Homeblued*

[laZardo†]

(OOC: And I'm hoping I'm not by myself here, even if I'm bout the only person that listed this particular homeroom in the app. Also, I'm not quite clear over the rules regarding playing the teacher, but I'll try to convey the right mood.

Reiterating that I seem to be the only person in the homeroom at the moment, I'll be add a few NPC names. Mind, I'll edit them out if necessary.

First post...Banzai! *charges*)

The gangly little boy took several deep breaths as he stared into the vortex of the institution's front doors, a light breeze failing to stir his gel-tamed jet-black hair or his uniform. His backpack, slightly larger than the average student's, felt doubly heavy as he gathered the courage to take those vital steps forward.

"Okay...here goes..." Damien Carter-Madison mutters, breaking into a light jog up the steps into the prestigious P.J. Gilroy academy. The warning bell had already sounded, but he could probably make it into class in time if he kept up the pace.

At this point in time, thankfully, there wouldn't be that many people waiting just around the corner to lynch me, he thinks as he makes his way through the hallway toward room 239.

From the moment he gets out of his mom's Infiniti in front of the school until the time he steps back in to head home, this early teen feels, well...threatened. And justifiably, given his experiences. Experiences that gave him reason to look around every corner like a SWAT team member 'slicing the pie.'

He especially feels threatened now, as he walks into the classroom and looks around. The teacher had not yet arrived, but the only seat available (read: all but reserved, without the little sign) was in that most vulnerable of spots. The seat wasn't at the front row, where the more active learners could be found, nor the very back where a few assorted slackers would try to get away with sleeping through homeroom.

This seat happens to be smack-dab in what could be called the geographic center of the classroom, within anybody's reasonable striking range.

Damien slinks deep into the seating arrangement, nervously watching the expressions on his classmates' faces. He notices a few of them suppressing giggles as he frequently stops and scans wide angles in his spot, realizing a little late that he's sticking out like a sore thumb.

As he sits down and slings his backpack around the back of his seat, a crumpled piece of paper bounces across his desk and off onto the floor. At least two more of them were thrown in Damien's direction, one bouncing off the back of his head, before the second bell rang, heralding the entrance of the teacher.

Mrs. Garrick never seemed to be in a good mood, as compared to the other homeroom teachers. The only "positive" emotion many of her students recalled was respect - if only threadbare - when someone aced one of her tests or science projects or gave a correct, detailed answer to one of the more difficult questions she posed. Damien, naturally and much to his chagrin, was one of the students she actually respected. Of course, being the center of her attention wasn't without its detriments.

Today she seems rather uncaring, stepping up to the teacher's desk, front and center. She issues a brief "Good Morning, class," and after the class' droning reply, turns straight to her attendance booklet.

"Ali, Ernie." she says, as if he were the weakest link, goodbye.
That respective student, sitting in his seat as if in a recliner, raised his hand without a care in the world. Damien turns a bit to look at him. He doesn't get so much as a dirty glance back.

"Alvarez, Matthew."
"Here," he replies non-chalantly.
Maybe Damien had better watch out for this one, that guy bumped into him with quite a bit of force yesterday on the way to lunch...

Two more names. Little threat from them, but he could never discount anybody.
"Bateman, Eugene."
"Cannon, Evelyn."

"Carter-Madison, Damien."
His hand shoots up out of reflex and is met in mid-air by a spitwad to the palm, subsequently followed his face cringing and a chuckle from two or more in the back rows.

It is during Mrs. Garrick's stern instruction to the class to quiet down that Damien admits to himself, once more, that this is not going to be a good day.

((Continued in: Cold Storage Shed Where Her Heart Should Be))