Post by Maybe Might Not Be Moneybags on Nov 29, 2008 17:56:37 GMT -5
Because this board needs another active story besides Balto's.
Hugh in Catholic School
Chapter 1: The best laid plans of Mice and the Irish
fillerThere’s being late to school, and then there’s my first day at St Mark’s. My parents thought they had it all planned out. Our move from the Irish countryside to New York City would consist of getting on the plane at seven at night, flying to LaGuardia Airport while letting the time difference help us arrive at around 9-at-night-ish.
fillerThen we would go to our new apartment, get settled in, and go to bed. We’d wake up the next day, my parents would go to their new jobs, and I’d head to my new school, hopefully all with minimal jetlag.
fillerUnfortunately, their plan didn’t take flight delays into account. It also didn’t take the possibility that our transportation company would bail out on us. It also didn’t account for the three unplanned stopovers. Between all of that, we arrived at our new apartment at around two in the morning. I just crashed and woke up an hour into the school day. Then I took the metro (subway, you Americans would say) and it was slow as HELL. I finally got to St. Mark’s highschool at 10 o’clock.
fillerI’m getting ahead of myself, though. I’m Hugh Wilson. My dad moved to Ireland from California twenty years ago, married my mom, and my mom had me. About a year ago, my dad decided to move the family back to the land of opportunity, and a year later, here I was, three periods later.
fillerLooks-wise, I got the best of both the gene pools. I got the wavy, no maintenance, surfer California hair, the extreme California tan and the vampire-esque Irish skin tone had merged, leaving me on neither extreme. I had piercing blue eyes, but no idea where I got them, because my entire family either had green or brown. I got the slim, athletic Irish physic and the accent. I didn’t plan on ever getting rid of the accent, because according to Andre, a former neighbor who had moved to America in fourth grade whom I kept in contact with, girl really dug the accent.
fillerGot a good picture of me? If you do, good for you, if you don’t, well too bad, because I’m never going to talk about myself that much again
fillerI burst through the front doors, hastily apologized to the woman at the front desk for my lateness, and got a copy of my schedule.
filler“Ok, I’ve got English, class 2B.” I said to myself as I looked for the period that corresponded with the current time. I noticed with dismay that I was already three periods into the day. Way to make a good impression, Hugh.
fillerIt took me quite a bit to find the classroom; the classrooms didn’t seem to be ordered in any real way. When I finally found 2B, it was next to 4D.
fillerI sort of snuck a glance through the window on the door, and saw everyone was doing work from their textbooks; maybe I could just kind of sneak in, apologize to the teacher, and take my seat.
fillerNo such luck. I opened the door and the teacher turned from the blackboard.
“Ah, Mr. Wilson!” He shouted. “The man arrives at last!”
fillerEveryone looked up at me. So much for sneaking in.
“Class, this is Hugh Wilson. He’s from Ireland, and very, very jetlagged, I assume?” I nodded.
“Well, we’re only reading Benjamin Franklin’s autobiography, so if you get really tired, feel free to doze off.”
fillerWow, finally a teacher whose attitude I liked. He didn’t look old enough to be a teacher. St. Mark’s was a Catholic uniform school, but looking at this guy, it was clear the dress code didn’t extend to the teachers. The guy’s hair was pretty long, almost near his shoulders. If I had to guess, I’d say He looked about 25, absolute max. He wore criminally faded jeans and this weird sweatshirt that was made of… Hell, I couldn’t tell you, all I could tell was it was really shiny. It didn’t help that the class was lit with those piercing bright white lights. His sweatshirt was open a bit at the top, and I could see he was wearing a purple T-shirt underneath. All in all, it served to make him look like one of those acoustic guitar freaks.
fillerOn of the girls in the class raised her hand,
“Sir, can I doze off as well?” She asked. The teacher chuckled.
“No, Stella. What you can do is help Mr. Wilson here catch up with the rest of the class. Hugh, just go sit by Stella. I’m Mr. Sunn, by the way. Welcome to St. Mark’s.”
fillerI wound my way through the rows of desks to the girl who had spoken out. The two desks next to her were both empty, I arbitrarily choose the one to her left.
fillerThe class went back to reading the autobiography, while Stella introduced herself to me.
“Stella LaCrois.” She said. “I’m one-fourth French, before you ask.”
fillerStella LaCrois had short blonde hair that ended abruptly by the bottom of her ear. This combined with her longish face and dark green eyes would have convinced me she was a boy, were it not for her clothes. She had violated the school uniform in about five different ways, but it looked good. The white undershirt/black overshirt combo that both sexes had to wear was reserved, with the right sleeve of the undershirt longer than the overshirt, with the opposite setup on the left arm. Girls at St. Mark’s usually had to wear long skirts, but Stella was wearing short pants that ended around her knees. They looked pretty roomy. The patch, which was normally required to be worn over the heart, was instead on her left shoulder.
“Hey, Stella.” I said “What’s the deal with this autobiography?”
“Well, it goes kind of like this. Franklin thought he was a big shit, so he wrote an autobiography that he pretend was a letter to his son. I dunno why anyone would buy that, though, the dick just blabs about how great he is for the entire thing. He even says ‘read all about my life and then use it as a model for your own’ just in a less dick-ish way.”
“What don’t like the founding fathers?’ I asked.
“White Trash.”
“Interesting perspective.” I chuckled. You couldn’t say that St. Mark’s didn’t have interesting people, at least. “Next Question, what’s the deal with the Uniform?”
fillerShe looked confused, than realized what I was talking about. “Oh, right. See, my Dad’s a fashion designer, right?” I nodded. “Good. He designed the school uniform back when he went here. It used to be a lot stricter, but he came up with a design that was more comfortable, but still conservative enough to keep the nuns happy.” Wow, the school had been run by nuns. “These days, my dad keeps trying out new spins on the uniform, and he makes me wear them for the week to see how they feel.”
“They just let him send you to school in random variations of the uniform?”
“Yeah, they were so happy with his first redesign of the uniform that he could send me to school in just a bra and thong with the patch tied to them and they’d probably O.K it.”
fillerI laughed at the ridiculousness of the idea, and then I imagined Stella in a thong and sort of stared off into space. Bad move. Stella figured out what I was imagining and punched me in the side.
“Hey, you’re supposed to wait until you’ve known me for at least a week before you start getting ideas.”
“Sorry, won’t happen again for at least an hour.” I joked. Stella smiled and dropped it. Thank god for humor.
fillerStella went on about her dad. “He divorced my mom a few years ago because she was an ass, and then a year later realized he was gay. I think that’s when he really got into designing, before he worked at some god-awful office job. Nowadays, he’s pretty famous and-“
“Holy crap. It just clicked for me.” I interrupted. “Fashion design, LaCrois. Your dad is Dwayne LaCrois!”
“Yeah, how’d you know?”
“Back in Ireland I had some cousins who were freaking fangirls of his. Wore the clothes he designed exclusively.”
fillerStella rolled her eyes and sighed loudly. “God, my dad has fangirls.”
“Not just any fangirls, IRISH Fangirls. They explode on contact with sensible people.” I said.
fillerStella laughed. “You know what? I like you.”
“I like you too.” I said, “Friends?” I asked, offering her my hand.
“Half Friends.” She said when she took it.
“Half Friends?”
“Yep. We talk and all, but you aren’t hanging out at my house or anything ‘til you prove yourself a bit more.”
“Fine, just make sure to tell your Dad to design me the cutest sweatshirt so I can rub it in my cousins’ faces when I go back.” I joked. I was going to have a ball with the whole gay-fashion-daddy thing.
“Ok, I’ll ask him.” Stella played along, “but you have to pay full price for it.”
“Oh c’mon, at least give me a discount.” I begged.
“Why?”
filler“For sheer sexiness!” I shouted, flexing my arms as I said it. After this last joke, Stella burst into uncontrollable laughter. My ego was hurt.
“Sorry about laughing.” She said when she had finally stopped. “It’s just that it was hilarious, don’t get your ego all bruised or anything.”
fillerI was about to say more, but our conversation was interrupted by Mr. Sunn. “Stella, tell you Dad to design me something and I might not give you both detention for talking so much in class.” He said with a smile.
filler“Great idea, Mr. Sunn.” I said, doing one of those refined golf-claps. “Put us in a room together for two hours because we were talking too much. Wonderful.”
“Damn you.” Mr. Sunn growled as the bell rang. “Get to lunch already.”
fillerStella and I got our textbooks that we didn’t use and exited the class with the crowd, thus ending my first (but really my third) period in my new school. It had been fun, but lunch would be much more eventful.
******
So that's it. If it seems boring to you right now, wait until we get into the later chapters, fighting, conspiracies, and other stuff shall ensue.
Hugh in Catholic School
Chapter 1: The best laid plans of Mice and the Irish
fillerThere’s being late to school, and then there’s my first day at St Mark’s. My parents thought they had it all planned out. Our move from the Irish countryside to New York City would consist of getting on the plane at seven at night, flying to LaGuardia Airport while letting the time difference help us arrive at around 9-at-night-ish.
fillerThen we would go to our new apartment, get settled in, and go to bed. We’d wake up the next day, my parents would go to their new jobs, and I’d head to my new school, hopefully all with minimal jetlag.
fillerUnfortunately, their plan didn’t take flight delays into account. It also didn’t take the possibility that our transportation company would bail out on us. It also didn’t account for the three unplanned stopovers. Between all of that, we arrived at our new apartment at around two in the morning. I just crashed and woke up an hour into the school day. Then I took the metro (subway, you Americans would say) and it was slow as HELL. I finally got to St. Mark’s highschool at 10 o’clock.
fillerI’m getting ahead of myself, though. I’m Hugh Wilson. My dad moved to Ireland from California twenty years ago, married my mom, and my mom had me. About a year ago, my dad decided to move the family back to the land of opportunity, and a year later, here I was, three periods later.
fillerLooks-wise, I got the best of both the gene pools. I got the wavy, no maintenance, surfer California hair, the extreme California tan and the vampire-esque Irish skin tone had merged, leaving me on neither extreme. I had piercing blue eyes, but no idea where I got them, because my entire family either had green or brown. I got the slim, athletic Irish physic and the accent. I didn’t plan on ever getting rid of the accent, because according to Andre, a former neighbor who had moved to America in fourth grade whom I kept in contact with, girl really dug the accent.
fillerGot a good picture of me? If you do, good for you, if you don’t, well too bad, because I’m never going to talk about myself that much again
fillerI burst through the front doors, hastily apologized to the woman at the front desk for my lateness, and got a copy of my schedule.
filler“Ok, I’ve got English, class 2B.” I said to myself as I looked for the period that corresponded with the current time. I noticed with dismay that I was already three periods into the day. Way to make a good impression, Hugh.
fillerIt took me quite a bit to find the classroom; the classrooms didn’t seem to be ordered in any real way. When I finally found 2B, it was next to 4D.
fillerI sort of snuck a glance through the window on the door, and saw everyone was doing work from their textbooks; maybe I could just kind of sneak in, apologize to the teacher, and take my seat.
fillerNo such luck. I opened the door and the teacher turned from the blackboard.
“Ah, Mr. Wilson!” He shouted. “The man arrives at last!”
fillerEveryone looked up at me. So much for sneaking in.
“Class, this is Hugh Wilson. He’s from Ireland, and very, very jetlagged, I assume?” I nodded.
“Well, we’re only reading Benjamin Franklin’s autobiography, so if you get really tired, feel free to doze off.”
fillerWow, finally a teacher whose attitude I liked. He didn’t look old enough to be a teacher. St. Mark’s was a Catholic uniform school, but looking at this guy, it was clear the dress code didn’t extend to the teachers. The guy’s hair was pretty long, almost near his shoulders. If I had to guess, I’d say He looked about 25, absolute max. He wore criminally faded jeans and this weird sweatshirt that was made of… Hell, I couldn’t tell you, all I could tell was it was really shiny. It didn’t help that the class was lit with those piercing bright white lights. His sweatshirt was open a bit at the top, and I could see he was wearing a purple T-shirt underneath. All in all, it served to make him look like one of those acoustic guitar freaks.
fillerOn of the girls in the class raised her hand,
“Sir, can I doze off as well?” She asked. The teacher chuckled.
“No, Stella. What you can do is help Mr. Wilson here catch up with the rest of the class. Hugh, just go sit by Stella. I’m Mr. Sunn, by the way. Welcome to St. Mark’s.”
fillerI wound my way through the rows of desks to the girl who had spoken out. The two desks next to her were both empty, I arbitrarily choose the one to her left.
fillerThe class went back to reading the autobiography, while Stella introduced herself to me.
“Stella LaCrois.” She said. “I’m one-fourth French, before you ask.”
fillerStella LaCrois had short blonde hair that ended abruptly by the bottom of her ear. This combined with her longish face and dark green eyes would have convinced me she was a boy, were it not for her clothes. She had violated the school uniform in about five different ways, but it looked good. The white undershirt/black overshirt combo that both sexes had to wear was reserved, with the right sleeve of the undershirt longer than the overshirt, with the opposite setup on the left arm. Girls at St. Mark’s usually had to wear long skirts, but Stella was wearing short pants that ended around her knees. They looked pretty roomy. The patch, which was normally required to be worn over the heart, was instead on her left shoulder.
“Hey, Stella.” I said “What’s the deal with this autobiography?”
“Well, it goes kind of like this. Franklin thought he was a big shit, so he wrote an autobiography that he pretend was a letter to his son. I dunno why anyone would buy that, though, the dick just blabs about how great he is for the entire thing. He even says ‘read all about my life and then use it as a model for your own’ just in a less dick-ish way.”
“What don’t like the founding fathers?’ I asked.
“White Trash.”
“Interesting perspective.” I chuckled. You couldn’t say that St. Mark’s didn’t have interesting people, at least. “Next Question, what’s the deal with the Uniform?”
fillerShe looked confused, than realized what I was talking about. “Oh, right. See, my Dad’s a fashion designer, right?” I nodded. “Good. He designed the school uniform back when he went here. It used to be a lot stricter, but he came up with a design that was more comfortable, but still conservative enough to keep the nuns happy.” Wow, the school had been run by nuns. “These days, my dad keeps trying out new spins on the uniform, and he makes me wear them for the week to see how they feel.”
“They just let him send you to school in random variations of the uniform?”
“Yeah, they were so happy with his first redesign of the uniform that he could send me to school in just a bra and thong with the patch tied to them and they’d probably O.K it.”
fillerI laughed at the ridiculousness of the idea, and then I imagined Stella in a thong and sort of stared off into space. Bad move. Stella figured out what I was imagining and punched me in the side.
“Hey, you’re supposed to wait until you’ve known me for at least a week before you start getting ideas.”
“Sorry, won’t happen again for at least an hour.” I joked. Stella smiled and dropped it. Thank god for humor.
fillerStella went on about her dad. “He divorced my mom a few years ago because she was an ass, and then a year later realized he was gay. I think that’s when he really got into designing, before he worked at some god-awful office job. Nowadays, he’s pretty famous and-“
“Holy crap. It just clicked for me.” I interrupted. “Fashion design, LaCrois. Your dad is Dwayne LaCrois!”
“Yeah, how’d you know?”
“Back in Ireland I had some cousins who were freaking fangirls of his. Wore the clothes he designed exclusively.”
fillerStella rolled her eyes and sighed loudly. “God, my dad has fangirls.”
“Not just any fangirls, IRISH Fangirls. They explode on contact with sensible people.” I said.
fillerStella laughed. “You know what? I like you.”
“I like you too.” I said, “Friends?” I asked, offering her my hand.
“Half Friends.” She said when she took it.
“Half Friends?”
“Yep. We talk and all, but you aren’t hanging out at my house or anything ‘til you prove yourself a bit more.”
“Fine, just make sure to tell your Dad to design me the cutest sweatshirt so I can rub it in my cousins’ faces when I go back.” I joked. I was going to have a ball with the whole gay-fashion-daddy thing.
“Ok, I’ll ask him.” Stella played along, “but you have to pay full price for it.”
“Oh c’mon, at least give me a discount.” I begged.
“Why?”
filler“For sheer sexiness!” I shouted, flexing my arms as I said it. After this last joke, Stella burst into uncontrollable laughter. My ego was hurt.
“Sorry about laughing.” She said when she had finally stopped. “It’s just that it was hilarious, don’t get your ego all bruised or anything.”
fillerI was about to say more, but our conversation was interrupted by Mr. Sunn. “Stella, tell you Dad to design me something and I might not give you both detention for talking so much in class.” He said with a smile.
filler“Great idea, Mr. Sunn.” I said, doing one of those refined golf-claps. “Put us in a room together for two hours because we were talking too much. Wonderful.”
“Damn you.” Mr. Sunn growled as the bell rang. “Get to lunch already.”
fillerStella and I got our textbooks that we didn’t use and exited the class with the crowd, thus ending my first (but really my third) period in my new school. It had been fun, but lunch would be much more eventful.
******
So that's it. If it seems boring to you right now, wait until we get into the later chapters, fighting, conspiracies, and other stuff shall ensue.
