Blackheads
Ashley Bradley
For her first day back to school, Francine's mother made her a bowl of room temperature creamed corn, upon which she sprinkled raisins atop. Francine's mother was a vegetarian, so that meant everyone in the house was one, too. Before becoming a vegetarian, Francine's mother did protein shakes, so everyone had to do those, until they all got food poisoning and had to sell their home to pay the medical bills, and Susie's funeral costs. Before the protein shakes, it was heroin. Francine always tried to put things in perspective when she got annoyed by creamed corn and raisin breakfast meals: It could've been heroin.
Francine was not excited about starting seventh grade. It was just going to be like sixth grade, except this year they were starting Algebra, and in History they were finally going to address the Louisiana Purchase.
Francine had been excited about starting sixth grade, when she was in fifth grade, because she had only ever been in elementary school, with "those kids" and the cubby holes and nap times, and tiny apple juice cartons, and spoiled milk at lunch, and teachers who smelled like funeral homes, and kids with perpetual snot crust under their nose, that one kid named Tommy, and the class pet, a barely alive turtle, named Rog.
Francine in fifth grade couldn't wait to get out of elementary school, to graduate to something more mature and respectable, middle school. She never felt like she belonged in elementary with all the common kids. Lucky for her, she was chosen as one of the "Gifted" students, and sometimes, with ten other Chosen Kids, got to leave class for awkward piano lessons, or to volunteer at the old folks home. Sometimes the gifted kids got to have ice cream parties in the library while the librarian, Miss James, read aloud from the Encyclopædia Britannica. But those moments were few and far between; for the majority of her time she had to mix with the other kids. Kids she called kids when she referred to herself as a pre-woman. No, elementary was not for the likes of Francine, who knew the definition of clandestine in second grade. Elementary school was beneath her, she needed something more challenging.
Middle school turned out to definitely not be that. Sixth grade was a wash. She was happy she could finally be separated into Honors classes with the other pretentious kids, but it still felt very...elementary, to be glib. There was still spoiled milk at lunch, still that one kid named Tommy, still a class pet though now it was dead and they were dissecting it...everything was basically the same except for them playing games with the intestines of the class pet now. Francine thought she was going to roll up to Walter White Middle School and her whole life was going to change, but alas, it stayed basically the same, except now she had acne. Now not only did she feel like corroded, bored ass shit inside, but it was starting to show on her face.
Francine wouldn't mind it all so much if she had a friend. She wasn't even wishing for friends plural, but a friend, one, singular. One ugly friend, was that so much to ask? Someone to take her mind off how banal it all was? How unsatisfying and lukewarm and ashy and late everything was.
At the beginning of sixth grade, Francine thought she had a made a friend in the girl she sat next to in Math, Angela. She also sat next to "Ang", as she barked at everyone to not call her, in Homeroom and Honors Abortion Planning. Angela wrote everything in neon pink glitter pen. She had like ten of these pens. It was in the shape of a unicorn and the pen cap was a rainbow-colored unicorn tail. Francine thought Angela was such a bad ass and so cool for doing all her work in unreadable ink with the most amazing, fantastical pen she'd ever seen.
The pen, though, should've been a sign to Francine that this was not a girl to befriend. At first, Francine and Angela got on really well. One day Francine took out her folder in Honors Abortion Planning, and Angela got really excited about the Korean pop band depicted in hentai on the cover.
"You love Zac Brown Band-K, too?!"
Francine remembered being filled with so much glee. She had no idea that anyone in not-Korea cared about Zac Brown Band-K, and especially not some super-cool girl with a unicorn pen who managed to be really popular even though she was in Honors classes, and named Angela. Angela Cranberry, to be exact. Actually, thinking about it, literally everything about her dictated that she'd be popular. She was perfect, and amazing, and had real freckles, unlike Deidre Klansman, who drew hers on with red pen her mom bought her from the dollar store. That's where her mom bought all her school supplies.
When the whole sixth grade found out supposed popular girl Deidre Klansman got all her school supplies from the dollar store, even her "kawaii" backpack with the panda that has Legionnaire's disease on it, she was cast out from the popular crew at haste. Of course, that meant, a new leader needed to be appointed, so a vote was held at the school. Stupidly, Francine suggested Angela should run. "You have real freckles," Francine pointed out, "And you got your school supplies from that Russian girl who was murdered by her mom's robot boyfriend down the hall from the studio where you live with your single bachelor father, Cameron, who runs his own business selling dead people's office supplies online - you have all the necessary components."
Her confidence boosted by Francine, Angela decided to run for Most Popular Girl in the Sixth Grade at Walter White Middle School. She used the points Francine listed 1. real freckles 2. school supplies from murdered Russian girl 3. bachelor entrepreneur father, as her main campaign points. She ran against some girl named Erica who was new from the town over, Yellow Stone, which was famous for having its own mini Chernobyl twenty years ago when the mustard plant exploded. Everyone from Yellow Stone looked like they had jaundice, including Erica, who tried to make that the focal point of her campaign: "My sunken, hollowed-out cheekbones are on-point". It was ingenious. The race came close, but Angela ended up winning by six votes, because, as Matthew H. pointed out, "Your last name is Cranberry, and you don't have chronic botulism." He was merely guessing, however.
After Angela was appointed Most Popular Girl in the Sixth Grade at Walter White Middle School, she was made to leave Honors. "No one whom all the popular Matts and Jasons want to fuck can be in Honors classes. We don't want the Matts and Jasons to feel insecure that they are attracted to someone smarter than them," Principal Whitman explained as he and two policemen escorted Angela out of Honors Math the day after she was appointed office.
Before leaving, Principal Whitman turned to address the class and said, "None of you are better than Matt H., K. and P., or Jason R., S. D., T. or W., and don't you ever make the mistake of thinking so."
Francine never really saw Angela too much after that, except in the hallways, being carried around from class to class by a few guys from the soccer team, as no one cares about the kids who play soccer, or the agency they have over their lives or whatever. They were assigned as her "transportation". Sometimes Francine would think to wave to Angela, but she knew better. She didn't want to be punted to ESL like Laura Pepper, who made the mistake of being a otherling from Honors, thinking she could wave to now Super Popular Angela, just because they used to have Honors Poetry Slam together.
Thankfully, Laura does speak Spanish because she taught it to herself when she was bored one day when she was three, but English is not her second language. Sumerian is. She's having a difficult time, but she'll be alright.
Francine didn't like sixth grade, it was tedious and there weren't any school shootings to get things going. She felt if she had just one friend, it would've made things a little easier to ingest. Alas, she was horrific at not only obtaining friends, but on the rare occasion she could trap one, she'd lose them by suggesting they run for most popular sixth grade girl (Angela), or to Non-Hodgkins Lymphoma (Annie Rochester from Kinder Karate).
Francine had such a difficult time friend-wise, that she didn't really try. But for seventh grade, she was determined to f
orm some sort of squad. She had seen a TV show over the summer break about a bunch of young high school girls who are also superheroes and it was called unimaginatively because I don't feel like thinking hard, Super Hero Girl Squad. Francine loved the camaraderie in that show. The girls all had adversities, like one superhero girl had bulimia, and another, frizzy hair. But the friendship the five of them had empowered and fortified them and gave them a great support system that they didn't have as struggling solo superheroes.
Francine wanted this but in real life. Like maybe she had a shitty family and school wasn't cool like it was in TV where there were school shootings every episode, but maybe none of that would matter if she had a girl squad. A crew of pre-women akin to her who would all agree with whatever she had to complain about, week to week. That was Francine's sole dream. Oh, and also to dive into the sea and keep swimming until the top of her head is no longer visible.
The first recruit for Francine's Seventh Grade Pre-Woman Complaint Squad, was a girl she saw on the bus on the way to school. Francine had never seen her before. She looked irritated, and mean. And most importantly, she didn't look like any Honors class freak. Francine had made a promise to herself to try her hardest to not recruit anyone from Honors classes for the squad. She wanted to be the leader. She was telling herself it was because she wanted ~diversity~, but really she wanted to be the smartest and in control. This girl on the bus did not look dumb, but she had weave in her hair that didn't look like an animal's nest, so this indicated to Francine that she wasn't Honors class material. Francine has never seen a nice beweaved head in Honors class. Not never. The bus girl had nice weave, and cool sneakers. No, she probably had a mom who worked at a call center, or was a nurse. No children of call center workers or nurses are in Honors classes. But they have nice hair and sneakers, always.
Making a bold move, Francine decided to approach bus girl after they arrived at school and all filed off. She was betting on the girl being new, and being relieved someone was approaching to introduce themselves. But when Francine approached her, and said, "Hey, I'm Francine," the bus girl turned her face up like she was smelling a million deep-fried baby diapers and went, "And?!".
Francine felt like throwing up. Primarily because bus girl's breath was a fucking abomination. Up close, Francine could see she was kind of gross-looking. From afar she seemed pretty fresh, outfitted in the latest digs, but up close, she looked to be lightly coated all over in a layer of brown hair grease. Her edges looked to be laid with elmer's glue (white). Probably not even elmer's, but off-brand. Her whole aura smelled like uncleaned up for hours vomit. Her breath was like if you were crawling through someone's intestines, on your hands and knees. All this person eats are honey buns, and semen. You thought you wanted to die after that time you coughed five times at a funeral, but you knew nothing then. You knew nothing.
"Uh, I notice you have really terrible skin," Francine blurted out like her cousin Damien, whose mom diagnosed with Aspergers so people would stop beating him.
"Excuse you, bitch?!" bus girl went. "The fuck you a microscopic mirror or some shit? The fuck you all in my face for?!"
"Uhhh..." Francine reached into her lady briefcase to peel out a yellow notepad to take down bus girl's name, "I run a skin club at the school, for acne sufferers. I...we run a bunch of different tests to see what could maybe help our acne. I don't mean to be rude, just looking for some more people to join, because you know...so many people are embarrassed to even admit they have acne. But you, I saw you and thought she's cool, and she wouldn't care."
Francine hoped deep in her heart that bus girl was too stupid to see though her manipulation tactics, or that some shit like a Bad Skin Club or whatever the flip would even exist at a school whose entire art department was cut to make room for a Terrorist Defense Squad (sigh, more people getting together and being friends).
Bus girl made her mind up by nodding her head and saying, "Yeah, I guess."
Francine was thrilled, and in a dead monotone voice replied, "Yeah?"
"Yeah!" bus girl barked.
"Okay...um. What is your name, then? Annnnd your phone or e-mail?"
"Aint got no e-mail. Wh--"
"You don't have an e-mail?"
Bus girl stared at Francine blankly for a long time, even after the first bell had rung. Francine didn't dare say anything about the bell and how they were going to be late. She wanted this bitch's name and phone number and...she wanted the e-mail, too, but she likely wasn't getting that but probably she'd just make up an e-mail. [email protected], or something like that, just to fill in the space.
"So no e-mail!"
"Nah. Now what the fuck I gotta do for this shit, before I give you all my shit? All my info and shit? You scammin? My auntie be scammin' ugly people, selling them this cream she call Plastic Surgery Face Cream. All it do is give you a rash and diabetes. Dat you?"
"...Um, no? Well...like the first thing I want to do is go to the drugstore and buy a bunch of face cream stuff and then we'll all try them. And...see."
"Mm."
"Or...we'll steal them??"
Bus girl nodded, "That's better. How many bitches in this group? You got an Asian?"
Francine told bus girl, whose name turned out to be fucking Chamomile for some reason, that yes, they indeed had an Asian. Chamomile also asked how many people were in the group. Francine knew if she said some exorbitant number, it would be unbelieved, and then a smaller number like 20 or 15, she knew she'd have to fulfill to keep up appearances. She decided to say "Four, including me. Five if you join. Because she knew she could get an Asian if she broke her No Honors rule, and she knew she could get two other unlikeables with shitty skin if she promised them, too, that they'd get to rob a drugstore. But two otherlings and that Asian girl "An" from Honors Beat-Making and Honors Plato was the max.
This body count seemed to be enough for Chamomile, and she agreed to join. "When we robbin' the drugstore? After school?" she asked, ten minutes into them being late for Homeroom. This for some reason made Francine feel like she was some sort of rebel bad ass. Late for homeroom, a criminal, an outlaw.
"Yeah," she smirked, "right after school."
This made Chamomile cringe. "Yo, you a fucking dweeb."
Francine had Honors Beat-Making right after Homeroom, so she prepared herself mentally and spiritually before approaching An. She didn't like talking directly to Honors Class Asians™. They scared her and they all for some reason knew how to play every string instrument like immediately from birth. Out of all twelve entire Honors Class and Any Class Asians at the school, An was the most weird-eyebrow havingest of the lot. But she was also, alternatively, the most approachable. At least for Francine, who had hair in the shape of a bowl, and whose bottom half was three times the size of her upper half, which she emphasized with hand-me-down sweat tracksuits from when her late sister Susie was training for that marathon, which she was unable to complete due to going on that protein shake diet and something happened where her poop started leaking into her system and she got sepsis and died or whatever. Anyway, Francine looked really bad and weird, like An, so felt she could go to her, pre-woman to pre-woman, and there'd be a common freak ground.
"You want me to help you rob a CVS Pharmacy?" An asked loud and sharp. To be fair, they were in the middle of making beats in Honors Beat-Making class, and there were all this dub-step meets hippopotamus love-making sounds, so she had to speak pretty loud, but hello they were discussing crime? Be a little more discreet why don't you jeez.
"Not necessarily," Francine whisper-hissed, as An obnoxiously turned up the bass on what should only be heard by non-human ears. Something to torture Nazi dogs in Germany with. "I just want to get a crew of girls with bad skin together and we'll help each other not have bad skin anymore. We'll go to CVS, look around, and what happens happens. Plus, I just met this hard girl on the bus, so I think she'll be like...our enforcer. She has a big body and her feet look like...size eight, so."
An sh
rugged, "I don't know, weird black girl I've never spoken to before even though we've been going to school together since first grade and one time you peed on me during dodgeball and thought I didn't notice, I kind of like my pimples, I think they give me an edge. Like how you have that disproportionate ant body. A kadunk, if you will."
Francine staunchly shook her solid bowl hair, "I willn't. And firstly, sorry about peeing on you that one time during dodgeball, I--"
"It's okay, I was cold that day anyway. I kinda liked it."
"Um, well, fine. Uh...but. I mean, do you really like your acne? It looks like shit. You're already weird looking enough, being Asian and having those spiky eyebrows and that shrimp toast colored skin, do you really think adding a smattering of marinara sauce to the canvas is...like, working in your benefit?"
"You're a terrible salesman, Bowl Hair."
"Francine."
An laughed and it sounded like a cat being stabbed with a wishbone from Thanksgiving, "Your name is Francine? Honestly? Blimey."
"Your name is literally two letters. Your parents couldn't even be bothered!"
An shrugged, "Well our village was bombed right as they were writing my name on the birth certificate, so maybe you should think before you speak."
Blackheads Page 1