[Time Warp] Ugly As I Seem
Jan 2, 2015 1:27:37 GMT -5
Post by Winter Rowley on Jan 2, 2015 1:27:37 GMT -5
THURSDAY, MAY 3, 2007. 3:58 PM.
Winter Jay “Just Rowley” Rowley, aged seventeen, was about to serve an hour of detention. This was nothing out of the ordinary.
The reasons for which he found himself in detention were many and varied, but lately, all of them could be traced back to one source. He had what he considered to be a standing agreement with his English teacher: he didn’t show up for third period, and she gave him detention for it. Despite the gray-headed woman’s insistence, Rowley was convinced that this arrangement was mutually beneficial.
But anyway, that didn’t matter. Even if he’d showed up for third period, he’d have gotten detention anyway. He always did, one way or another. It was one of those things.
It was unusually warm for a spring day in Vermont, and Rowley had peeled off his black hooded sweatshirt to expose the well-worn Incubus t-shirt he’d been hiding underneath. He piled it on top of his bag. His things took up far too much space, considering that he was one individual sitting at a black-topped science table that had been built to seat two. In point of fact, this was by design—generally, the teacher who supervised detention had the foresight to prevent any of the regulars from sitting together. They were far easier to manage when they were apart.
Aside from the rustle of settling teenagers, mostly boys, the room was quiet. They’d gotten their smoking and talking done out back in preparation for the hour of silence ahead of them. Rowley fished a paperback book out of the front pocket of his messenger bag—Kate Wilhelm’s Where Late the Sweet Birds Sang—and took one last furtive glance toward the other side of the room.
His boyfriend, Grayson DeLaurey, flashed him a smile from his own lonely table near the front. He returned it almost shyly and then began to read. The bell hadn’t rung—there were two minutes, yet—but the tables were full and everyone was settled in, and Rowley didn’t suppose that reading through a detention he’d earned by skipping English class would be any less ironic if he waited until later.
Winter Jay “Just Rowley” Rowley, aged seventeen, was about to serve an hour of detention. This was nothing out of the ordinary.
The reasons for which he found himself in detention were many and varied, but lately, all of them could be traced back to one source. He had what he considered to be a standing agreement with his English teacher: he didn’t show up for third period, and she gave him detention for it. Despite the gray-headed woman’s insistence, Rowley was convinced that this arrangement was mutually beneficial.
But anyway, that didn’t matter. Even if he’d showed up for third period, he’d have gotten detention anyway. He always did, one way or another. It was one of those things.
It was unusually warm for a spring day in Vermont, and Rowley had peeled off his black hooded sweatshirt to expose the well-worn Incubus t-shirt he’d been hiding underneath. He piled it on top of his bag. His things took up far too much space, considering that he was one individual sitting at a black-topped science table that had been built to seat two. In point of fact, this was by design—generally, the teacher who supervised detention had the foresight to prevent any of the regulars from sitting together. They were far easier to manage when they were apart.
Aside from the rustle of settling teenagers, mostly boys, the room was quiet. They’d gotten their smoking and talking done out back in preparation for the hour of silence ahead of them. Rowley fished a paperback book out of the front pocket of his messenger bag—Kate Wilhelm’s Where Late the Sweet Birds Sang—and took one last furtive glance toward the other side of the room.
His boyfriend, Grayson DeLaurey, flashed him a smile from his own lonely table near the front. He returned it almost shyly and then began to read. The bell hadn’t rung—there were two minutes, yet—but the tables were full and everyone was settled in, and Rowley didn’t suppose that reading through a detention he’d earned by skipping English class would be any less ironic if he waited until later.
