Chapter 2: Misery (1987)

I was going to be late for first period.
Again.
And it wasn't my fault.
Again.
My dad swore he was going to kill me if he found out I was skipping.
Again.
I only skip because my first period teacher hates me. I have never done anything wrong to that woman.
Sure, I hate math, but I don't blame her for its existence.
But even if I don't skip, even if I'm not late, she calls. At least twice a week. I think she calls to hit on my dad - judging from his end of the conversation.
It's sick. He's married. And he's a prick. Every way you look at him.
Anyway, my first three classes droned on like they always do. It's a little sad to think that this early in the year it's already become a routine. All I do is try to stay awake, try to do what homework I can while I'm in class so I can keep making straight A's while, at the same time, pretending with the rest of the student body that I have a life outside of school.
The only difference in my routine today was that I, on the whole, was very uncomfortable.
I hate school.
No, that's not exactly true. I don't hate school, I just hate the people in it.
Finally, the bell.
Third period's over. English class sucked today. I just want lunch. I've got to find out what Delilah wants for the paper, too. And -
"Casey?"
Why is there always a note of pity in the voices of the female teachers when they say my name?
"Yes, Mrs. Linson."
"You never signed up for a group for the project. Did you forget?"
No.
"Yeah. I must have."
"Could you do that now? There are still a few groups open."
"I was wondering if I could work alone... again."
She shook her head apologetically. "I have a limited number of topics, so I need you to be in one of these two groups."
Oh good. Two all-girl groups. I have so much luck with the women.
"I guess I'll go with the fifth group."
It had some of Delilah's friends in it. So I could score some points with Delilah. But, of course, I would completely not fit in.
"Are you sure?" She asked politely. "Wouldn't you be... more productive in the third group?"
"The nerd group..." I muttered to myself.
"Hmm? What was that Casey?"
"The third group. Yeah, that's fine."
"All right. Have a good day."
"Yeah."
I had nothing against the girls in my group. But they were like me. Only girls. And they wouldn't get me any closer to Delilah. But I guess that's what the school newspaper does for me.
Finally, I can go to lunch. The only vaguely "relaxing" part of my day.
And yet, today, my life has been made a living Hell. Again.
Those jerks go out of their way to make my life miserable.
I guess I won't be eating there today. Or ever.
So now I have to find someplace they would never think to look for me.
Ah, the football field.
It's a lot quieter here. I'm alone. But that's nothing new.

Have a great day
Love, Mom

That's why I get beat up, isn't it? Because I have a mom who loves me. And who still makes my lunch. And still writes notes to leave in it.
But that's nothing new.
Lunch is probably close to being over. And I really can't afford any phone calls from any of my teachers though I doubt Mr. Furlong would care. But it's not like I want to miss his class anyway.
They seem to spend more time and effort on watering the damn football field than doing anything else in school. The school falls apart brick by brick and they buy a new sprinkler system so the football players don't have to play on dead grass.
What the hell is this?
A bug?
Or something?
"What are you doing?"
Shit. Where did Coach Willis come from? I didn't even see him come over here.
"I was just eating my lunch, sir."
Hide what you found, Casey.
"This ain't the cafeteria, son."
Play innocent to whatever he yells at you for. It's not like you were doing anything, anyway.
"Yes, sir. I'm sorry about that, sir."
He stills looks like he's going to kill me.
"You're uh..."
Of course he's going to kill me. He eats kids like me for breakfast.
"...I forget your name."
Like you would ever know it aside from it being on a gym attendance list.
"Casey."
I just had to tell him, didn't I? I'm smarter than this. Usually.
"Right." He eyed me suspiciously. "I've seen you around."
Great. Can I go now?
He continued, "You're not really into sports."
I thought that was obvious, but I guess my personal relationship with the football team had him confused. It's really not a friendly relationship. Ever.
"I... don't think a person should run unless he's being chased."
"Being chased... I like that."
What does he want from me?
"Get outta here!"
Point taken.
What the hell is up with the coach?
And what is this thing I found?