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Luck O' The Irish: Chapter 2 |
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[Untitled] IT'LL BE A cold day in Tucson when I go out with you!" D. J. Broderick hissed at Crusher Hastings, as D. J. stormed into the university dormitory lobby. [Per Note: The missing beginning quotation mark was intentional. When starting chapters, I would often both capitalize either the first few words or all the words on the first line of the page, and I would sometimes omit quotes at the beginning.] "What's the ruckus?" Ritzie's cousin Fredric, who was only visiting (he didn't attend LRU) but who had also fallen asleep on the couch, asked, yawning. [Per Note: Fredric was a character of my former friend Mya, hence the odd spelling of his name. Other such characters were Anthoney Edison and Arin. Despite this, it looks like I erased almost every instance of his name and replaced it with the current spelling; I guess I kept misspelling it "Frederick."] Damien, up on the overhanging balcony, called down boredly, "The Grapes of Wrath." "Oh." Fredric turned over and went back to sleep. Everyone at LRU knew of it. And those who had just come always found out immediately. All over campus, and off, any time of day, and night, Crusher was always--always--hitting on D. J. D. J. absolutely hated Crusher's so-called guts--she'd said so herself--and was always trying in vain to completely avoid him. She'd even entered the Wingers Art Club, or WAC (every non-member thought of them as the Wackos), to get away from him, but he had entered--though in art he didn't exactly excell [sic]; it wasn't his cup of coffee...in short, he stunk [sic] at it. Even John Steinbeck had had his say, and the title "The Grapes of Wrath" had, mysteriously, somehow stuck. [Per Note: I was probably reading that book at the time--it was required reading in my high school American Literature class--and that's the only reason I used the title. I often took random inspiration this way; another example is that I read Hermann Hesse's Siddhartha and Steppenwolf in a literature class, and later appropriated the name Hesse for my own Trench Rats character--not because I'd especially enjoyed the books (frankly, I wondered if Hermann Hesse was on drugs), but just because.] "C'mon D. J., ya know ya love me!" Crusher whined. "I do not!" "Ya do too!" "I DO NOT!!" "Ya do--" A shrill scream split through the air. All heads turned to the stairs. Amy dashed out and onto the top step. She howled and then cartwheeled down! "Holy--!" Damien managed to say, before being cut off. He very, very seldom swore. "Amy! Are you okay?" Fredric asked, sitting up. "I'm great!" Amy yapped. "I've been practicing!" "Aawghh," Damien moaned, dropping his head. "Yo, everybody!" Ritzie called, entering with a clipboard. "Hiiiii, Ritzie!" Amy piped, somersaulting out the door. "Geesh [sic], check her insulin level," Ritzie said. [Per Note: I believe I meant adrenaline level.] "I've got an announcement! There is now a Team L--the Shamrocks. The members of this team should be from another country--should, but don't have to be--to prove that, hey, we's good too, yah? See ya later." "Whoa, I think being here is finally making even ol' Ritzie's brain go soft," Damien yawned. "Walp, the game's gonna start soon. Better get ready." "You're on the team?" Fredric asked incredulously. "Hey. We need all the players we can get," Damien said, and left. That evening, the students filed listlessly into the LRU dorm, trailing torn banners and flags behind them. Chernobyl had been right. The score was 48 to 7 by the time the game ended. Even the purple and silver decor everywhere didn't do anything to cheer up anybody. They'd lost their own Homecoming. They were humiliated. The only ones in seemingly good spirits were, of course, Phemie and Ritzie. "C'mon, it was only one game," Ritzie said. "We'll smear 'em next time!" "Yeah!" Phemie added. "We'll mash 'em to a bloody little pulp!" Everyone looked at her, startled. "And here I thought she had no id!" Ritzie exclaimed. [Per Note: I'd learned about Freud in psychology class. I consider myself more of a Jungian now, though.] Another student, Ozzy Lewis, entered after Ritzie. He had shoulder-length, sandy-colored hair and gray eyes. He always seemed, to Chernobyl, to be so composed that the Hindenburg could crash in his backyard and he wouldn't even bat an eye. [Per Note: Knowing the way I tended to toss bits about everything I'd recently been learning/hearing about into my stories, I'd probably just seen something about the Hindenburg before writing this.] Right now he went up behind Ted Neff, one of the jocks or "preppy dudes," as most called them, and gave him a hard whack on the back. Ted, about ready to collapse from being pounded by several hundred pounds of football player, gave Ozzy a look that clearly showed he would like to rub his face into the carpet. "Good job, guys," Ozzy said to no one in particular. "Great pass that time, Ace," he said to Ace McGovern, who leaned against the staircase, his chest heaving. "Yah...thanks..." Ace gasped, waving his hand. "Hey, Dami," Ozzy called to Damien as Fredric and Crusher helped him to the couch Fredric had occupied earlier, "hope your foot feels better soon." "Don't worry," Damien panted. "It's only a mild sprain. The doc says it should be better by at least Thursday. I'll be in the Olympiad." He couldn't have gotten more cheering if he were General MacArthur saying, "I shall return." "I feel like such a traitor," Fredric said. "Me attending U of M. I'm a scumbag. I'm a lowlife scumbag. I'm a yellow-bellied lowlife scumbag. I'm a lily-livered, yellow-bellied, lowlife scumbag." "Can't argue with you there," Damien muttered. "Dami, what team you on for the Olympiad, anyway?" Choby asked. "Team D. The Pharaohs," Damien replied with obvious distaste. "Too bad," Choby grinned. "I'm with the Flying Dutchmen." "Lucky you," Psyche Cooper said dully. Finally all fell silent, except for Ozzy who suddenly remarked, "Boy, it's so quiet you could hear a flea break wind." No one replied to that because Ozzy always said something weird or other. Instead, Psyche merely said, "It must be twenty after..." "Oh, shut up!" Damien snapped. "For goodness' sakes [sic], you and your stupid superstitions." He struggled to get up. "Hey, c'mon, help me here!" Fredric and Crusher snapped out of their seeming reveries and pulled Damien up, then went with him upstairs, Crusher, as usual, saying, "Don't you worry Dami, I'll take care of dose bleepin' guys! Just you bleepin' bleep wait 'n' see!" [Per Note: When Mya and I would pretend to be our characters on audiocassette, Crusher was known to constantly swear. It was a running joke to have him just saying, "Bleep!" all the time. He isn't actually saying bleep, but this was written before I started using adult language in my work, and it would have lost its punch if I'd just gone "----ing" or "****ing." I seem to recall this aspect of his was inspired by the character Fowlmouth from Tiny Toon Adventures.] Mr. Demo, the science teacher (he was a professor but no one called him by his title) stuck his head through the door, which was still open, the wind scattering leaves on the carpet. [Per Note: No comma after the parenthesis.] "Guys, it's been a long day. You should all hit the hay." "Gimme a hay-stuffed scarecrow shaped like one of the Wolverines 'n' I'll do more than hit it," Ace said. Champ Hall, who'd gone upstairs to change, now came down dressed in outdoor clothing. "See ya later, guys," he said. "Where're you going?" Amy asked. "To the rec building to get a bow and arrows. Then I'm a'goin' hunting." He usually didn't talk like this, being from Michigan like most of the others. "Wanna get me some wabbit." "Better yet, go hunt a wolverine!" Choby said. "A blue and gold wolverine! With a football helmet! And a college degree!" "Whoa boy, whoa," Ritzie said. He patted Choby on the head as if he were a kid, hugging him. "Calm down. No big bad wolverine is gonna get you. Shh." Choby responded by sucking his thumb and saying, "Goo goo." Ace suddenly launched into a joke. "Hey, I used to live with my parents but my dad beat me." [Per Note: Nowadays, I would not find a joke like this funny. It's especially crass here, as I seem to recall that Ozzy is a survivor of child physical abuse at the hands of his own father.] "Why not live with your grandma?" Ozzy went along. "Nah, she beat me too!" "How about your best friend's house?" "Same there. His mom beat me!" "Why not live here, at LRU? We never beat anybody!" Ozzy exclaimed. "Yahoo," Psyche and the others droned. "So funny I almost made my shorts double as a lavatory," Choby added. There was the sound of thunder from above. It turned out to be D. J., who come [sic] pounding down the steps pursued by Crusher. They ran around the lobby twice, then dashed back upstairs. "Hey, you guys, the dorm run ain't till Saturday!" Ozzy shouted. "Must be training," Ritzie said with a smirk. "With the shape we're in, we'll need all the training we can get!" Choby sighed. |