Post by ANGEL-ROSE VOSKI on Jul 6, 2013 0:11:03 GMT -5
The new kid at school. It was always a difficult adjustment, but even moreso now that she wasn’t technically a new kid. She went to the same school for all four years, but this year she was going to be new. No more teasing, no more awkwardness. Taking a deep breath, AR left the classroom, small cardboard slips held tight against her chest. Okay, so maybe she wasn’t as new as she’d like to be. If she were truly new, she wouldn’t be dying of heat in the sweater, or the knit skirt, or the leggings that completely covered her legs.
She wouldn’t have tried to tame her wild hair, and pull it halfway back, letting the curls that were her mother’s trademark frame her face. She wouldn’t be slinking through the halls with her head down. Blue eyes stared down at her flats as they stepped one in front of the other, her fingers clutching her vinyls a little tighter. Come to think of it, Angel-Rose, or AR as she preferred, wasn’t sure why she had brought them with her. A comfort blanket? The idea that maybe one of her classmates would see one of the covers and strike up a conversation? Lifting her eyes just a little, she paused, and thumbed through the sleeves. The Beatles, The Zombies, The Cryin’ Shames, The Mugwumps, Titus Andronicus. Some of her favorite, little known bands from back in the day. Sure, she liked to mix a bit of mainstream into her collection, but listening to songs that were buried under dust of the past felt like she was finding new stories. New images to dance around in her head.
Of course, standing in the halls probably wasn’t the best thing to do after class got out. Someone rammed into AR’s shoulder, and she tripped forward, before another shove of a careless student sent her tumbling forward. Her hands reached out to brace herself when she hit the ground. Doing so, her records went skidding across the floor, and panic gripped her heart. Some of those couldn’t be found anymore, and if any of those careless shoes stomped too hard on the one of those sleeves. AR scrambled forward, grabbing her copy of The Cryin’ Shames and te Mugwumps. “No, no no.” She gasped, scuttling forward, sliding ungracefully on her covered knees.
Using one arm to cradle the records, she pushed herself forward trying to grab the others as feet thundered around her. The music was hers, the stories, and the beats. They each had their own sound on the scratchy record player that AR kept on the side of her bed. Each groove worn different by their previous owner. Though she might be able to find different copies—they would never be the same precious discs that had gone flying out of her hands. Maybe no one else would understand how precious they were, because no one stopped to help the girl that was struggling. Struggling to keep her knitted skirt down, to grab at her vinyls. Adding The Beatles back to her arms, she counted. “One, two, three…Shames, Mugwumps, Beatles.” She breathed. Zombies and Titus were still missing. Her brows furrowed as she frantically darted her gaze along the floor. No, no no. Where could they have gone?
Outfit!
