• Floundering aimlessly was a hobby of mine ever since Mr. Kimels decided that he wanted another T/A to guard me and make sure that I wouldn't "harass the other kids in junior high. Like I even touched a hair on their heads. Their precious little golden hairs that struck people as a stark contrast to my coal-black locks. Bromville, the city of tumbleweed and cowboy-themed plazas, all for show because some random guy in the public departments decided that they needed to "up their game" and renovate into a Wild Western style. I snorted thinking about it. Felt like forever since I had a good whiff of the smokes ever since Nedrick, the stern-looking T/A with a buttoned-up sweater vest suited loosely, got all clingy on me despite my constant bouts of disapproval. Very, very audible paroxysms. But he still followed me wherever he went, like I was his master or something stupid like that.
    Anyways, we were walking down the courtyard when a shadow overhead plopped a big splat of white all over my newly ironed shirt. I immediately groaned. It was not a good sign to be wiping bird poop off your pressed shirt in the beginning of the day. The sky was crisp and the fields were made for running, but here I was, scrubbing away, with good ol' Nedrick behind me, staring at me with those monotonous eyes. I stared back, saying, "Watch'u lookin' at? Don't got nothin' better ta do?" I cackled at his flinch when I pulled off his glasses for inspection. "Aren't you a richie? I mean, lookin' at these gold-rimmed glasses makes me think you are, an' I'm not a guy who's bad with prices," I say, but Nedrick only shrugged, so I continued: "Why you here in this sun-uv-a town when you can be at God-knows-where doing God-knows what?"
    We exited the bathroom doors and went to the cafeteria while avoiding the swooping birds above, those evil little things. Nedrick shaded his grey eyes from the scorching rays and tagged behind me, ever the loyal one. "You still havn't answered me, you know? What'chu doin' in this hellhole anyways?" I inquired again, kicking the dirt beneath my worn-out sneakers. "I mean, man, do you even talk?" During this whole trip, from the poop fiasco and to the bathroom and here, he hadn't said even one word to me, like I was poison to talk to. But now he kicked the dirt with me, dirtying his shiny polished leather shoes, the ones that you always stared at but knew you wouldn't get, even if it meant working summers at a time for it. I grimaced as the dust coated the shoe. Nedrick opened his mouth and finally said in his calm, soothing voice, "I was born in the Cleary family, the owners of the once-famous chocolate company, until one day another group called Ghiradelli came in and stole the business, leaving us with no other choice but to work elsewhere." His feet stopped kicking, and I scratched my head. "Chocolate, huh? What I wouldn't give for a piece of that. You're a b*****d, you know that Ned? Bringing up something so grand as cho-co-late, which you been eat'n for all your life," I sighed, "Now that's just not fair."
    Nedrick chuckled as we finally alighted a few steps and made it to the cafeteria, looking for leftovers that hopefully weren't hash or some other starchy thing that Mr. Kimels and his crew thought was cool and "rad." Even adults can make fools of themselves. It made me want to cry the way they ran things. If I were president of public operations, Bromville wouldn't look like this dilapidated, gaudy forsaken town.
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    will be updated, but I am utterly sleeeeeepy right now so brb for dunno how long, sorry XC