(no subject)

[cookinglikeamotherfucker]

Nobody talked to the kid with the dreads.

Nobody knew if he'd been held back with the jocks, or if he'd just hit the world's worst growth spurt, but the long, lanky highblood seemed to top everyone else in stature, even the select little clique of seadwellers, all of whom had taken to muttering about him indiscreetly. Of course, it didn't help his image that he wandered the halls with the dazed expression of the perpetually baked. He'd already been forced to stop painting his face by the faculty to keep from distracting others in his classes. As if that was really what everyone was focusing on.

He was intelligent, even brilliant according to some of the instructors, but that didn't count for anything when none of his homework was turned in, either coming up missing or simply forgotten, or occasionally doodled on. He never took notes and rarely remembered to bring his textbooks. The only class he did well in, for that matter, was his visual arts elective and even then, he rarely stayed on task, often speeding through the lessons then slinking away to one of the broken-down loveseats what were used for the occasional sit-in model for life drawing sessions.

He was a flake, and ninety percent of the time, he was alone.

Fourth block Gym was never something that he participated in. He simply stayed long enough to be counted there for role call, then slipped out easily to settle down behind the gymnasium where the security guards never went, sitting on the ground in the shade in his gym clothes and packing a bowl out of sight where the smoke would be whipped away by the breeze.