I held my camera on my face as I recorded my bandmates. The freshmen welcoming event was a disaster. Thanks to some snot-eyed jerk, we couldn't present the music club's performance. I hope people show up for the auditions, though. This club is slowly starting to die. "It smells like rotten eggs!"
"That's actually my hair mask," Madelene looked at me as we sat on the sunny terrace with our instruments behind us. I remembered when we first joined Kerlin County High, this club was a piece of shit, and I was positive that I would change it. 

Now, I am a piece of shit too.

"One may be useless, but one must not never be not hopeful," Peed was the philosopher of the band and a great guitarist. His real name was Pedro. All he did was smoke weed, wear gipsy fits and travel to Mongolia every summer just so he could get high with the caravans and hopefully find the true meaning of life. So, we named him Petro Weed, and just to make it a bit more lyrical, he was named Pedro Peed, now he's just peed and often pisses himself when he's too high.

"This club is fucked,"
"It is okay, Zuliah," Peed comforted me while trying to grab my camera and mispronouncing my name as usual, I dodged him, "The world is fucked. The universe was meant to be fucked, virginity is a construct, a human concept. You can never unfuck something because fucking is what we are born of. Mwah!" He began strumming the guitar while laying on the floor.

"Whenever I go out with my friends," He screeched, Peed can't sing. We don't let him, "They call me names and don't let me in. In every heartbeat, in every fart, I find myself lonely, baby~"
"Well, at least he's writing a new song," I turned towards Madelene.

Madelene did some yogic squats in another corner of the terrace in order to get the maximum amount of sun on her hair mask. Her butt was moving at varied angles, almost as if she was trying to twerk while being possessed by an unholy spirit. And somehow, this was affecting her upper body as well. Her hands did some weird breaststroke in the air. I just zoomed my camera at her until Wasim interrupted my shot.

Wasim Ahmed was our band's trumpet player which is weird because we don't have a single song requiring a trumpet. So, he's usually hanging out with us for literally no reason other than chewing his gum, eating everyone's steak and ruining our day. He is always wearing sunglasses, they are so much a part of him now that he wore them to his grandpa's funeral last month. And stole all my grandpa's pendant from his dead body while everyone was out for the feast. 

"Want to say something to our juniors to come?" I asked him while pointing the camera at his face.
"I've never had sex before," Wasim shrugged and began playing his trumpet while thrusting his hips in the air, "And so, he proceeds to fuck the air," Angela commented while sitting behind her drums. Angela Decarter was a dirty blonde, with brown eyes and chubby arms. She had rosy-red cheeks, and a stained T-shirt with her picture printed on it, she held the same expression as her picture behind her square glasses, 

"Wallah, America destroyed me!" 
"Why would you say that? America is the land of the free," Angela spoke, she always looked disinterested or tired. Or both.
"Exactly, I hate freedom," Wasim took his sunglasses off, which meant that he was going to say some out-of-pocket shit which nobody ever wants to know, "That's why I'm flourishing in capitalism,"

...I need to save this band.

But how? The audition tables were empty, "People are not showing up," Angela looked at me and I banged my camera on the table, "PEOPLE HAVE BECOME SO BORING! WHO DOESN'T LIKE MUSIC?!" I roared and grabbed Wasim by his collar, "GO! GET KIDS!"
"Alalalah, I'm too young for that!"
"GET THE FRESHMEN TO JOIN THE BAND! GO!" I kicked his useless ass out of the room, "Fucking cunt!" I wonder what Louise must be doing.

. . .

Louise, in fact, was not doing anything except existing in a sweatshirt saying "Finna be that bitch boo, cuz none of ya'll got the dick that I do!" Everyone in the halls simply laughed at him as they went past him. Until he entered his class and a group of relatively freer individuals sprawling over the desks encountered him. They did not laugh at first. They just exchanged looks and finally as Louise passed by them, one of them grabbed Louise's underpants from his trousers and pulled it up, making losing his balance and fall of the floor. 

"HAH! LOSER!" Louise got back up and they began laughing,
"What the fuck is that top? Gay ass faggot!"
"None of ya'll got the dick that I do! Look at my dick, look at it!" He pulled his pants down and grabbed Louise from the back of his neck and pulled him closer to him,
"UGH! I DON'T WANNA!"

"Go, Henry! Show him what you're made of!" All the other boys cheered him and began pushing Louise towards Henry while a spectator watched them from the end of the class.

. . .

Mr Warren, the newly appointed history teacher after the previous history teacher, Mr Janine, became history himself collected. Mr Warren was young, passionate and a loving teacher. It was his dream to be the cool teacher that all students liked. He wanted to be liked and validated by teenagers. That was the goal! And this was the first class of his life that he was going to take. Naturally, he had blood flushing through his face. He knew he would be well-liked. He had been learning everything he saw in the urban dictionary, and had many books on teen psychology. Now was finally the time to apply theories to practical life. 

He left the teacher's office with a confident, dazzling smile, leaving half the teachers blind, "Ah, young blood. To be that young again," Mr Garrison smiled at the door that Mr Warren had just closed and Mrs Fig smiled behind him, "I think he and Dickson are the youngest teachers in the school,"
"That is true, indeed,"

Mr Warren, with his heart pounding in his chest and his nose hurting from all the strong, deep breaths he had taken, finally opened the door to his dream and found five fourteen-year-old teen boys before him. One of them had his pants down, stretching his briefs forwards, while the other one was being forced to look into his pants by the other three. All of them screaming. 

They suddenly stopped and looked at Mr Warren. All the buildup in his nose released itself as blood and he slowly closed the door. He wiped his nose with the tip of his white shirt and grabbed his head as he sat on his haunches and contemplated the previous ten seconds of his life. Was this still the life he owned? 

'What the fuck was that?! No book mentioned it! What do I do? Pretend that I didn't see it? No, that would be so absurd! Should I ask them what exactly they were trying to achieve? No, that sounds creepy for a man my age! Should I scold them? How dare you show him your genitals? What the fuck, I sound so controlling! No, no, no! What do I do?! I think I'm not that capable of this job after all. I am incompetent!'

Ten seconds in and those teenagers had gaslighted this man so hard that he spent the next ten minutes in existential agony. With occasional thoughts of suicide, castration or mass genocide.  Finally, he decided that it was not the time to be a coward! America needed a good teacher and this was the profession he chose! These children were the future of America, the land of dreams! Those little children had dreams!

Therefore, like a true man, he got up, and like a true conformist, he pulled his pants down and walked into the class with just his boxers on. Everyone was seated by then and no one said anything. However calm the class was, no one was comfortable in that class. Except for Louise, he was clueless why the teacher was half-dressed.

"Who is this pervert? Don't tell me he's teaching us for the rest of this year!" A girl whispered at another girl. 
"I know right? So creepy! He must be a paedophile! Making us go through his weird fetishes!"

Meanwhile, the group of boys had something else going on among them, "I heard he's German!" Henry told his mates, "He's asserting dominance by refusing to follow the American rules of civility!"
"The pants! He must be testing us!"
"We are Americans! We do not falter. We are stronger than a fucking German douchebag!"
"Right!" Louise heard them silently. He did not give his own opinions, because he had none.

"Good morning, everyone. I am your history teacher, Mr Warren," Mr Warren was nervous but he stood his ground and just to avoid eye contact, he began looking at random objects. This was a trick he had learnt in teaching school, 'If students make you nervous, look at objects in their proximity, like pencil boxes, windows behind them or their clothes'

He looked at Louise's shirt and began losing his focus. Those two lines, began destroying his entire chain of thought and everything in his mind began dissolving into a small puddle until he wrote over the board, with his blood-stained shirt contrasting the whiteness of the chalk, "Dick killed Nazi Germany" 

He stopped instantly. One of the girls sitting on the front bench had already written it down in her notes and began drawing colourful flowers around it, as she had done for the rest of her notes, "DON'T WRITE THAT!" He tore the page out of her notebook and threw it away. Afraid by this sudden aggression, she began crying. 

"Oh, don't cry!" He began tending to her. Everyone else just sat and stared at him while he calmed her down and finally gave her a small candy. He looked up at Louise, "You, boy,"
"Yes?" Louise was clueless and still busy taking notes since he was a slow writer. Mr Warren hesitated to comment upon his shirt, 'It's a part of his creative expression! I cannot make the poor kid devoid of individuality! This is America!'

"What's your name?" 
"Louisianez Louverne,"
'What the fuck was that name? I swear to god, modern parents! They either name their kids after a biological phenomenon or mathematical formulas!
"Just call me Louise," Louise saw that the teacher was struggling.

"Louise, right. Would you mind going to the last seat of the class, besides your friend?"
Louise turned back and the brown-haired boy looked up at him. They both stared at each other, he had bright, green eyes,  "He's not my friend," Louise looked at Mr Warren.
"Well, you'll be friends after today's class, won't you?"

He shrugged his shoulders and got up, "I guess," He picked up his stuff and walked towards the end of the class, right beside the brown-haired boy. He wore a weird green camo jacket and acid-washed, black jeans. He had laid his book in front of him, such that it was touching his chest while his hands rested on his lap. 

'He sits like a girl,' Louise sat beside him and looked ahead at the board while playing with his pen between his fingers. He suddenly heard some soft knocks on the table and looked down, only to find the weird kid beside him-That cunt was masturbating IN THE CLASS!

Who was this skunk even masturbating to? Their half-naked teacher? 
For the first time in his life, Louise realised what it felt like to throw up inside one's own mouth. Because that's exactly what he did. 

-To be continued