User blog:Cdc1998/A New Face at Bullworth: Part 10


 * Note: Originally, this chapter was going to revolve around a re-building of friendship between Charlie and one of his friends. However, I've decided to move that to a later chapter, perhaps 11 of 12, as I need to flesh out my protagonist, Edgar, more. Anyways, I hope you all enjoy the chapter and feedback is always appreciated, as I like to know the high points, the low points, where I could improve, etc.

A New Face at Bullworth: Part 10
I woke up this morning to the sound of boisterous laughter. When I walked outside my room, I saw none other than a large group of my fellow Preps socializing. They all then glare at me, as if I was interrupting them. I return to my room in order to get changed. I put on a white dress shirt under an Aquaberry sweater vest, a pair of khaki slacks, and some Italian dress shoes. After getting dressed, I pick up my phone and notice that I have a text from Charlie.

"Michael and I have to work on a project for English so we can't hang out today, dude. I'm really sorry," it reads.

Well, that's a shame. I was looking forward to hanging out with them. Oh well, maybe I can try to find Jimmy and Bradi. I then leave Harrington House to make my way towards the dorms, to perhaps run into Jimmy and Bradi. However, as soon as I walk outside, I am met with more glares by my fellow Preps. I notice Tad out of everyone staring me down the most. If looks could kill, I'd be dead on the floor. As I walk by, I hear him mumble something under his breath. Annoyed, I turn back to look at him.

"Do you have a problem with me, Spencer?" I question Tad. Some of the other Preps look startled because of it.

"I'm sorry, what?" Tad replies, feigning innocence.

"You heard me. Do you have a problem with me?"

"Now why on Earth would I have a problem with you, Ruggiero? Oh, I remember, for your choice of friends."

"You really hate the fact that I'm friends with Charlie and the others, don't you?"

"A true Prep would not socialize with the lower class unless it's in order to benefit themselves."

"Oh, so I'm not a true Prep? Well, I honestly don't care. Honestly, the only reason I'm considered a Prep is because of my wealth. Wealth doesn't determine your personality. However, according to you, it apparently does. Apparently if you're wealthy you have to be the biggest, egotistical jerk of all time," I reply, which causes a lot of the preps to glare at me, once again. Is this what they love to do in their free time? Glare at those who don't agree with them?

"You better watch what you say, boy. That's the leader of our clique you're addressing. Remember your place," one of the Preps retorts.

"I'm a human, not a lesser being, so how about you remember that?" I respond.

"Oh, the wallflower thinks he's all high and mighty now," Another Prep remarks, which causes almost all of them to do their stereotypical, boisterous laugh.

I then walk away in order to not get any more angry than I already am. They honestly do get on my nerves. Sometimes I wonder, why am I even a Prep? Is it just because I'm wealthy? And because of that, I get lumped up in the stereotype that we're all obnoxiously rude and only associate ourselves with other rich people. But wealth doesn't determine how we actually are. Well, to an extent, because money can end up shaping people to where they believe they're better than everyone. I mean, look at the Preps here. But what I'm trying to say is you can be poor and be the biggest asshole, or you can be rich and be one of the nicest people. We determine our personality, is not all dependent on wealth.

When I do make it to the dorms I ask some of the students if they've seen Bradi and Jimmy around. They say they're out in the town for the day, and probably wouldn't be returning until later. I thank the students and then begin walking away. While I am a little irritated that all my friends are busy, I know that it's just life. Things come up and we all get busy. Oh well, I guess I have the day to do whatever I want.

I make my way to the main building where I notice, despite not having classes today, a lot of the cliques are socializing. The Nerds seem to be playing some card game, the Greasers are eyeballing some of the female students, the Jocks are arm wrestling and discussing sports, etc. It's all cut short, however, when the prefects force everyone to leave. As I'm walking towards the parking lot, I notice something peculiar. Two Preps in Aquaberry sweaters are talking with one of the female students. They appear to be hovering over her, and she looks uncomfortable. For Chrissakes, you are despicable.

I begin walking towards them when I get a better look at the female student. Blonde, green eyes, around 5'6. Wait, that's Stacey, one of the girls in my Trig class. I really don't talk to her, and she really doesn't talk to me, but I just can't sit by and let these Preps keep bothering her. I also see that the Preps are none other than Tad and Gord. Great.

"C'mon, just one kiss," Tad says, trying to induce Stacey.

"No," Stacey replies.

"Why are you being so stubborn?" Gord questions.

"Stacey, is that you?" I interrupt, which attracts their attention.

"Yes?" Stacey hesitantly asks.

"Get lost, Ruggiero," Tad says, with an annoyed tone.

"You have no place being here," Gord remarks.

"Stacey, I'm in your Trig class. I was wondering if I could get your help with the homework?" I say, lying.

"But we didn't h-" Stacey begins to utter, until she notices me nudging my head towards the other direction, trying to get her to come with me. She looks somewhat nervous because I'm a Prep, like Tad and Gord. "Sure, I'll help you with the homework," She responds, and begins walking towards me past an irate looking Tad and Gord.

We begin walking away, and I hear Tad mumble something under his breath. When we're a good enough distance away from them, I speak up.

"Sorry if what I did seems odd, I know there's no homework. I saw that those guys were bothering you and I couldn't just stand by and watch it happen," I explain.

"It's fine, I appreciate you getting me away from those creeps. Honestly, I thought you were going to join in with them because you're all dressed the same," Stacey replies.

"Just because I'm a Prep doesn't mean I'm the same as them. That stereotype honestly makes me mad. Just because I'm rich everyone expects me to be an asshole, when in actuality I'm a rather shy and nice individual."

"I'm sorry. It's just-"

"No, it's fine. It's not like it's the first time that's happened. Hell, they all honestly hate my guts because I'm not like them."

"What do you mean by that?"

"They don't like the fact that I don't only socialize with other rich people. They really hate the fact that I'm friends with Charlie."

"Caldwell?"

"Yup."

"He's in my English class. He loves to write in there all the time. Why don't they like him?"

"Apparentely the Preps and Charlie have had bad history for a while."

"Oh. Well... I'm sorry, I know you're in my Trig class, but what's your name? I can't seem to remember it."

"Edgar."

"Well, Edgar, thank you for helping me get away from those creeps. I really do appreciate it," Stacey says.

"It's no problem. Just a guy trying to help," I respond. Stacey then hugs me as a "thank you" and begins walking away.

That felt nice. Not just the hug, the fact that I helped her. It actually makes me happy knowing that I've helped someone, since it's a rare occurence when I interract with anyone outside of my friend group. Perhaps I should try to start talking to more people. Then again, some of these people are rather annoying, and it might not work out well in the end.

Out of boredom, I begin walking towards the athletics area. I go down to the bleachers, sit down, and watch the football team practice. Eventually, some of the non-clique students come and sit by me. I decide to try to talk to them. They ignore me, however. Irritated, I then get up to walk away. As I'm walking I notice that the moon is out. Wow, I really lost track of time.

I begin to hear very loud footsteps. I turn and notice the large crowd that once inhabitated the bleachers are now leaving to, most likely, return to their dorms. I try to keep walking but they all shove past me, as if I was insignificant to all of them. Once the crowd clears, I continue walking... until I hear footsteps again. Intrigued yet rather annoyed, I turn around again. I faintly see a figure off in the distance.

I try to continue walking towards Harrington House, but I see two more figures step out from the archway of the auto shop. Then two more from the archway at Harrington House. I still try to continue walking, until they block my way. I then get a better look at their clothes. Leather jackets, jeans, slicked back hair. They're definitely Greasers.

"Where the hell do you think you're going, rich boy?" One of the Greasers question me.

"Look, I don't want any trouble," I say.

"Well, you're getting it," Another Greaser responds.

I then clentch my fists, preparing for the worst. I hear the Greaser from behind approaching me, so I turn and swing at him first. He dodges, and kicks me in the gut. I'm then shoved back into the crowd of Greasers, who begin pushing me around and punching me. Eventually, I'm shoved on the floor and they begin crowding around me as if they're going to kick me. I take the opportunity to get in a lucky shot in one of the Greasers' gut, and try to make an escape, until I am pulled back and thrown to the ground. They try to kick me again, until I uppercut one of the Greasers. This makes him angry, and he has the others grab onto me and hold me in place. The main Greaser then repeatedly punches me in the gut, and then punches me in the face for the last hit.

I fall to the ground, right next to the fountain. I'm bleeding from my mouth, my face, and my left arm. However, I know I have bruises all over my body, and I'll most likely have a black eye in the morning. I spit up blood and am on the verge of vomiting due to the pain. I think they're going to continue with me until I get knocked out, until I notice three more people walk up. They're wearing italian shoes, khakis, and Aquaberry. Preps. Wait... two of them are Gord and Tad. Maybe they'll take pitty and help me.

"We did what you asked, Rich boy. Where's our payment?" One of the Greasers asks Tad. Tad then pulls out a wad of cash, and throws it to the Greaser.

"There you go," Tad replies. "You poor people will do anything for money."

"Thanks. Boys, let's go," The Greaser says, and all of the Greasers then leave. Gord then begins chuckling.

"You got yourself in a pretty bad predicament, didn't you, Edgar?" Gord says, with a mocking tone. I look up at him with disgust, and then put my head back down.

"You wouldn't have gotten yourself in this situation if you'd remember your place," Tad declares. "First, you disrespect me in front of my clique. Second, you interfere with a situation that you had no reason to interfere with. Thirdly, you're friends with those degenerate lower class students. You go against everything the Preps stand for. We took you in, dear Edgar, and this is how you repay us?! Think of this as a warning. If this happens again, don't consider yourself a Prep anymore," Tad continues, and then him and Gord depart.

As I now lay here, still on the verge of vomiting due to the pain, I can't help but to feel livid. I just got the crap kicked out of me by the Greasers, and it was set up by the Preps. The same people who "took" me in. And it was all over for being myself.

Ain't that a bitch.