myOtaku.com: X Shadowme X

myO Still <3's You

Vitals

Birthday
• 1993-05-02
Gender
• Female
Location
• Here
Member Since
• 2005-05-30
Occupation
• Life preserver :)
Real Name
• Belina

Personal

Achievements
• http://i204.photobucket.com/albums/bb281/Soul_Resistance/Untitled.jpg... Nuff said
Anime Fan Since
• Ever since Pokemon
Favorite Anime
• I'm not that obsessed anymore, to be honest. Mostly just Kare Kano, Ceres, Furuba, Ouran Highschool Hostclub, FMA, and, of course, ShinChan. X3
Goals
• Make it out of here in one piece
Hobbies
• Paranoia, mood swings, and the occasional emotional meltdown
Talents
• :)

myOtaku.com: X Shadowme X

Thursday, January 14, 2010

DO NOT READ!!!

I suppose I should be grateful that Ms. D’Anglo didn’t send me straight to the principal; or sorry for letting my rage get the best of me; or at the very least, dismayed at the probability of getting suspended.
As I slowly trudge down the hallway towards the guidance counselors’ office, however, all I feel is irritation.
This is nothing new though. I’ve been in a constant state of anger for months now, ever since I found out my ex-boyfriend, Jay, is the Devil. Likewise, his idiotic best friend, the lovely young man I just had the privilege of giving a high-five to the jaw with my fist, is Beelzebub. This probably has something to do with why I, try as I might, cannot seem to find it in myself to feel all that much remorse for punching him.
know it sounds childish, but it was his fault. He could tell—hell, everyone could tell—that I was already homicidally furious and I had explicitly warned him an infinite number of times before to back off, yet he still insisted on provoking me.
Luckily, Ms. D’Anglo, my AP psychology teacher, knew this as well and had been wanting to punch out Dean herself since the beginning of the school year, so instead of getting the standard reproachful gape and stern command to go to the principal, I got a barely concealed thankful smile and a pass to go to my guidance counselor, Mrs. Drery.
Under normal circumstances, I would have been overjoyed at avoiding a maddeningly pedantic lecture and possible suspension, but as I recall Mrs. Drery’s sugar-coated, spurious smile and her torturous squeak of a voice speciously urging me to retake the SAT’s for the millionth time because of those pesky five or four questions I missed last time, I can’t help but feel the prickling of an urge to tear up my pass, march right into the principal’s office, and recount the whole regretful story of my assault upon poor, little, innocent Dean.
I hesitate at the closed door of his office for a few seconds.
Nah, I eventually decide. It’s just not worth it. Drery will probably hunt me down later anyway. Best just get it over with. Besides, I haven’t seen her around for a few weeks now, so I guess I owe her a visit.
When I go to enter her office, though, it’s not there. The familiar wooden budget door leading to her office with her name written in large, black, important-looking letters printed on it has vanished. In its place stands a door identical to Mrs. Drery’s except for the name and the lettering. In large, fabulously unprofessional print, it reads: ~JOSEPH MALLUSTE.~
What the hell…?
“You like it?” chimes an unfamiliar, male voice from behind me.
Startled, I whip around to find a six foot tall, lanky, shaggy-haired man smiling down at me. Ah. This, I presumed, was Joseph Malluste.
“I did it myself. The design, the calligraphy… All me,” he beams. “The school was going to paint my name on it for me, but I had stickers already made, so I figured I’d save them the trouble.”
“Um…” I stammer. What was this guy? He was obviously too old to be a student. A teacher, then? Of course not. He had a lip ring and huge, yellow-blond streaks in his hair, and… Wait. Was that eye liner he was wearing? “Where’s Mrs. Drery?”
“Oh, uh…” His smile faded into a hesitant frown. “She’s, well…”
“She had a mental breakdown, didn’t she?”
“Yeah.”
I knew it.
She had been dealing with difficult teenagers like me and impossible ones like Dean for decades. It was bound to drive her insane someday.
The thing of it was, now I had no choice but to return to class and be whispered about for the rest of the period, and I was in no mood to deal with that. Honestly, the only thing I was in the mood to do was go home, rant for a few hours on whichever social networking website that contained more people willing to agree with me, and go to sleep.
That clearly was not going to happen though. I had enough homework to occupy me for the next month or so, and it got larger every day. I was probably missing crucial notes on Freud or Jung at that very moment.
With a sigh, I turned to go, indecipherably mumbling something extremely impolite in reference to my beloved best friend forever, the American public school system, but I had scarce made it to the door when the allegedly eye-liner-clad academic albatross stopped me. “Were you supposed to see Mrs. Drery today?”
Resisting the urge to say something else extremely impolite, I merely nodded. If he turns out to be what I think he is, I thought, as Malluste’s face lit up upon seeing my affirmation. I swear I’m going to die.
“Good,” he says, opening the door leading to what is apparently now his office. “It just so happens that I’m Mrs. Drery’s replacement, so you can come right in.”
I died. It didn’t seem to matter. My feet still carried me grudgingly into Malluste’s office.

Comments (0)

« Home

Anime | How to Draw Anime | Anime Wallpapers

Top of Page