"It's not the size of the dog in the fight, it's the size of the fight in the dog." ~Mark Twain

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The Current in Overflow Homeroom C-22

Standing at the door of C-22, I must have lingered a little too long sizing up my first fight. A large dusky colored Leatherhead, who has been eye-boning me hard since I arrived. As the final bell tolls, now even the teacher is looking at me in an almost feral manner. Or what I assume is the teacher. But only because he's the only one standing in the front of the room in a lame sweater vest, almost looking pleased to be present this first foul morning. 

It only takes me one glance at Mr. Sweater Vest to tell this dude is totally not cool. He immediately strikes me as one of those overly muscular little midget men, with a serious short man's complex. The kind of garden gnome that overcompensates for his obvious vertical challenges by attempting to look as midgety buff as possible. He's even sporting a lame beard to try to make him appear older. Unfortunately, it's not a real man's beard, but one of those whispy little boy beards. Almost as if puberty wasn't quite done with him, when it got frustrated with the lack of results and just gave up.

"Are you in this class or just visiting?" The mini-man is quick as a snake to hate me for my height, clearly jealous of my ability to reach the top shelf of the refrigerator.

"This is C-2-2. No?" I loom slightly taller, looking over his head as if I can't quite find the source of the talking noise that is beneath me.

"Classroom C-22." He impulsively corrects my numericals with a clear clarity of disdain for my introductory response to his highly guarded delusion of grandeur.

"Then yeah, like I guess I'm in this class of overflow something?" I glance down upon him as if noticing the mini-man for the first time. 

"So which is it? Yeah, like or something?" Mini man mimic-mocks up at me with a twisted sneer.

I get the distinct sense that this guy is trying hard to bring me down to his level. But sadly he falls well short of the mark, when no one else even seems to care that he tried to make "a funny", most especially me.

"Then yeah, I'm like here only." I drone, repeating the Sleestak signage slogan.

"Let me see your schedule?" He snips, totally betraying his not cool origins with his lame pronunciation of the 'shway' in schedule. Marking himself as one of those fussy little types, who feel the need to constantly correct other people's annunciations, with precision and clear pronunciations. That type of anglophilic pissant that atonally pronounces the lame 'shway' in schedule. In short, he's a "Grammar Nazi", and I seriously hate Nazi's to death ...it's like a thing.

"Seems that you were only assigned this homeroom just this morning." He hands back my shway'dule. "In the future, be in your seat by the time the bell rings. Do not be late again, as I have no compunction against writing up a tardy, even on the first day. Because if I have to be present and prepared at 8:15 sharp? So do you, and not 8:15 and a second thereafter."   

It seems that this school, unlike my last one, clearly has some serious sensitivity issues with time. One that grates against the grain of my "sunshine beach time" lackadaisical approach to learning. My last high school was happy if we showed up at all, at any time. Hell's bells, they practically ecstatic if we came to school almost unarmed. But then again that whole school to prison thing was in full effect at Seaside High. I guess when you don't have to worry about getting shanked in the neck by your students, maybe time becomes relevant again?

"Am I making myself understood?" His little midgety eyes glare up menacingly at me, as if. 

"Oh yeah, you're under standing, bro." I drawl slowly, to emphasize just how under me he is standing.

"In the future, the appropriate response is, 'Yes Mr. Dyuvetter or sir'. Now find an open seat if you can ...or I will assign one for you right in front of me." He sneers hopeful.   

It's clear to me as winter water that this guy isn't just not cool all, he's a total little tyrant. A judgment which is reinforced by the circlet of empty desks right in the front of him. Cause apparently no one likes this guy, not even the regular ass kissers and bully-victims want any part of this little Midgitler's front row don't-touch-me-there spots.  

"Right ...Or'sir ....got it." I drawl even longer this time, to make the point that I will not be intimidated by the mini man.  

I am only saved from further pointless conversation when a dazed Hazer wanders in the door, even more confused than I am. Or'sir is immediately frothing at the mouth in tardy outrage and already waiving his angry orange detention pad at the poor hazy blazer. Alas poor Front Row Freddy never even knew what hit him as he gets nailed with a tardy slip, Then is firmly ensconced in the coveted front row center seat for the duration of his stay in Hell.  

As I fade away from poor Front Row Freddy's fall from grace, I give a quick glance around the room looking for a spot to call my own. Of course, the prime backdoor corner is a big "no go bro", having already been locked down by jockstraps in leathers. The coven of Blaze and Haze has snatched up the back corner next to the windows, probably hoping to air out. So I opt for a room with a view, along the long row of windows on the sunny side of the room. And as far away as possible from Or'sir as I can get. Where I might even get lucky and be able to catch the sunrise in the winter months.

Drifting over to the wall of window seats, I chance a glance down the row and glimpse a vaguely familiar, or at least a familiar pair of uber dark nightshades. And even more fortunately for me, an empty spot to call my very own.

"Now what are the karmic odds of that?" I intone to no one.   

So I slip-slide my way across the tiles to the glass row and towards her grace. And sure enough ensconced firmly in the fifth chair back from the front, sitting stiffly upright and doing her stone-cold stare down thing, in all her feisty glory...is the Maybe girl.

I would recognize this girl's grim visage anywhere. Especially seeing that she is still rocking the same Sith shades and the bulky hoodie look from our first meet and greet on the Annex bleachers. She looks almost exactly the same as the last time I lay eyes on her, save that her midnight black hair is sporting a new short pixie cut, which shows off her pointy elfinine ears.  

So I slip down the shiny tiles and up the row to swoop up my new spot, and I say the only thing a fool like me can say to the Queen of May.

"Maybe, this seat taken by nobody?" I announce cleverly, dropping anchor on my new spot. But instead of the slicing smile I was going for, she scowls the nightshades slowly up at me. 

"Don't you mean, is this seat taken by anyone? As in the seat, I'm currently occupying? Or some other chair that I can't possibly see?" She tattoo taps the bloody red end of her folded Shaolin nunchucks on the desk to emphasize the obvious.  

"Oh right, I forgot that you're blazing blind." I slip into my new spot tentatively.

"Obviously." She sighs and turns away to ignore my presence. 

This new no-nonsense grim version of May catches me up short. It starts to dawn on me, that not only do I not know this strange girl outside of a single odd conversation over two weeks ago? So it might not be wise to play clever cleaver with her on the first day. At least not until I'm sure she's feeling me up for another round of the darkside fun at my expense.

"Sorry Maybe, what I meant to say was..." I ease into the awkward apology. "Do you mind if I snatch the spot in front of you, for the remainder of my stay at this fine institution?"

"Whatever guy, knock yourself out." She waves me wither away, but the gesture is vague.

"Coo'cool, but if it's all the same to you, I actually prefer naw not brah to whatever guy." So with that I said, I set anchor firmly into my new spot and settle in for the ride. 

I watch as she starts doing that oblique head tilting thing that she seems to favor. As if she is actually seeing me for the first time. And I almost have to wonder if the whole "blind chick shtick" wasn't just another one of her strange jokes at my expense? Like she is not really blind at all, but can in fact actually see me? But then again the folded Shaoling nunchucks tightly clenched in her fist, leads me to believe that maybe some things shouldn't be assumed.

"Blazing blind? Naw not Brah? Coo'cool?" She softly mimics my accent, one of her phonetic tricks when she is trying to place a cadence. May slowly smirks and whispers low, slow and unsure. "Lifeguard Darren?"

"Whazzup, Maybe?" I force a snortle, so she can hear my smile. "So what's breaking bad with you this fine day?"

"Hole'lee sheet, Lifeguard Darren! Long time no see, tough guy." May giggles merrily. "And look at you bro, sitting right in front of me on the first day and everything? Will wonders never cease?"

"Funny, I was totally just thinking  the same thing." I agree wholeheartedly. "Good to know I left a lasting impression on someone in the San Fall."

"So like, yeah brah, like you totally did that gnarly impression thing." She mocks my accent hard. Somehow coming from her I don't take it as a slight against me and mine. But rather a good-natured slam on the rocks between comrades from another conflict.

"Sounds like someone's been picking up some more of the beachy slang, have we?" I counter right back. "Good for you clever cleaver, cutting right to the bone. And speaking of supercuts, did you do something different with your hair since last we met?"

"Why yes, I did, and I thank you for noticing." She grins mischievously. "Even better yet, I did it all by myself and everything. What do ya think? Not too bad for a blind chick, huh?"

"Looks hella cool to me." I have to resist the temptation to reach out and ruffle her new look.   

"So not that I'm hating or anything, but I have to ask. What the hell are you still doing here in San Fall, Lifeguard Darren?" She quicks a wry smirk. "What happened to your heroic return trip to Bikini Beach, for the life of fun in the sun until the day is done?"

"Well, if you really must know, it turns out there was a sudden last-minute change of evil master plans." I sigh sadly. "So what can I say, other than during my short sentence here in Hell, I just fell in love with the place. The coo'cool factor is hella off the hook, and everyone is soooo flocking friendly."

"Ah, yet another broken dream brought to you by the kind folks in San Fall, huh?" She faux sighs sadly in mock understanding of my fall into Hell. "Well don't feel too bad, tougher guys than you have been assimilated into the Pod People. Best to not fight the good fight. Better just go to your happy place, put on your plastic smile like the rest, and just drink the crazy Koolaide, Klantoo."

"Well, thanks for that kind advice, Maybe. I cannot tell you how I've missed our little local lingo chats. I feel like hardly anytime has passed at all since our last meet and greet." I force a low chuckle for her amusement. 

"Aw... you remembered." She mocks my honest sentiment, but thankfully I have a sense that she is joking at my expense, so I roll with it.

"So what's the what, Maybe? You got any first-day fights on your lunch card today?" I inquire casually.

"Meh, only a small sibling rivalry to slay." She shrugs. "But just because I'm feeling first day generous, I'll let you sit with me at lunch and watch the madness. But only so I can keep a close eye on you tough guy, cause you have a dangerous look about you, that I don't quite trust out of my sight yet. But you have to promise me that you'll sit there and look pretty, at least until we have you safely assimilated into the collective." She drops her voice an octave before adding. "Résistance is futile."

Since our last round of Darkside fun at the Annex, I've started to pick up on May's intentional emphasis on the "sight" stuff like this constantly. I am starting to think that this is primarily to get a rise out of people or to make them uncomfortably pleasant to her. So while I don't immediately say "Hells ya!" to her lunch invite, I don't say no either. Because based on my last strange experience with this grim girl, I already know that she is the master mistress of the dark arts. Sublimely letting you walk right into your own intentional misunderstandings, and then playing the "Gotcha!" card as viciously as she can. As I have fallen victim to her wiles once too many times already, I do the next best thing.

"Lunch? Do we even have lunch today?" I feign confusion. "I thought that today was just like orientation, or something?"

"Oh, hell's yes, we have lunch. It's the most important meal of the day, don't cha know?" May grins excitedly. "And I love me my lunch, I just wish the whole day was just lunch."

"Hold up, I thought that most important meal was breakfast?" I counter suspiciously. "You mean to tell me that all those Breakfast Bastards have been lying to me for all these years? And here I thought they were my friends."  

"Yeah, I suppose that really depends on what they're force-feeding you at home these days." May shrugs. "Like a lukewarm cup of crud and vitamin supplements gets super old after a while."

"At least the school cafeteria has a wide variety of crapola to sample. So while it might taste crapola more often than not, at least it's different crapola from the same ol crapola at home." May drifts into an odd expression I can only assume is faux resignation. "Variety is the spice of life, or so the masters keep claiming."

"Well, lunch at my old school wasn't anything to get that excited over," I assure her. "More like prison food, but without broken glass for garnish."  

"Then what can I say, other than you are in for a real treat. Cause here in Hell on the Hill we get that good prison food, that sweet correctional country club grub." May changes the subject slyly. "Oh, and you're in luck today, cause if you play your cards right you'll even get the pleasure of my pestilence."

"Pestilence? Is that what we're having for lunch?" I play along with her game.

"Less like a what, and more like a who really?" She quirks her smirk mischievously. "So speaking of pestilence, you might remember my super shiny sinister sister, right?"

"As a matter of fact, I have had the displeasure of that particular endeavor." I am suddenly very wary of where this is headed.

In no small part because I have already had the misfortune to meet May's little sinister sister. To say I disliked April Grimm is like saying that people with peanut allergies dislike Mr. Jiff. Because there are some people in life that you're just immediately allergic to. And in less than a minute of meeting April, I knew I was highly allergic to her limited charms.

"Oh well, your loss and the football teams gain. Cause FYI, our slutty little ray of sunshine is officially a cheery leaderette now." She snorts savagely. "Or as I like to think of her Satan with pompoms and a super perfect ponytail."

"Nice." I drone the opposite way.

"Oh and check this, not only did Luciferette make Triangle Troops? But even as we speak she's is currently clawing her way up into the freshmeat fearleader top spot. Leaving a long trail of broken blonde bodies behind in her wake, as she slays her way towards that Homecoming crown she has always had her eye on." May fails to suppress a little laugh. "So jump-hug girlie giggle, ol April will hitch her wagon to some second-stringer with a car for the season, for her first awkward groping and possibly more? Because from now on ol' Scratch's life is a never-ending popularity pity party and dodging post-game party drunken date rapes. Just as our future little pole hoe planned all along."

"Ouch." From my first run-in with May and her sinister sister, I know that these two sisters are by far not the most loving pair of siblings that I have ever met. "So lunch is starting to sound a little biblical." 

"So pestilence aside, it's a confirmed date then?" May smirks. 

"Well, I certainly can't turn down the only nice Falcon in the flock. So let's definitely do this lunch thing you speak so highly of. Just one problem though." I sigh sadly. May instantly purses her lips tightly, a look that only later I will come to learn that this is her facial manifestation in preparation to be disappointed on some level ...yet again.

"I packed my own snack today, brownies as it was. So unfortunately, I won't be able to sample the local fare you speak so highly of." I try to put a smile into my voice. "But I am happy to tag along and help you look for trouble."

"Hmmm, interesting options." May's slight pout has receded back into a sly smirk of amusement. "So I'll tell ya what I'm gonna do for you. Just cause you're new to the nest, I'll take a chance on you. I will trade you one of these brownies you speak of ...for let's see? A celery and carrot stick combo pack, three chewable multivitamins, and wait for it ...a mystery brick of barklike substance they're calling a Healthy Bar?" 

"But you can't tell anyone I'm doing this for you. Cause I wouldn't want it getting around to the popular pod peeps, that I was nice to the new guy." May drops her voice into a raspy whisper of faux fear. "You have no idea what the Supreme Pod leaders are like when you don't take the "chewable vitamins" like you're supposed to." She tries to mess with my head, with air quotes and everything.

"PLEASE STAND FOR THE PLEDGE OF ALLEGIANCE..."  Drones the smooth voice from the speaker box on the wall. The one that we've been happily ignoring for the last ten minutes of non-important information regarding various sporty stuff, coven club prayer circles, spirit pole dancing auditions, and musical theater Glee tryouts.

I grudgingly stand with everyone else, and I have to suppress the sudden urge to help May up to her feet. For some reason, I think she might beat me with her Shaolin stick if I just reached out unannounced to lend her a helping hand. So instead of the unwanted assistance, I edge closer to her, ready to swoop in and save her from any nasty fall that may arise. Of course, May proves she doesn't need my unasked help in the least. I watch her slide her knees out sideways, drop her clunky black and white saddle oxfords onto the floor to find their footing, then cautiously pushes herself to her full upright position. Standing side by side, I am reminded once more how demure she is, at almost a head shorter than I am.  

As the patriotic droning starts up, I note that May is facing slightly off from the rest of the canting crowd. It strikes me that her slightly off-kilter stance is probably indicative of her entire life. That everything in her world must be slightly off-kilter. So as I have taken up the same stance as she has, we are now both clearly marked as the odd outsiders. In this she and I are the same, pledging our allegiance to the outside world that cares so very little about us. So much so that they gave us kiddie pimps, killer cops...and then try to tax us for the privileged. 

Sobeit, I never wanted to be a conformist, it's always been a pirates life for me anyways.