Overcast

1.3

Before long, the bell rings, ushering in the start of fourth period. Willow finishes her drink, tossing the empty box in the trash. She then checks her itinerary, discovering that history is next. She leaves the large courtyard, heading for the next class.

She arrives at the door a few minutes later. As she heads inside, the teacher immediately notices her. "Hey there. New student?" he asks.

"Yes," Willow replies, handing him the note.

"Excellent. Always pleased to see a new face in this school. Welcome, Miss Geist," the man says. His name is Edward Schwartz, a thirty-something in a blond ponytail. "How does our humble school strike you so far?"

"Mmm. It's interesting. Unique architecture, and I find the gloomy ambience charming."

"Yeh-hes, well. It's not always this overcast, don't worry."

"I wouldn't mind if it was. Where I'm from, it always rains," Willow says.

"...Oh?" Schwartz asks, curious. Just then, the bell rings. "Damn. There's our queue. Well, sit anywhere you like, Willow."

"Thanks," she replies.

Willow looks around, finding the desks in a strange setup. They all sit near the walls, with each desk pointed in toward the center of the room. Willow picks an empty desk, the other students watching as she takes a seat.

The class gets underway, with Schwartz immediately launching into a lesson. He teaches with animated zest, clearly the kind who cares about his job. The students seem to like him, some of the girls with stars in their eyes. One of said girls sits next to Willow, slowly shaking her head.

"Damn...he's just so fine, isn't he?" she whispers mischievously.

"I guess," Willow replies.

"You guess? Mister Schwartz is the hottest teacher in school! There's not a girl in Crenshaw who doesn't have a crush on him," she says. "Wait...you're that new chick, Willow, right...?"

"Yes."

"Thought so. I'm Charlotte. Nice to meetcha," she says, sizing Willow up. Charlotte is a sly looking girl, outgoing with short brown hair and a shifty smile.

"Likewise," Willow replies.

"Ya know, there's already rumors floating around about you. Rumors of how you broke ol' Rachel's hand. Good. About time someone gave that bitch what for."

"She was trying to start trouble. I was simply defending myself. And I'm sure it's just a sprain. I didn't squeeze that hard."

Charlotte's eyes go wide. "Ah-hah! So it is true!" she says. "I like you, chick. I think we'll get along juuust fine."

The rest of the period goes by with little ado. Willow and Charlotte shoot the breeze, discussing matters of little import. When the bell rings, they gather their things and leave the room. As Willow checks her schedule sheet, Charlotte sneaks a peek.

"Ah. Got PE next, huh? The gym is located at the back of the school. You can't miss it," Charlotte says.

"I see. Thanks for the directions," Willow replies.

"No prob. See ya around, Will!" Charlotte says, flashing a grin as she leaves.

Willow heads off to the gym, spotting the building off in the distance. It hulks over the grounds like a fortress; a huge, decrepit structure hidden behind the school. Upon entry, Willow finds the interior in better condition. The floors are all polished and clean, with rows of bleachers lining the walls. The ceiling looks a mile away, the occasional spiderweb visible on the rafters. Students filter in through the double doors, heading for the locker rooms to change their clothes. As Willow looks around, a woman in a green tracksuit approaches.

"What are you doing? Go get dressed," she says.

"Umm. Pardon me, but I'm new here," Willow replies.

"Oh yeah?" the woman says, taking her note. "...Alright, then. It's your first day, so you don't have to dress out. But from tomorrow on, you'll be expected to get changed for gym. Girls wear a plain white shirt and comfortable shorts, no jeans or skirts. I'll assign you a locker later. For now, just have a seat in the bleachers."

"Very well," Willow replies, doing as asked.

She sits at the top of the bleachers, watching as students emerge one by one from the locker rooms. They sit on the polished gym floor, rank and file across the huge room. Boys wear plain white shirts and long shorts. Girls wear skimpy white shirts and short shorts. The class starts up as basketball begins. Willow eyes the students from afar, recognizing some as ones she's already seen. She spots a few girls from her previous class, some of which were fawning over Mister Schwartz. Across the room, young Justin struggles to make a shot. On an adjacent court, Craig teases him from afar. Willow sighs. Fate is cruel to pair them up again in a different class.

And at the opposite end of the gym, a familiar young man sits alone in the corner. Willow tilts her head, recognizing him as the boy from lunch. He was the one by the bin, fishing around for discarded food items. He sits on the bottom bleacher, fist to his chin as he stares at the floor. He doesn't dress out, presumably because his parents can't afford gym clothes. Just then, a stray basketball rolls toward him. He looks on in horror.

He knows what's to come.

"Hey! Stinky! Get that for us, will ya?!" a cruel boy says.

Laughter erupts from around the court. The ragged boy frowns, reluctantly sliding the ball their way. He then turns to the wall, folding his arms across his dirty coat. He rocks back and forth, his eyes cold and blank. When soldiers get back from war, they sometimes exhibit the 'thousand mile stare', a look of emptiness brought about by witnessing countless atrocities. This boy has seen atrocities. His eyes are pits of death.