I'm having a hard time at school with my friends right now, and while it's given me motivation to write this chapter, I've incorporated my pain with Darren's… If anything, I hope it makes the story more interesting.
Children of Secrets
Chapter 1
First Day of School
August 17th, 2011
Junior year has finally arrived! Well… starting tomorrow, that is, and while I have all my necessary supplies packed securely in my decrepit, tattered satchel, I can't help but feel winged when I should be jumping from my seat in unsuppressed anxiety. Only two more years and I'll be out of this useless wasteland of a rustic town… Ask me half a decade ago if I minded residing here and maybe I could name a few reasons why I'd stay. Ask me now and I wouldn't be able to surmise one. Not one! Not even my girlfriend of 5 years, Debbie, could keep me here now. Not after everything that's happened.
It's not that I'm particularly excited about Junior year, but rather there's a certain rumor that the one person I swore never speak to again won't be there! Nope, said rumor spread around campus like wildfire last May that he got sent away to some military school for beating up an angry upperclassman who gave him shit everyday. I guess the kid thought he couldn't actually kick anyone's ass, although the entire eleventh grade student body could vogue against that accusation. We all knew—still very much know—the truth about that bastard!
Not that I care… I didn't usually see too much of him in school, anyway. Just the idea is nice, I think.
Yeah, right, Shan… you're not fooling anyone as much as you're fooling yourself.
A fury of echoing footsteps assault my ears even as I sit in my history class, the only door into the room closed firmly. Evidently, I'm not the only one to be disturbed by the harsh shuffling noises perforating through the concrete and mucilage structure that separates my prison from the repugnance—the other students having already turned their attention to the entrance. Most likely, they're waiting for the unfortunate, tardy slacker to rush through the door, flush-faced and breathless, and get reprimanded by the teacher. Distastefully, in my ever-punctual opinion, our teacher has yet to actually arrive, which is… highly unusual behavior for a uniformed establishment such as this school.
The footfalls come to a rubber-screeching halt when they reach their destination—the doorway into our abode. For one extensive moment, the person inheres to that one spot, assumedly brushing him or herself down to appear presentable after that grueling run, but there's no need. There's no one here of stature to ridicule the kid.
Almost in a fluster of calmness and confidence, the kid airs through the wooden barrier and into our atmosphere. At first, I honestly can't tell who it is, but as I become accustom to the obscured morale of this person, I recognize something about him. Yes, I manage to gather that it's indeed a he with messy blonde hair and dark, foreboding clothing. The way he… carries himself, completely opposing the aura in which he's surrounded, is slack and dispositional—that akin to the character of a juvenile delinquent. Somewhere, I've been exposed to this moral fiber before, and I don't realize that I know exactly where until I get a decent look at the familiar face of Steve Leonard himself.
And in one fraise, this can only result in one possible conclusion: he's in my class.
Steve Leopard is in my class.
I have history with Steve fucking Leopard.
What kind of stir crazy shit is this?!
"Am I late?" He asks the class.
Wiping at my eyes to inspect for any latent misconceptions is a waste of time because there isn't any doubt that this asshole in front of me is definitely Steve. Who else possesses such a sultry smug tone as he? Briskly, I pivot my head and slink down in my chair to disappear from his peripheral vision. I don't want to chance him seeing me.
However, some celestial coercion beckons me to glance his way once more, and as I do, his azure eyes, so vibrant they're almost ashen in color, lock onto mine. The simple look has my expression morphing into surprised terror, fists clenching at my desks chair. Without breaking eye contact, I crouch down even lower in my seat, succumbing to the intensity of his glare.
A sly upturn of his lips leaves me confused, then he nods at me and whispers an acknowledgment. "Hey there, Shan."
Genuinely happy isn't something I expect him to pretend to put-on, but why is my stomach doing summersaults and the palms of my hands slippery with sweat at just the satisfied grin on his cheeky face? …It makes me sick, so I quickly busy myself with other things, such as doodling on a blank sheet of notebook paper. My mind swipes blank for a few seconds before I focus back into reality and see a word written in truculent penmanship. In my subconscious, there's only one thing that repeats throughout my head when I think of Steve. These letters… this word is it.
Betrayal.
While I've never been much into superstition—I'm as far from Ireland as I can get—I can't help but be a bit spooked at my own intuitive action. I mustn't let anyone see this ridiculous memorandum, so I crumble it up, virtually ruining the words so much that no one can read them, and shove it into my worn-out jean pocket. The incident can't have lasted more than five minutes, all the same Steve is still up at the front of the classroom, leaning on some guy's desk talking to the poor soul and a few others.
Well, at least he's leaving me alone.
An unexpected bang of the oak door has almost every one of us jumping from our seats and frantically turning our heads toward… a strange man clad in red. He's carrying an over-used binder filled to the breaking point with documents on one shoulder, an abnormal way of exhibiting oneself to others, but it speaks in volume of the real person he must be… or pretends to be. His flamboyant red suit, messily unkempt yet silky as a web, screams out 'important and classy, but edgy and rebellious'. Full ginger locks slick back stylishly, with stray curls cascading down his forehead here and there, framing his narrow face to perfection.
Green eyes—not mine—cast the class a stern look, and a silky voice, as smooth as his suit, says, "Please take your rightful seats, children." He manages to set his one binder on an other wise bare desk (there isn't even a computer!) and takes his seat, the chair creaks under his adult weight. He eyes us wearily when none of us moves. "Well?"
"Sir," someone chimes. "It's our first day..." Garret Knullem, a boy with hair so red it's almost ablaze, is the one who spoke 's generally a quite person in the classroom, but I can tell his temper has gotten the better of him. And truthfully, I'm a little annoyed myself because the teacher—whatever his name is—should know the basic overview of everything. Then again, maybe he just forgot, so I shouldn't be so abrasive.
Apparently, Mr. Dense doesn't catch on because he just stares at Garret with the most bored expression. Garret decides to explain further in a way that this… seemingly badly-chosen-as-a-teacher teacher can understand. "Sir, we haven't gotten our assigned seats yet. Nor do we know your name."
"Right, right." He stammers after a pause. "Sorry. Call me Mr. Crepsley. Seeing as I have not come up with a seating chart, you all may sit wherever you would like. Whichever seat you choose will be the seat you're stuck with all year, so take your time and choose wisely. Don't sit by someone who is going to get you into trouble."
With the agonizingly slow speed of the lazy teenagers we are, most people go to sit down or move to a different seat to sit closer to friends. Me on the other hand, well I stay where I am. That's not to say I don't have friends in this class—I do, and that Garret kid just happens to be one of them—but something compels me to stay just where I am. And that something just happens to be Steve Leopard taking the desk right… next… to mine.
Now, any logical person would gather up their belongings and split in two seconds flat, but not I. I like to torture myself. Pain gives me pleasure! …But seriously, I have absolutely no idea why, besides that faint pull to remain exactly where I am, I stayed here.
Although… I'm more than shocked when I observe Steve because he doesn't have his usual taunting smirk or that glimmer of devious mirth in his baby blues. Instead, his lips are set in a firm, straight, angry line and his eyes, wide with a little fear, are composed of a glare so intentionally spiteful that I'm surprised the sheer waves of acidic hostility doesn't have every kid and Mr. Crepsley running out the door in fear.
I seem to be the only one who notices, though. Everybody else faces toward his or her neighbors, blabbering up a storm about god knows what while I can visibly see the vein ticking on Mr. Crepsley's forehead. Both him and Steve are about to blow a casket, so to prepare for the explosion, I think it's best to scoot down in my chair and use my desk top as a shield.
"Alright, class, listen up." Soft is his tone, but it hints at dire consequences should anyone not obey. Even Steve, whose glare has disappeared to replace it with a calm and thoughtful demeanor, stops tapping his foot to listen to our teacher. "You may not know this, but this year is my first year teaching. Now, before you all start behaving like rotten hooligans at this knowledge, I am not opposed to giving you all detention for a month.
"Rules of this classroom are: do not speak unless spoken to, do not bring electronics into this classroom, do not bring food or drink, chewing gum in here is strictly forbidden, but most importantly, do not play me as a fool. I have eyes in the back of my head, children. If any of these rules are broken, I will personally see to it that there is an empty spot waiting for you in detention hall. I refuse to put up with any slander, bullying, or inattention… Do I make myself clear, students?"
We all reply with a quick, "yes, sir." Some louder, some quieter, but all reply. We've only known this guy for ten minutes, but there's no denying how frightening this man can be even when he's not actually being that way intentionally.
"Good," he says. "Let's get on with the education part then."
Mr. Crepsley talks like he's from another time… he's so prim and proper and to tell the truth, it makes him very alarming. It's a charming tone set to calm whoever hears it, a graceful roll of the tongue to let every syllable exit his mouth in harmony. Sternness is also present in the pitch, but less so in his normal speech. We did here it while he was giving out our classroom rule, though.
His intimidation doesn't come from one place, however. Any teacher who wears a bright red suit to school deserves a little caution from the students. It's not everyday you see a teacher as eccentric as him. There's also a scar, in the shape of what looks like three claw marks coming down from his temple, and a scar's just as bad as a tattoo when it comes down to how tough you wanna look. All in all, he gives me the heebie-jeebies.
I wonder where he could have got a horrible scar like that…
A bear? No, because there's no way he would've survived an attack from a bear no matter how tough he looks.
A rabid dog maybe… That's probably more likely.
But what if it wasn't an animal?
What if it was something else, like a car accident?
But the lines are too symmetrical... too perpendicular… to be a coincidence.
Before I let my mind wander too deep into the puzzling thought, I reach for my notebook so I can copy down the history notes on the board. Blindly, I move my hand down to the bench under my chair where my books are supposed to be, but no matter where I glide my fingers, I can't find my damn things. With an irritated grunt, I glance down to inspect what's going on. Emerald eyes widen in astonishment when they see that there aren't any books under my desk at all! They're just gone! Frantically, I scan everywhere around me, thinking that I only misplaced them without realizing it.
They aren't here! Where could they be?! I know I brought them to class because this morning I had to gather them back up into my arms when George and RV tripped me in the hallway…
Being Punctual is something I pride myself in, more so than anything else I do. I haven't been late to class since that one time in fifth grade when the hall monitor stopped me short from entering the classroom because I ran to get to class on time. When I tried to tell him that, he just ignored me and wrote me up to the principal. Unexpectedly, I didn't get into too much trouble… I remember I got a serious lecture from the schools secretary and my parents on how important it is to get to class on time without endangering my life and others by running through the hallways.
Not that I really listened to them. I know it's ideal to be timely, but that day didn't stop me from running, if anything it gave me motivation to continue.
That's why I'm trying to hurry as fast as I can to my next class, history, and make a good impression. Tardiness isn't a very Shangri-la quality to show your betters, after all. Speed walking, I round a corner at the end of an almost abandoned part of the school. Just as I came into the new corridor, I felt my shoulders grabbed by a pair of big hands. "Where you headed, Shan?"
Uh oh… I know that raspy voice anywhere, and it's not something I want to hear right now. I try to make a break for it, but the hold on my shoulder tightens to a painful degree and pulls me back before slamming me into a nearby locker. My books fall to the floor forgotten when the handle of said locker digs into the small of my back, and if I take a wild guess, I'm pretty sure a huge purple and blue bruise is gunna flaw my pale skin by the time I'm home.
George is the one who held me against the locker, but RV is to my right standing still and not bothering to take part in George's mundane activities. Although, he looks a little upset, and I figure it's because George told him to stand back for this one, but I can see the predator gleam in RV's eyes. He wants me all to himself so he can tear me limb from limb… thank god George doesn't give him the opportunity.
I don't bother to ask what they want from me since I know the only answer I'll get is a punch to the gut, so I remain quiet even as I'm forcefully pushed back against the locker. "Listen, Shan, and listen good." George hissed into my ear. I don't dare turn my head from this goon incase he takes offense and in turn retaliates. "We got something for ya, and man, is it awesome. You're just gunna love it!"
"Yea, you're gunna really like this, Darren." RV agrees with a madman's voice ten times creepier than George's could ever be—a voice similar to that of a hyena's laugh and an intelligent man's tone when he talks of solar flares. It's a cross between reality and lunacy, which makes it by far the most ominous sound in the world.
"So meet us after school at the old fire hall on Young Avenue… You know the place?"
I nod my head in affirmation before he throws me to the floor and walks away with RV trailing behind him. I'm left by myself to pick up my belongings, but really I expected no less. Once I'm sure I have everything gathered in my arms, the way they were prier to this harassment, I start jogging to my history class and shake my head of the recent events. I'm not going to let this get to me, I swear it.
I WON'T LET THOSE IDIOTS WIN!
The first thing I notice when I look up at Steve is he's looking back at me, the second is the knowing smirk on his face, and the third is my books on his desk. My books… are on his desk. I send him the nastiest glare I can manage through all my surprise and mouth off, "what are you playing at, Steve?" Incredibly, my tone remains smooth and doesn't rise even as my anger and confusion do.
He doesn't answer me, instead his smirk grows larger and he just stares at me as if he didn't hear what I said. "What are you doing? Give me my stuff back, you… you…" I trail off abruptly after he flicks a paper football in my direction, landing square in the center of my lap. I look curiously at the thing and pick it up. What would compel him to toss this at me…? I examine it and see the words 'unfold me' written in Steve's unorthodox handwriting on the back.
Taking a peek at Steve, who urges me on with his eyes, I can't help but be suspicious of what's inside. Knowing Steve it's probably some verbal threat to not bother him in class, but isn't that what he's doing right now? So, maybe that's out of the question…
Carefully, I unfold the paper and spread it out on my desk before reading it.
'Fire hall. Tonight.'
Still seething with ever-growing rage, I turn my head to Steve, who's still attentive to me, possibly calculating my reaction, and nod my head much like I did to George earlier. There's no denying the inevitable, Steve has won yet again and I can't do anything about it. I just have to play into his hands and see where it takes me…
"Mr. Shan, I do believe I told you not to talk to your classmates while I am up here teaching. Hand me the note, and you and Mr. Leonard have detention." Anguish clouds my heart, turning it blue at the uncertainty. If Mr. Creepsley, as I've now decided to refer to him, sees the note he'll report it to the principal, Steve'll get in trouble, and in sequence he'll send George and… RV after me! Honestly, I think I would rather face the red-heads wrath over Steve's, but should I really rip up the note and throw it in the trash so no one, especially Mr. Creepsley, can see it or should I give the paper to our teacher, anyway, and hope to god he doesn't get Steve into trouble?
Why am I always the one to be faced with these kind of conflicts?!
I decide that facing Steve is much worse than facing Mr. Creepsley will ever be, but I can't bring my respectful self to rip up the pint-sized note so I stand up as slowly as I can manage and walk down the isle of desks to the front of the classroom. I stop for a split second, before stumbling the rest of the way across the debilitated, green carpet to come to a standstill when I reached the teacher, who stands quietly by the chalkboard, eraser still in hand, waiting for me.
With a gulp, I have the urge to look back at the blonde haired moron who got me into this mess, but I dislodge the feeling from my body and stand with my back to him. Steve's probably fuming back there in his seat as much as I'm worrying up here. I present the letter to him, and to my relief he doesn't check to see what it says. Instead, he crumbles it up, as I wished I had done, and chucks it into the trashcan by his chair.
A gigantic sigh of relief threatens to leave my throat, but I harshly force it back into my lungs. If I let him see how much I didn't want him to look at it, he would get apprehensive and most likely read it even though he already threw it away. "You may go sit back down. Do not let me catch another note in your possession. I was not kidding when I said I won't put up with any childish nonsense, so detention for both of you after school and do not be late, am I clear?"
He's talking to us both, and hinting at the class not to take an example from us, but the way he's only looking at me, I have a feeling that I'm going to faint under the pressure. In the last thirty minutes I've been subjected to so much terror and worry and anger that I feel as if my body's going into hyper drive and there isn't anything I can do to prevent it. If things like this keep happening, I don't know if I'll be able to handle it! "Crystal…" I stammer.
When I change about to go back to my seat, I chance a look-see at Steve, and realize that he's as relieved as I am, and perhaps a bit angry, but I don't blame him for being. He almost got into a serious mess because of me. I also see that my stuff is back on my desk, he must've put it back while Mr. Creepsley was distracted by me. Well, if anything at least I got my crap back.
The rest of the class went by quickly and silently, not a soul dare to utter one word after what happened to Steve and me, and hell, I wouldn't either if I was an onlooker. But I'm not just an onlooker… I'm the kid it happened to. I'm the kid who just got detention for passing notes in class. What will my mother say?
Waiting by the Chemistry 1 door next to the janitors supply closet for my girlfriend to get out of class, I can't stop contemplating what detention will be like. Detention-a bunch of brawny, hardass troublemakers who wear steel-toed boots and baggy clothes and carry around pocketknives and cigarettes. Detention-a supervising gym teacher who makes you run laps around the library bookshelves the entire time you're there. Detention-somewhere I don't wanna be!
But I did wrong, I guess, even if it wasn't me who wrote the damn message. I should've just stuffed the thing in my pocket to read later—after class—but with everything that involves Steve, I was compelled to do it. Like the impulse to blink your eyes or something. It… just… happened.
Debbie comes strolling out of chemistry with her books in hand, and a Doony and Berk purse slung over her shoulder. To me, a purse is just a purse, so I don't understand what's so special about name brands, but she loves their collection. Some of the purses she gets are so weird, I don't know what to make of them, but the one she has now looks good with her green silky shirt and boot-cut jeans.
Her curly hair is pinned up in a gold headband, and wow, does it look amazing on her. I don't believe I could ever stop admiring this girl's semblance. "Hey, Dar." She says whilst kissing my cheek. I'm only taller than her by an inch or two, so its relatively easy for her to reach me. A couple years ago, when we first started dating, she was taller than me, but I, like all other high school boys, had a growth-spurt.
"Hi, Deb, how was science?" I inquire as I snake my arm around her shoulders instinctively, and start walking her to our last class of the day—eighth period Algebra 2.
"Oh, as exciting as ever." I can pick up the sarcasm threading through her words, so I let out a chuckle. "We didn't even do anything except listen to the teacher lecture us from the very beginning of class! I mean, it's cool that we didn't have to take notes or copy down an agenda or something, but even that would've been more exciting." Even her complaints sound cute spewing from her full lips.
"Where as I, on the other hand, had to copy down notes all period… and I got detention." The last part I try to say low enough so she doesn't catch on, but the comical glint in her eyes tells me she understood the moment it left my mouth.
"You, Darren Shan, goody-two-shoes of all nerds, got detention? This story, I have to hear." So, in the two minutes we have left to get to our math class on time, I fill her in as best I can. I tell her about how Steve sat next to me and passed me a note, but I didn't tell her about George and RV, or how Steve took my books, or what exactly the note said… but everything else I kind of skimmed over so she could get a basic idea. It's not exactly a lie, so I don't feel bad about it, but it isn't the truth either so I hope she doesn't ask questions.
I take a seat next to Sam, my best friend, and start talking about what happened, only unlike with Debbie, I don't leave anything out. Since she's across the room with her friends, I don't even worry about her over hearing us. "No way!" He exclaims in a whisper. "You can't go there, you'll be playing right into their trap, Darren!"
"I have to, Sammy, or they'll never leave me alone. Besides, what if they know some big secret about me and if I don't show up, they'll tell everyone!"
"What big secret would you have, Darren Shan?"
"Oh, I don't know, dude… I was just saying. They were really persistent about it, so it's gotta be something super important. I don't want to go, but I have to."
"Well… alright, but I'm going to."
"Thanks, man, I'll probably need all the help I can get."
XOXOXO
Well, here's the very first chapter. I like how it's moving along, but tell me what you think. Does it need more emotion? More description? Better punctuation? Idk, you're the critics here lol. Have any questions? Wanna take a wild guess at what Steve's gunna do? Or do you just wanna tell me how bad/good I did?
Then leave a review, my fellow users. Your input inspires me to write and gives me ideas…
I love all of you amazing readers! And until next time, see you later!
