Felix Jones and the Celestial Lake

Chapter Two

"Hurry up you lazy sons-a-bitches! We don't have all day!"

Conventional, easygoing, and logical would not be the first words I would describe coach Moony. Today, in particular, I think he had something sticking up his rear-end. Though, I wouldn't dare look to see. 

Moony had flagged one of the students running laps around the field with a shrunken P.E. T-shirt and shorts: "Come on Micheal, I know you better than this. What is that? A crop top? Did your mother think you were joining a dance club with pretty little girls riding fairy princesses for shits and giggles?" 

Micheal dodged the teacher by picking up the pace. I don't blame him. Me, however, I am sitting pretty under the bleachers watching my class run laps. This wasn't something unusual for me, and coach never caught me-- as long as I was sneaky about it. Which, I have a knack for those types of things. I'm a great student, but if anyone wanted to get away with something-- I'm the guy they'd call. I've sneaked into the teachers lounge to use the microwave without permission, gotten out of class to talk with a cute girl, and have always been able to get away with being a nobody. The kid that no one remembers; has it's perks!

This one time in Spanish class I slipped out in the middle of the lecture to "go to the bathroom". What my teacher didn't know was that I had a couple of stink bombs in my back pocket and a drive to put them in a place the stench would be a total anomaly.

Back pressed against the hallway walls, I checked all the corners before walking anywhere to see if there would be any suspects. Making my way to the center of campus was a janitors closet and an old lady by the name of Hurba Micklle. Hurba, the poor sap, was a forgetful lady. She was the janitor during the day, cleaning up messes in the bathrooms in particular--with some girls using period blood as a makeshift marker (last week was quite eventful). Today, a student had thrown up all over the hall and Hurba was still mopping the glossy floors over and over again: having forgotten what sections she swept already.

Coming up behind her, my fingers latch onto the keys on her belt. They unbuckle, and I make my way toward the opposite end of the hall she continues to puddle with soapy disinfectant. Unlocking the closet, I step inside-- making sure I was not to be seen.

Closing the door behind me, there's a firetruck red ladder at the back of the closet bolted to the wall. My fingers wrap around the cold metal as my body weight is pulled up to the ceiling. I reach the top, push up the metal air vent-- click and place my two stink bombs cozily in the spot I want them-- and scamper down and out of the room as quick as humanly possible.

Hubra didn't notice that I had taken her keys, I brought them back to her belt calmly, and I strode with pride back to Spanish class. No more than five minutes passed when the entire room began to reek and burn our nostrils. Rotten eggs, diarrhea, wet dog-- name something putrid and it would have been ten times worse guaranteed. The entire school had to be evacuated for that prank, and not a single soul found out that it was me.

Today, however, I didn't have any mischief. Instead, I wanted to sit in the shade under the bleachers and ogle at the prettiest girl in our class, Kelly Dunnemar, as she runs laps. Glossy pink lips, thick shiny red hair, bright amber eyes, a set of freckles like stars settling across her nose and cheeks. The only upsetting part about being a nobody is that total separation from human contact can be a real uphill battle. 

Moony blows his whistle, and I realize immediately that I've been under the bleachers too long. I see his round eyes and jiggly face scrunching up with his bulldog ripples. "One, two, three, four...five...." He's counting the students: one in particular was missing.

Heart leaping from my chest: I clamber out from under the bleachers, trying to go unnoticed as my legs wobble onto our stadium track. My lungs immediately burn from the irritating summer air. I'm not paying attention to much other than Mr. Moony's scrutinizing glare, so it's safe to say I didn't see what was going to happen next. Actually, no one could see what was going to happen next. Literally.

I was running forward, working up my sweat to greet Moony with, when I slam into something-- hard. It was like ramming into the trunk of a tree. My chest forced against my lungs and my lips parted in a desperately winded yell. Whatever I hit hadn't been willing to budge an inch out of the way for me; I feared perhaps I'd slammed into the football goal post. If the pain of impact weren't to immense my cheeks would have burned a hot red.

When I came to, clutching my chest below the spot my star-scar rested, I was surprised to find half of the class standing around me with grimaces across their faces. The other half were in the background laughing-- who wouldn't after seeing someone fall on their ass?

"What the fuck was that?!" They howled. Even Kelly seemed to be having trouble holding her breath.

But, when Moony cleared the crowd and propped me up I realized it wasn't a goal-post that I had hit at all. It was a full grown man with thick scaly armor and a bow and arrow slung around his back. The look on his face told me he was just as shocked as I was that I had run into him. "Felix? You can see me?"

My knees gave out and my body slumped forward, unconscious, into Moony's fumbling arms.