Group Counseling

Title: Group Counseling
Author: cass_cass
Summary: Meagan Ukidda was a high school misfit going about her everyday life, until the school counselor decided to make she and a few others his personal project.
Rating: PG-13, NC-17 if I actually get the guts to write it down.
Pairings: Haven’t decided yet.
Feedback: I don’t mind any criticism and I don’t care if you hate the story, so flame away! However, if you have anything nice to say, it would be appreciated.
Author’s notes: There isn’t much to say here. Just to warn you, the plot (if it can be considered that) will be coming along very slowly now.
Disclaimer: (I actually have to put one!) I do not own Sharpies or the “Star Spangled Banner.” Anything else you think I might have stolen is purely coincidence. (I think. Can’t be too sure.)

*****

Let’s skip ahead to music class. My favorite part about this class is that it’s in the last period of the day on Monday, but that is about it. The teacher is a complete BEEP, and almost every one thinks she should rot in the deepest, fiery pits of BEEP. She is the most hated teacher in the school. She treats kids like they’re idiots when they don’t have the “accepted” amount of knowledge concerning music. The accepted amount is equivalent to her own knowledge, so she basically treats every one like they’re stupid, including some of the teachers. This is based on the fact that she knows almost everything about music. It’s like she studies it 24/7. What really irritates me is her hair. She bleaches it so that it looks blond, but the roots are dark brown for about half an inch. Every one knows it’s unnatural! Yes, my hatred runs deep enough that I’m willing to sink to the level of insulting her hair. I usually consider insulting someone’s appearance extremely low.

She hasn’t arrived yet and everyone is talking to each other. The various instruments in the room are stacked against the back wall. No one can play them and the school is too cheap to give lessons. The teacher, Ms. Roth, is walking into the room and everyone immediately shuts up. “I’ve decided that we should practice singing the national anthem,” she states imperiously. She is staring at us with this unnerving look that communicates to us that she thinks we are incompetent idiots. Also, the fact that she is wearing her giant glasses, the ones that make her look like an owl, gives you a very creepy feeling. “I’ll play the first few notes and then you can sing without music,” she says. Ms. Roth walks over to the piano, presses several keys, and is then met with something rarely ever heard in this room: complete and utter silence. “Don’t any of you know the words?” she asks with distaste. I can see her frown when she hears the muttered no’s and watches people shake their heads. I never learned because I never saw a reason to. “There is a copy of the words in my bag. I’ll put it on the overhead for you to read,” she says slowly, as if we have trouble comprehending what she is saying. I know we don’t know the words, but come on! We’re not that stupid. The words appear on the wall and a chorus of off-key voices rises into the air.

Ms. Roth soon gives up on the idea of no music and starts to play “Star Spangled Banner” on the piano. The jumbled voices start to straighten out as soon as she starts playing, but not by much. Most of us are mouthing the words and a few aren’t even doing that. “Come on, I want you to sing louder,” she says in her nasal voice. “It will be embarrassing for you if you get up on stage and no one can hear you.” I can see the kids standing nearest her wince. Listening to her voice can hurt. Anyway, doesn’t she get that no one in this room is ever going on stage? Okay, so maybe the kid standing in front singing his heat out might, but I don’t think anyone besides him would. “I think that is enough for today,” she suddenly snaps, and I can see she is angry. Yay! We made her mad. It is really entertaining to watch her when she is mad, because she likes to make these weird shapes with her eyebrows and lips.

I can see her looking around the room and then she starts staring straight at me. “Ms. Ukidda, why are you smiling?” she asks suddenly. “Uhhh…” I must have started smiling when thinking about Ms. Roth when she is angry. That can’t be good. “If you are so amused, would you like to come up to the front of the class and sing for us? It seems that you think that you can sing better than your classmates,” she says in a clipped tone. Oh no, this can’t be happening! I slowly stand up and walk to the front of the classroom while Ms. Roth stands at the piano. She starts playing “Star Spangled Banner” and I turn around to read the words. I start singing while in a daze. My main thought right now is to get this over with as quickly as possible.

I finish and see that Ms. Roth is very unhappy now. “Very good, Ms. Ukidda. It appears that you have improved and become a very good singer,” I hear her state. Wait a minute, what the BEEP did she just say?! I’m heading back to my desk still in shock. You know that kid that was singing earlier? Well, he is now glaring at me like he wants to rip out my throat or something. I must have replaced him as the person who sings the best in school. Wait, scratch that, I’m replacing him as the only person who actually can sing in the school. I hate this. Everyone will know by tomorrow morning. Well, at least my dad will be happy. The rest of class passes quickly and I head out the door as soon as the bell rings. This has been a very unusual day.

****

I’m walking home from school at the moment. Mr. Lenion kept me after school in detention for two hours, and all I did was giggle. That is what I consider the height of injustice. I’m passing the park and there are a few kids running around the play structure. This is where I usually spend my day, though pretty much all of the parents don’t trust me. Figures. I mean, what reason would a girl in all black have for wandering aimlessly around a public park? The little kids that come here usually like to come and talk to me, though I can’t understand their motives. Let me tell you about this one time a boy started talking to me.

So, I was sitting on a bench reading when this one kid leaves his friends and walks over to me. “Do you want to play with us?” he asked in a sweet voice. Okay, so a little boy just asked me if I wanted to go play with him and his friends. It was definitely one of the stranger experiences of my life. “Why do you ask?” I replied. “You looked lonely and I wanted to help.” Well, that was nice of him. Again, speaking with the sweet voice. “Uhhh…” And me with my long pauses. After a while, I replied with, “Okay, I’ll play with you.” His faced brightened immediately after I said this. “Come over here with me. My name is Thomas,” he said cheerfully as he led me by the hand. He looked to be about four or five. We played tag on the grass with several trees as bases. I wasn’t trying very hard and let them tag me most of the time. I may not be the nicest of people, but I’m not that mean. Many of the adults were staring at us, which was understandable. It is not often that you see a teenager running around with a bunch of five-year-olds. I was having fun and it was the first I had laughed in a long time. It had lasted until the kids’ moms had led them away to go home. They all waved back at me while their moms shot me suspicious looks over their shoulders.

Back to the present. I open the door and walk into the living room. The tables are covered with empty beer bottles and my brother’s old cigarette butts. My family’s junk is piled on the floor and I have to walk around various clumps of trash. I don’t think anyone has cleaned this room for the past two years. The TV is on a table against the back wall. The only reason we can afford the cable bills is because we use the money inherited from my dead grandparents. My brother likes to sit in front of the TV for hours when he isn’t working. Personally, I’ll be happy when we run out of money to pay for cable. Jeremy, my brother, will have to work full time to get it back, so he wouldn’t be around as much. That may seem mean to others, but I don’t care. He doesn’t do anything when he isn’t at work and leaves me with all the chores. I only do the laundry and take out the trash, and this is only because I can’t stand the smell.

I finally make it past the junkyard that is the living room and reach the kitchen. A very unpleasant sight greets my eyes when I open the door. Jeremy is asleep on the kitchen table surrounded by… markers? Great, my brother is a Sharpie addict. But it makes sense for him. If he is going to take drugs, why not take something that can actually get you high as well as burn brain cells?* Not that he has any. What a moron. I end up moving him to his bed in my room. It may not seem like it, but I actually do care for Jeremy in some deep, unknown part of my subconscious. He may be a Sharpie addict, but he is my brother. We are united in the fact that we hate each other’s guts and have to endure our dad.

I walk back to the kitchen and start looking for something to eat. We mostly have canned stuff, but there are a few fresh things. It is at this moment that my dad decides to grace me with his presence. “Look at you,” he says in a slurred voice, “you’re all skin and bones. I’ll give you some food so you’ll fatten up!” After holding up his bottle in drunken determination he stumbles across the room toward the fridge. When he makes it there he opens the door, reaches in, and tosses me… some carrots? “You need to eat healthy too,” he says in explanation. After he shuffles back to his room I put the carrots back and start heating up some canned soup. My dad, in his delusional thinking, believes he should be the perfect, nurturing father. He usually does more harm than good in his drink-induced madness. “Wear more dresses!” I can hear him yell from down the hall. Don’t I have the best dad?

I walk up the stairs to my room and open the door. Unlike the rest of the house, my room isn’t messy. I do think that personal hygiene is important and like to stay clean. My family members don’t share my belief, however unfortunate that is. I think the only reason Jeremy’s boss hasn’t fired him yet is because he feels sorry for us. Pathetic, isn’t it? I suppose I have it better off than a lot of other people, since my dad is not abusive, he only neglects me. I’m able to go to school, and I’m not planning on becoming a dropout like my brother. I keep trying to beat these thoughts into my head, but I’m still as ungrateful as ever. I’d better get to sleep now, since I need to get up early tomorrow. I want to miss my dad’s daily hangover and get to school, but before I fall asleep I’d just like to say I hate my life.

*I don’t know if you can, in fact, get high by sniffing Sharpies

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I didn’t know people would actually like this story. Because people gave me nice reviews, I have decided to update earlier than planned. Thank-you to:

Charlotte Marigold Ives- Wow, first reviewer. Thank-you!
blues- I appreciate the support.
Dani- I’m glad you liked it.
killerkitty1106- That is the first time anyone said that about my work.
Sarah- Sorry. I was never good at beginning stories. I hope you like this chapter.

Please don’t expect replies to reviews in every chapter. You can expect, however, that I will list the people who did make a comment, even flamers.