Hi, everyone, as usual my name is THE SEAOKNARNAR and this is my fic. This is actually my first Simpsons fic, and I noticed a sad lack of angst fics under this category. That is why I have undertaken this great quest to write a good angsty Simpsons fic (a feat, I realize, that might just be impossible). Therefore, this chapter is THE TEST CHAPTER with an introduction to the main character and a slight introduction of the storyline. Please, please, please review and tell me what you think of this story! You may be honest, but try not to be too brutal. Based on the feedback I will decide whether or not to continue the story. Thank you for your help.

By the way, you have to keep in mind that I'm trying something new, so some of the characters might be a little OOC. Also, though I'm a huge Simpsons fan, I don't know everything and if there are any glaring details I've completely botched, could you please tell me? I want to make this story as good as possible.

Disclaimer: I do not own the Simpsons.


Spinning for Hours


by Seaoknarnar


Chapter 1: Hello, my name is Lisa Simpson.

Hello. My name is Lisa Simpson, and this is a story about how I found acceptance, friendship, and love at the glorious age of 14.

Most of you probably think of me as a short 8-year-old with a little red dress, a string of pearls, and a head of bushy yellow hair. You probably assume that I adore school, and that I like to spend my free time at the library, volunteering at the old folks' home, or playing my saxophone.

Well, by the time I turned 14, the summer right before 8th grade let out, I would say that I had changed a lot from the above assumptions. I was no longer so little (5'6", 120 lbs.), and I had long since ditched the red dress for a baggy jeans/ sleeveless tee/ sneakers ensemble. My hair had grown long, and was turning my mother's characteristic blue at the roots. I kept the pearls, however, because they were, by now, a part of me.

By 14, I hated school with a passion but still tried my hardest. It was evident that, unless a large pot of gold fell through my bedroom roof, the only way I was going to go to college would be on a full scholarship. At Jebediah Springfield, my middle school, I received straight As in all my honors classes. (Despite hating school, I was still very smart, but didn't take the pleasure of flaunting it the way I used to.)

But in my spare time, I was no longer the aspiring college-bound. I did not volunteer anymore, and the only section of the library I enjoyed spending my time in was the New Age section (I was big into magick by this time). I was learning to play guitar, but still played on my sax very often, and even at some of the local jazz places. Like my pearls, my saxophone was part of me.

If you had asked me to count my friends, I could have done it on one hand. Sure, I could carry on a conversation with people, but all the girls at JSMS were heavy into makeup, dating, and other pop-culture, and I could not stand people like that. I felt that I didn't fit in to their little social world that well (though I never had before). Also, I was never really close to any guys…

…Except one. I think you'll be surprised to find that my only friend (and a guy too!) lived next door to me, and his name was Tommy (he used to go by Todd, which was short for Theodore) Flanders. Obviously, he was not the same boy he had been when I was 8. His mother's death seemed to have struck a chord deep inside him, and although he did not manifest it immediately, he began to change as a result of it. He became less of a goody-goody wimp, and more of a rebel. By the time he was 14, he had already gotten drunk, stoned, and even once found himself in a knife fight (he won, thank Buddha). He even had several arguments with his father over religion. Tommy became a Buddhist like me, and his father would simply not accept that.

Though he was a rebel, Tommy was still the nicest guy in Springfield, and the greatest friend I could ever hope to have. We were the best friends in the world, and we would stay up until midnight talking on the phone or chatting online. (My father was usually away and oblivious to what I was up to, which is why I could have these late-night chats.) I believe that Tommy was closer to me than he was to Rodd, his dorky brother, and I was definitely closer to Tommy that I was to Bart, who would be in a juvenile correction facility for the next six months.

Despite my friendship with Tommy, my heart still ached for love from my family. Bart was so bad-assed that he could feel no love, and anyway he was away and never wrote (though I'm not sure they would let him).

My mother Marge had run off with some suave French bowler (apparently she was not as loyal as most people thought, though I don't blame her. Dad was so drunk all the time that I wouldn't have stayed with him, either. But she could have thought of my feelings, for once). My mother took my younger sister Maggie with her, and they were currently living somewhere in Europe. You don't know how much anguish I felt, realizing that Marge loved Maggie so much more than me, and I felt betrayed that I was left in Springfield while they went off frolicking in Europe. I thought of Marge and Maggie as little as I could. It helped that Marge never wrote to me (she was probably too busy *bleeping* that bowler).

My dad, Homer, was stricken by Marge's desertion, and he became a workaholic. I rarely saw him at home. He was too busy kissing Mr. Burns' butt to be at home and love me. And when he wasn't at home, he was usually blowing his paycheck at Moe's.

From my lack of love, I think I became more bitter and uncaring then was necessary. Without Tommy, I probably would have gone off the deep end and killed myself or something drastic like that. When Tommy moved away a week before I started 9th grade, I nearly did. I knew that, though Tommy was my friend, we wouldn't be able to keep the same kind of contact we used to. So when I found acceptance, friendship, and love right in my very own high school, it was exactly what my poor deprived heart needed.


Ok, so now it would be very nice of you to review my story for me. Constructive criticism would be appreciated, and feedback on whether I should continue or not is mandatory (just kidding, but it is highly recommended).