UnBooks:Might As Well Not
an UnAbriged UnBook
There comes a time in every man's life when he will find a question he won't be able to answer. "Is there a God?", "Who is the real God?", or "Why the hell does God hate me so?" may seem to be the most likely options, but Jonathan Jackson had a more pressing question: what to fill in on the bloody "Father's Name" section of the school registration form. He pondered for a second if he should fill in what his mother always told him, but the apparent joke was never well received by the various schools' headmasters. Not to mention the psychologist sessions he had to take became more and more fruitless every time he transferred. So he decided on a subtle term: "John Doe". It wasn't really an answer, but a rather good substitute nonetheless and it was better than "The Milkman" by a long shot.
"Are you done yet?" asked the receptionist.
"I just have to sign, ma'am," he answered.
Looking into her eyes, Jonathan decided that the receptionist has digressed into such a state of apathy that she could probably win a staring contest against a potato, or at least put up one hell of a fight. She was pounding on an old typewriter that made a reverberant clatter which filled the dark gloom of the school's offices.
"Thank you," Jonathan said as he handed in the forms.
A grunt escaped her that he assumed to mean something like: "It wasn't really a pleasure, but hey, it's my job. And far be it from me to pretend that I don't enjoy my crappy pointless occupation." She picked up an old microphone, pressed a few buttons on a keypad of unimaginable age and said in a monotonous tone: "Could a class representative from 12 B come to the office. Class representative; 12 B; Office."
Class representative, 12 B swung by just in time to stop John from losing his sanity to an evil typewriter and it's tentacles of noise. Her name was Jenny and she said so with a smile that could make a toothpaste advertisement feel inferior. Before he had any chance to attempt a reply whatsoever Jenny grabbed his hand and tugged him towards an inevitably short social life at Daggermouth High. She seemed to have more energy than ten kilos of sugar poured into a vat of Red Bull. Her "talking" didn't sound like talking to Jonathan at all. It sounded more like a 56K modem trying, in vain, to connect. But before John could say "I actually left my bag in the office" he was standing before thirty or so relatively bland expressions that were unmoved by Jenny's emphatic introduction.
"Now, why don't you take a seat?" asked the teacher.
She was trying so hard to force a smile but the rest of her face radiated an expression of "Where did it all go wrong?" Jonathan chose a seat in the second row from the front. In his experience, this was the best row to achieve something academically without the risk of being exposed to the fine mist of saliva some teachers generously coated the front row nerds with. As soon as he sat down on the chair covered in white-out messages like "Peter Loves Mary" and "I told you I'm not bloody interested!" the teacher reached for her handbag and said: "Jenny, would you mind?" This was met with a sigh from the class that was almost a metaphor for depression.
"I'm sorry guys, but I have to pick up my cat from the vet."
"But ma'am, Jenny's ruthless when it comes to giving class," said a voice so deep it could strike fear into the heart of an artichoke.
"Well, deal with it."
The reply was far more earnest than Jonathan had expected and he couldn't help but drop his jaw slightly as the teacher made a brisk exit. As soon as the door slammed shut Jenny stood up so fast it seemed as though she wanted to launch herself towards the Moon.
"Okay everybody, since I was so 'ruthless' last time, I think we can take the period off today. Good show, Jake, by the way."
"Thanks," Jake vibrated.
The class' verbal communications kicked in with a sound like that of a small volcano erupting. Through the noise, Jonathan heard someone from the back call his name shortly before he was hit with crumpled up paper, supposedly just in case he was deaf. He looked over his shoulder.
"Do you play rugby?" asked a man who was proof that humans are genetically similar to pigs.
Jonathan did play rugby.
"No," he said in an attempt to make his life easier.
"You mean not any more?"
Jonathan frowned. He was well liked in most of the schools he went to, but the closest he ever came to being famous was not very close at all. Sensing his confusion, which is something anybody, or even a smart parrot could do at that stage, the huge mass of a man called a guy with glasses as thick as Aunt Betty's milkshakes closer.
"Meet The Geek. He probably knew you were going to transfer here before you did."
"That's right. Just give me a broadband connection and I can find you anything from Area 51 blueprints to the latest Yaoi movie."
"What the hell is a Ya oi movie?" The huge guy's face crumpled, which Jonathan concluded to be his way of frowning.
"Trust me Teddy, you probably don't want to know. Unless there's something you need to tell us."
Teddy's face just crumpled even more.
"Anyway, since I know your name, mine is Magnoliophyta but everyone calls me The Geek because one: even I'm not really sure how to pronounce my real name and two: I'm a bloody geek."
"And I'm called Teddy because the nickname stuck and, no matter how much I asked, they didn't want to shut up with it."
This was going to be an interesting 4 to 6 months.