Creative Writing pt. 1

"There’s something wrong with that boy."

A shuffle of papers, a load creak as the chair pulled from the desk, and the new school counselor was up with an armful of documents hugged against her chest. She looked tentatively at the time on her wristwatch, her blank eyes reading the hands and then moving directly towards the door. “Two hours isn’t nearly enough to get to the root of his issue."

"Something wrong! Mrs. Moore, I’d say that’s quite an understatement- everyone knows there’s something wrong with Daniel. He comes to class late and bruised and doesn’t even bother to generate a good excuse anymore," the single, overweight Mr. Lancer followed the formally dressed woman with exasperation in his wide sway of arms. She walked out the door without batting so much a concerned glance though he followed regardless. “All of you counselors just say the same thing, but do any you really try?”

"It’s only work here, Mr. Lancer. Half the kids who come here are looking for academic guidance anyways-" she turned down he hall to her left- “You seem to be very concerned about the boy yourself. Why don’t you do something?"

Mr. Lancer nearly broke into incoherent grumbles but collected himself. God, these “counselors" peeved him so much with, ironically, their lack of empathy. “But you’re the counselor here," he tried his hardest to prevent his tone from coming off as rude. “You should be able to get to know him. He only hides things from me no matter how hard I try and I can’t understand that enigma of a boy at all. I know he can do better but his life seems to be falling in the pits ever since the beginning of this year!"

Surprisingly, the could shouldered Mrs. Moore paused and sent a nervous glance to Lancer. “Between you and me, that boy kind of makes me nervous," her  voice seemed to lower once Lancer was in a close enough earshot. “There’s something seriously off about him, and I haven’t worked with a kid like this since I quite my job at my last school years ago."

Lancer raised his eyebrow. “Quit?"

"Yeah, a student tried to attack me- nasty kid. It was a pretty bad school if you ask me. A quarter of them were probably DSM confirmed sociopaths so I quit."

"So Danny, what do you," the words garbled in his throat again under the counselor’s hard glare. “I know something is very wrong with him but what’s your take on him?"

She breathed a heavy sigh. “There’s too much he obfuscates- especially around authoritative figures. But I know the look in his eyes and the tone of his voice, and there’s something unnerving about him."
Lancer blinked, imagining Danny’s tired, nearly lifeless eyes. The purple, sagging bags under drooping below. His entire expression long and forlorn, and the constant bruises lining the exposed areas of his skin being of no consolation either. He imagined his sloppy slouch, his ruffled hair, his awkward wobble to his seat, and all he saw was a tired- very tired- boy. He always suspected something suddenly arose- maybe domestic issues? No, the Fentons were a bit wacky but they were still sweet people when he met them at a parent teacher conference. “I know, but I’ve been trying to figure out for so long- why?"

"I can’t say it’s his environment. I’ve talked to his sister Jazz- oh, what a sweet, intelligent young lady!- and she reported that there’s really nothing wrong in their household… Still, I don’t understand how he and such a good hearted girl are even related." Her voice was uplifted at the mention of Jazz Fenton’s name and then droned off in a detached ramble near the end.

"… So?" Mr. Lancer leaned in, snapping her back into focus.

She blinked, forcing her back on the right track. For a moment she was in thought, looking out and furling her eyebrows with faint confusion swimming in her eyes. “It just really makes no sense why his behavior is like this. He isn’t in any gangs- at least it’s highly unlikely given his personality- and everything just points to abnormal. But I’m telling you Mr. Lancer, he has a certain… anger in him. The anger I quit my last job over."

“Anger?" Lancer choked the word in disbelief, almost laughing. Daniel Fenton was never angry. He hardly reacted when Dash openly bullied him- much to Lancer’s dismay- in class. Daniel Fenton only ever came into class with those same tired eyes day after day after day. Maybe he was depressed? Maybe he was overly paranoid? But Lancer envisioned him anything but angry. “What could you possibly say to him that would get him angry?"

"He wasn’t openly angry obviously. He didn’t shout. But he spoke more defensively and harshly and his eyes! You could see something boiling in that boy if you looked hard enough. I mean he was collected on the outside but it felt almost unearthly… I almost felt like the walls started shaking or something," she hesitated, realizing the ridiculousness of that sentiment and then laughed it off awkwardly as if it were but a dumb joke. (though a certain feeling did keep her on the edge that the walls, indeed, actually were shaking.)

Lancer grew curious beyond hope at this point, though the air of seriousness around her words did make things rather austere. “But… What made him so angry?"

"I pushed for his feelings. He got defensive. Usually they react like that but usually they aren’t so… angry. And what bothers me most is that he seems to be repressing so much of it. Yeah- he’s a good kid, really- and perhaps it’s a bit of an irrational conclusion but I swear I could feel the kid’s rage," her eyes widened and she lowered her head in shame. “I’m sorry that’s kind of baseless and stupid to assume. But the point is, I think he pents up a lot of that anger and it might channel in a very, very wrong way."

"Do you think it’s because of all the bullying he’s put through? Is that what’s making him, well, angry?" Lancer still couldn’t fully imagine the soft spoken boy as anything near angry, but if that’s what he had to assume…

"I’m not sure that’s the problem. I’m not sure what’s the problem," for a single split second there flashed an indiscriminate terror, but she chased it away as quickly as it came. “That’s the most peculiar thing thing about his case."

Struck rather nervous by the counselor’s odd display, Mr. Lancer had more questions than he hoped to end up with. Just from knowing her for a week or so, he knew Mrs. Moore liked to by professional and oft times sardonic. She was practical and based a majority of her statements on reason, but still very open to people if not a bit crudely humorous towards them. “So how… How do you think I should deal with Daniel?"

She looked at him with a peculiar gaze, the corner of her lip turned a little bit upwards. “Well, that’s something to appreciate. Never in my career have I come across such a genuinely determined teacher like you. A genuinely determined teacher for his students at least. That’s very impressive."

He straightened himself up a bit, his chest puffed out slightly but not so far as his belly. “Well, thank you! I care a lot about my students. Especially Daniel… He used to have at least put all his effort in my class but now he misses almost every homework assignment. I want to know what I can do to help him if he isn’t going to help himself."

"It’s definitely great that you’re reaching out to him, but I’ll give you a word of advice. That boy holds his secrets dangerously close to him, so don’t prod for them. Let him reveal them, or you’re never going to get anything out of him. Perhaps something therapeutic- like the arts?"

"Oh, well, it’s not like I can force him to do art projects, but writing? His essays are never well written or- hell- finished. I can barely read them as if he wrote them running to school or something."

Mrs. Moore checked the time on her watch again and started walking faster. “Well that’s an essay, Lancer. No one puts anything creative in that kind of writing. Now if you excuse me, I’m running late for a little event I planned for my kids."

Watching her walk away with the slightest hint of her excited smile passing by, Lancer decided to end his little pursuit. He waited as the counselor disappead turning another hall, leaving him deep in thought. “Nothing creative in that writing," he repeated, mumbling. Then it came to him, clicking like a lock in a key.

"Creative writing."