Second Chances

Chapter 4

"Courage doesn't always ROAR. Sometimes courage is the quiet voice at the end of the day saying; 'I will try again  tomorrow.'" - Mary Anne Radmacher

 I walked into my English Lit class six minutes late with my backpack still over my shoulder and my wrinkled schedule in one hand, my locker number and combination in the other. By the time my brother and I finally got ourselves registered at Westfield High, the final bell had already rung, leaving us with the run down and vacated halls to walk through.

            Since Terrance was older than me by a year, his classes were different from mine so we parted ways in front of the main office, him right and me left. It only took me a minute to locate my locker with the help of the neon orange map the frazzled secretary handed me; although the problem wasn't finding the locker, but trying to open that locker. It seemed like no matter how many times I dialed in the combination and tugged on the handle, it refused to budge. So after six minutes of dialing and tugging, I finally gave up and decided to head to my first hour Lit class with all of my stuff in hand.

            "Ah, you must be the new student."

            I twisted my gaze away from the twenty pairs of eyes that were watching me with mild interest, and instead looked over at my new English Lit teacher.

            He was surprisingly young for a teacher, especially one in a town of eight thousand. He wore retro black rimmed glasses and had honey colored tresses that were styled in an expert quiff that screamed Frat Boy more than English Teacher. He was leaning casually against his desk with his arms crossed, dressed in a faded grey sweater and dark jeans, his feet clad in all white sneakers. If he hadn't addressed me directly, I would have assumed that he was another student here.

            I nodded at him and pulled the blue pass out of my pocket; it was warm and wrinkled as I handed it over to him. He took it and tossed it on top of his rather cluttered desk before waving an arm out and at the rest of the class. I noticed a silver wristwatch poking out from under the sleeve of his sweater.

            "Why don't you tell us something about yourself?"

            I turned back to the watchful gazes from my peers. With such a small town, I doubted that they got new kids often so it was no surprise for their scrutiny, but that didn't mean that I enjoyed it. My mouth felt like it was full of cotton when I parted my lips, my eyes scanning the unfamiliar faces as I shifted my weight to my other foot.

            "I'm, um, I'm Waverly, Waverly Cadwell. I moved here yesterday from Brighton." Someone coughed and a phone vibrated against a jean-clad thigh. I glanced back over at the teacher who nodded at me and pushed his glasses up his nose with his middle finger.

            "Well Waverly, we are pleased to make your acquaintance. I am Mr. Andrews. Welcome to English Lit 101. Why don't you take a seat behind Joshua," he nodded toward an asian boy with near-black hair that fell in his eyes. The asian boy raised his hand lazily and I nodded before hurrying to my seat, my grip on my bag tightening as I kept my gaze trained on the chipped linoleum beneath me.

            I slid into my seat behind Joshua at the back left hand corner of the classroom. There was a girl with frizzy red hair to my right and a short, plump guy with sleeked back ebony hair and pimples galore residing in the desk behind me. I unzipped my backpack and dug around until I found a notebook and pen. The desk creaked as I shifted my weight so I could cross my legs and scribble 'English Lit 101' across the top of the page in black ink.