Chapter 1: It All Starts Here
"Huff, puff! Made it!" I exclaimed to myself.
I had made it to the slaughterhouse late, once again. Before running inside through the double doors, I took a moment to gaze at the bold, scarlet letters on the side of the 2-story building that said, 'Tanner Middle School'.
'Dumb name', I thought as the wind made my blond hair itch like crazy. I scratched it while hurrying inside.
"...And so we divide x to the fifth power, by that causing y to become 89...." I charged into Mr. Gerald's classroom in the middle of his algebra lesson. "Why, if it isn't Mr. Binning!" Mr. Gerald said sarcastically. "Late again?" The class giggled.
I didn't answer, and took my seat.
"Xaiver, you really should try coming earlier." It was John, my only friend, who sits next to me. He was 12 years old, but seemed only nine. He had red, wavy hair, a few freckles, topaz-colored eyes, and a pleasant smile.
"Don't start on me, Shortie." That was a nickname I made up for him.
The lesson was as boring as heck. With his wrinkly skin, black-rimmed glasses, and monotone voice, Mr. Gerald couldn't get any duller.
After my math, history, language, and health classes, it was lunchtime. '8th grade couldn't get any worse...' I thought as I headed down to the cafeteria.
Once there, I went to my usual table, where John was already sitting. "Hey, how's it going?" he asked as I sat down.
"Awful, horrible, catastrophic. Also known as normal." I responded.
"What can a 13-year-old like you expect?" he commented.
"I guess you're right." I agreed.
"Hey, what do ya have for lunch today?" he asked. He pulled his lunch out of his Spider Man lunch box. "I have...an apple with a mushy spot, some string cheese, a ham and chicken sandwich, and some chocolate pudding."
"A banana, a slice of cherry pie, cheese sandwich, and some peanuts for me." I answered, pulling my lunch out of my brown sack. "By the way, another year with that lunchbox and people will think you're in the wrong grade level." I added.
"Shaddup." John shot back.
The rest of the day went smoothly-my remaining classes of science, Spanish, and computer had nothing new thrown at me (although I was even more bored). Then, school was out.
The day was abnormally sunny and warm for a day in January. I wrapped my coat around my waist, put my Nike backpack on, and headed home, accompanied by John. As we headed for his house, which was before mine, we talked about how our personal lives were going.
Ten minutes later, John was talking about what was going on with him.
"...So then after we got our dog to let go of the beaver, we...." John stopped. We were at his house. "Oh. Well, see ya, Xaiver." he said.
"Bye, Shortie." I exclaimed. As I watched him enter his two-story, red house, I saw his black lab jump on him and bark happily (knocked him off his feet, that lab did). I then thought about what Mom was making for dinner that night. I quickly headed home to find out.
"Huff, puff! Made it!" I exclaimed to myself.
I had made it to the slaughterhouse late, once again. Before running inside through the double doors, I took a moment to gaze at the bold, scarlet letters on the side of the 2-story building that said, 'Tanner Middle School'.
'Dumb name', I thought as the wind made my blond hair itch like crazy. I scratched it while hurrying inside.
"...And so we divide x to the fifth power, by that causing y to become 89...." I charged into Mr. Gerald's classroom in the middle of his algebra lesson. "Why, if it isn't Mr. Binning!" Mr. Gerald said sarcastically. "Late again?" The class giggled.
I didn't answer, and took my seat.
"Xaiver, you really should try coming earlier." It was John, my only friend, who sits next to me. He was 12 years old, but seemed only nine. He had red, wavy hair, a few freckles, topaz-colored eyes, and a pleasant smile.
"Don't start on me, Shortie." That was a nickname I made up for him.
The lesson was as boring as heck. With his wrinkly skin, black-rimmed glasses, and monotone voice, Mr. Gerald couldn't get any duller.
After my math, history, language, and health classes, it was lunchtime. '8th grade couldn't get any worse...' I thought as I headed down to the cafeteria.
Once there, I went to my usual table, where John was already sitting. "Hey, how's it going?" he asked as I sat down.
"Awful, horrible, catastrophic. Also known as normal." I responded.
"What can a 13-year-old like you expect?" he commented.
"I guess you're right." I agreed.
"Hey, what do ya have for lunch today?" he asked. He pulled his lunch out of his Spider Man lunch box. "I have...an apple with a mushy spot, some string cheese, a ham and chicken sandwich, and some chocolate pudding."
"A banana, a slice of cherry pie, cheese sandwich, and some peanuts for me." I answered, pulling my lunch out of my brown sack. "By the way, another year with that lunchbox and people will think you're in the wrong grade level." I added.
"Shaddup." John shot back.
The rest of the day went smoothly-my remaining classes of science, Spanish, and computer had nothing new thrown at me (although I was even more bored). Then, school was out.
The day was abnormally sunny and warm for a day in January. I wrapped my coat around my waist, put my Nike backpack on, and headed home, accompanied by John. As we headed for his house, which was before mine, we talked about how our personal lives were going.
Ten minutes later, John was talking about what was going on with him.
"...So then after we got our dog to let go of the beaver, we...." John stopped. We were at his house. "Oh. Well, see ya, Xaiver." he said.
"Bye, Shortie." I exclaimed. As I watched him enter his two-story, red house, I saw his black lab jump on him and bark happily (knocked him off his feet, that lab did). I then thought about what Mom was making for dinner that night. I quickly headed home to find out.