The Riveting Lives of Russell and Sal

Chapter 1

Sal Rondello walked into his new English class at his new school. School had already started about a week ago, but he himself hadn't been able to start until now. The teacher (Mrs. Norandi, according to his schedule), stood near her desk, and noticed him immediately. "You must be our new student."

Sal nodded, hoping she wouldn't be one of those teachers who announced his existence to everyone in class. Like the last teacher.

"Why don't you sit behind Russell." Mrs. Norandi gestured towards a boy a couple tables down. Despite having the entire contents of his backpack displayed neatly in front of him, he had his attention focused on the teacher. Something in Sal's gut twisted. An emotion he didn't recognize overcame him. A strong one.

He sauntered past the rows of tables and chairs, taking a chair at the table behind Russell's, and plopping himself into it.

Russell turned around and smiled. "Hi, I'm Russell." He held out his hand. "What's your name?"

Sal crinkled his nose. Now he knew the emotion. Hatred.

"Are you okay?" he asked.

Sal raised his chin. "No, I am not okay."

"What's wrong?"

"I'm stuck sitting behind you for the rest of the year." Sal dug into his backpack, and slammed down a notebook and pen.

Russell raised his chin in a similar fashion. "I was going to offer to show you around, and give you helpful tips on surviving this toxic environment they call high school, but if you're going to be a butthead, then whatever."

Butthead? Sal let out a loud snort. "Did you just call me a butthead? What is this? Elementary school?"

But Russell ignored his quip, and flicked his long, black hair over his shoulder. A boy with long hair. There was a good reason to hate him. Sal was a boy with long hair. This school wasn't big enough for two long-haired boys.

The bell rang, signaling the start of class. The teacher started teaching. Thankfully she didn't bring any attention to him. So Sal kept his attention on Russell, his gut twisting again. It was a good thing no one sat in the empty chair next to Russell, because all of Russell's items took up the entire table. And it was a good thing no one sat in the chair next to Sal, because Sal wanted to dedicate it to his backpack.

His eyes swept the room. While almost every student had binders and pens out, only a handful took notes like Russell. "Who takes notes in an English class?" Sal whispered, loud enough for Russell to hear.

"Someone who cares about their grade," Russell whispered back.

"It's only English," Sal said. "It's our native language. All you have to do to pass is write a few essays and read a few books. Big deal."

Russell whipped his head around. "I need straight A's, and-"

"Russell!" Mrs. Norandi called. "Is something you and Sal have to say more important than what I'm trying to teach?"

"It's not my fault," Russell said, annoyance in his voice. "Sal keeps talking to me."

"I had a question about surviving this toxic environment they call high school," Sal said.

"Be quiet, both of you. Or I'll hold you after class."

Sal stopped tormenting Russell after that. Directly, anyway. He flipped his notebook open towards the last few pages and wrote:

Reasons to Hate Russell:

Snitch

Takes notes in an English class