Keefe
I'm lying in bed, of course, when the shrieking of my alarm goes off about four feet away from me. I blink my eyes open, until my eyes don't feel sticky and gross, then grab my alarm clock. It's a simple thing, a brick with about 5 buttons total on it, probably. I pushed the button on the bottom left corner, and the loud wail finally ends. I groan and rub my head, wishing the colors and blobs that cloud the center of my milky vision to just come into focus. After years of thinking that every morning, though, I know nothing will happen. With a small sigh, I go into my ultra-specifically organized dresser.
Today is my first day of senior year. Even if I wont be able to see myself, I want to know that others will appreciate the way that I look—or, at least, am dressed. There's not a lot I can do if there's anything wrong with my face or hair. I wish I could, though—even though I've been blind since birth, I still always want to look presentable. In order to do that, my friends help me once every other week, organize my outfits for the upcoming 14 days. It started in sophmore year, when Sophie got the wonderful idea, and it's been a tradition since. And thanks to my 'photographic (ha) memory', I always know what clothes I'm wearing. Always.
I'm about halfway dressed when hear a beep from the direction of my bed.
"New message from Fitz." The automated, robotic voice of Siri tells me.
"Hey, Siri—read message from Fitz." I respond, then finish putting on the rest of my clothes.
"Ready for your first day as a senior?" she reads back to me. I automatically change the sound to Fitz's deeper, more human voice in my head. I roll my eyes.
"Hey, Siri—text Fitz 'hell yeah brother.'" After a quick confirmation of what I'm sending, I go into the bathroom next to my bedroom. I carefully feel my way around for my toothbrush and brush my teeth, then proceed to run my hand through my hair. For a short moment, I wish I could see myself as more than a blob of milky, to bright color, but the thought fades quickly. I'd rather not think about it. So I finish up in the bathroom, then return to my room for my bag. With a quick 'hey, Siri,' I manage to find my phone as well.
After a few more voice commands, I receive the news that Fitz will be here to pick me up at 7:30, which gives me about 20 minutes. I hop over to the kitchen and make myself a quick, hearty bowl of cereal. Being me, I choose the healthiest kind, Lucky Charms. When finished, I smile to myself and set the bowl near the sink—I know my dad's at work by now, so I don't have to worry about that. Sometimes there's good things about waking up early. As I slip my bag on and go to the door to wait, I remember how lucky I am to have such a good memory, and such a constantly cleanly household. Otherwise, I'd be as clumsy in my house as Sophie is. I grab my cane and walk outside, chiding myself for thinking so much about the little things.
Fitz is there, honking his horn, about 5 ish minutes after I get outside. Sophie yells at him for being annoying, and I chuckle a bit. A window rolls down, and Biana's voice comes through hollering to go to the back passengers side. I use my cane to help me a little bit, then grab onto the ledge made by the open window. I proceed to find the door handle, then carefully step into the car.
"If any freshman give you crap today, you have full right to hit them with your cane." Dex, who must be on on the other side of Biana, says.
"Thank you. I'll definitely do that," I respond with a laugh, and I can practically feel the worry in the air as Sophie warns me not to.
"We really don't want you to get suspended on the first day. So just wait until tomorrow, and give them an extra hard whap on kneecap." Biana says cheerily.
"This is why you're my favorite." I awkwardly try to wrap my arm around her head, but fail miserably. My peripherals are even worse than the center of my vision—there's almost no light visible towards the edges—so I end up hitting her on the head, and play it off by messing her hair up. This, of course, causes her to whack my arm and call me a jerk.
"Alright, dumbasses, knock it off," Fitz, my best friend of the past 6 years, yells. "By the way, Keefe, we're pulling in now." A knot forms in my stomach. Man. First day of senior year at Foxfire. I can't believe its so close to being over. The beginning of the end.
We pull into the parking lot and step out of Fitz's Volvo. I turn towards the building, and take a deep inhale of the crisp morning air. My friends and family always like to comment on how pretty the building looks. Foxfire is a really prestigious private high school, and I know that they put a lot of money into the architecture and the grounds. It's a pity that all I see is a building shaped blob of its beige color, and the faint blobs of green and other colors that I know are trees.
I try not to let myself think about it.
We walk into the building, and Fitz automatically splits off. He's supposed to help some teacher set up the presentation that the Freshman go to. I love him, but it's the first day of school and that man is already busy. This year is gonna be rough if we wanna keep up our hangout sessions- although, we both did take the same 6 AP classes. We'll probably study together, when he's not with his million other commitments.
After a few hugs and highfives, and a few debate friends greeting me, I go to my first class. I'm /not/ getting caught in that crowd, especially with the idiotic freshman pretending that they own the place. Off to AP music theory it is. C118 is easy enough- no stairs, and it's a pretty straight shot to the classroom. Again, I thank my perfect memory to get me around. I may not know what the building looks like, but I basically have the blueprint downloaded in my head. Good times, man.
First period doesn't result in much. We all get a copy of the syllabus, and a short introductory reading. I can feel a tinge of annoyance when the teacher acknowledges my inability to.. Uh, read it, but a girl named Linh volunteers to help me out with it. She seemed nice enough. She had a bit of a Canadian accent, and when I asked about it she confirmed that she was from…Minnesota. She was really sweet, and I'm genuinely hoping that'll become a friendship.
The next couple periods go uneventfully. Fitz is in one of them, and Dex the other so I don't have to worry about another situation. And the teachers always let me go about 2-3 minutes early, so I can avoid the crowds- that is, until lunch. I'm on my way down to the cafeteria when I run into… someone. They must have been very quiet—I didn't realize they were that close to me coming around the bend. So when they did, we kinda collided. I hear a soft curse when they thud to the ground, and from the shape and sound I know its a guy. I put the cane in my left hand and offer to help him up. I'm not sure what it is, but he doesn't accept it.
"You good man? I didn't see ya there." I laugh a little, because duh. He doesn't. I can't really make out any of him- his hair is /probably/ black- and this agitates me, because he doesn't respond. And then he practically runs away. I have no way to identify him- probably a dumb freshman that didn't want his ass kicked by the blind senior. Trying to shake off the interaction, I roll my eyes and start on my way to lunch again.
/
"Honestly, today was AWFUL. The second half, at least." I'm now at Fitz's house, along with Dex. "I already told Dex about that one guy that ran into me, but Stats teacher was awful. She probably heard something from Michaels about last year- just because I rarely showed up doesn't mean I don't know what I'm doing! I got along in that class fine."
"Keefe, I taught you like half of that course." Fitz replies, laughing.
"Because you actually know how to do math! Michaels is an awful excuse for a pre calc teacher. Dex, be glad that you got Hex." I retort. It's not wrong- Mr. Michaels had been very incompetent. If not for Fitz, I would have gotten the worst grade I ever had in my high school career.
"You know I am." Dex agrees. "Even Hex hates Michaels, but she won't admit it. Outright, at least."
"Ok, enough about horrible teachers. Tell me about the guy who ran into you." Fitz pipes up, not wanting to be a part of a conversation dissing his soccer coach. I let him divert the conversation, even though I really wanna rag Michaels to the ground most of the time.
"Well, that's the thing. There's nothing to tell- I ran into him and he fell. Then he ran away, without saying a word," I say. "I wanna know just as much as you do."
"That's cute," Dex comments, and I shake my head.
"You know what I mean."
"Suuuuureee." The tone of his voice makes me hit him, which starts a wrestle between the three of us for about half an hour. By the end of it, I'm sure I have multiple bruises from falling, kicking something wrong, and getting hit, but I don't care much. We fall into a panting heap on Fitz bed, and we throw half hearted punches at each other with no intention. Needless to say, I'm sweaty and gross, and when Fitz informs me that it's almost 8, I ask to go home. A man's gotta shower and rest—and get his beauty sleep.
So Fitz drives me and Dex home, the three of us having pointless conversation about classes and plans we should make. I get dropped off first, and they wait as I carefully make my way to door of my house, not leaving until I get inside. I hear the thrum of his engine as Fitz drives off, then make my way to the bathroom. After a quick shower, I brush my teeth and head off to bed.
I drift off, and my thoughts are filled with a mysterious blob and math equations.
