# Rock Bottom Chapter 4

Uprooting her life and moving to the other side of the state ended up being far more trivial than Fang had expected. Mom and dad were unexpectedly supportive when she broached the idea to them. Too supportive. Maybe they were just glad to be finally rid of their problem child and focus on the one that actually showed promise. To no longer have to deal with her outbursts and have her late-night screaming session with Ripley keeping everyone awake. A vigorous shake of the ptero's head banishes the intrusive toughs and returns her to the here and now. Living alone is incredibly dull and causes her imagination to go into overdrive, often coming up with distressing scenarios that leave her depressed.
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Trying to play guitar while in her current state proved fruitless. Fang couldn't strum more than a few notes before the musical thread she followed started to fray and disintegrate into nothingness. Musician's block was no stranger to the ptero, although it had never lasted this long. Fang just wasn't feeling it, and trying to force it was futile. Oh, she knew plenty of songs from multiple genres and could easily play many of her favorites with her eyes closed. Having spent a significant portion of her time on this earth playing instruments has led Fang to crave something more than just playing Black Magic Woman for the umpteenth time. Something no one had ever heard before, something she could call her own. Her tail, which often thumped a developing rhythm on its own, remained still. Whatever was causing the creative blockage didn't seem to be relenting anytime soon. After a few more idle strums of the guitar's strings, the ptero puts away the instrument. No sense wasting the entire day hoping a flash of inspiration would hit her. It sure didn't yesterday.
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Automatically, the bored teen did what everyone else her age does when they have nothing better to do. Mindlessly stare at a small screen, scrolling through a handful of sites hoping to find something, anything, that would alleviate boredom. For a moment, the ptero considers downloading a show to binge on. File transfer speeds plateauing at laughably low levels reminds Fang of the terrible internet provider she's stuck with. Seeing the estimated time until completion quickly kills that plan. She wants to watch something before the heat death of the universe. Bouncing between the same few sites helps kill time for a while, but it does little to lift her spirits. If anything, it worsens her mood. The news site headlines were either terrible, rage bait, outright lies, or all of the above. SnooTube was no better. She has seen all the videos worth a damn already. Social media was also out of the question. The last thing she needed in her life was getting mad at strangers online for no reason.
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Thoroughly bored out of her mind, Fang decides it's time for drastic measures. Bundled up and essentials in her pockets, the ptero heads out to brave the cold, gray world that is Rock Bottom. Turns out O'Neil street, the road connecting her apartment complex to the rest of the town, is even worse than she had imagined. While not as bad as Trish's neighborhood, it's giving it a run for its money for sure. Volcaldera Bluffs at least had sunshine, here's it's nothing but gray and more gray all day, every day. In the distance, the monotony of prefabricated housing is disrupted by a bell tower. Loud, deep ringing emanating from it signals the start of Sunday afternoon Mass. The ptero recalls all the Sundays she was forced to attend and endure all the preaching and guilt-tripping. It will be a cold day in hell before she willingly attends service again.
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Having had her fill with the repeating cookie-cutter houses, whose only discerning feature was the state of disrepair they were in, Fang returns home no less bored than before. Force of habit has her tapping away at her phone's screen the entire walk back. The sidewalks were devoid of pedestrians allowing her to focus on the tiny device without fear of bumping into anyone. The phone's message app showed no new messages came in today. Not replying or being hostile finally started paying dividends. Soon she won't have to check the application at all. Fang's gaze lingers on the topmost conversation in the message application, the ptero's wings drooping more the longer she stares at the phone. Naser's last text and her own reply still weigh heavily on her conscience. She'll send him an apology tomorrow. There's no need to bother Naser today. Tomorrow she'll most certainly postpone typing out the apology again. If she was good at anything, it was putting things off until it was too late. A deep sigh from the ptero as she unlocks her apartment door. Night had already fallen, despite the clock showing it wasn't even 7PM. Just another perk of living here. Might as well go to sleep early again, not like she has anything better to do.
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Come morning, the ptero is a far cry from being rested, the extra hours spent in bed doing little to recharge her batteries. Ritual, walk, ignore the stares from her schoolmates, quick exchange of pleasantries with the bald human she sits next to in history class. A terrible way to start the day, except for that last part. Interspaced between scribbling down notes about some supposedly important event neither of the two gives a shit about is idle chatter too quiet for the teacher to pick up all the way at the front of the class. If only the human would talk about something other than schoolwork.
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"You finished with the project yet?"
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Fang rolls her eyes at the question, "I'm working on it. Do you have any idea how difficult and time-consuming changing a couple of words is?"
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The ptero's uncharacteristically serious tone has Anon scrambling to come up with something to say. Thankfully, her poker face doesn't last long, a smirk quickly overwriting her previous sober expression.
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"Shit, I could have done it too with how bored I was over the weekend. I swear, there is absolutely nothing going on in this shithole of a town."
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"None taken."
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Fang's words die in her throat. The human already foresaw her meaningless apology about the town's state and responded accordingly. She really needs to switch things up if she had gotten this predictable with her jabs at the town's expense.
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"So, what were you up to?"
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"Oh, you know, the usual. Playing video games and watching some shows."
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The former was a blatant lie. Anon rarely played video games these days. His schedule didn't permit anything other than arguing with online strangers about games he didn't even bother pirating. Explaining the mystical arts of shitposting was not something he was keen on doing either. Good thing Fang was not interested in that part of his weekend.
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"What kind of shows?"
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Time to put the time spent preparing what to say on such an occasion to good use.
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"Uh...f-foreign shows? You wouldn't like 'em."
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Fang regards Anon for a few moments, the human desperately hoping he wasn't sweating already, before shrugging.
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"Huh, wouldn't have figured you for a guy into those artsy-fartsy European shows."
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Crisis averted. Fang thinking he's into niche pretentious crap is infinitely preferable to her finding out it's actually weebshit. The pair return to scribbling down yet more facts about supposedly noteworthy people and places. Time slows to a crawl thanks to the barrage of seemingly unending useless factoids, all of which required writing down. Subsequent classes go by even slower, the pair's seating arrangement preventing them from passing the time with chitchat. It isn't until science class with Mr. Coomer that the two can catch up. Their conversation becomes one-sided before dying completely, the human unable to carry it on his own. Fang keeps zoning out, her thoughts preoccupied with something other than school gossip and fresh memes. During their now customary slow walk towards the classroom exit, the ptero finally gathers enough courage to speak up.
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"It was really nice when you came to watch me play during music class," the ptero is suddenly unable to find a spot where to place her hands, "You sure you wouldn't be interested in taking the class as an elective?"
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"Fang, I know fuck all about music. Besides, the teacher would probably be against it anyway."
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"Not if I put in a good word for you," Fang's voice becomes quieter as if what she's about to say is a source of embarrassment, "and I can help you with homework or whatever."
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The human considers for a while before reluctantly acquiescing with a nod. Fang's beaming smile makes agreeing to try worth it for some reason, even if Anon really is clueless when it comes to music. Not like he has anything to lose. Fang is happy that he is willing to give it a chance, and the teacher is going to shoot down the request anyway, taking all the blame. With a reason to go to class early, the duo arrives with plenty of time to spare. Hopefully, being early will allow them to talk with the teacher in peace without anyone interrupting. Fang's enthusiasm gets the better of her, making her speak in Anon's stead like she was his guardian.
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"Mrs. Noko, I have a student here who wants to sign up for music class."
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The middle-aged woman slowly looks up from the stacks of paper strewn across her desk. She eyes the human for a few moments, silently judging him before turning her attention to the eagerly waiting dinosaur pupil.
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"Miss Aaran, while we do have plenty of free spots in our class," the teacher lets out a tired sigh, "I just don't have the time to help catch up a completely new student this late into the semester."
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Refusing to be dismissed so easily, Fang slams both hands on the teacher's desk. A few sheets of paper are launched a few inches into the air before lazily settling down on a different pile. Fang speaks up before Mrs. Noko can admonish her for ruining her meticulously organized workflow, "I'll do it."
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Several moments pass, Mrs. Noko patiently waiting for Anon to speak up. The human is far too content with others speaking for him in such matters to bother voice his opinion, requiring her to ask directly.
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"What about you? Do you have anything to say on the matter, or does miss Aaran always speak on your behalf?"
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"I...uh...I really do want to sign up."
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"Of course you do," Mrs. Noko laughs to herself before turning to face Fang, "Very well, miss Aaran, he can have a trial period. If he passes the upcoming test later in the month, I'll add your friend to the class register."
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"Thank you."
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This was not the first time Mrs. Noko had had a student suddenly want to join music class. How curious that it was always a girl bringing in a boy. If she didn't know any better, one might think there was a pattern to the whole thing. Before her two newest pupils can get outside of earshot, Mrs. Noko gives them a final warning.
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"If not, well then, you two will just have to come up with a different scheme to spend time together."
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Other students have started filing into the classroom and taking their seats, a quick glance at the clock revealing it was almost time for the period to start. Fang is pleased with the outcome, while Anon bids a silent farewell to his free period. The ptero kept her word and helped with any questions Anon had, which were nearly endless. Moments before the end of the class, the teacher hands out a homework packet. The tone of her voice made it clear she would be checking it next time. The human's doubts about the whole thing began to resurface.
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"Fang, I still have no clue about music even with you around. And now this?"
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He holds up several double-sided pages of homework packet with one hand and smacks them with the other for emphasis. Without an ounce of hesitation, Fang grabs the stack of papers from Anon's hand and quickly scribbles something on the first page.
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"There. I did say I'd help, so here's my cellphone number," the ptero hands Anon his homework back to him, "Just don't call me in the middle of the night. Can't have anyone interrupt my 'staring at the ceiling' time."
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The ptero laughs at her own joke while Anon is busy screaming internally, accompanied by blaring klaxons only he could hear. A few days ago, he was starting to make peace with being forever alone. Today he's been given a girl's phone number without even asking. Several sharp pinches to his forearm have yet to awaken him, making it increasingly likely he wasn't dreaming.
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Over the week, Anon makes good use of Fang's phone number. The ptero seemed to have infinite patience when explaining the differences between various instrument types and other esoteric musical information. Crosswords were where she drew the line, though, and she demanded Anon figure it out himself, which was more than fair. Applying a bit of logic and brute force allowed the human to solve it eventually. It didn't take long for both of them to start using their newfound social link to text each other during class to pass the time. Using one's phone in the middle of a lecture was not without associated risks. Many teachers were not too keen on the students focusing more on their electronic devices than the subject matter. Not willing to risk having her phone confiscated, Fang decided to just cut out the electronic middle man and sit next to the human.
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Asking other students to swap seats with her ended up going smoother than expected. None of them were willing to fight her when asked. If the two losers wanted to sit together, that's their problem. Fang's prominent display of her claws and combat boots ensured the negotiations went by without a hitch. Many of their classmates did leave the two with some choice remarks about their meager social status. All in a desperate attempt to not seem like they had just been bullied by the intimidating dinosaur student. Fang's made her indifference towards what humans thought about her obvious, but the words did seem to occasionally pierce through Anon's stoic demeanor. A few words of encouragement from the ptero manages to help him disregard the taunts.
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The lunch period was always a pain to get through for Fang. It was bad enough she had to hope there was an entire empty table if she wanted to have a seat for her meal. Sitting next to strangers didn't exactly help her appetite. Neither did the quality, or rather lack thereof, of the food being served. How she missed the carnivore menu from Volcano High. What she wouldn't give for their fish menu right about now. Just as the food lacked certain spices, so did the cafeteria lack a certain someone. Initially, the ptero chalked it up to the fact that humans all looked the same to her, and she just hadn't noticed Anon before. A couple of days scanning the cafeteria while waiting in the lunch line confirmed that Anon never showed up. Good thing she now has his number and could just ask where he's is hiding. A few taps of the phone's screen send the human an inquiry about his whereabouts. A break from all the staring and what humans naively think is whispering would be much appreciated. A few minutes later, while the ptero is busy deciding whether to eat standing up or not at all, she receives the human's reply. Turning a few corners and descending a stairwell later, Fang reaches her destination.
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Next to the basement level fire escape stairs is a small rickety table, and dotted around it are a couple of old chairs. Most likely a spot where the janitor goes to take a break when he doesn't feel like cleaning up any of the numerous messes plaguing the school. Considering the building's state and the many cigarette buds littering the floor, that must happen often. Carefully taking a seat on a beat-up chair that is more rust than metal, Fang shoots the human a sly grin.
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"So, come here often?"
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"Oh yeah, my picture is on the board with all the other celebrities that come here."
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"Wow, didn't know this place also had comedy night. What else has Rock Bottom been hiding from me?"
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The human takes a bite of his sandwich and proceeds to chew the morsel for so long one might think it was full of thorns.
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"Salt, for one."
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Friday rolls around, with Anon sweating bullets at the prospect of being forced to do the history presentation. After a short back and forth, they agree Fang does all the talking, while Anon just stands there and looks pretty. Fang was right about one thing, the teacher absolutely ate up the bullshit inside the report. All the teacher's waiting questions had ready answers tailored to her liking. The easiest A Anon has ever gotten. Some of the "facts" in the report were questionable, but Anon wasn't about to look a gift horse in the mouth.
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The final bell of the day signals sweet freedom for both students and faculty members alike. Before leaving the dump of a school behind for another weekend, Fang takes a quick detour to the school library. The librarian was already missing, no doubt clocking out early. Much appreciated privacy allowed Fang to do as she pleased. Making herself comfortable behind the only computer with an internet connection, Fang double-clicks the dreaded blue e icon. Expecting anything else was entirely her own fault. The system is slow, prone to hanging, and struggles to open even a basic web page. Beggars can't be choosers, though. After a good half hour of tapping on the keyboard and cursing the computer, Fang achieves what she set out to do. A massive beige box, already outdated when her grandparents were attending school, slowly rumbles to life. It produces a blank page of sheet music. Followed by another, and another. Despite its age and technological relic status, the printer kept chipping away at its task. Taking care, Fang places a handful of printed pages inside her backpack, careful not to crumple any of them. The antique printer was still going, yet all it produced now was clear white pages, its ink running out a good fifteen minutes ago.
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'One step closer to bankruptcy.'
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Chuckling to herself, Fang leaves the library. She had found it unlocked, and that's how she'd leave it. It was not like any of her dimwit schoolmates would steal anything from it. Leaving through an exit Fang never used before, she glances towards the poor excuse for a sports field behind the school. Instead of being vacant as expected, there is a slight commotion. Several students are standing in an uncharacteristic orderly line, waiting their turn for something. Her curiosity piqued, Fang observes the humans in the hopes of figuring out what they're doing. One leaves the front of the queue, more than satisfied with his haul. The rotund student is carrying a couple of bags full to the brim with soda, candy, and other kinds of junk food. The next departing customer is much the same. They all seem to be stocking up for the weekend, uncaring that all they were buying was an express ticket to diabetesville. Slowly the line diminishes in length, leaving the ptero with more questions than answers. The biggest question makes itself apparent when she sees the friendly merchant. It's Anon. She has to go ask him what the hell is going on. The last departing customer is an extra chunky lad carrying enough food to feed a family for a week. Either that or just clog their arteries. He gives her an odd look as she moves aside to avoid his wide girth that threatens to topple any who get in his way. Anon is too busy counting his newfound monetary gains to notice her approach.
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"So, are you doing extra credit for business college or something?"
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Startled by the unseen visitor, Anon tightly clutches the money in his hands. It takes him a few moments to process who's addressing him. Relieved it's not someone after his possibly ill-gotten gains, the human loosens his iron grip on the wads of cash.
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"Wha-? Oh, no, it's just a way to make a little extra."
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The ptero takes a seat next to Anon at a respectable distance.
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"Quite the crowd you had. Didn't know you were this popular."
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"Popu-," the human's mouth moves, but no words come forth. The sheer absurdity of Anon being popular leaves him speechless. After a few moments of performing his best impression of a fish pulled out of water, the human regains his ability to speak.
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"No, those were just suck-, er, I mean customers."
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Despite what he thinks of them, Anon can't afford to talk shit about his primary source of video game money. If any of them were still in earshot, his entire venture would go down in flames. The scheme relies on his customers being incredibly lazy, lacking in brain cells, and tolerating him enough to be willing to do business with. Anon picks up a can from the small pile next to him and offers it to Fang.
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"Want one? Couldn't sell these since they're missing the tab."
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A minimalist red dragon in front of a yellow circle adorns the can. Above it is a short marketing blurb. The ptero can't help but say it aloud.
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"Red Lizard gives you wings..."
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Fang glances towards the human who has opened his own can with a pocket knife.
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"Kinda racist," the ptero makes a point to spread out her wings as far as she can, the tip of one brushing against Anon's back, "and kinda redundant."
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The human just shrugs and stares, busy sipping the canned heart palpitations. Piercing the can with an obsidian claw, Fang momentarily pauses.
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"You wouldn't happen to have a straw, would you?"
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"Wha-"
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"Nevermind."
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The nature of having a long beak prevents Fang from idly sipping anything in a can. Instead, she chugs the contents of the can in less than a second. A grimace paints her face as her taste buds process all the chemicals inside what one might call a beverage if they were trying to be deceitful.
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"Disgusting. Can't believe my brother likes this shit."
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"Oh, you have a brother?"
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"Yeah, my baby brother is a real boy scout, apart from drinking this swill. Popular, perfect grades, on the track team, the works."
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Fang fishes for something inside her jean pocket. While the ptero is busy looking for whatever, Anon takes the time to consider his response. Punctuating his deep thoughts with the occasional sip from the legal poison in a can.
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"I take it you two aren't on the best terms."
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"What gave it away?" Fang's voice becomes harsher than usual, "He even has a stuck-up bitch of a girlfriend that kept sticking her snout where it doesn't belong."
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"Glad I don't have to deal with that, one of the perks of being an only child."
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"I mean, he's not that bad. It's just that he keeps fucking up," a sad sigh takes the edge off of Fang's voice, "Or maybe I'm just too fucked up to be helped."
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Silence falls as Fang's amber eyes become infatuated with the ground, her sour mood preventing her from elaborating further. Fang retrieves a crumpled packet of cigarettes along with a pink Bic lighter out of her jean pockets. With a single flick of a finger, the lighter produces a flame, which the ptero carefully shields from errant gusts of wind that would threaten to extinguish it. Slowly she brings the miniature inferno to the waiting cancer stick in her lips. A few puffs are followed by a sharp inhale that incinerates a good quarter of the cigarette, Fang's body visibly relaxing as she creates several smoke rings. While leaning on the bench with one hand, the ptero offers the lit cigarette to Anon with the other. He hesitates for a moment before taking it. Their hands brush against one another for a moment, nearly causing Anon to spill his spaghetti. Luckily the bulkheads inside his pockets prevent a worldwide pasta tsunami extinction event. The two make quick work of the cancer stick, with Fang extinguishing its remnants with the heel of her combat boot. The ptero leans back on both hands, idly kicking her feet as she does. Behind the human, she notices what can only be described as a pile of garbage in the shape of a dirt bike.
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"What's that?"
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Anon follows her gaze towards the object in question.
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"Oh, that's mine. I use it to transport the bulkier inventory from the store."
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"Yeah, right. I'm no expert, but I bet that thing would fall apart if someone sat on it."
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His pride hurt by the comment, Anon gets on his ride. The human offers a short prayer to any deity that might be listening as he turns the key. For once, his prayers are answered, and the bike rumbles to life on the first try. Emboldened by his good fortune, Anon proceeds to make a couple of donuts on the asphalt field. Something inside compels the human to push his luck. A desperate, primal need to impress a girl watching. For his final trick, he attempts to stop while doing a front wheelie next to Fang, which would undoubtedly impress the ptero. Icarus was driven by hubris to fly too close to the sun. Anon was determined to follow in his footsteps by nearly flying too close to the asphalt. Any hope of impressing Fang went down the drain as the ptero was forced to scramble and grab hold of the bike before it launched Anon into the waiting embrace of a hospital ward he couldn't afford. Confident the human's fate was no longer that of a bloody streak across the sports field, Fang lets out a nervous laugh.
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"Alright, settle down, Evel Knievel, before you hurt yourself."
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"Guess I need a bit more practice for that last part."
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Fang makes a point of rolling her eyes exaggeratedly, "You think?"
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Time flies when you're having fun and preventing a tragedy from occurring. Daylight was fighting a losing battle against the encroaching night. What streetlamps had intact and working lightbulbs were already flickering on.
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"It's getting dark, and I don't want to get mugged on the way back home. Thanks for the drink, Anon," Fang tries and fails to stifle a giggle, "Even if it tasted horrible."
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"Hah, yeah, anytime."
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"I'll see ya Monday."
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The ptero shoulders her backpack and proceeds towards the exit gate, giving the human a final wave before she disappears behind the school.