Make Me Scream #OnceUponNow

Part One

Make Me Scream was written as an entry for the #OnceUponNow writing contest sponsored by Target. The top ten contestants get their stories published in an anthology!
If you enjoy Make Me Scream, even just a little bit, between June 14 and June 21 please come back and vote, so that I can have the chance to become one of those ten lucky winners. After the voting date ends don't stopping voting, though! In the end, this story's ultimate purpose is to be enjoyed by people. I hope you do enjoy and can help by voting. Thank you!

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Sitting in Ms. Magid's class, I laugh at the irony of the situation before me.

This morning, my brother wouldn't stop bugging me with his relentless questions of what fifth grade would be like and when would recess be starting and a whole variety of questions concerning the average worries of a ten-year-old boy. I'd finally relinquished myself from his nagging when I headed towards my bus stop. Now, away from my brother where I thought I might be left in peace, a fly keeps circumventing my head, clearly not realizing that there are several other candidates for bothering in the classroom.

In an attempt to distract myself, I take in the surroundings of the room where I'll be spending my mornings for the rest of the year. There's not much to look at, though, other than a handful of new pictures sitting on the teacher's desk undoubtedly taken this summer. I was in Ms. Magid's Biology class last year and therefore could tell what she'd changed or added.

Ms. Magid wasn't a particularly -- let's see -- soft person and the note on the board reading 'Welcome Juniors, when I come in, your notebooks and pencil better be out. If not, your first lunch this year will be eaten in detention' was making me regret taking her Earth-Science class this year.

Looking around, I find my best friend Leila sitting at the desk to my left. She's digging around in her backpack while muttering incoherent words under her breath. Finally, she comes up looking haggard.

In lieu of hello, she grabs my elbow and shakes it while saying in a panicked manner, "You have an extra pencil, right? Please tell me I'm correct, please!"

I've known Leila since sixth grade and am accustomed to her perfectionist tendencies. Due to that, I always have two of everything and am almost always over prepared.

"Do you even have to ask?" Is my response. I pry my elbow from her steel-like grip and turn to retrieve my extra pencil.

I'm about to extend my arm to hand Leila the pencil when the fly who'd been pestering me before decides it's time for round two.

"So help me, you little--" I start as I bring my hand up to swat at it once again. Yet, before I can release my hand into action, I'm stopped by a flourish of movements. Instead of a fly, a callused hand sits inches from my face. The buzzes of the fly have ceased and the hand who'd rendered the kill doesn't attempt to move, seeming to want to be admired for its work. What in the world? I think Who successfully catches flies flying at, like, a hundred miles an hour! At this point, I'm utterly curious and follow the track from the hand up its arm until I reach the face of the person who'd orchestrated the event.

Before I take in the face as a whole, a pair of chocolate brown eyes catch my attention and I quickly find myself even more dumbfounded than before.

The boy, one I'll say I've never seen roaming the halls because I would have remembered, is dressed in dark blue jeans, a Guns and Roses t-shirt, and a leather jacket. His tattered backpack is slung over one shoulder and his stance breaths cool confidence. As an afterthought, I notice his tan skin and how it seems to glow, literally glow. Yet, after rubbing my eyes and blinking once or twice, I conclude the luminescence was due to my sleep-deprived consciousness.