Korê in New York
What happens when a kid refuses to leave the past behind? What happens when the past won't go away? Read on and don't worry about the emotional damage.
All right if you must know, this Tumblr is serialized fiction. It started out as part of this site, and then outlived its original home.
I have a friend with stories of her own at An Accidental King. Please check them out.
This is the story of Korê, a freshwoman at Brooklyn Tech. She is constantly rummaging through her emotional baggage. The problem is some of what she worries about is actually true. Sometimes the past is more than the past. And never let a teenager near a style sheet. Muwhaaah!
This is my hall of fame for the really cool Tumbeblogs that I follow. Is your Tumbleblog good enough?
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Conch Chowder
“This is a long walk,” Klarissa complained as we made our way to Building 4 and then down. It was always down. The Good Luck Caribbean Cafe was on Level S3. S is subterranean.
Klarissa ordered the jerk chicken sandwich and I had a bowl of conch chowder. We sat at a table in the back. “I thought you loved old people,” Klarissa began. “I mean you must love your teachers.”
“Teachers are usually decent,” I remarked. That may have not been true when I was little, but it has been true since about seventh grade. “Parents and uneducated people are different.”
“So you understand a bit…”
“Maybe… I hate it when adults threaten physical violence against kids. It feels like tyranny.”
“Then what about school?”
“I like most of it.”
“That makes it OK to stick everybody with busy work then.”
“It’s not busy work. It’s important stuff like knowing a conch is not a clam.”
“If you want to eat any of that shit.”
“Or knowing basic nutrition and exercise stuff. That’s biology and maybe it’s health.”
“Health is useless.”
“Health is gym teachers that couldn’t get a job elsewhere. And it’s propaganda.”
“OK, then you understand?”
“No, I don’t. I want to make sure there’s serious academics for the kids who want them and a chance to go to college and a chance for kids to work hard at something that uses their skills so people can recognize them.”
“Oh fuck…”
“I’m serious.”
“And what about the parents and all the old people who want to lord it all over us? Every generation did that, but ours is the first to break free. Even you notice it. I mean my parents. My mother was always at my case. She still thinks I’m going to get pregnant before I’m sixteen just because I want to wear my pants low. She’s jealous because she never took care of herself and she’s got a belly, but I used to have to listen to her and she grounded me….
“You should have seen the look on her face when the kids came riding down the street with banners on their bikes and then the parade one night with flash lightsa and candles supporting me and all the other grounded kids. Those poor parents were shitting bricks.”
“I ran away from home at the end of eighth grade,” I replied.
“No shit!”
“That was the last week in June 2009.”
“That was before…”
“Yes. My parents are divorced and my Dad lives uptown. I just snuck out of the house and took the subway to his apartment and moved in with him. My mom couldn’t do anything about it because I was fourteen and she hates going to court.”
“No shit…”
“Yeah, so I know about parents and I really like the whole support thing, but you can’t destroy the schools.” I was almost ready to cry which was a shame because my conch chowder which was really pretty good was getting cold. Conch chowder is sort of Manhattan style if you are interested.
“You could always have a tutor.”
“No, I want to learn with other students who feel like I do.”
“So you’ve got Brooklyn Tech. I guess there could always be a few schools like that for people like you, and then you’d be on our side.”
I shook my head. “You forget the middle schoolers.”
“Huh…”
“They have to get ready to do that kind of work so they need courses and support if you want to call it that, and then there’s the youngest kids who need to get ready for middle school. If you’re busy all the time with social intelligence and playing games, you aren’t going to get enough work done to be able to do what I’m doing now in ninth grade.”
Klarissa shook her head. “Most people don’t give a fuck. Not even most adults.”
“You sound like my friend Piper. He says most grownups are failures.”
“No, they realize school work doesn’t mean shit and anyway, most are rich and successful.”
“Most are just getting by. They’re one layoff away from stacking beach chairs.”
“You really believe that?”
“Look at the people raking the beach here or cooking your food. Where do they come from?”
“If they’d stayed in school longer.”
“Maybe…”
“I’m never going to convince you.”
“No, you probably won’t.”
“So what’s going to happen…”
“We’re going to fight you every step of the way. You know we won in New York City.”
“You’re losing elsewhere.”
“It’s a long fight.”
“Yeah, but we’re in the majority.”
“For how long?”
“What the fuck do you mean?”
“Well look, you didn’t dance at club Tiqi,” I sank in the barb.
“Fuck Club Tiqi. I don’t deserve to be there anyway.”
I blinked.
“I’m not that big in the group. I’m just an ordinary member. My mom got done caring for my grandma so my dad took us down here for a week for a reward. I don’t qualify for Club Tiqi. I can except that there are popular kids who rule, but it’s better than old people or dweebs in charge or ex-perts.”
“What about Jean and Jared?” I had more ammunition.
“I don’t know them well enough. If they’re telling the truth, someone in Kansas City fucked up. They may think they’re bigger than they are, but the kids who do nothing and think they can buy their way in, aren’t going to get it. At least you don’t try to go where you’re not wanted.”
“The feeling is mutual,” I replied.
“OK, then let’s not fight in front of everybody. The arguments really get old.”
I shrugged. “You don’t start it. I won’t finish it,” I answered. “Where do you go to school anyway?” I asked.
“Dix Hills on Long Island.”
“Reigion 2-1,” I replied.
“Yeah, founded by fucking asshole, Rowan McCarthy.” Klarissa gave a snort.
