There's a strange and unnerving sensation in waking up in a new bed, to a new room. A feeling that isn't easily lost. It's been a whole week and the whole circumstance still feels unreal, as if I could wake any moment to my cramped bedroom in LA. If only life was that simple, I'd have less cause to complain, wouldn't I?
It dawns on me that Monday morning means my first day of school, but I push that thought to a dark crevice in the back of my mind and get dressed for the day mechanically, humming the lyrics to a song in my head to deter any dangerous thoughts from setting me off this early. Like the mere possibility of running into a certain someone. I decide to only wear a hoodie and snow jacket, omitting the mittens and scarf so I don't stick out like a sore thumb at the new school. Of course, I've acknowledged that it's an inevitability to draw attention as a new student in a small town, but the less I put myself out there, the better.
My mother purchased a plethora of school supplies over the weekend, most of which I probably won't even have use for. I slowly fill my backpack, stalling time, while routinely glancing at the alarm clock on my bedside table, anticipating the moment when I'm called down to leave. My fingers begin to twitch with anxiety, my mind begins to run through all the possibilities of the day.
"Jack, breakfast! Hurry!" My mother's voice trails up the stairwell.
I jog down the steps, backpack slung lazily over my shoulder, with an indifferent expression, a poor attempt in hiding any misgivings I have towards the move. My father is seated at the head of the breakfast table, absorbed in the newspaper, flanked by my sister eating a bowl of cereal, without a care in the world. I wish I was going to Elementary school today, where making friends is as simple as liking the same boy band.
"Eggs are almost done," My mom calls over her shoulder, her eyes never leave the stove. "Did the Bakery call yet?"
"Not yet." I had considered that after the debacle my employment wasn't desired in that establishment, especially with the owner's son's blatant dislike towards me.
My dad's ears perk up, the newspaper resigning to his lap. I don't look much like my dad. He has thin blond hair and a tall body form. People always say my mom and I are spitting images of one another, a slight blow to my masculinity. We have the same lean build and small stature, as well as similar chestnut hair, mine cut short and hers falling on her shoulders in thick rings.
"What's this about a call?" My dad asks, suddenly intrigued.
"Jack applied for a job at the Bakery on Maple," My mother chimes in eagerly. I have to restrain myself from rolling my eyes. My parents don't appreciate disrespect. "You know the one by those fancy new apartments."
My dad grins widely. "That's awesome, champ! You'll be employee of the month before you know it."
"I don't think I'll get it, though," I tell him honestly. His smile dissolves into a frown.
"Why do you say that?"
"The Baker's son didn't seem to like me," I sigh, feeling agitated that it bothers me more than it should. I never sought-after anyone's approval before. Why now? Why him?
"Liar!"
All of us glance over at my sister's sudden outburst, even my mother who almost knocks over the tray of bacon onto the floor. "The boy liked Jack. He was looking at him like he was the pastry," Caroline says, giggling. I feel my face heat up.
"Shut up," I hiss through my teeth.
"Jack! Language!" My mother scolds, wiping the bacon grease on her apron. "Maybe your sister's right. You're a charming boy, why wouldn't you draw in any suitors? I don't see any reason, all the girls talked about how cute you were."
My dad joins in. "But don't forget about the rule on dating as long as you live in my household. Your mother and I have to meet him or her first. No tattoos or piercings. No criminal record."
"Please stop," I beg. "Caroline is full of crap, he doesn't like me."
"Jack Rivers, watch your mouth!" My mom reiterates. "Do you realize your sister repeats every word you say? Do we need to think back on the time I had to explain to the principal why little Caroline was explaining to everyone the definition of the F word at recess?"
Groaning, I slip over to the pantry and retrieve a snack bar. This is certainly not the sort of conversation I need to be having when my stomach is already tied in a knot. As if I wasn't already nervous enough, my parents are already discussing meeting a boy that hates my guts.
"I'm cooking breakfast, what are you doing?"
"I'm not very hungry," I mumble, slumping in the nearest chair. The butterflies in my stomach are back in full swing.
"Oh honey," She says, a hint of pity and understanding evident in her tone. She drops what she's doing and comes to wrap her arms around me. "There's nothing to worry about. They're going to love you, I promise."
"Your mom's right," my dad adds. "I was a new kid in high school too. Kids are fascinated by new people from different places. Most of the teenagers here rarely leave the state. They'll want to hear all about you."
"That's what I'm worried about."
**********
The drive to the local high school is short, but with the early morning congestion on the slim roads, it takes longer than I'd like. I wait in the car while my mom takes Caroline into the Elementary school to sign her in and hold her hand as they begin the trek to her first class. The snow falls lightly, barely accumulating on the wet sidewalk, but enough has stuck from previous storms that the lawn is covered by the cold substance. I frown at the white mass, fantasizing that it's the Santa Monica beach instead.
When my mom returns, delayed momentarily by overly friendly parents in the courtyard, she starts up the car and we zip into the next lot over. The high school, middle school, and elementary school all sit beside each other on this block, convenient in a town of this size where the buildings are small and hold few students. On our way into the lot, my mother explains the procedure for me to pick my sister up from her classroom and then meet her out front by the flagpole, but I'm only somewhat listening to what she says. My attention is allured by the mass of teenagers arriving at the high school.
It isn't a large building, only one floor with a couple of hallways and what looks like a gymnasium and an auditorium. Last night, my mother dissected the demographics, ensuring that I am fully prepared for what's ahead. 843 kids altogether, about a fourth of my school in California. Teacher to student ratio, one to twenty. About the same amount of boys and girls. I didn't see how that information would help me at all.
"Do you need me to walk in with you?" A sly grin stretches across her lips. "I can hold your hand, too, if you want."
I feel myself about to laugh, but it comes out as a strangled smile, very painful looking. The butterflies in my stomach have reproduced into an entire colony. My mother rubs my arm tenderly, smiling sadly, reflecting the emotions on my own face. It pains her, I've noticed, to see her children in distress.
"It's going to be great, Jack." She assures. "Just keep your head up, smile, and try to make some friends. Okay?"
I nod, afraid that if I open my mouth to speak, I'll vomit. I slip out the car door and wave goodbye as she pulls out of the parking lot. Alone. I feel lost and vulnerable in this mass sea of strangers. Feeling their eyes and scrutinizing looks, I turn on my heels, almost tripping from the nerves strangling my body, and head towards the school.
A lot of the kids shoot me quizzical looks, not malicious but still unwanted, and I hear a few comments about the new kid. Most kids seem to linger outside the building before classes start, but I need to get my schedule, besides I don't plan on making any friends here to speak to. By the front doors, a large group of students huddle around the steps, conversing. They're all massive, boys and girls alike above six foot with athletic builds. The boys wear football jerseys under their jackets and the girls wear various uniforms: some cheerleaders, some soccer players. Then I see him.
How could I not have noticed him sooner? Standing amongst the crowd, Vince stares intensely into my eyes, and it occurs to me that he's probably been eying me since the moment I stepped out of the safety of my car, waiting for a moment to pummel me into the ground with no witnesses. A few of his friends follow his line of sight to where I stand frozen to the concrete. Two of the boys smirk, almost knowingly, as if they're taunting me before the kill. I scurry into the building quickly, brushing kids out of my way, leaving the sound of the boys laughter and, to my dismay, the same low growl, behind.
Upon entering the front office, still disturbed by seeing the object of my concern, I'm greeted by the warm smile of a pudgy lady in a frilly pink blouse, a nice change. I force a smile back and step up to the counter.
"Hi, I'm Jack." I say timidly, my voice holding little confidence. "I'm new here. I came to get my schedule."
"Yes, Jack!" She beams, recognition in her tone. "Jack Rivers. Your mother and I spoke on the phone last week. Let me get your schedule for you. You can take a seat, we'll have one of the office aids give you a tour once the first bell rings."
"Office aids?"
"Seniors who work up in the office for a period," she clarifies. "Not all of the kids are interested in taking multiple PE classes their last year of high school."
Seniors. I almost faint. The mere thought of having Vince as a tour guide, the two of us alone in the building, has my heart beating like a bass drum. What are the odds, though, of him being an office aid in his first hour? Then again, I'm not the luckiest kid around.
When the tardy bell rings, a bunch of kids speed walk towards their classes, not sparing a glance into the office. Except Vince, who curses me with the same heavy look as he passes the window. I release a sigh of relief when it becomes clear that he is headed off to his first period. A girl dressed in a Willow Lake Wombats t-shirt with shiny brown hair pulled in a high pony tail stalks into the office, a coat tucked under her arm and a cup of steaming coffee in hand.
"Sorry I'm late, Mrs. Brown," She says casually as if her tardiness is as common as a sunrise. "The traffic was unbearable."
"I'm sure it had nothing to do with a pit-stop at Starbucks," The lady, Mrs. Brown, muses.
"A girls has got to stay warm."
"Oh, please," The secretary chuckles. "Mr. Brown is cleaning the pool this weekend."
They laugh in sync at the joke that flies directly over my head. The girl only just notices my presence and is taken back. She hangs up her jacket and sets down her coffee in order to reach for a handshake, a smile gracing her lips.
"You must be the new kid. Jack, right?" She questions and I nod. "That's cool. We haven't had a new kid in forever, and the last one froze into a block of ice so we had to ship him back home." I stare, horrified at her nonchalance.
"She's joking." Mrs. Brown says without even looking up from her work.
"I'm Rachel. Senior. Ready to get the heck out of here." The Secretary laughs at that, shaking her head in mock disapproval. "Are you ready for the tour?"
Before I get the opportunity to respond, the door to the office busts open and a large male hurries in. "Chase? What are you doing here? I thought you were in here 4th hour." Mrs. Brown interrogates the boy. My heart drops when I recognize him as one of the jocks from earlier.
"Mr. Larsen excused me from class so I can show the new kid around the school," He explains.
Rachel shoots him a look. "Well, I'm giving him a tour so hop on back to class."
"Mrs. Brown," the boy, Chase, completely ignores Rachel's sass, "Don't you think it would be more appropriate for a boy to give another boy a tour."
"Oh that is so ridiculous," Rachel retorts irritably. "It's not like I have to show him around the boys' bathroom."
"What about the locker room?" Chase argues.
"Fine, whatever." She resigns to a seat behind the desk next to the Secretary. "I'll just play on my phone all period, like usual."
Mrs. Brown shushes the girl, embarrassed by the behavior of her aids in front of a new student, as well as the revelation of their lack of duties. I fidget in my spot, desperately wanting Rachel to accompany me, but too afraid for my life to say anything to the frightening boy. At this point, I'd rather just take my schedule and be off to class. Who cares if I get lost.
"Here's his schedule," Mrs. Brown hands a paper to Chase. "Show him the quickest routes and don't dawdle. You need to get back to class. Mr. Larsen may not care that you're skipping, but I know for a fact your parents will."
Chase huffs in annoyance, stuffing my schedule in his pocket like a bubblegum wrapper. "Don't worry, I'll take great care of him." His lips pull up into a cocky smirk and my heart falls into my stomach. And I question whether it's too late to switch to homeschooling.
********************
"This is the English and Math hallway," Chase instructs as we make a sharp turn off of the main drag. The walls are kind of dingy and the florescent lights cast a moody light upon the linoleum tiles, but it seems nice enough for a school.
The tour guide towers over me, just like his friends, with sleek black hair and olive skin. He's very attractive, I'll give him that, but there's a strange feel to his presence, like a protective air encases the two of us. I notice he walks a little too close to me as if he's trying to create a blockade between myself and any dangers, if there were any to speak of, in the hall.
"Where are you from?" He asks.
I panic, debating whether or not to divulge any personal information to the stranger, before I realize he's probably just trying to be welcoming. "Los Angeles," I tell him. "In California."
"Do you have any siblings?"
"Just a sister," I answer. "She's eight. She just started at the Elementary school this morning."
"Favorite color?"
In my peripheral vision, I notice him scrawling something down on a piece of paper. And by piece of paper I mean the schedule I'm supposed to refer to for the rest of the day. "What are you doing?" I ask him cautiously, bracing myself in case of an outburst.
"Taking notes," He says, as if it's obvious.
"Why?"
"So we get to know a little bit about you," says Chase. "What's your favorite color?"
"That doesn't seem like a school related question." His face scrunches up in agitation. "Red," I blurt out before I peeve him any further. He jots that down and I feel a twinge of annoyance. He's clearly lying. Why is he writing down information about my life?
"Sexual orientation?"
I nearly trip over my feet, but he grabs my arm before I can face plant on the floor. "That's a bit personal, don't you think?"
"Just answer the question."
"Zoophiliac," I tell him with a straight face.
He freezes in his spot, eyes wide as saucers. I burst out laughing and his eyes scrunch in anger. "I was only kidding."
We reach my first period class, Chemistry with Ms. Elson. I wait for the boy to leave me be, but he stands by the door, holding my schedule in his hands like a lifeline.
"Thanks for the tour," I say with the utmost sincerity. "Can I have my schedule back?"
He shakes his head. "I need this information."
"How will I know where to go?"
"I'll meet you out here after the class ends," says the boy. "It's my job to escort you to your classes."
My eyes narrow in distrust. The Secretary said otherwise. "I don't think your job entitles that."
"Well, you're new here. So how the hell would you know?" He says with an arrogant smile. I feel my blood boil. "Just go inside, you're missing class, kiddo."
With great reluctance, I turn and stalk into the classroom, alright plotting a method of escaping the boy named Chase.