Track #6: Evolution Orange
“The Roswell Incident of July 8th, 1947, has proven to be one of the most beloved urban legends about extraterrestrials in recent history of United States. It first began when a local rancher reported that he had recovered a piece of debris from a field near the town; a story which quickly garnered more attention, when…”
You listen to the teacher drone on and on, trying your best not to nod off. When your forehead slams against the desk, you realize you were doing a horrible job so far. Rubbing it, you direct your eyes to the blackboard, trying to find something you could jot down to your notebook. Maybe that way you can stay awake through pure physical activity alone.
Well, there’s something on the blackboard alright. Too bad it’s just crash-landing vectors, names of farmers from the Fifties and something that seems suspiciously like a surveillance balloon crossed out. Why couldn’t your teachers be normal? Sure you hated algebra, but this? This was just… insane, quite frankly. Professor Flintheart had always been an eccentric but to spend a history class going over old conspiracy theories?
That was just wrong.
Out of sheer boredom, you glance to the left. Some two seats away from you sits a familiar-looking cascade of orange hair, slightly shifting as their owner jots something down to her notebook. You’re a bit surprised that Adagio is bothering to even play a good student now, considering most of the students in the class have long since given up the hope of this lesson yielding anything useful.
More surprise follows when Adagio lifts her eyes from the pages to the blackboard. You had known this girl for, what, two weeks now? Never during that time had you seen her make an expression like she is doing now. There’s… something forlorn in it. Something like longing, but also doubt. She was biting her lip, but it didn’t give off a sensual air - just a solemn one.
If you had to compare it to something, it was the sort of face you could imagine Dorothy giving to her ruby slippers after all that hard work.
Bip!
You’re shaken from your idle thoughts by something softly hitting the surface of your desk. You turn your eyes to meet the sight of a crumbled up piece of paper. Note passing? Really? The high school cliches never did stop did they? Still, you’re a bit confused that you’d be chosen to pass along a note, considering how most of the school seems to think of you these days…
… Ah, well that explains it. Your glance to your surroundings reveals a girl with absolutely atrocious rainbow-colored hair and general jock-look making an X-sign with her hands and mouthing: ‘pass it back!’ to you.
So the note wasn’t meant to come to you. In fact, looking at California Games’ desperation at getting it back, it’s almost as if there’s something in there she doesn’t want you to read. You test your theory by opening up the note a little, getting an immediate and satisfying reaction. The girl freezes up, eyes wide open, before exploding into a flurry of mimes.
Most of them promise either reward or physical pain if the note isn’t returned. Others seem to be pre-emptive apologies and trying to play the contents off as a joke. They’d all be very interesting as a sideshow to pass time with, but alas, going crazy like that in a classroom is bound to have some consequences.
“Miss Dash? Is there something you’d like to share with the rest of the class?” Professor Flintheart hovers across the classroom towards the jock like he was a damn Dementor.
California Games freezes up like a deer in headlights, her face growing awfully pale as she does so.
“N-no, I was just, err, I…” the girl called Dash searches for an excuse, before her eyes light up. “That’s right! I was just helping AJ get some stuff you just went over!”
Judging from the dirty look the Stetson-wearing girl throws at California Games, she just threw one of her friends under the bus. Professor Flintheart eyes the two of them up, before an eerie ghost of a smile settles to his face. You glance at Adagio, who’s wearing a wicked grin. Well, at least someone’s enjoying this.
“Very well, Miss Dash,” Flintheart speaks softly. “If you truly were helping your friend, I have no reason to issue a detention. So, tell me, Miss Dash: What Act allowed the public access to documents regarding a possible UFO crash in Roswell?
California Games is beginning to sweat, and her eyes dart from left to right, trying to find a way out. To your amusement, there is no none.
“You don’t know? Well, let’s try again,” Flintheart continues. “What, Miss Dash, is the name of the alleged 13,000 year old extraterrestrial satellite orbiting the earth on a near-polar orbit?”
“I… dunno,” the rainbow-jock eventually admits, slumping in defeat.
“And what are the famous man-like beings of the Santa Lucia Mountains called?” he continued to probe her.
“I dunno!” the girl finally admits, throwing her hands up in the air.
You can see a satisfied sneer mar the lips of the black-clad teacher.
“Pity. Clearly sports aren’t everything, are they, Miss Dash?” he smugly said before hovering back to the blackboard. “For your information, the Act in question was Freedom of Information Act which brought to light some documents which revealed the connections a group by the name of Majestic 12 had to Roswell Incident. The extraterrestrial satellite is known as Black Knight and is thought to be the source of sounds heard by Nikola Tesla during his radio experiments. As for the beings of Santa Lucia Mountains, they are known as the Dark Watchers. Well, why aren’t you all copying this down?”
Furious scribbling of pens on paper fills the classroom as the students begin to write down the fantastical nonsense the teacher just yammered about. You find it hard to believe, but somehow that silky-soft voice of his made even absurd topics like this interesting to think about.
Too bad your thought processes are bothered by the angry glare shot your way by a certain rainbow-haired jock. She looks absolutely miffed that you got her into trouble. Under such accusation, you do the only logical thing you could.
To her horror, you open up the note still on your desk, and theatrically begin reading it.
Unfortunately, what was first supposed to be a sweet moment of rubbing salt into her wounds ended up souring your good mood immediately.
‘Look at Juvie! He’s been making googly eyes at Adagio the whole class!’
You crumble the note and stuff it into your pocket. It was a brief moment of respite, but now you just want to get out of the class again.
***
As the bell rings, you’re among the first ones to leave the classroom. A steady tide of students encapsules you, but like Moses, you manage to part the teenager sea. Whether purposefully or not, they’re giving you a wide breath. This means you’re rather easy to spot, as if your large frame wasn’t already doing that job admirably. Thus it comes as a no surprise when you hear the sound of sneakers hitting the floor right behind you.
Somehow you were expecting some company once the class was done.
“H-hey, you, wait up!” you hear a rough voice call out to you. As you turn around, you get an eyeful of that atrocious rainbow hair. “Dude, just wait for a moment! We need to talk!”
You sigh and lean to the lockers next to you. California Games stands there before you, arms folded and a pissed-off expression on her face. Clearly your little stunt in the classroom hadn’t been forgiven. Too bad that absolutely nothing there was your fault.
“What?” you ask flatly. “If you want to complain, save it. You were the one going crazy with your pantomimes. Can hardly blame me for that.”
“Well you didn’t give the note back!” she accuses you, throwing a pointing finger in there for a good measure. “It flew to your desk by accident. You could’ve just handed it back and nothing would’ve gone wrong. Now I’ve got detention next Monday, thanks to you!”
You sigh and scratch the back of your head. Why was she putting the blame on you? If you act like an idiot, you’re gonna get in trouble for it. And this girl certainly looks like she hasn’t got two little grey cells to bash off of each other. You can just imagine the empty void that lies between her ears, occasionally filled with sports or whatever it is that people like her get obsessed about.
“And miss the kind words you had written about me?” you ask sarcastically and wave the note in front of her nose. “Nah, I’d rather know what’s talked about me behind my back. Makes for much more interesting school experience, doesn’t it?”
Your words make the girl wince. She rubs her arm awkwardly, shifting her weight from one foot to another. She must have thought that by accosting you, she’d get some sort of apology immediately. Putting up resistance wasn’t part of her plans.
“I… ugh, sorry about that, dude. I didn’t mean it in a bad way, it’s just…” she searches for the right words. “You kinda were staring at Adagio the whole class. I know you’re new here, so you might not know that she’s… well, she’s…”
“She’s what? Someone ostracized by the whole school?” you snap back at her, little surprised by the vitriol in your voice. “Believe me, I know. See, we’re kinda like birds of a feather in that sense.”
“That’s just it!” California Games argues back. “Since you’re all buddy-buddy with the Dazzlings, nobody’s gonna trust you soon. So before that, you might wanna rethink who you’re friends wi-”
“Rainbow Dash!” another voice calls out, interrupting your conversation.
Good thing it did. You were about to say some rather nasty things.
Your little pow-wow is entered by the Stetson-wearing girl you saw in the classroom. She’s looking pretty stern, glaring at both you and the jock you’re with. Too bad her image is completely ruined by how she dresses up like an ice-skate show cowboy. You couldn’t take that get-up seriously even if you tried.
“Now simmer down there, girl,” the newcomer says to her friend. “Ah get that you’re annoyed North here didn’t give yer note back, but that ain’t a reason to badmouth his friends. The way Ah see it, he can be chummy with whoever he likes. Ain’t our job to choose his friends for him.”
Ah, nice save. Looks like this Hart of Dixie saw her chance at playing the good cop to California Games’ bad cop. Supposedly this is the part where you’re supposed to break through your gruff demeanor and thank the girl, developing a fragile bud of a friendship with her until it blossoms into true bond.
Yeah, as if. The way you see it, her input is as unneeded as those God-awful boots she wears.
“Well thanks,” you say, sarcasm dripping for your lips. “I sure am glad I’m allowed to be friends with whoever I want. How kind of you to give me the permission.”
Hart of Dixie looks a little taken aback by your words.
“N-now hold on there, sugarcube, Ah didn’t mean it like that,” she backpedals. “Ah just think we oughta keep our noses clean from other people’s business. We also ain’t supposed to pass notes about them behind their backs. Ain’t that right, Rainbow Dash?”
She glares at the jock when she says this. You feel an odd bit of satisfaction when you see the blue girl squirm under that scrutinizing stare. At least someone is getting her comeuppance.
“Hmh? Is there a problem here?”
And again, someone interrupts the brewing conversation. However, this time, you’re glad to hear this voice. The haughty tone and the gleeful wickedness in it are music to your ears. A grin rises to your lips as you turn your head, only to see a familiar copperhead sauntering over to where you were.
Adagio stops next to you, hands on her hips and a raised eyebrow on her face. Even for a girl that’s barely tall enough to reach your chest, she’s carrying an aura powerful enough to draw all eyes on her.
“Tell me, Rainbooms, why are you cornering North Wind like this?” she asks from the girls. “Did he happen to steal your lunch money? Perhaps flush down that dreadful bunny your friend illegally brings to school?”
“Hey! You leave Fluttershy out of this!” California Games protests, eliciting a cackle from Adagio.
“No? Well if he hasn’t done anything wrong, why are you cornering him like this?” she asks, and even under that slightly amused tone you can hear danger.
You grin.
“Apparently,” you answer for the girls, and wave the familiar note. “I was making googly eyes at you during the class.”
“You were?” Adagio feigns theatrical surprise. “Somebody should have told me! I could have been creeped out by your freaky eyes instead of those of Professor Flintheart.”
You both cackle at that, and earn a frown from the girls.
“Ah don’t remember saying yer scaly butt was welcome with us, Adagio Dazzle,” Hart of Dixie growls, but the threat slides off of the copperhead like water.
“And I don’t remember ever understanding a word you say thanks to that ridiculous accent,” Adagio shoots back. “But we can’t all get what we want. I’m here to pick up North Wind, so if you’ll excuse us, we’ve got more important stuff to do than to stand here and play ‘What Line Was That, Anyway?’ with you.”
Having said that, Adagio grabs you by the wrist and begins leading you away from the scene, leaving behind fuming California Games and angrily blushing Hart of Dixie. You shoot them one last smirk before the two of you disappear around the corner. The annoying atmosphere evaporates in an instance, replaced by relative quiet.
Still, you can’t help but notice that even though your hastened pace has slowed down once more, Adagio still hasn’t let go of your arm. Not that your mind. Her cool touch was somewhat welcome after being accosted by those two idiots, almost like an ice-pack over a rough bruise.
“Thanks for that,” you eventually say. “If I had been left alone with that rainbow idiot, I would have eventually lost it.”
“No need to thank me,” Adagio says and winks at you. “I’m sick of their preachy attitudes as much as the next unpopular kid, so throwing some wrenches into their plans is a good enough past-time. Plus I got to hear about you ogling me during the class, so that’s a plus.”
You laugh at that and shrug your shoulders as much as you can.
“Well, what can I say? You’re the only girl I know with hair the size of Hindenburg, so it naturally draws my eyes to it,” you admit. “Not to mention it earned detention for California Games, so hey: job well done, I say.”
You chuckle and push the note still in your hands to your pocket. As you do, you feel something silky brush against your fingers. A little weirded out, you rummage through your pocket, eventually catching a hold of what was in there. What you draw out makes your eyes widen a bit.
You didn’t even remember that this was with you. Had you just stuffed it in your pocket and forgotten about it? With your memory, it wasn’t a far-fetched idea, but still… you felt a little bad for the thing.
“North?” Adagio’s voice brings you back to the present. “Is that… a ribbon? Why do you have something like that?”
In your hand is a white ribbon, snow-colored little thing used to hold one’s hair. It was clearly a one meant for girls. Even with how long your hair was, there was no way you’d ever use something like this. And judging by its state, it was pretty old. Must’ve been pushing ten or so years already.
For a moment, you search for the right words.
“It’s… well, a memento. Or something,” you try to brush the subject aside. “I’ve had it for a long time, but I doubt it’ll be of any use anymore. Just think of it as something silly I’m still holding on to.”
And with that, you stuff the ribbon back to your pocket, where it had been sleeping until now. No use in thinking about it anymore, really. Even if Adagio gives you that odd expression, filled with curiosity and doubt, you know it’s no use even if you talk about it more.
It’s been ages already. You doubt the girl from your childhood still lived in Canterlot anymore.