(no subject)
It began innocent. Started innocent. He, Trent Gibbard, tragically hip and 6 feet with almost-black hair and jade eyes. Her, Grace Campbell, not-so-hip, but possessing classic good looks possibly inherited from her namesake. She was a loner, and he a future fratboy, and together they massacred their school.
From her cell, Grace Campbell read the opener to the paper's story. "Bloodbath", "Horrific", "Opposite" stood out like the red blood splattered on the yellow lockers. Her lawyer, Adam Mortimer, had wanted her to keep up with the progression of her case in the media. She smiled to herself because one day they would all understand. She continued to read, but was lost, her reading a mask for her thoughts.
She had never been cool. Starting in Girl Scouts when they had to smell things and instead of smelling the vinegar she drank it. She was lanky and awkward and shy. 8 years later, she was striking. Dark hair worn long, with beautiful amber eyes, tan skin, and full lips. She wore glasses, but they only made her more beautiful. Her clothes reflected how she felt that day- from worn-out jeans and teeshirts to dressy. She always wore Birkenstocks, with dresses and skirts and even in the winter.
Actually, she remembered, they were afraid of her. She knew too much, experienced too much. She was fluent in Italian, German, French, and Greek, she could knit and crochet, she drank exotic teas, and she did weird things like yoga and meditation. She was a muse. Old before her time. She had a whole room of books that were hers, from Voltaire to Nabokov to Charles Manson. She was a rare bird, and that was why she was alienated.
She had always intrigued him. She was an outsider and she didn't care because she was too busy doing other things of substance. Physically beautiful, yet not vain, she did weird things like yoga during lunch. She knew everyone and everyone knew her, but there was a negative connotation to their relationship. She followed politics and he had many political debates with her when they were in the same class. She beat him everytime. Nothing more though, although he wanted it. He, one of the most populars at school, yet he couldn't touch her. She was unreachable, and his inspiration.
He, also visually appealing, with straight but shaggy hair, piercing green eyes, and olive skin. He was popular, but ignored the fact, only making him more irresistible. He was poetry in motion. He thought about and understood things. Loved sciences and math. Good with computers. The girls fawned over him, but he took no notice. Actually, that was a lie, he did take notice, but they weren't real to him. He wanted someone real, with intelligence and thoughts and someone he felt he could actually hold. The other girls seemed like mirages. Grace was fresh air, even though he knew her from afar and their political banter. He was an outsider living in the insider's world, and then he brought them to their knees.
"Yes," he thought, brushing his teeth. The knowledge of what he and Grace had accomplished all but aroused him. Pure genius. He patted himself on the back and headed for the shower.
"I get you." And then she walked away. Grace, oh, it did just what she had hoped for. It intrigued him. He had approached her later, Trent, in all his 6-foot glory. "You get me?" Timid. Scared, Grace supposed. "I see things." She started to walk away but he grabbed her arm. She whirled around, made eye contact. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?" She studied him. "Whatever you think it should." Grace smiled into her breakfast. It was all too rich.
Frankly, he was fucking angry at her that day. Where did she get off? But, the truth was, she did get him. Both of them better for where they were. She had seen him and knew he was holding back and only loved him for it. "You see things? What the hell. you see me. That's nothing." But he knew it wasn't nothing. Damn right, she saw him. She saw him hating them but hating himself more for not standing up. She saw him cowering because he had to fit in. She heard the words on his tongue that were always resting but never let out. "You could be so many things but you don't allow yourself."
Contrary to his beliefs, she did care. She wanted to be a part of his world but knew it wasn't happening so she faked blissful ignorance. She held her head high, with her hair tossed back, and she strutted down the hallway. She heard their words and shot them condescending looks. She successfully made them feel small. He didn't want his power so he did everything he could to be the antihero. He listened to the wrong music, wore the wrong clothes, read the wrong things. He simply couldn't do wrong though. And she loved him for it. He smiled at the memory of her.
He was the one who suggested it. Within the next month or so, before second period. They would get back at all that had wronged them. Grace shared this with her lawyer. And she spit out her bubble tea all over Ayn Rand's The Fountainhead right there in the middle of the coffee shop. They had been seeing each other, not in the figurative sense, for the past month or so. She was his escape. She was everything he aspired to be, and vice versa. He saw her doing her yoga in lunch and was overcome with such emotion he had to avert his eyes. She saw him with his cool friends and longed to be a part of it all.
"Let's kill them. You hate them because they are everything you want to be and I hate them because they are a fabrication of me." And she had spit out her tea and laughed nervously, but lived with it in the back of her mind.
"Let's do it." Brown crocheted cap with lime green trim, her hair down and curly, eyes lined with black liquid liner and her lips petal pink. Faded jeans, Birks, white tee, brown suede jacket. He remembered how ethreal she had looked. But Grace always looked ethreal, whether she was in jeans or a long flowy skirt. Trent himself looked good that day, in his medium-tight Nine Inch Nails shirt and tan pants that draped off him beautifully. Grace had wanted him right there.
He had been waiting for three weeks. He was expecting to hear no. Truth was, people like her didn't kill people. They did things like talk it out, have a mediation, write it down. But she had consented and that had made all the difference. She surprised him everyday. Whether it be randomly bringing him lunch, showing him another facet of her personality, or shocking him with knowledge of random things he thought he only knew about.
They hung out everyday. Trent found himself delving deeper and deeper into her, with everytime they spoke. He started severing the ties with his old friends. He stopped caring so much, he eventually just found himself. Grace, she too found herself changing. She became popular by default because she associated with him. Girls started wearing their clothes like her, their hair like her. They started saying things that she did. They spent their days getting coffee and seeing independent films and stargazing at night. They read books and quoted Shakespeare together.
And then she went to his house one afternoon. Without guns, their plan wouldn't work. "I know where the guns in my house are." She, agreeing, went with. He did have guns. Colt handguns, rifles, everything. Grace grabbed the Colts. She wanted to feel like Lara Croft. He remembered the look on her face when he opened the door. Initially, fear. Then, complete awe. She grabbed the Colt and shoved it in the waistband of her jeans. He knew then, that he loved her. She, in her scrubby sweatshirt that was her friend's, her slouchy jeans, her Birks. Her hair messy and makeup wearing off in a flattering manner. She was flawed and he loved her for it.
"When are we doing it." Not a question. Blank. Neutral. Her face showed no emotion, for once. Robo-Grace. "When do you want to?" Definately a question. His voice cracked. The air was electric. Body heat mixed with his lust. It was then that she realized she loved him. Him in his slouchy tan pants and Birkenstocks and Phish tee. She knew he wasn't just making reference to the plan. It was a loaded question. Robo-Grace becomes Seductive Grace. She grins, runs a hand through her hair. "I'm ready now."
He stared blankly. Grace moved closer. "Can you keep a secret?" Her voice husky. He kissed her, pushed her against the wall. She felt his whole body pressed against his, from his mouth to his chest to his thighs. He kissed her hard and deep, and she knew then, it was right. She guided him to the floor.
Trent smiled. He remembered the afternoon. God, she was so beautiful. Sure, there was the typical teenage urgency, but this time there was also a consensuality. He supposed it was their understanding of each other. It was wonderful. They had finished and she had eaten a bowl of Captain Crunch and he had walked her home and kissed her on her front step and he didn't care who saw.
And from her cell, Grace was also smiling. She too, could remember. But she could remember the next day even clearer. Trent ignored her. All day. But came over after school. "It happens tomorrow."
She woke up that morning. She didn't even bother to look good. She grabbed the Colts, shoved them in her bag, avoiding her parents' eyes. She grabbed an apple, went to the bus stop. Got to school. Trent was waiting.
His morning started the same way. He picked up Grace at her locker, she was silent. He drove them to breakfast. The last supper. They sat staring at each other over their Mickey pancakes and tried to pretend everything was okay. Grace clutched the gun in her bag on the ride back to school.
2nd period. Guns at the ready. 36 shots later, Grace was happy again. They had won. It was all over. The bell rang and no one moved. They couldn't.
Grace sat in the hard-backed chair. "Death." Grace shook her head. She might have lost in court, but she secretly won in everything else. She got Trent, made some self-realizations, and changed history forever. Grace smiled as she was led back to her cell. "Fucking psycho" the guard muttered. Grace laughed out loud because she knew that she was free and they were trapped.