?" This guy is always on my case.
"Once again, sir, you have split my sides." I say.
"Don't give me your smart-talk. If you're not gonna contribute to class, I don't see why I should allow you to be here!" He yells a little, trying to assert his authority. I get up and start to leave.
"Where the hell do you think you're going?" Christ. I hate these pricks. I continue to walk towards the door without stopping.
"Fine! Leave. I'll be reporting this to the department head." He says, turning away from me to start writing on the whiteboard. He uses a yellow pen. Idiot.
I decide to have a smoke around the back of the brown huts. There'll probably be a few guys there, maybe they'll have some weed. I don't usually smoke cigarettes but I have a carton on me so why not. When I arrive at the huts, sure enough, Thomas, Matt Rydell and a guy I don't know the name of but have seen around school are there.
"Hey." I say pretty blandly as I approach.
"Ashburn, man, wassup?" Matt says, coughing. He just took a drag.
"Many exciting things. Got any?
"Yeah, cash only today." Thomas asks, seemingly forgetting about this morning's incident. Maybe he's high? He doesn't look like it.
"...Forget it." I have some in my house anyway, and I don't really want to hang out with these idiots. "...Bye." I say, and depart.
I head out of the school grounds and to the nearest liquor store, which is about ten minutes away. It's much easier to get served if you buy during school hours. I bought a bottle of Jack Daniel's and a half bottle of Smirnoff. I got fired at my job for insubordinance, but I still had a couple hundred saved up. So, of course, I've been spending it all on booze and drugs.
I don't intend to drink the booze until later, or maybe even not today at all. Well, I don't intend but as soon as I get back to school I head round to the brown huts again and start on the Jack Daniel's. Shit, I'm gonna be drunk in school. This never ends well.

Armin:

My 3rd and 4th period classes go by without much incident or interest. My friend Greame Houston doesn't appear in my English class though, which sucks as he's the only guy in there who I get on with. I ended up in one of the lower English classes featuring jocks and cheerleader types who have the collective brain capacity of a buckweed pillow. I don't mean to sound like a stuck-up little genius or whatever, I'm far from it, but really the people in this class are dumb.
The reason I ended up in this class is because I seriously screwed up the end of year exams we always do to determine the classes we get into. My Mom was in and out of the hospital around that time and I was absent alot. She's kind of better now, she didn't have to go in for surgery, apparently her condition is improving. Anyway, I don't really want to talk about that.
Lunch arrives pretty swiftly. I usually go home for lunch but today is cheeseburger day in the cafeteria and there's something I just like about how plastic and fake they taste. They do this weird thing where they inject the cheese into the burger. It grosses some people out but I think it's cool. Anyway, I sit alone for a while before my friends Steve Burnstein and Karl Shroder show up and sit next to me. Neither of them got the cheeseburger.
"Hello, Armin." Steve says, taking off his headphones.
"Hi, what you listening to?" I ask.
"Nothing, I took them off." Steve says. He thinks he's a bit of a wiseass.
"Good one there, Steve." Karl says. Karl's a weird one. He's good looking, smart and funny, yet he's never had a girlfriend to my knowledge and chooses to hang around with us guys. The other kids don't bother him, either. He's liked by pretty much everyone. I guess he's just a genuinely good guy.
We just talk about films, music and video-games. We have similar tastes in these subjects, hence our friendship. It's enjoyable enough, nothing great. Karl divulges a few funny sounding mistakes in the Lord Of The Rings films, but I've never seen them. Something about how you can see Gandalf is wearing nike sneakers in the scene where he is reborn. So, the next time you guys are watching Lord Of The Rings, the second one I think, look out for that. Steve says something about a David Bowie live show he downloaded last night, but neither I nor Karl are very interested. I like David Bowie, but he's not that interesting to me. I don't get some people's obsession. He just seems like he followed fashion trends in order to stay popular for so long, and was lucky he knew how to write a good tune.
I take my time eating my cheeseburger. Really small bites. I have fries, too, but don't eat them.

*****

George:

I decide to start in the cafeteria. That's where they started at Columbine and I'd say their endeavour was a complete success. Or a complete failure, depending on how you look at it.
I never had the patience to learn how to make things like bombs, so I simply stole my uncle's shotgun and beretta. I've had them for a few weeks now, wasn't sure why I stole them at first, then as the days went on and every night I found myself staring at them, the reason began to become clear.
I sit and have lunch at the same table as usual, next to the water-cooler. It kind of smells like fish up here, but I don't mind. I have the cheeseburger, but don't eat it. They do this weird thing were they inject cheese into it, and my stomach can only handle it on certain days. I just stick to the fries.
I remember how everyone laughed when I got caught masturbating in the boy's toilet in the gymnasium. I cringe and close my eyes.
I finish lunch really slowly, basically dreading what I know I have to do. I've made this decision. I can't go back now.
I take the Beretta out of the front compartment of my bag, making an effort to keep the unzipping sound silent, then slip it up from under the lunch table and insert it, the barrel facing down, into my inner-jacket pocket.
I remember how everyone laughed when I started crying in Drama last year because I couldn't say any of my lines with the other class watching.
I hear some jocks talking a few tables to my left.
"Fuck, man. That shit is messed up." One says, laughing.
"Fuck you, man. She's not my girlfriend." Another says a minute or so later, his voice barely protuding the droning blanket of sound.
I hear lots of conversation about girlfriends, boyfriends, parties, and some about Television shows I've never watched.
I remember how much I got the shit kicked out of me that day walking home after I tried to kiss Coach Johnson. I think I'm crying.
I slip my hand back into my inner-jacket pocket slowly and deliberately, and fondle the handle of the gun, feeling out the texture of it, procastinating in any way I can but still my right foot is tapping madly and loudly and I'm pretty sure my face must be red I don't know if I can do this but maybe it's for the best that's possible right maybe I actually am doing people a favour here, right? That's possible. I decide to just fucking go for it right now while that thought is still in my head.
I stand up, quietly, not wanting to make a scene. I'm still so fucking shy, it's crippling. I remove the gun from my pocket and point it straight ahead, not at anything in particular. Slowly, the noise in the cafeteria drops, and people look at me. I can't handle it and I actually wet my pants. It leaks from the bottom of my dark green cargos, every drop like a fucking thunderstorm. But no-one's laughing. People are just staring at me, I hear a few "holy shit"'s and the like, but they soon die down, too. Am I going to do this? They're all waiting for my decision.
Then, I turn the gun around at myself and pull the trigger. The recoil forces my hand to jolt to the left and I only get scratched in the ear by the bullet. I can't even die right.
I can't see anything anymore. I point the gun away from me, into the white that surrounds me and unload the remainder of the clip. As I fire, it doesn't make any noise. Eventually, the clip is empty and I fall to what must be the ground. I still can't see. What if I didn't miss? Am I dead? What's going on? I just want to go home.