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sapphirecrook · 1 year ago

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[STORY] Call Me Fang - Chapter 2-1: The Slow Start

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I realized these chapters are a bit meaty at like, 5k words a pop, so I'm splitting them up. To help avoid indigestion

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It is 8 AM.

The demo is finished.

I even did something of my own.

And I sent the file to LJ.

More importantly, I’ve realized that I have forgotten my own name.

In fact, there’s a few quaint gaps in my memory. Quaint is the polite term for ‘this is going to be something else later’ and nothing else. How can I vividly remember my own room, yet not my name? I still remember the swipe pattern for my phone, after all.

The ceiling here has been nice to look at, at least.

This bed wasn’t a bad sleep either. Despite the hour taken to figure out how to sleep with wings.

It’s strange. I’m alone in this room, yet it feels like my body and my mind are separate people. Like I could just have a conversation with myself. I could spit a diss track at myself and be at once proud and insulted.

“You tell me what the deal is.”

In some weird way, I expected an answer. From myself. Body moving on its own, rebutting. Would be preferable to the silence.

Buzz buzz.

Phone time. It’s been buzzing since I woke up.

Is it weird to get dressed and get back in bed? And if you shower too? And spend like, ten minutes figuring out how hair dye even works?

Or is it the right amount of dramatics?

Let’s see what everyone is whining about.

Luckily, I know a sneaky trick that lets me scope out notifications without sending ‘read’ updates, so nobody knows I’m looking. If it applies in this world, that’d be a nice bonus.

Hm.

It only works for like, a few messages at a time. Guess I gotta take the full plunge to see what all this is about.

# Trish (Friend/Bandmate? She/Her)

> T: “YOOOOOOOOOOO”

> T: “We’re SENIORS” > T: :graduation::crown:

> T: “We should meet” > T: “after school, I mean” > T: “hit up the mall”

> T: “The things I gotta show.”

> T: “Lemme know when you’re up, sleepyhead”

> T: :zzz:

# Reed (Friend/Bandmate? He/Him)

> R: :partypopper:

> R: “happy new schoolyear”

> R: “dont let the government bugs bite you”

# DINOGANG (Friend Group?)

> St: “No loitering, I have got to talk toe veryone”

> Sa: “soon the winter current goes away and we stop being forcefully melted”

> Sa: :pray::snowflake:

# NEW YEAR NEW WORM DRAMA (Band)

> T: “When’s the first session!” > R: “that’s fang’s deal”

> T: “I’ll score the room.”

> T: “FANG ROOM” > R: “whenever you’re ready”

# LJ (Talent Scout? She/Her)

> F: :demo-final-final-final2.0(1)(2)(3).snd::fighting-gardens.snd:

> L: “Mhm. If you can bring that to the audition, you’re in.” > L: “This has promise.”

> L: “That’s not an excuse to get lazy. You need to work on it. But this is work in the right direction.”

> L: “Remember. Sunday evening. Be there.”

There’s no better way to feel like you don’t belong than this. Standing in the crosshairs of conversations. Alright, enough self pity. I have a whole day of pretending to get out of the way, and at least two to four friends who need to be deftly led astray. No need to make anyone uncomfortable or unsettled until I’ve more insight.

Naser’s probably leaving soon. He said like, 8:30 last night? If I don’t catch this ride, I’ll have to find my own way, and the risk of being late becomes exponential.

At least I’m dressed and set up to go. I am unsure how punctual Fang is, so I’m just going to insist I’m cleaning up by act if anyone asks. What a pain to find the schedules and whatnot. Whoever Ms. Roberts is, I feel sorry Fang felt confident she could mangle the print out like that.

School’s got a decent app at least.

Plunging time.

Battle plan: Pour every ounce into direct confrontations, coast through classes. Keep exposures direct, focused, fast. Nod along to pad for time.

May every version of dino god stand by me on this perilous journey into the lands I left behind. Of teen drama, espionage and social invisibility.

8:50 AM

The black dinosaur had done his best to prepare, yet now it all felt so real. The light hearted comments, the parental praise, nothing but faint wisps in his mind. Now he had to actually do it. Actually be Class President. Unlike his clubs, it just had that aura of officialness that cannot be easily shrugged.

Naser sighed. Naomi sat with him, just inside the meeting room. A few had gathered outside, not enough to start. And starting early wasn’t an option anyway. So, small talk it was.

“Fang didn’t say a thing the whole ride over.” His voice had a distinct low to it, betraying his multifaceted concerns. “Must be new year shivers. Or that they’re an hour early.” Naomi’s ever blossoming optimism spilled to cover his up. “Yeah… that was a bad idea. They’re probably pacing around angrily.”

Naser couldn’t know that Fang had taken this chance to simply examine the school. Easier to scout ahead when there’s not an entire student body judging you.

“So, Naser. Mind explaining how you’re going to avoid falling apart? Like I said, it’s a lot.” HIs eyes rolled as he got a cocky smirk. He’d thought of that one. “Says the one who is trying to find pre-med classes to take. And what do you have in your room again? Sewing equipment, electronic gizmos, and you’re in Reed’s L&L group. Oh, how could I forget, we’re both in the Yearbook Committee.” as Naser lists them off, Naomi grows more defeated. “Did I mention the finals yet?”

“I… I just feel like I can handle it.” She hugs herself tightly, eyes sliding to the side, away from Naser. “And so do I! And I’m not saying you should cut back on what you love doing. You’ve always been on top of everything. Just, extend that mindset to others. I might be younger, but I’m not stupid!” Naser’s smile and brief chuckle seems to diffuse Naomi’s sense of screwing up instantly.

Figuring she might as well joke it off, she replied with a smile. “At least you have your campaign slogan.” Before he could formulate an answer, he felt something on his chest. “Oh, excuse me.” Naser reached down, into his jacket. His phone quietly buzzed in his hand like a hurt bee. “Mom’s calling.” “Should’ve known she’d call on the first day.” Was the snickered answer.

“Yes, mom, what is it?” His face betrayed that this conversation was a repeat of many others. And still not exactly appreciated.

“Naser, are you driving?” Pinching the bridge of his nose, he endured what he knew was coming. “No, mom, I’m at school for the first student council meeting of the year.” “Ah, it is so good to hear things are working out. We are still very proud of you. And Fatima is…”

Before she could finish, the mother was interrupted. Naomi listened along, even from a distance. “They’re at school. I drove Fang over personally.” Naser spoke, like a teacher teaching words.

His efforts went unnoticed. He never knew if his mother didn’t care, or simply didn’t notice. “Very good. Remember to be nice to her. Senior year can be very demanding. She needs all the support she can get.”

“Fang’s grades have never been that much of a problem.” Frustration began to build, his brow tensing.

“And remember to sleep on time. You and her are still growing, you need the rest. A Class President has standards.” “When have I ever gone to bed late?” His answer dripped with a curious mixture of being defensive and trying to play it off coy.

“I am just making sure.”

Naomi suddenly shoulders in and yells into the mic. “Hi, miss el-Samad!” Her call had successfully diffused Naser’s growing tension.

“Nice to hear from you too, Naomi. Remember, only one friend is at home at a time, Naser.”

“As if that would ever be a problem.” He muttered under his breath.

“And remember. We will be home in two weeks. Your father can explain it better, it is some kind of interference. It is eating into his hours and he barely gets his sleep. He needs the support.” “Oh, I picked it up too! On my dad’s old radio. If it gets much stronger it might even interfere with small-scale local signals!”

“Interesting. Ah, you two remind me of us. One is all talk, the other all walk.”

“Yes, mother, very exciting. But that meeting is coming up and I don’t think it’s a PTA night.” With composure he twisted the call to an end.

“Goodbye, Naser.”

“Goodbye, mom.” Naser finally shuts off the call and lets out a deep sigh of relief. Despite their frequency, each one of them seemed to just get to him. “Us, a couple? What an idea!” Naomi snickers away. “Don’t let my mother arrange my marriage too.”

“Who says I’m on board with that to begin with!”

“The meeting’s coming. Time to impress.”

While I mistook ‘a ride over’ as a silent affair, silently nodding along has fooled Naser anyway. He kept talking about how excited he was about being Class President. Proud of you, my brother in flesh, but not blood. He’s passionate, and even in a car chat, you can feel that leaderly whatsit. The chutzpah.

My own confidence is bolting up and down, it’s truly like the days of yore.

I’ve taken a good hour to myself scouting school grounds. It’s a fancy place. Strangely enough my mind kept thinking about jumping between the school buildings. Soar overhead while the masses use the concrete land bridges below.

Either or, it seems obvious enough. Class building, ‘large room’ building and the library. And what I presume is the office space. It’s smaller than any high school I’ve seen,

The buildings are interesting. They look very sturdy, solid, massive concrete blocks someone took painstaking effort carving into pleasing forms. A giant clock, hanging banners, large windows, and my goodness, everything has a goddamn plant growing out of it. It feels very solarpunk. Like I should call the concrete ‘fusion concrete’ or something. Oozes modernity.

Unlike my old high school.

That place had goddamn gargoyles.

‘It adds character’ they say, I’d sooner believe them if they told me each had cams and mics.

By now, we’re approaching 9:50 AM. I don’t know why I’m still outside. I’ll just bump into people I should know here, though there’s a quiet dread of having to scan the interior for ‘homeroom’ whatever that is. The crumpled, paper version of the schedule had notes indicating Reed, one of the characters from the messaging application, would be sharing (or teaching?) the first two periods.

It is then my risk assessment proves accurate.

A purple creature approaches me. “Approaches” is underselling the mad sprint she’s making. That’s goring speed.

She has horns, a large crest on the back of her head, but she is short. LIke, a good foot shorter. Her vibrant yellow hoodie screams ‘OX’ in red at me, vertically. Between the boots and tight legwear, she strikes me as someone who might do parkour or running.

“OH MY GOD. WHO. IS THIS?” Or running right into people with loudly asked questions.

Wait, why would she ask who I am?

Alright, stick to the plan. Let out some of that quipping steam, but stay straight, narrow, and nod along. This isn’t the first time you’ve had to fake a conversation.

“Hello, I’m Fang.” It feels, at once, like the most natural, yet the most artificial thing I can say. The razor’s edge of truthiness.

“This is a work of art. But first. Dude. Why didn’t you answer my texts? Don’t tell me you just woke up. At school.” Her hands go into her sides and her skeptical look undermines the fake confidence I’d sat aside for today.

“I… uh…” I guess the thought of answering someone else’s texts is a bit far. Outside of LJ, even if that was more professional business stuff by the looks of it. “Ugh, nevermind. I have things to show you. First off, digging the occult metalhead vibe. Feeling cursed just standing here. In a good way. Second, what did you do all summer?” “Music.” A shrug to mystify the subject. “The 20 to 1 odds always pay out.” “Except 5% of the time. Wait, that’s probability, not odds…” As I try to consider things, she suddenly jumps up, as if a more pressing topic was abandoned.. “DUDE. MANGO! ROSA!” “PEAR. TULIP.” Nailed it.

Trish wrangles her phone out of her hoodie pocket. The screen is cracked. She produces the image of a worm. For a worm, it is cute. Quite a pleasant pastel color with a distinct liveliness. Then, with a few swipes, shows images of her with some orange horned lady dinosaur. I do not recognize her at all from the DMs, despite their constant involvement with Trish. Although the two make a cooperative pair in their thick, rubber/plastic/whatever boots and overalls digging up soils and bugs. You can see the friendship in each shot.

Trish is just beaming with energy.

“Rosa’s the red bug, right?”

Okay, footnote for next time, jokes, not questions, one is way more telling than a light hearted ‘which is which.’ “It’s not been THAT long since you saw Rosa. But that’s Mango. She is a darling velvet worm and my little itty bitty precious baby angel. Honestly, Tendrils Summer Nature Intensive has been perfect. I met up with Rosa, you remember, right? Mr. Perea’s volcano disaster? Ugh! We have just had the perfect time together. Soil samples, plant analysis, and so many bugs. I even got to treat a bite wound.”

I cannibalize some of her fine vibes, and perk up a bit. It’s always nice to hear people finding themselves and growing. Especially one that is energetic. I feel like swinging a cane around and talking about kids and the old days.

Geeze, why am I acting like I’m that much older? “Glad to hear you’re making such strides. Hey, mind I ask, but you look a bit different…”

Yea, the photos didn’t look quite like this.

Should avoid being too questioning, this is fine though, right?

“Oh, yea. Trimmed up the hair a bit. I think it really helps bring out the frill. It works, right?” I’ve given character design advice before. Maybe I can wrangle it into a suitable fashion reflection? “Hm. Hmmmmm~ Now there’s a question. It does bring out the frill. And it gives your head some vertical pop. Makes you look taller.”

“See, that’s exactly what I was thinking. It looks mature, more professional.” Her smiling face makes it worth it.

“Mhm.”

She begins spitting a few facts about Mango at me. And shows me a video displaying the exciting slime-based abilities of the velvet worm. And plant-based mating requirements. Truly, I am entering an exciting world.

Onychophora. O-ny-cho-pho-ra. Onychophora.

Gosh, it’s like she read an encyclopedia article and forgot to trim the script so all she has is lines about worms.

Yet, before she gets really going, she turns the subject elsewhere. As in, she withdraws her phone and begins to think, remembering that she should remember something. “Hey, heard from LJ? Isn’t the audition like next week?” “Oh, yea, we’re in. No fuss no muss.” That was definitely something for me to mention first.

“How is that not your opening statement?” As I thought. “How did you do it? LJ hates our music, all of it, so how much did it cost? Did you protest outside Lava Java?” “No fuss.” Just play it cool. Good intentions go a long way.

“Did you tell Reed yet?” Never met him. Hoho. “I was planning to when we were all together. Here you are, prying ahead of time.” A little accusation might dampen her fire.

“Whatever. I’ll wrangle us a room. I bet I can get the music room just fine. I'll send you the number when it’s set. You tell Reed. We have got to celebrate. Or cower. Either or.”

“I’ll tell you all about how I made it work.” “Got my ears. Whatever got her to turn around has got to be something.”

The bell rang. Trish flinched in surprise, giving me a perfect moment to sneak out of here. No need to linger, or those missteps I made will taunt me like ghosts.

#GVH #goodbye volcano high #callmefang

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