I Don't Want To Believe

Believers and Skeptics

           The alarm clock proved its worth at six o'clock in the morning, beeping loudly so that John had to open his eyes and groan. The temptation to hit snooze was overpowering, but slowly John crawled out of bed and turned it off, looking over at his drawers to see what he was to wear today. Of course, being a guy, he wore the same five outfits on different days of the week; he didn't have time for color coordinating his shirts with khakis or jeans, or shoe and sock coordination like most of the insane guys in his school. John grabbed some clothes blindly and stumbled into the bathroom, making sure his hair wasn't sticking up in all the wrong places and trying to make himself look and smell like he wasn't a zombie, or in this town, an alien. When John lumbered down the stairs, yawning and rubbing his eyes, the smell of pancakes made this early morning suffering just a little bit more worth it.
"What's all this?" John asked in a surprised tone.
"Well, I decided that you all need a nice Monday morning treat." Mrs. Watson decided, flipping the pancakes on the griddle with a smile.
"Mom, you're a saint." John decided, going over to his seat at the table where there were already a couple of pancakes sitting on a plate. So, after lathering them in butter and drowning them in syrup, he indulged in some well-deserved heaven.
"Is your sister up yet?" Mrs. Watson asked as she tipped a couple of more pancakes onto John's mess of a plate.
"She doesn't need to be, she goes to school later anyway." John shrugged.
"Yes well, I don't want to be cooking all morning." Mrs. Watson sighed.
"I'll get her when I'm done." John shrugged. Mrs. Watson poured more batter onto the pan and sighed, leaning on the counter and staring out the glass deck door.
"What are your thoughts on the whole crop circle then?" she asked. John just laughed, pretending like the whole thing didn't bother him at all
"I think it's rubbish. I don't know how we could've missed some kids out there all night." He shrugged.
"You don't believe aliens did it?" she asked.
"Do you?" John laughed, looking at his mother in shock. Of course Harry was the only Watson who was crazy enough to believe all of that crap.
"No, of course not, I just didn't want to drown you out with skepticism, that's all." She insisted.
"It's Harry you have to worry about, with her action figures and all that." John shrugged.
"Yes well, she's young; you used to believe in aliens too, when you were her age." Mrs. Watson pointed out.
"Ya, but not to that extent. She's smart, she uses facts, I just liked the idea of aliens in our backyard." John insisted. Mrs. Watson laughed, going over to check that the pancakes weren't burning or anything.
"Yes well, she's a very smart girl, I don't know where she got that from." She laughed. John shrugged, finishing off the last of his pancakes and running up the stairs to get Harry, who was still sleeping under her large floral comforter.
"Harry, there's pancakes downstairs if you want them." John muttered, shaking her shoulder lightly. Harry opened an eye carelessly, groaning not unlike John did when he was woken up prematurely.
"Pancakes?" she asked hopefully.
"Ya, want some?" John asked. A large smile spread on her face, which was the exact opposite of what John would've done.
"Ya I want some." She agreed, rolling out of bed and scampering down in her pajamas.
"Alright then." John muttered, going back to his room and making sure he had all of his homework done before packing up his bags and walking down the stairs.
"Bye family!" John called, opening the front door.
"Bye John!" the all chorused back, and with that he walked out into the sunny morning, shutting the door behind him and wandering around his driveway to wait for the bus. When finally the big yellow torture machine arrived, John hopped on, towing his large soccer bag in his wake, and went to find an empty seat next to Greg. Once you get older in this school it was a lot easier to get your own seat on the bus. Mostly all of the seniors drive, and since John was a senior without a license, he was forced to take the bus. The only good part about that was that he got to sit in the very back, where Greg was already lounging against the window; trying to get some more sleep if that was even possible. Greg had his license, but being Greg, he was too lazy to get up and actually do something with it.
"Hey." John muttered.
"Hey." Greg agreed. "Any more reporters come around?" he asked, straightening up and checking his hair in the window.
"Nah, they lost interest." John shrugged.
"And no Mike?" Greg asked. John just laughed, shaking his head.
"Thankfully Mike has kept his distance as well." He agreed.
"Well, he'll drill you with questions when practice starts, so be prepared." Greg insisted. John just groaned, only imagining all of the things Mike could have to ask him.
"Well, I'll just make stuff up; see how much rubbish he'll believe before he starts catching on." John decided.
"Then he'll get mad; think you're making fun of him." Greg pointed out.
"Oh come on, he knows everyone's making fun of him, how can you not?" John insisted.
"Come on John; be nice, he's a good kid honestly. Maybe a bit mental, but he's nice all the same." Greg shrugged.
"And he's a good soccer player, and really that's the only thing I really care about. We've got a league to win." John decided.
"We will, don't worry." Greg insisted with a nod. John shrugged, watching as the bus rounded the corner towards the school, seeing the building looming up ahead of them like a prison. They unloaded onto the sidewalk, all of them stampeding into the building in a torrent of basketball shorts and crop tops, floral print backpacks and high top sneakers. High school really was the place to figure out what type of people you hate the most, and for John, well, it was everyone. He dropped his soccer bag off into the locker room and wandered to his locker, pushing past large groups of freshman who wandered around the hallway in packs, seeming to gravitate to the middle so that there was no way to get around them without getting aggressive. Well, that was the price they had to pay for being so bloody annoying. When he got to his locker he opened it and stuffed his lunch box and water bottle inside, picking out the biology textbook he needed for first period and shutting the locker with a rather moody snap. It was too early for this. Greg wasn't in John's first class; in fact he was pretty much lonely except for some losers that he connected with better than the populars, the nerds that were nice and sometimes fun to talk to. But for the most part he sat in the back of the class, twirling his mechanical pencil between his fingers and trying his best to tune the teacher out, thinking about soccer, friends, soccer, aliens, and soccer. It was always soccer, that sport kind of controlled his life, it was the reason he lived really, his true calling. Of course he wasn't the best on the team, unfortunately that would be good old Mike, with a body built for soccer and a brain built for anything nerdy. But John was captain and loved it all the same. He was staring blindly at the turtle that was in a tank next to his seat, bobbing its head above the water and sending little bubbles from its nose. It really was cute, but John hated this class so much that it didn't really seem to matter. Finally when trigonometry came around he walked on over to that class, thankfully sharing it with Greg, who made all these nearly impossible formulas a bit more entertaining. Greg was awful at math to be honest, but with his optimism and good sense of humor, he made anything a lot more fun to be honest. So John had a good time in that class, learning just about nothing because he was playing hangman on the side of his paper. Finally it was time for lunch, which meant John and Greg sat near the end of a long table, sitting next to each other and discussing everything from soccer games to their next classes to the girls they found attractive this week. Today though, John really wasn't into arguing over who was better, Arsenal or Tottenham, he just kind of stared at his ham sandwich with a loss of appetite.