| Worm (first part), John C. McCrae (Wildbow) |
| 1 | Gestation 1.1 Brief note from the author: This story isn't intended for young or sensitive readers. Readers who are on the lookout for trigger warnings are advised to give Worm a pass. Class ended in five minutes and all I could think was, an hour is too long for lunch. Since the start of the semester, I had been looking forward to the part of Mr. Gladly's World Issues class where we'd start discussing capes. |
| 2 | Now that it had finally arrived, I couldn't focus. I fidgeted, my pen moving from hand to hand, tapping, or absently drawing some figure in the corner of the page to join the other doodles. My eyes were restless too, darting from the clock above the door to Mr. Gladly and back to the clock. I wasn't picking up enough of his lesson to follow along. Twenty minutes to twelve; five minutes left before class ended. |
| 3 | He was animated, clearly excited about what he was talking about, and for once, the class was listening. He was the sort of teacher who tried to be friends with his students, the sort who went by "Mr. G" instead of Mr. Gladly. He liked to end class a little earlier than usual and chat with the popular kids, gave lots of group work so others could hang out with their friends in class, and had 'fun' assignments like mock trials. |
| 4 | He struck me as one of the 'popular' kids who had become a teacher. He probably thought he was everyone's favorite. I wondered how he'd react if he heard my opinion on the subject. Would it shatter his self image or would he shrug it off as an anomaly from the gloomy girl that never spoke up in class? I glanced over my shoulder. Madison Clements sat two rows to my left and two seats back. She saw me looking and smirked, her eyes narrowing, and I lowered my eyes to my notebook. |
| 5 | I tried to ignore the ugly, sour feeling that stewed in my stomach. I glanced up at the clock. Eleven-forty-three. "Let me wrap up here," Mr. Gladly said, "Sorry, guys, but there is homework for the weekend. Think about capes and how they've impacted the world around you. Make a list if you want, but it's not mandatory. On Monday we'll break up into groups of four and see what group has the best list. |
| 6 | I'll buy the winning group treats from the vending machine." There were a series of cheers, followed by the classroom devolving into noisy chaos. The room was filled with sounds of binders snapping shut, textbooks and notebooks being slammed closed, chairs screeching on cheap tile and the dull roar of emerging conversation. A bunch of the more social members of the class gathered around Mr. Gladly to chat. |
| 7 | Me? I just put my books away and kept quiet. I'd written down almost nothing in the way of notes; there were collections of doodles spreading across the page and numbers in the margins where I'd counted down the minutes to lunch as if I was keeping track of the timer on a bomb. Madison was talking with her friends. She was popular, but not gorgeous in the way the stereotypical popular girls on TV were. |
| 8 | She was 'adorable', instead. Petite. She played up the image with sky blue pins in her shoulder length brown hair and a cutesy attitude. Madison wore a strapless top and denim skirt, which seemed absolutely moronic to me given the fact that it was still early enough in the spring that we could see our breath in the mornings. I wasn't exactly in a position to criticize her. Boys liked her and she had friends, while the same was hardly true for me. |
| 9 | The only feminine feature I had going for me was my dark curly hair, which I'd grown long. The clothes I wore didn't show skin, and I didn't deck myself out in bright colors like a bird showing off its plumage. Guys liked her, I think, because she was appealing without being intimidating. If they only knew. The bell rang with a lilting ding-dong, and I was the first one out the door. I didn't run, but I moved at a decent clip as I headed up the stairwell to the third floor and made my way to the girl's washroom. |
| 10 | There were a half dozen girls there already, which meant I had to wait for a stall to open up. I nervously watched the door of the bathroom, feeling my heart drop every time someone entered the room. As soon as there was a free stall, I let myself in and locked the door. I leaned against the wall and exhaled slowly. It wasn't quite a sigh of relief. Relief implied you felt better. I wouldn't feel better until I got home. |
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