Jamie Calder Jones (about_face) wrote in genome_project, @ 2010-05-14 23:32:00 |
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Entry tags: | may 2010 |
Who: Jamie and Christopher
What: The meeting with Christopher.
When: After this and this.
Rating: High (swearing)
After his issues with Mrs Tibbits, Jamie had stormed out of the classroom and down the hallway. He got halfway down the corridor, hands in his hair and his foot kicked out and caught the edge of a nearby locker. It echoed around the empty hall.
His foot throbbed, but that didn’t make him feel any better. Kind of viciously, for a moment he wanted to just turn into someone else, melt into anonymity and start again, ignore the way that everyone else would feel and just set up a new life somewhere that wasn’t here. Of course, without a high school education behind him, that would be nearly impossible. But he could try. He’d be a great thief with what he could do. If only he was more morally grey.
A brief conversation with the Principal had Jamie heading towards Christopher’s office with more detentions underneath his belt than he knew what to do with. There had been a note for him anyway, but even if there hadn’t been, he’d be dragging his feet in this direction, he was sure.
Fuck.
He knocked on Christopher’s door and waited for a moment before he walked in and sat down in the seat, melting against the cushions and wanting to just disappear into them. Maybe he could turn into a cushion? Was that possible? Could he do that? If cushions didn’t have brains... would he just be stuck a cushion?
At least he didn’t mind talking to Christopher. The guy seemed to listen and actually care, which was more than he could say that he felt for his mother right now. It wasn’t that she didn’t care, it just felt like she didn’t. She was always so busy.
“I fucking hate this school.” he announced. “I hate it. So much. It sucks and the teachers suck and I suck and I’m jus- it’s just stupid.”
He rubbed his hand over his face, hating how his voice kind of cracked as he spoke, the Freudian slip giving away just how upset he was about the whole thing. His hands slid into his hair, fingers burying in the strands as he pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes.