No Flowers and Chocolates for Sydney - Chapter One

She just couldn't get the neck right. The baby was just too fat. And besides, she didn't want to paint baby Jesus or Mary. She wanted to get back to the collage piece she had been working on, the tribute to her mother. With a huge sigh and an arm swipe at her brow, she placed the unfinished painting off of the easel and picked up the collage, placing it on the stand. She admired its blue color scheme, the different butterflies and faded letters outshined by gloss, and her Mother's smiling face hanging low in the center of the canvas. She kissed two fingers, pressing it against the picture.

"This is for you, Mom." She gave a crooked smile.

"SYDNEY!" Her Father called from downstairs. "Breakfast! And wake up your brother!"

"Yeah!" She yelled back, never taking her eyes from the collage.

She grabbed the white sheet sitting on her carpeted floor and draped it over her masterpiece. She then grabbed her bag and the unfinished painting, making her way out of her room to her brother's.

"Jerkface, wake up!" She banged on her brother's locked door, making the signs quiver. He gave a groan from inside as he stirred in his sleep.

"Now!" She gave one last bang before shuffling down the stairs and into the kitchen. She found her father bent over the waffle maker, his bald head glistening. She sat down, her plate already made with a stack of hot waffles, bacon, and eggs.

"Dad," She took a sip of her orange juice, confusingly eying him. "Why so much waffles? You know I'll only eat one, you don't eat it because of your cholesterol and I wouldn't let you anyway, and you know Wade is allergic to eggs. He'll eat anything and everything except eggs or anything that contains eggs."

"I always get carried away with breakfast, don't I?" He chuckled, patting his belly.

"Just put it in a Tupperware and give it to Betty." Sydney shrugged, spearing a waffle. "Although, that probably wouldn't be good for her thighs."

"Oh no, no, Betty and I are..." He shook his head, scraping the excess off the waffle maker. "No more."

"Geez," She crinkled her eyebrows at him. "Can't you stick to one? How long til' she gets replaced -"

"I wanted to talk to you about that, actually. Anna from work asked me to dinner, so you'll have to look after your brother tonight. Wade!"

"Ugh, what's new?" She shrugged as her father planted a kiss on her forehead before thanking her.

"Oh, and what's this? The latest from Ms. Sydney Port -" But his sentence came to a halt, his facial expression twisted.

"It's not -" Sydney tried to pry it out of her father's hands with no success. "It's not done yet!"

He tilted his head from side to side, examining it.

"Well... it's not that bad. Maybe if I just look at it this way... or, or... or that way... I mean Jesus definitely didn't look like -"

"I don't wanna hear it, this painting is driving me nuts!" Sydney exclaimed and stood up, kissing her father on the cheek. "Look, I gotta go."

"Okay sweetie, drive safely." He said sternly before bursting into outrage. "Wade! Come down here now!"

"Oh, for God's sake," she sighed and muttered under her breath, running to the stairs up to her brother's bedroom. She furiously twisted the knob, which wouldn't move. Turning to her usual trick, she hit the knob three times sideways, a click indicating that the lock came undone. With one loud kick, she busted the door open.

"Wade, I swear!"

"No, no, no!" Wade squealed from underneath his covers as his sister reached underneath and yanked on his ankles, sliding him out of bed altogether as he fell with a loud thud on the floor.

"You know this is what happens when you don't listen, so don't expect me to show mercy." She threw her hands up and exited the room.

She ran down and grabbed her things before going outside; piling them inside her old 1967 Chevy Impala she inherited from her Grandpa. She held the stirring wheel and looked back into the rear view mirror at her reflection.

"Two and a half more months of torture, and I graduate."

***************************************************

Sydney Porter wasn't an outcast, she was just, well, anti-social. Civilization inside school grounds meant interacting with superficial teenagers and their specific, ridiculous cliques. Especially because she was a senior now, which meant that Kaiser High School was now packed with lower classmen who tried every trick in the book to fit in and juniors who thought that their grade status meant something. She was above all that, even way before her Mother passed away when she was ten, which meant she was the only girl dragging around a rubber crocodile instead of a cabbage patch doll. However, she wasn't timid or shy; she didn't keep to herself or try to avoid the popular. Neither did she feel conscious when Gretchen and her cheerleader posse sneered at her paint streaked jeans and the fact that her built-in speakers blared The Smashing Pumpkins instead of Ke$ha. In fact, she liked to scare them with her death stares and her middle finger.

She only had two best friends and no boy every came to her liking, which was more than okay, because she didn't believe in dating anyway. She had seen her father unsuccessfully try over the years to scout for a potential mother to his children, which, in a way, had tarnished her whole view on finding someone special altogether. It didn't make sense, as her brother's 12-year-old hormones chased after the whole seventh grade class, well, at least the girls anyway. Sydney didn't care about anybody else because she thought everyone was vapid and shallow, with the exception of her family or friends, and all she cared about was art and her future college destination.

She was a pessimist feminist with ridiculously long, dark hair that she had only cut twice in her 18 years of life, milky skin and rosy cheeks, and intense, dark eyes that could pierce you had you ever pissed her off. She was slender and beautiful, hidden underneath dark long sleeves and ripped jeans, but hidden underneath black rimmed glasses during AP English because she couldn't see to save her own life. Nonetheless, she was a fighter when bothered and everyone was scared of her. Most of the time, everyone left her alone. So when she pulled up into the parking lot to retrieve an empty space near the front, Frankie Polanski sat with uneasiness inside his father's BMW, looking at her glare once before letting her have it. Sydney smirked; more than pleased for the offer he had no choice of giving.

The lot was crowded as usual with students hanging by their cars, teachers shooing the skaters off their skateboards and the BMXers off their bikes. And the hippies holding up their usual sign to stop Kaiser from cutting down the trees near the football field to build a 500 seat auditorium. The lawn was filled with cliques where you had the potheads laughing about something behind their dark sunglasses. The jocks rough housing in their letterman jackets, the punk-rockers and their wild hair, stretched labrets and nose rings, the preppie debutante girls with their bake-sale, the geeks with their laptops and competition robots, the rebels who often pulled stunts that got them in detention (and if it occurred outside the school, it would be the topic of everyone's gossip the next day), the thespians who dressed as if they were still living in the Shakespearean Era. And then there was Gretchen Moler and her cheerleader friends with their Prada's and Fendi's, positioned next to the ever obnoxious, ever conceited, ever ignorant, pretty boy football captain Troy Benting and his minion followers.

Sydney walked up the steps briskly, clutching the painting under her arm as to not expose it, yearning to break away from cliche clique central. No one in school ever bothered with her, except of course, Gretchen, who was probably just secretly irked at the fact that Sydney was the only girl there who was repulsed at the thought of being like her. Along with the fact that she didn't give two shits about Gretchen's perfectly puffed blonde hair or her convertible.

"What happened to your jeans? Did you fall into a pool of ugly and rip them?" Gretchen laughed along with her friends loudly as Sydney walked by.

"Nope, your Dad tried to rip them off me last night. Told him your Mom was waiting for him to come home to her soggy tits." Sydney walked by coolly without looking at her in the eye, but before pushing open the double oak doors that led to the school, she turned around and looked apologetically at Gretchen's bust. "Guess that's where you got them from."

With that, she disappeared behind the doors; leaving Gretchen feeling heated along with eavesdroppers laughing at her.

"Sydney Porter, you are suck a freak!" She called after her, her chest heaving.

After Sydney made it inside, she spotted her friend Melanie, who was telling the prom committee how high, how low, how far to the right, or how far to the left the prom theme banner should hang in the hallway. She pushed through students lounging in front of their lockers and stood next to Melanie, looking up at the banner with her.

"Let me guess, from the roar of laughter coming from outside and the words 'Sydney Porter, you are such a freak' yelled out by an annoying shriek, you and Gretchen had a row again?" Melanie readjusted her glasses, the chopsticks forked into the two buns on top of her head almost poking Sydney as she suddenly turned to face her.

"Hey, we all know very damn well she asked for it." Sydney shrugged and crinkled her forehead in disgust.

"True." Melanie's eyes fell on the painting Sydney was holding. "Ooh, is that the painting for art class? May I see? May I see?" She excitedly reached for it, her slanted eyes bugging out.

"NO!" Sydney snapped and pulled the canvas away from her direction. "It's hideous so I'm gonna leave it in the room till I decide what to do with it."

"Oh come on, Syd," Melanie rolled her eyes underneath her purple glasses. "Your paintbrush always shits the most gorgeous pieces of work -"

"Nope, not this one." Sydney shook her head. "Uh-uh."

Finally, the bell rang and flocks of students started going from place to place.

"If I even survive half of today, I'll see you at lunch." Sydney grunted and trudged off into English.

***************************************************

"Troy, tell me why that rebel dude at the far corner is mean mugging you and crushing a coke can in his hand?" Gavin, one of Troy's meathead friends asked, looking at the table across the cafeteria, the one pushed up against the corner and was quite run down where the rebellious upperclassmen sat in their tattoos and leather jackets.

"Nothing," Troy daggered his gaze at the guy equally, downing the last of the alcohol in a flask he always kept hidden underneath his jacket. "Just a bunch of chicken shit drama."

"Troy trespassed, din'tcha Troy?" Micah smirked and nudged Troy in his gorged bicep. Irritated, he shook him off and smirked back.

"Since when the fuck did that bitch own a section of a beach? This is Malibu for crying out loud. I don't care if his posse marked their territory, I'm gonna go wherever I like."

His whole group, even the cheerleaders, all sat around their table, listening to him boast like usual.

"Wherever YOU like? Man, you dragged the whole school out there for the party last night." Micah burst out laughing, the whiteness of his teeth contrasting with his dark skin. "No wonder the dude look like he wanna stick the can up yo ass!"

"Wait, you said that no cops would bust us out there because it was deserted. But it was those guys' spot?! Do you know what they could do to you?!" Gretchen hissed. "I mean, you're my ex-boyfriend Troy, but still -"

"Gretchen," he turned to look at her with a twisted facial expression. "Shut up."

He faced forward and eyed the distant table once more. "They can't touch me. They can't touch this."

He pulled out a mirror and a comb from his pocket, winking at his own reflection as his friends secretly turned away in disgust. He began to comb his perfect, shiny, brown hair with pride, somehow finding solace in the fact that, to him, he was still the best looking guy at Kaiser despite the trouble he may have caused.

The previous night, Troy was hosting a party at his Father's mansion, but because he was away on business and he knew what his son would use his house for, he locked it up and left Troy with no key to put it to good use. He then took the whole guest list to the beach in a deserted area to avoid getting busted by the cops. There, they established a rave-like surrounding, complete with a DJ, a keg stand, a bucket full of things they shouldn't drinking, and horny guys groping skimpy dressed girls. All was good until Spike McGawan showed up in his motorcycle, along with Duggan Howard, Mitchell Holloway, Bruiser Chesley, and Wes Knolls, the school rebels.

They weren't exactly threats, nor did they pick on anyone at school, but come time you mess with them, they were sure to do some damage. People were more freaked out by them than scared because of all the outrageous things they did. They were like the rockers except Spike was the only one who had piercings and everyone but Wes had tattoos. They smoked cigarettes and cut class, they listened to Nirvana and Nine Inch Nails, and some of them were fifth year seniors. They were the epitome of Jackass stunts and some chicks at school secretly digged them. Had they maintained a more approachable image, they may have been wanted more than Troy and his pack.

Spike knew Troy was behind this so he yelled his name from the top of a sand dune, not looking pleased at all. When Troy turned his attention on him, rather than being shocked, the already buzzed football player became even more of a douche.

"YO, SPIKE! MY MAN!" His words came out slurred as he raised a can of Bud Light in the air as if to toast him. "Join the party! I see you brought along your little followers! Come on now, don't be shy!"

By now, everyone had turned to look, anticipating what was about to happen. Everyone suddenly made room as Spike hopped off his motorcycle and stomped down the sand dune with the rest of his crew following him. He was coming at Troy pretty quickly.

"What the fuck is this shit?" He violently jabbed a finger at Troy's chest as soon as he came face to face with him, provoking him to fall back slightly. He was now glaring at the model faced football player like he was the plague. It took a good five seconds for Troy to react.

"What the fuck?" He whispered. "I greet you all jolly and shit and you repay the invitation by destructing my party like this?!"

"Destructing your party?" Spike almost looked sorry for him as he let out a laugh. "How about it's your ass and your dumb guests who intruded OUR place, OUR territory? Listen here, Jockstrap, your ass ain't welcome here. This place, this, all of this," He held his arms out; gesturing at the space in which Troy's party invaded. "Has been our place way before you came out of your Mother's hairy cunt, so I suggest you take the party somewhere else before someone gets hurt."

"I was born the same year as you, you nutcase!"

"Exactly." Spike violently grabbed Troy by the collar and grimaced at him directly in his face.

Of course, Troy being Troy, ignored this and loosened his grip on his collar before walking away, too buzzed to care as he ordered the DJ to keep ongoing. Hesitant, the DJ told him he wasn't sure that it was a good idea. Everyone was still silent, anticipating around him as Spike and his crew stood there, watching him.

"Hey! I ain't payin' you $500 an hour to back out like a pussy, alright?!" He glared at the DJ madly and with that, the DJ wasted no more time and bumped the music. Seeing that everyone was still frightened to dance, he gave them death stares.

"What? Dance!" He demanded, everyone slowly starting to move their bodies. "Dance!"

As the crowd began to dance again, Spike and his crew began to back away, and although Spike had always been true to his word, he fought the urge to run Troy over with his motorcycle as he led his crew out of the beach. But before completely making it back to the top of the sand dune, Spike turned around and hit Troy exactly in the eye with his glare and pointed at him.

"This ain't over, Benting. Just you fucking watch. I'll let you off the hook for now, but we'll see about you in the future."

"Go on, get the fuck outta here!" Troy shouted back as he let Candy, the school slut, grind up on him.

"I'm just saying, man," Micah said, snapping back into the scene. "I just really wouldn't fancy being you right now."

"Oh yeah? What is he gonna do?" Troy snorted, looking up from his compact mirror. "Steal my Range Rover and trash it before sending it to the junk yard? Please, I can get 50 more of those if I wanted."

"You mean your DAD could get 50 more of those if he wanted," Gavin snickered, fist bumping the other football players. "And then maybe he'll give you one."

"Yeah, yeah, you're one to talk, Mr. my Dad just got fired by Troy's Dad." He laughed, raising his knuckles to the other football players. Gavin's smirk suddenly disappeared from his face, along with the other players' facial expressions.

"Huh? Huh?" Troy continued to offer his knuckles for a bump as the other players sat there, shaking their heads in shame. "What?"

"Nah man, too soon." Micah picked up his backpack and got up to leave as did the rest of the players. "Too soon."

"Whatever, pussies!" Troy called after them as they all trudged off to their next class, the bell ringing.