Disclaimer: I do not own Wuthering Heights. This is simply my modern take on Emily Bronte's classic novel. Also, this idea comes from Star18, who did a beautiful modern take which was definitely different from what mine is going to be.
Caty Earnshaw couldn't concentrate on the textbook in front of her, not that she usually tried. Usually, she lay back in her seat and slept, or flicked stuff at the teacher's head while he droned on about something totally boring. Today, she was too restless for even that much. All she could think about were her afternoon plans. Today, her and her best friend HC were about to pull something unbelievably ingenious, a genuine classic. A malicious smile crept over her face as she pictured the look on old Mr. Burt's face when he found his precious silver Volvo parked on the roof of the building, and his "secret" collection of comic books rain soaked and covered in graffiti. She accidentally let out a small chuckle, too deep in thought to remember that she was in the middle of geometry class, not that she cared much.
"Miss Earnshaw," a voice called her back to Earth, annoyingly enough, it was the nasal voice of the geometry teacher, idiot, she thought to herself. They would have to mess with him after they were done with Burt.
"Miss Earnshaw," he said more sternly "Is there something you'd like to share with the class?"
Oh, come on, like your actually gonna try to embarrass me with that one. I've only heard it three billion times.
And it was true, any other girl would have blushed or stammered, but Caty just slouched farther in her chair, pulled her black hood over her head and raised one eyebrow coolly, "Nope." She stared straight into his eyes, challenging him. Finally, he looked away with a defeated sigh, as if to say, "There is nothing anyone can do to fix this girl." and continued the boring lesson.
Caty was used to this reaction from her teachers. She'd been the "hopeless case" for about eight years now. Being "normal" was just a faint memory to her, just like her parents, who died when she was five. She'd been passed back and forth from one doting relative to another for those first two years, but then, when she was seven, her over-achieving snotty brother Harry had to come back from his elite life in some big city to raise his little sister. It was around then that she had met HC, the single greatest thing that had happened to her in her fifteen years of life. Not in a romantic way, yuck, the thought of it made her want to hurl, but in a life-changing way.
HC had come out of nowhere. He wore grungy, dirty clothes and almost never cut his black curly hair. He had been pretty much a loner until Caty came along; mad at her pressuring, nasty brother, and pushing away everyone who came too close. Her and HC clicked right away, pulling the most rebellious stunts the town had seen in years. One of the reasons they became friends was that she was always too into her own life to ask him about hi. She never asked about his home, his family, or even his real name, and honestly, she never really cared. Her only family was Harry (and his ditzy, patronizing wife Frances) and who needed that in their life?
Harry wanted Caty to do something "useful" with her life. Not because he really cared, but because he didn't want her irresponsibility to ruin his rep when he ran for president or whatever. Caty hated him because he was pushy and nasty, so, at HC's suggestion, she rebelled against him whenever and however she could. Their large house (named Wuthering Heights) was often filled with the sounds of the two siblings yelling at each other until Caty slammed her room door and blasted music as loud as her old stereo would allow.
Frances, on the other hand, was not as angry and snotty as Harry. In fact, she was sort of weird. She had tried the "bonding" thing with Caty a couple of years ago, but Caty had gotten so sick of stupid pottery classes and shopping trips that she finally just told the woman to back off. Every once in awhile, Fran still approached her, attempting to strike up a conversation, but Caty would give her a death glare and slam the door in her face. She wanted nothing to do with anyone; anyone except for HC. He was the real friend, not all these idiots who kept trying to change her into something she wasn't.
Her thinking was once again interrupted, but this time, by the long-awaited ringing of the bell, the signal that she was about to be free. She raced out the back exit of the school, hood flying off of her head to reveal her thick brown curls. There, waiting behind the building head facing the ground, smiling grimly, was HC.
"So," he asked, "You ready?"
She rolled her eyes, "More than you'll ever be."