The Forgotten Generation: Chapter Five

The Forgotten Generation

Chapter Five:  Fayola's Too Black

“A month has passed since we first arrived in America.  [Grandmother] talks of ‘home’ relentlessly, as if to remind us where we came from; I think she worries that [Nnena] will forget our past.  [Father] keeps saying that one day, things will improve.  That’s good, but I don’t want [Nnena] to forget.  I don’t want to forget.”

--roughly translated, from the diary of Fayola Ihejirika, aged 18.

Fayola was pretty, not that she’d ever say as much of herself.  Dark skin, even darker hair and eyes.  Her father had rejected many requests for marriage from neighbouring suitors back home, despite how unheard of such rejections may have been, because he’d been praying for a better life, even then.  Fayola had become one of the oldest unwed females of the village, still a maiden at eighteen, and many of the villagers had come to look at her as being arrogant.

Here, though, it was very much a different case.  There weren’t many other people like her.  In fact, the town was ninety percent white, and it hadn’t quite gathered that racial profiling wasn’t the best way to go about things; they went about matters in an us versus them manner, more often than not, and the Ihejirika family was a part of the “them.”

Her eyes on the large bathroom mirror, Fayola readjusted the colourful, traditional kanga she wore.  If anything, the dress made her stick out even more, but wearing what the other girls wore sounded uncomfortable and restricting.

“Fay, I have a favour to ask,” Shelley had said, the nervous edge in her voice stronger than usual.

“What is it?”

“Mr. Vaughn asked me to come to this… thing… after school.  He didn’t say much about it, but—well, I thought that… it might be easier, if you’re there, too.”

Fayola had agreed almost immediately; Shelley was too nice for her own good, and others took advantage of that.  Every chance they had, they ripped her to shreds.  If she could prevent that, she gladly would do her best.

Fayola sighed as she thought about that earlier conversation with Shelley.  Something about this meeting made her blood tingle, and she didn’t know why.  It felt… dangerous.  Or perhaps “dangerous” wasn’t the right word, but something in her body felt that it would be life-changing.

Still, a woman’s tongue was not made to lie, and Fayola intended to keep her word.  She finished smoothing the folds from her kanga, and then she headed to Mr. Vaughn’s classroom.

Four students were there already, seated, with varying expressions on their faces: Shelley sat, looking pleased at the boy beside her; the blond boy also looked vaguely happy, in stark contrast to the other two bodies.  An intimidating male with broad shoulders sat hunched over the desktop, drumming his fingers in what was obviously an act of irritation, while a pretty girl had her slender arms crossed over her chest.  When Fayola entered the room, the latter two gave a huff.

“Mr. Vaughn,” the pretty girl said, straightening her spine, “I thought that this meeting was… personal.”

“I apologize for misleading you,” he said pleasantly, and Fayola saw Shelley’s eyes snap to him as she sighed.  “Fayola, if you would like to join us…”  Slowly, Fayola took the invitation, sitting next to the irritated boy. 

“Mr. Vaughn, if you don’t mind my asking… why are we all here?”

“Good question.  With the exception of you and Octavian—”

“It’s Rainer,” he objected.

“Right, Rainer—I had noticed that some of my students were feeling a little… out of place.”

“With all due respect, sir,” Octavian—it’s Rainer—said, “This is high school.  ‘Out of place’ is going around.  And that sure as hell don’t explain what Miss Bitch is in here for,” he added, gesturing toward the pretty girl, who shrugged in response.

“You’d be surprised how much the five of you have in common.”

“Alright,” Rainer admitted, “We all hate each other.  That’s about as close as we’re gonna get to being similar.”

“I don’t,” the blond said quietly. 

“I don’t, either,” Fayola agreed.

“Yes, well, I do,” the pretty girl said.

“Madeline,” Mr. Vaughn chastised.

“What?  I do!  They’re all losers and freaks.”

Slamming his hands on the desk, Rainer stood.  “Don’t you even start, you slut,” he said angrily, his face quickly reddening.  “If anyone here’s a loser or a freak, you’re damn well included.”

“Now now,” Mr. Vaughn interjected, “Rainer, Madeline.  There are better ways to socialize than insults.”

“Oh, fuck this,” Madeline breathed.  “I’m out.”

“Then so is your grade.”

Madeline paused, and Fayola could tell from her seat that the girl was gritting her teeth.  “Fine,” she said after a while.  “What do you want me to do.”  It should have been a question, but it wasn’t, at least from what Fayola heard.

“Get along.  It’s that simple.  I’ll split you into pairs.  I suppose since there’s an odd number, the odd one out will sit with me…”  Fayola cast her eyes to Shelley, knowing that the girl was praying to be that ‘odd one out,’ with that absurd crush she’d developed on him.  “Let’s see…”  He looked around the room, apparently making the connections in his brain.  “We’ll have Madeline and Quincy together, and… Rainer and Shelley.  Alright, move together, then,” he said. 

Fayola blinked.  So then she was the odd one out.  Well, she supposed that wasn’t altogether unusual.  Shelley caught her eye, a nervous look apparent in the girl’s muddy green eyes, but Fayola wasn’t going to be tempted to question authority, whether they were officially in class or not.  Instead, she followed Mr. Vaughn to his desk as the reluctant sound of metal scraping against linoleum filled the room.

Silence soon reigned.  The pairs didn’t even seem to look at each other.

“Well.  Talk,” Mr. Vaughn said.  A moment passed before a light murmur filled the room. 

“Mr. Vaughn, I… don’t think I understand,” Fayola admitted.

“You will,” he assured.  “One day.”

The Forgotten Generation: Chapter Four

I'll admit I'm not entirely pleased with this chapter. Octavian's characterization is just a little off, and I didn't get to touch on how he's perceived as much as I'd have liked, but that also is because Quincy addressed it earlier... I don't know. Hopefully I'll fix it in the editing process. XDD

The Forgotten Generation
Chapter Four: Octavian's a Thug

“People make me angry. I’m not going to bottle up my emotions for the sake of someone’s feelings or their pretty faces. They should know that. If they piss me off, they’re going to know it, and they’re going to feel it. But that doesn’t make me some common street thug. I’m not some mugger, or some gangster. I’ve got a cause every time I get into a fight.”

--transcribed from a recording of Octavian Thornton, aged 17, during a psychiatrist visit.

Nearly a week passed after the diner incident, and Octavian—who liked to be referred to by his middle name, Rainer—had returned to school, much to the chagrin of the disciplinary department. Many students with his track record for trouble would have long ago been expelled, but he was what the other students called a “charity case.” That was funny, he thought to himself sometimes, seeing as they didn’t actually know what his so-called problems were.

Well… not most of them, anyway, he rectified this particular day, casting a glance to a silent Quincy who sat next to him. He had never meant for anyone to discover that part of him.

Rainer had arrived home early, having been suspended from school again. He’d slammed his backpack on the floor, a part of him relishing the loud noise it made in his otherwise silent home, and stomped through the house.

“Anyone home?” he’d shouted, although he already knew the answer. After a moment, he’d muttered something about thinking that was the case, and then he’d stormed off to his room, shoving a book to the floor on his way.

He’d spent the majority of his day off napping or practicing his aim with paper wads. Not quite an hour after school, however, he had heard a knock on the door.

Of all people, it had been a student a year younger than he was, a student to whom he’d never spoken before.

“The hell do you want?” Rainer had asked, leaning against his doorframe.

“This is where you live…?”

“Now, let’s get one thing straight; I won’t have you—”

“No, it’s—it’s fine—I only thought… well, Mr. Vaughn asked me to give this to you,” the boy had replied, handing him a stack of papers.

Rainer had only stared at them for a long time. “Why you?”

“W-well, I live a few blocks down the road… I walk home, so I’d be passing by, anyway, and...”

Eventually, Rainer snatched the papers from his hands. “What’s your name, kid?”

“…Quincy…”

“Call me Rainer.”

“Do I have something on my face…?” Quincy asked, wiping self-consciously at his cheek.

“Nah, I was just thinking.”

Quincy hummed in response, taking a bite of his turkey sandwich. He had a habit of covering his mouth with his free hand, and even when he didn’t, the hand never seemed to leave his face. It was a nervous habit he had that Rainer couldn’t say he found altogether irritating, unlike many habits many people had.

“Should I bother asking?” Quincy asked, pushing half of his sandwich to Rainer.

Rainer shrugged and took a large bite of the sandwich. “Prob’ly not,” he replied; his voice was garbled due to the food in it, and he saw Quincy make a face at the display.

They ate in companionable silence. Most of their lunches passed this way. Rainer wasn’t one for conversation, and he knew that Quincy knew what to say about as much as he did.

It felt unfair, sometimes, that Quincy should be his best friend. Of all the people…

“Hey, what are you doing after school?” Quincy asked out of the blue.

“Uhh… can’t say I’ve got plans. Why, what’s up?”

“Well, there’s this… thing… after school that Mr. Vaughn wants me to go to. I think maybe… you should come, too?”

“I don’t do your stupid study groups,” Rainer said firmly.

“It’s not a study group. It’s… more of… a support group.”

“I don’t need a support group, Quin.”

“No, but maybe I do!”

Rainer fell silent, avoiding Quincy’s eyes. With the exception of perhaps his mother, Quincy was the only person Rainer ever had trouble telling no. “Fine,” he grumbled, biting into the sandwich again. “But just this once.”

He didn’t have to look up to feel Quincy’s soft smile. “Thanks,” he said quietly.

“Yeah, well, mention it to anyone, and you’ll end up in the hospital.”

“I’d expect no less.”

Rainer couldn’t say with any amount of honesty that he was looking forward to the impromptu afterschool gathering. Truthfully, if it were anyone other than Quincy, he would have shown them exactly where they could shove their little invitation. Actually, he probably would have slammed his fist into their face or his knee into their gut before they’d even managed to get out the first three words. It wasn’t so much that Rainer was antisocial as it was that he hated everyone. Quincy simply happened to fall into a very rare category of people Rainer didn’t consider “people.”

To Rainer, any nameless face was always in need of a good beating. Anything anyone did could set him off. He’d been told he had anger issues that needed work, and if the suggestion didn’t piss him off so much, he’d be inclined to agree.

“I’m sure it won’t be as bad as you’re thinking,” Quincy tried to tell him as they walked.

“Quin, other irritating, weak and helpless people are going to be there. Why did you even fucking invite me?”

Quincy shrugged. “I don’t know… Do you want to leave? You don’t have to stay…”

“Damn straight I don’t have to,” Rainer muttered. Still, he sighed. When Quincy looked like a disappointed puppy, he really had a hard time saying no. Frankly, it made him angry, but that didn’t mean he was any more likely to turn Quincy down. “Let’s just get this over with.”

Rainer could tell that Quincy was fighting not to beam. In response, he only glared as Quincy wrestled open the classroom door and slipped in.

“Oh, hell no,” Rainer said immediately upon walking in. What the hell sort of support group was this? “I ain’t sittin’ in the same room as Miss Queen Bitch and that cracked-out whore.”

Quincy shot him a dark look, and Rainer couldn’t help but be taken aback as his best friend sat next to the “cracked-out whore,” quietly telling her something or other. Were they seriously friends? When the hell had this happened? Had he walked into some Insecure Losers Anonymous meeting, and they hadn’t told him? And if so, why the hell was the leader of the Bitch Squad here?

Rainer loudly flopped into the desk on the other side of Quincy, slamming his textbook on the top.

“I told you that you don’t have to say,” Quincy pointed out.

“Someone has to walk your pansy ass home.”

Rainer chanced a glance at the smile threatening to form on Quincy’s face, and he gave Quincy a stern look. This wasn’t one of their cute little luncheons. This was a classroom where they were surrounded by other people, and it was a battlefield. Rainer would be killed before he’d take off his game face.

The Forgotten Generation: Chapter Three

The Forgotten Generation
Chapter Three: Madeline's a Barbie

“Maybe I’m overreacting, but sometimes I feel like no one ever sees me. Everyone thinks my life is perfect, that everything is handed to me, and I win at everything I try. If they want my life, fine. I’d trade with them in a heartbeat. It’s like they forget I’m a person, too.”

--from the diary of Madeline Nelson, aged 17.

Madeline Nelson was the last person anyone would expect to have troubles. She was beautiful, popular, and rich; guys were clambering to be her next fling. But she wasn’t happy. She knew that she had no real friends. In the movies, everything looked so easy in high school. If you just did your best and were yourself, everything would turn out okay. That wasn’t true. High school was politics, and Madeline hadn’t even noticed when she’d become president.

She glanced in the bathroom mirror, fussing with her hair, on her way to a stall. She only had to take some medication, but it couldn’t get out that she was some sort of pill-popper.

As she swallowed the pills, she heard the bathroom door swing open, and two gossiping girls entered.

“God, have you seen Madeline lately?” one of the girls said, her voice irritatingly high-pitched. A part of Madeline wanted to announce her presence, but she decided to wait as the other girl spoke up.

“Ugh, I know,” she agreed. “First-class slut. Like, really. Did she think no one noticed her boob job?”

A look of confusion appeared on Madeline’s face as she glanced down at her chest. It was only a push-up bra… Why would she have a boob job? She was already flawless.

“Right? And, like, what is up with her hair? Has she never heard of a straightener?”

Madeline quirked an eyebrow. The best they could come up with was a cheap insult to her hair? Her hair, which was in perfectly sculpted waves every day? Really, this was just getting pathetic. Madeline straightened her clothes and flung open the door, sending a venomous smile to the two girls at the sinks.

“What a surprise to see you here!” she exclaimed mock-cheerfully. “I’m sorry; it’s just ever since my boob job, it’s so hard to see people around my tits!”

“I—uh—we’re… we’re gonna go now,” one of the girls stammered.

“Yeah, you do that, sweetheart,” Madeline said, one hand on her hip. The pair scampered off, metaphorical tails between their legs, and Madeline rolled her eyes as she turned to the mirror.

She frowned, poking one of her breasts. Did people really think she’d had surgery? She may have come from a wealthy family, but that didn’t mean she’d made a trip to the plastic surgeon. Still, a part of her was flattered. She was so plastic-perfect that people thought she wasn’t even real.

Oh, who was she kidding? She hated it. She hated being the Queen Bitch. It wasn’t like she’d asked to be handed the crown; it had just happened one day. Sighing softly, Madeline swiped on some lip gloss and headed out.

An hour later saw Madeline sitting across from Mr. Vaughn, pleading as well as Madeline Nelson ever pleaded, which wasn’t necessarily saying much.

“Please,” she said, “I can’t fail this class. I’ll do anything,” she hinted.

“Well, there is something that comes to mind,” Mr. Vaughn said, and Madeline looked up. She hadn’t expected him to agree so quickly; she’d thought he was one of the less corrupt teachers at the school. Oh well. It was better for her grade that he wasn’t. “Next Tuesday, come to my classroom after school.”

Madeline shot him a bright smile and stood. “Of course, Mr. Vaughn,” she said cheerfully, slinging her Louis Vuitton bag over her shoulder.

Her heels clicked, the only noise in the empty halls, all the way to the parking lot. She easily slipped into her white convertible, checked her hair in the rear-view mirror, and jammed her key into the ignition. The top lowered, and she sped home.

“I’m home,” Madeline called, peering around the corner. “Daddy?”

“Mr. Nelson got called back to work,” their live-in maid, Anne, said kindly. She was a sweet woman; in her late fifties, the plump woman had been more present in Madeline’s life than anyone.

“We were supposed to have dinner tonight,” Madeline said, frowning.

“Oh, I know, dearie,” Anne told her. “I’m sure he’ll reschedule.”

Madeline threw her purse into the living room chair, barely resisting the urge to stomp like a petulant toddler. “This is the fourth time we’ve rescheduled!”

“Mr. Nelson’s only—”

“Only doing his job, only supporting us,” Madeline muttered, crossing her arms. “But he’s doing a shitty job of being a father.”

“Well,” Anne said, smoothing Madeline’s hair, “How about you and I go to dinner?”

Madeline shoved the woman’s hands away from her. “No thank you,” she said coldly, grabbing her purse and stomping up to her room. If her father wanted nothing to do with her, she’d get back at him. She pulled her phone from her purse and started texting that football player, Kaiden. He always was up for a hook-up.

The Forgotten Generation: Chapter Two

The Forgotten Generation
Chapter Two: "Quincy's a Faggot"

“They tell me I’m not normal, that I’m a freak. That this was my choice. That’s the hardest part, some days—thinking that I did this to myself and to my family. I would do anything to take the daily tears in my mom’s eyes away, but I can’t change what I am. If I could, I would be anything else. Anyone else. Everyone seems to forget that I’m the victim here.”

--from the journal of Quincy Zoric, aged 16.

Quincy winced, dabbing gingerly at the cut across his cheekbone with a wet paper towel. He hadn’t even so much as glanced in Kaiden’s general direction, and he’d still gotten hit for looking at him the wrong way. As if he’d go for such an oversized football player with mallets for hands… That class ring had gotten him good, though. A deep red bruise was already forming around the cut; there was no way he’d be able to hide this one. Why did they always go for the face? It was so much worse when Octavian—or Rainer, Quincy supposed he liked to be called—wasn’t around.

But of course, Rainer had been suspended again for the last time he’d socked someone trying to mess with Quincy. It wasn’t fair. Didn’t the school have a zero tolerance policy toward fighting? Apparently they were willing to look the other way when it was their star player bullying a worthless little sophomore. The big game was coming up, after all…

Quincy sighed, tossing the paper towel into the waste bin. He knew that it didn’t matter who Kaiden was; the big point was that he was gay, and the school board had never gone out of its way to protect someone like him. It was his fault. It was always his fault.

Quincy was supposed to be eating lunch, but he never could bring himself to go to the cafeteria when Rainer wasn’t around. He’d prefer eating nothing to being thrown in the garbage again, really. Besides, Rainer always went with him to the diner after school when he was suspended, so it wasn’t as if he’d starve. And fourth period really was early for lunch…

He sighed when his stomach growled despite all his reasoning.

“Well, it’s not my fault,” he muttered to it, moving to one of the stalls.

One good thing about this abandoned bathroom was that no one ever came to it except kids smoking pot, and they left it surprisingly clean. It hadn’t been touched by someone genuinely needing to use the bathroom in years, and Quincy had no qualms with plopping onto the toilet and settling down for a nap.

Right as he was getting comfortable, the phone in his pocket vibrated. He fished it out of his tight jeans, glancing at the display to see that Rainer had sent him a text message.

“how r u doin?” it read, and Quincy smiled slightly. “im bored as fuk. U wanna bust out?”

“After Vaughn’s class,” Quincy typed in reply. Mr. Vaughn always seemed to notice when he’d gone missing. It had saved his ass a few times, but usually, they’d just found him skipping in one of the bathrooms.

A moment later, he received the reply: a simple “K c u then :)”

Quincy didn’t know how Rainer did it, but he always brightened his day. It was funny; most people thought of Rainer as a thug. Sometimes even Quincy was afraid and wanted to duck behind something, truthfully. But after he’d caught a glimpse at Rainer’s home life… well, things had changed, for the better. It was only when they were alone together, but sometimes Rainer was sweet.

After a while, the bell rang, and Quincy wound his way to class as quickly as he could. Mr. Vaughn’s class was one of the few classes he wasn’t scared to death. Most of the other teachers looked the other way, but Mr. Vaughn didn’t, and that immediately made him Quincy’s favourite. As he entered the room, though, Mr. Vaughn stopped him. That wasn’t a common occurrence…

“Quincy,” the man said, “I wanted to speak to you before class.” Quincy nodded his acquiescence, and they moved to Mr. Vaughn’s desk. “I know that the other teachers… turn a blind eye, sometimes. I’ve spoken with the principal numerous times, and he claims that you are not at any real risk, or that these altercations are accidents. Unfortunately, I haven’t been able to change his mind. I wanted to invite you, though, to an afterschool group I’ll be sponsoring starting next week. For kids like you.”

“Kids like me?” Quincy asked, his voice a little doubting. “Mr. Vaughn, I’m the only gay kid within a ten-mile radius.”

Mr. Vaughn chuckled. “It’s for kids who feel… overlooked. Forgotten. Listen, just think about it. Consider giving it a try. If you don’t like it once, you don’t have to come again.”

“Yeah. Okay. Sure, I’ll think about it,” Quincy lied. He wouldn’t have minded going, but he didn’t think Rainer would want to go. It would be tough convincing him, too, Quincy thought to himself as he flopped into his desk. Oh well. It wasn’t like he was looking toward going to some afterschool program, anyway. From the sounds of it, he’d be labelled as even more of a loser, and he didn’t think he could take much more abuse than he already did.

The moment Quincy could escape Phillips High, he did. He headed straight to the diner to find that Rainer was already waiting for him there, dressed in typical baggy shirt and jeans, a silver chain hanging from his neck.

“Hey, Rain,” Quincy said. What else could he say? The very moment Rainer looked at him, his piercing brown eyes had spotted the new mark on his face.

“Who did that to you?” Rainer asked, his voice sounding angry. Quincy chanced a glance at him to see that his face was already contorted with rage. It was heart-warming, but Rainer was pushing prison time at this point, and Quincy didn’t think he’d be kept alive if Rainer got put behind bars.

“It’s fine,” Quincy lied.

“Quin—”

“Really. Please. Just leave it.”

Rainer growled, and that was when Quincy knew he was fucked. Rainer was angry more often than not, but when he growled, the shit was about to hit the fan. He proved that a second later when he grabbed Quincy’s arm and started dragging him to the bathroom, despite Quincy’s struggle to get away.

Quincy squeaked when he was thrown bodily against the wall, and Rainer’s hand gripped his chin firmly.

“Who. Hit you?” he asked, his voice deadly quiet. When Quincy closed his eyes and refused to respond, he continued, “Was it Kaiden? It was, wasn’t it?”

“Rain…”

“I knew it! That bastard…” Rainer released Quincy and stalked off toward the sinks, muttering to himself. Quincy rubbed at his sore chin, frowning. Rainer didn’t even seem to notice that he was here now… Even Rainer forgot about him sometimes.

Quincy sighed and headed back home, letting the bathroom door slam shut behind him. Maybe Mr. Vaughn’s suggestion wasn’t such a bad idea… Maybe Rainer would remember him more often if he wasn’t around so much.

The Forgotten Generation: Chapter One

The Forgotten Generation
Chapter One: Shelley's a Mess

“We deal in the darkness, scavenging for any shred of hope to cling to, like vultures starving for a future. We are the lost causes and the hopeless cases. We are a group of teenagers needing a place to fit in. We are the Forgotten Generation.”

--found in the journal of Shelley Underwood, aged 18.

It was a normal day for Shelley Underwood. Her hair was messy, brown tangles framing her pale face; her bangs fell into her eyes, which were rimmed in thick, smudged eyeliner. Her bony shoulders were buried beneath a ratty blue sweatshirt, which was frayed at the cuffs that she so frequently pulled at. As she walked through the halls of Phillips High School, headed to the next prison cell of the day, she bit her bottom lip. The action made some people look thoughtful, or cute, or alluring; it made Shelley look neurotic. As she slipped into a desk, her bag dropping to the ground with a muted thud, she coughed weakly and suppressed a shiver.

“Oh, imagine that,” one of the girls remarked, smoothing her thick blonde hair with her manicured fingers. “Shelley’s wearing the same clothes as yesterday. And the day before that. And the day before that…” The group of girls she spoke to giggled, covering their candy-pink lips with equally fake nails. Maybe some girls would have defended themselves, but Shelley just sunk into her seat and dropped her eyes to the ground.

“Don’ le’ them bother you,” a dark-skinned girl to her right said kindly, her accent thick.

Shelley cast her friend Fayola a semi-grateful look, but she still pulled self-consciously at her old sweatshirt. “They’re right,” she murmured quietly, her eyes back on the linoleum tiles.

“God will determine that.”

Shelley sighed and chewed at one of her nails, which were yellowish beneath a thick coat of chipped burgundy polish. The brittle nail broke, and tried to spit it out as discreetly as she could. Despite her attempt, one of the girls nearby gave her a look of disgust and opened her mouth. Luckily, the teacher walked in before she could say anything.

Mr. Vaughn, her fourth period English teacher, was a god, at least in Shelley’s mind. The youngest teacher on campus, he had a way with words that would make even girls like Madeline Nelson stop texting long enough to listen to a lecture (or at least pretend to). Sighing pleasantly, Shelley leaned onto her desk and caught his stern gaze over his thin, rectangular spectacles. He didn’t look at her long, of course, but Shelley still tried to delude herself as she watched the way his mouth formed words. Her brain wandered, imagining how those words would feel formed against her skin… She sighed again, staring contentedly as she daydreamed, one hand propping up her face.

“Shelley,” he was saying, and it sounded so sweet. “Shelley… Shelley…” She smiled softly, wanting to be able to say his name in reply. “Shelley!”

Shelley started, her wide eyes blinking quickly. “U-um, yes?” she stuttered. Suddenly, Mr. Vaughn seemed very close, and Shelley pulled at her sleeves to hide her arms.

“Shelley, you’ve been having these instances all week. Is there something you need to talk about?”

“I—no—everything’s fine,” she said quickly. “I’ve just… not been feeling well.”

His eyes softened, and Shelley melted. The expression of concern on his face was so cute… “I’ll give you a nurse’s pass,” he said.

Shelley’s eyes widened again. “N-no, I’m fine,” she insisted.

“Nonsense,” he said, already scribbling on a slip of paper. He thrust the paper into her hands, and she couldn’t exactly say no. Frowning, Shelley stood, pulling at the hem of her sweatshirt, and started off. “Shelley,” Mr. Vaughn said, making her halt and turn. “Take your things.” She obeyed, gathering her worn backpack and the notebook she hadn’t even opened yet.

Shelley stepped into the courtyard a few moments later, squinting against the sun. She couldn’t go to the nurse, but she didn’t want Mr. Vaughn to know that, so she headed to a stairwell on the other side of campus. It was always deserted, since the building hadn’t been used for years, and she usually spent her lunch or free period there reading.

Today, though, it wasn’t deserted. A thin boy was leaned against the wall, his face stained with blood. Shelley stopped, but her shoes scuffling against the ground had already caught his attention.

“…hey,” he said after a while.

Shelley swallowed, her hands itching to tug at her sweatshirt. “Hi…”

“You should probably go.”

“What’s wrong with you?” she asked. She recognized that look of resignation; that was the look an outcast wore.

He pointed to himself. “Fag,” he said simply.

Shelley nodded, moving to sit next to him. “Want my nurse’s pass?” She extended it to him, and he took it, brushing blonde bangs from his face to read the note.

“I don’t think the nurse’ll believe that my name’s Shelley, no matter how queer I am,” he said, his voice dull. Shelley liked it, though; it was different. Unique.

“What is it, then? Your name.”

“…I’m Quincy.”

Shelley smiled. It was small, but it wasn’t fake, and that was surprising even to her. “It’s nice to meet you, Quincy,” she said genuinely.

Quincy smiled. It wasn’t much of a smile; he barely turned up the corner of his lips. Still, though, it was welcome. “You too,” he said quietly.

An awkward moment passed then. Shelley didn’t know what she should say, or what she could say. Whether he was gay or not, Quincy was still a boy, and Shelley knew what to say around boys even less than she knew what to say around girls.

Eventually, Quincy said, “I should clean up…”

“Yeah. Yeah, that sounds good,” Shelley agreed, watching as he stood and dusted off his jeans. “I’ll see you around?”

Quincy cast a wry smile over his shoulder. “I doubt it.”

With that, he left Shelley to herself. Alone, she pulled out her library copy of Jane Eyre. She’d read it nearly seven times now, but it never seemed to get old. Sometimes she wished she could be more like Jane, who was so often chastised for her outspokenness, but she never could get a quick, witty remark to leave her throat. Instead, she’d just stare at the ground. But when she read… when she read, she could at least pretend for a while.

The school day dragged on. Shelley did her best to avoid being anywhere near Mr. Vaughn’s classroom, going so far as to take the long way to her last class of the day, Anatomy. Luckily, she didn’t have any other classes with Fayola, so she didn’t need to face that barrage of questions until tomorrow. Unfortunately, she did have her eighth period with Madeline Nelson, the undisputed Queen of Phillips High. She may have only been a junior, but she had the whole school wrapped around her perfectly manicured finger.

“Move it, Stick,” Madeline said coldly, brushing past Shelley. One of the girls she was with laughed and told her what a “good one” that was while Shelley flopped into her seat.

She couldn’t wait to get out of this hell…

The Forgotten Generation: Prologue

So yeah. Of *course* this is a new story. XD
The chapters (and especially the prologue) are rather short, but I like them this way. I think it will give more of a chance to see each character individually.

The Forgotten Generation
Prologue

Madeline Brynn Nelson was Phillips High School’s own beauty queen. She had flawless skin, clear blue eyes and cascading black hair. Her figure was perfect, and her outfits were always flawless. Immaculate. Any outsider would say she had a perfect life.

Shelley Paige Underwood, on the other end of the spectrum, was occasionally called, by the nicer inhabitants of Parksville, “pretty…ish.” More likely, one would hear her referred to as bookish, or loner, or scrawny. On her worst days, people whispered about how grungy she looked; this look she sported was always chalked up to her being some sort of freak. Any outsider would say she just didn’t try hard enough to fit in.

Fayola Tanisha Iherjirika, Shelley’s close friend—possibly her only friend—was in a similar situation. Every day, she wore some new colourful and tribal dress, wearing her lineage with pride. In this rural town, her dark skin and strong accent marked her as the odd one out. It was said that she didn’t know her place. Any outsider would say that she might as well go back to Africa, for all the lack of American patriotism she showed.

Octavian Rainer Thornton, better known as Rainer, was yet another “freak.” Labelled as a jock his first year of high school, he wasn’t known for any shows of kindness. Instead, he settled his disputes with his fists—or, if you really got on his bad side, a switchblade. He spent more time suspended than he did in the classroom. Any outsider would say that he was a meathead wasting his life.

Quincy Parker Zoric, his best friend, was entirely different. He was soft-spoken and shy. Whenever his “bodyguard” wasn’t around, Quincy spent most of his time being shoved into garbage bins, lockers, or dark closets for being a queer. That was the sort of thing that happened to gays in a town of Bible-thumpers. Any outsider would say that he had it coming

These five students came from five different backgrounds, five different lives, five different homes, social statuses, classes, religions. They were five different people who never had the chance to see the bright light of day. These are their stories.

Don't You Hate it When...

Something upsets you, but you can't say anything, because you'll feel like you're kicking a puppy? And in the end, you still end up feeling like the villain.

Yeah.