Winter in a Foreign Place

Chapter 1

 "Charon." The room went silent and all eyes turned to her. "Charon," the voice repeated. It was firmer this time, louder. A few seconds passed before they heard it again. "Charon!" It was almost screaming, and Charon's head snapped up from her desk. The class laughed as Charon blinked and a dazed, confused look washed over her face. The teacher sighed, and rolled her eyes. “Charon,” she repeated, giving the girl a frustrated look, “could you please tell us the metaphor in chapter twenty-two of the book?” Charon froze. “Uh… Book?” Dumb, dumb, dumb, flew through Charon’s head as she racked her mind for something to say.

The class laughed again, and Charon blushed and focused her eyes back on the desk. “Charon,” the teacher began again, “If you didn’t do the homework, then just say so, and I’ll take care of it.” The class made ‘oo’ noises and Charon stared more intensely at the desk. She placed her hands on her thighs. “Yeah, sure,” she mumbled. The teacher stared at her, and said, “Excuse me? I couldn’t hear you.” Charon tightened her hands around her thighs. “I didn’t read the book, m’am,” Charon whispered a little louder. The girl sitting next to her giggled like she had power, and raised her hand. Before the teacher could call on her, her mouth opened and accusatory words filled the air. “She didn’t do it! She didn’t read it. Does she ever do her homework? You could’ve guessed, m’am.” The teacher rolled her eyes as the bell rang. Over the roar of backpacks, chatter and desks, the teacher requested that everyone read chapter twenty-two of Catcher in the Rye because it’s a “fantastic book” with a “deep message for us all.” She also mentioned that everyone should have a good weekend, that Charon needed to stay, and some other things Charon didn’t care about.

The class cleared, and Charon slowly zipped up her bag. The teacher sat down on the desk next to her. “Look, Charon, I know that this class might not be the most interesting for you. It might not be your favorite, and the topics we discuss are things that you may never use ever again, but I ask of you, out of courtesy for me, and the ridiculous thing we call the public education system, please, at least try.” The teacher’s voice was different. Sugary sweet, but its sour undertones seemed to balance it all out. Charon looked up hesitantly through her overgrown bangs, her straight brown hair casting shadows over her eyes. “I just-” she began. “No, Charon,” the teacher cut her off. “No excuses. I’m sorry, but you need to get your act together. I know that your life has been rough, but people have been through much worse and made it out on top, and you can too.” Charon scoffed and grabbed the straps on her backpack. She turned around. The teacher sighed heavily, “Just… Just remember that…” She sighed again. “I don’t know what to say to you. Stay warm, and have a nice weekend.” Charon walked away, relieved the conversation was over.

She hurried down the hall, down the stairs, and out of the school. She could hear the bus tires around the corner screech as it took off. She’d never be able to catch. Charon looked at the sky as she pulled her coat and gloves over her thick sweatshirt. The sun was setting. I hate this place. We had to move to Anchorage, of all places. Night starts during the afternoon, for Christ’s sake. Charon’s angry thoughts fueled her legs as she hurried home. She ran as quickly as she could while the biting January air nipped at her ears and nose, and clung to her eyelashes.

[In progress]