I've had enough...
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| A Stranger in Scottland | |||||||||||||||||
| Aidan, a boy with light brown hair sat in the main office waiting for his escort. He was an eighteen-year-old American with the disposition of a young grunge singer. His father's company had transferred him to Scotland on business purposes and he was required to be there for at least two years. Rather than leave his family behind, he decided to bring them all overseas to be together and to experience a new country. During that spring Aidan's parents had flown over to find a good school for him. Aidan had protested repeatedly against moving away. For crying out loud, it was his senior year in high school and he didn't want to leave his lifelong friends. His parents would have none of it and as soon as they found a presentable school, that summer his mother came back and took him with her for the fall term. | |||||||||||||||||
| So now, against all things good in his mind, Aidan sat at the door of the headmaster's office waiting for a student to come by and show him around. He stared at the back of his left hand -- it had been tattooed when he'd become captain of his high school soccer team. It was a fancy letter D -- without the straight line on the back -- for the name of his school. But that was all left behind. He'd made up his mind to hate every minute of being away from home. This wasn't like studying abroad because that would be with people he knew. He would fail the easiest courses and rebel in every way possible. Nothing would make him happier than showing his parents he was better of at home. The worst part of being in this country was that he could barely understand anything anyone said to him. This last week his parents had sent him out to listen to the way people talk so he could get used to it. The only thing he'd gotten used to was knowing that everyone spoke gibberish. He'd already tried to tell a few people that if they wanted to say something to him that they needed to write it down. Why couldn't they just learn English? | |||||||||||||||||
| "Ahd you Aid'n Wittmeeyer?" asked a strange accent. | |||||||||||||||||
| He looked up to see an athletic looking boy with black hair and brown eyes holding a piece of paper with Aidan's name on it. Aidan stood and found that even though the boy looked athletic, he was fairly short. Aidan stood at five foot ten and this boy was at least a head shorter than him. "Uh, what?" | |||||||||||||||||
| Speaking more slowly, he said, "Are you Aidan Wittmeyer?" He rolled his R's so much that slowly they sounded like D's. | |||||||||||||||||
| "Uh, yeah. I'm Aidan." | |||||||||||||||||
| "Boy, you've got a funny accent, you do. I'm 'erbert, your guide round this hell-hole cleverly disguised as a school." His accent was a lot thicker than Aidan had expected. As they shook hands, he noticed he could only pick out the words 'funny accent,' 'Herbert,' and 'hell-hole.' | |||||||||||||||||
| "I've got a funny accent? No, no. You've got a funny accent. Now, I'm sorry about all this trouble you have to go through because it's just really unnecessary. I don't want to be here. I'm not going to do anything to make this hopefully short stay productive. Don't try to make this fun or interesting -- unless you plan on doing something rebellious -- 'cause it just won't work." | |||||||||||||||||
| "Hey, pal, I get paid for this! Yer not gonna stop me from doing my job! If you think yer gonna go through this school acting the way you do without getting kicked in the bollocks, then you'd better go shite yourself! I'm gonna do my job!" Herbert's face had turned bright red while shouting. | |||||||||||||||||
| Aidan stared wide-eyed at him for a moment then burst out laughing. "Now that I understood!" He put his hand on Herbert's shoulder and began to pull him down the hall. "Maybe I was wrong. I can piss my parents off while having a great time after all. Herbert old boy, I think we're gonna be good friends." | |||||||||||||||||
| The red had drained out of his face and he cautiously smiled. "Erm... I don't understand. I thought you didn't want to make this productive?" | |||||||||||||||||
| "It doesn't have to be productive to be enjoyable, now does it? And if they don't like it, screw 'em. That's what I want anyway. I can have fun with no work. That should be easy enough, right?" Herbert nodded. "Great! Now why don't you show me around and tell me who I should get to know." | |||||||||||||||||
| "Er... right." Herbert did as he was told, though as confused as he was, he started to enjoy Aidan's personality. He seemed to be a nice guy once you got on his good side. "Er, all the classrooms are in these three main buildings. Most of the sciences are in that one there," he said pointing to the left out a window, "along with most math. The arts and music are in that building," he said pointing to the right, "and the rest are here. Politics, English and similar." | |||||||||||||||||
| "Heh, being from where I'm from, it sounds like you guys need a better English lesson, if you ask me. I can barely understand a word you say!" He laughed heartily but soon noticed that Herbert was not amused. Clearing his throat, he continued with, "What about sports? I was a soccer player at home." | |||||||||||||||||
| "You're lucky I know what you mean because people on this side of the world call it football. All the sports are run out of that small building down that hill. Wanna go?" | |||||||||||||||||
| "Sure." Aidan followed Herbert out into the cloudy but warm day. The sun never seemed to shine in this country, and it just gave everyday a gloomy feeling. They walked down the grassy hill to a building the size of a medium sized New York apartment. "How is it that all your athletics can be run out of this... shack?" | |||||||||||||||||
| "You don't know us very well. We concentrate on two sports here: rugby and foot--er, soccer. Everything else is a kiddy game." Herbert saw the confused look on Aidan's face and decided to move on. "Are you really athletic? I heard that our team was looking for a new player. But, for now, let me ask you this: do you enjoy art?" | |||||||||||||||||
| "Um... I guess... I had a few friends that could draw, but I never actually took a class. Why?" | |||||||||||||||||
| "In America -- or at least in your school -- were there any classes that all the beautiful girls took?" | |||||||||||||||||
| "Oh yeah! The cheerleaders would take all the easy classes! They took basic English, easy math, and the acting courses that only required them to speak and be silly. Is the art wing like that here? The pretty girls who aren't so smart take art?" | |||||||||||||||||
| "Er... not exactly. They are gorgeous, but they're also smart. Really smart. It just seems to happen that all the smart girls are not only artsy, but like goddesses. World class goddesses." | |||||||||||||||||
| "Oh... um... I've never had great luck with smart girls. Not many were very attractive in my school. Those that were both smart and pretty were... well, let's just say they weren't very sociable." | |||||||||||||||||
| "...You still wanna see the art wing, then?" | |||||||||||||||||
| "Hell yeah! I'm not that stupid!" | |||||||||||||||||
| "Great!" Herbert led him back up the hill towards the art wing. They went around to the front of the building on the roadside and began looking in class windows. "Classes have been in progress for about twenty minutes by now, so I don't think they'll notice us. Look there," he said pointing into the fourth window on the first floor. "That class is filled with them." | |||||||||||||||||
| "Oh yeah, I see what you're talking about." They gazed in wonder at the beauties before them. | |||||||||||||||||
| Herbert pointed to one young red head in an advanced art class sitting front and center. She looked very attentive and was very pretty. "Her name's Lydia. She's been in my photography class for two years now. I don't even know if she knows I exist." | |||||||||||||||||
| "What do you mean she doesn't know you exist?" | |||||||||||||||||
| "She's never spoken to me. Well, actually, she has spoken to me... but only to ask me if I could pass something to her or for help on the latest assignment. That's all. She doesn't know my name." | |||||||||||||||||
| "Ah, don't count your chickens before they've hatched. You have no idea if she does know you or not. She could be shy." | |||||||||||||||||
| "Not from what I've seen. With her friends she's as loud, cheery, and beautiful than anyone I've ever seen. There's no way she could possibly be shy." | |||||||||||||||||
| As they continued to stare, they barely noticed the far off sound of a motorbike screaming closer and closer. It made Aidan's scalp tingle, soon making him look up the road towards it source. "What's that?" he asked as the bike turned into the drive. | |||||||||||||||||
| Herbert, who hadn't been at all distracted from Lydia (who started painting a seascape on a small canvas), suddenly looked up. "Eh?" He looked towards the oncoming motorist and winced. "Oh, bollocks." | |||||||||||||||||
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| On to the next chapter! I've had enough... |
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