Chapter 2
It is my job to drive D.W to school. This has been my job for two straight years now, but this is the first time (since elementary school) that we will be going to the same school. I know we won't be seeing a lot of each other, we travel in different circles, but I still am required to drive her. ECHS isn't too far, we could theoretically walk, but since Elwood City gets cold in the winter, I managed to convince mom and dad to let me get a car. My car. It is this old green clunker that is my main ticket to freedom. It is also my ball and chain. One of the main provisions of me getting the car was that I have to chauffer D.W and Kate around. Kate is not so bad, just to hockey practice and back and the occasional post-sleepover pickup, D.W, not so much. As D.W and I are riding in the car, on our way to school, neither of us is talking. She is sulking in the front seat, while I silently drive. The radio works, but neither of us is reaching for the knob to turn on the music that would drown out the silence.
"Drop me off at the corner," D.W says, when we are getting closer.
"Why," I asked. As a senior, I had a prime parking spot, right in front of the building.
"Just," D.W stated, "because!"
"Fine"
I pulled over to the corner of the street that leads up to the school and let her out. She jumped out of the car, and ran off towards the school. Ah, she doesn't want to be seen in my green monstrosity! Whatever! I drove off towards the senior/staff parking lot. Last year, my spot was right next to Jenna's, so I saw her all the time, but this year…
I pulled into my spot, next to a beat up old jeep and an empty spot, and parked. I got out, grabbed my bag and went into the building. Two weeks before the start of the school year, all students go in and get their class schedules, locker assignments and other crap. My locker is near Buster's and a bunch of other seniors, in the mathematics hall. I walked to my locker and opened it up. Just as I was putting my bag in my locker, Buster came over and leaned against the lockers.
"God, not this again," he groaned. I smiled, but said nothing.
"What's your schedule like?" Buster asked, turning to have a good look at me. I answered, without removing my head from my locker.
"Calc, Chem, English Lit, Jazz Choir, French and History."
"You're STILL in choir?" Buster asked, rather degradingly.
Yes, I am still in choir. I was asked to join, because I play piano, but it is actually my favorite class. I can't sing that well, but it is an easy class, and I like the people in it. The guy who plays base is really funny and good looking. He doesn't have a girlfriend, even though he could have his pick of any girl in school.
"I couldn't get out of it," I lied. Only Kate knows that I actually enjoy choir, and I am kind of determined to keep it that way. Trying to get Buster off of the subject I asked him about his classes. As Buster started in on his rant, I looked over towards him, down the hall. That's when I saw him.
He was just standing there at the end of the hallway. He was beautiful. His hair, a tawny auburn color was casually messy, beautiful curls that frame his face perfectly. His skin was clear and smooth, like porcelain. He was wearing a plain grey t-shirt and a black zip up hoodie that highlighted the top of his butt perfectly. His jeans were, tight, but not too tight. They accentuated his calves, so that he looked like a Grecian statue, brought to life.
"Hey!"
Buster was calling to Brain who had just sauntered up to us. They boy closed his locker and walked away. Even when he walked, he seemed to radiate pure lightness and…
"So, what are your classes," Brain said, breaking the spell the guy had cast.
"Huh?" I said, rather awkwardly. Both Buster and Brain looked at me kind of funny. Then the bell rang, and I half screamed my class schedule to Brain as we ran down the hall to our first periods.
My first class of the day was Calculus, not the best way to start a day. The teacher was a formidable looking forty something named Mr. Lass. He had this rather large mustache and wore a shit-brown suit. I could tell just by looking at him that this class was going to suck super hard! As Mr. Lass started in on the rules of his class, and the other bullshit I had memorized in middle school, I began thinking about the boy from the hall. I had never seen him before, and while I didn't have an extensive knowledge of my classmates, I think I would have noticed if Adonis had been walking around. He must be new. Then my thoughts when to a very dark place, why had I been looking at the boy? No, no! I banished such thoughts from my head, I was only admiring true beauty of form, and tried to pay attention to Mr. Lass, who was now passing around our textbooks. They were huge! Even though most sane teachers will not do much of anything on the first day, Mr. Lass began right in on the very first chapter.
Francine was in this class with me, and she passed me a note as soon as Mr. Lass turned his back to us to write something on the whiteboard.
"Have you seen Muffy yet?"
I scrawled back that I hadn't and casually passed the note back to Francine. There is a certain art in passing notes in class that over the years I had pretty much perfected. Last year Jenna would constantly pass me little love notes in class. It was kind of creepy stalker-ish behavior, but I guess, since we were "dating" it would more likely be considered cute. I only occasionally responded, usually after five or six notes, and even then, I was rather mean. Francine passed the piece of paper back to me.
"She's been texting me. Says she's got big news. Meet at Sugar Bowl after school."
I wrote back to say yes. Just as I was passing the piece of paper back to Francine, a large, rather hairy hand reached down and intercepted it. I looked up, still holding out my hand to see Mr. Lass standing over me, holding the note. He kept talking the entire time! His bizarre lecture on the basics of Calculus, had taken him on a journey around the class and he now held the note in his hand as he continued his journey. The note wasn't that bad, I had worse notes from Jenna, but still, its humiliating to have a teacher read anything you write that is not specifically intended for their eyes. At the end of the lecture, Mr. Lass called Francine and me up to his desk.
"I do not tolerate notes in my class," Mr. Lass said, "As it is the first day, I will give you a pass. But be reminded, if you pass notes again, there will be consequences."
He dismissed us with a wave, and I yelled to Francine as we walked to our next class that I would meet her (and Muffy) at the sugar bowl after school, and ran off to my next class, English Lit. As I turned a corner, just feet away from my class, I saw him, again. I'm not sure if he was just a ghost, or a real person, but again, he captivated me. He turned into one of the other classrooms, and it took me a minute to realize that he was gone, and I was still moving, right towards a bank of lockers. I walked straight into the corner of the end locker and slammed my entire lower body into the cold metal. It hurt! Embarrassed, I quickly darted into my classroom and ducked into my seat. It was only then that I realized that a small, red stain was forming just below my knee. The girl I had ended up next to had also noticed.
"Oh my god!" she said, far too loudly for the small classroom, "You're bleeding!"
"Yes, I'd noticed," I said, rather snidely. The teacher, Ms. Proust looked towards us, and then sent me to the nurse's office to get cleaned up. Day one, and I'd already gotten into trouble and shed blood. Senior year had better calm down a bit from here, or else I might not make it.
I walked, slowly to the nurse, thinking about the boy. Who the hell was he? I didn't know about 80% of my classmates personally, but, having walked the halls for three years previously, I had a relatively good sense of who was in my class. He looked to old to be a freshman, and I hadn't ever seen him around before, so, I reasoned, he must be a new student.
The nurse asked me how I'd gotten hurt. Rather than tell her, I'd been looking at the physical incarnation of Adonis when I walked into the lockers, I lied.
"Just wasn't paying attention," I told her. I don't think she believed me, but she patched me up anyways. It wasn't a deep cut, but still, it hurt.
When I got back to class, I noticed that Sue Ellen had an empty seat next to her (the girl I had initially sat by, had another person next to her), so I plopped down. Sue Ellen looked slightly concerned at my leg, but said nothing more. Ms. Proust was no less enthusiastic than Mr. Lass, but at least she didn't appear to be a sadist. We got a list of authors we were going to be reading that year, starting with Geoffrey Chaucer. It was a surprisingly long list, compared to the school year, and it looked like I was going to have homework in this class every single night of the year. Ms. Proust mainly covered the rules of her class, and what her policy on homework was (summary after every book, and assignments scattered in between). This year was going to suck.
We had a break between second and third period, so Sue Ellen and I met up with Fern and Brain and sat outside on the steps of the school.
"So," Sue Ellen asked, "What do you think Muffy is going to tell us?"
"Dunno," Brain responded, flicking the top of his bag.
"Probably something big," Fern said, "She looked really excited in History this morning."
"Probably something to do with Zeke," I added.
"But she looked happy this morning," Sue Ellen cut in, "He couldn't have broken up with her."
"Yeah," Fern said, "remember the David fiasco?"
David was the boy Muffy had dated in our freshman year. He was a big, dumb jock-type who broke up with Muffy after only five weeks. She had come into class sobbing so hard that our teacher had sent her to the office to get cleaned up. It was slightly embarrassing, but so Muffy. It was really unusual for her to keep quiet about big news for so long. Buster and Francine joined us, and we spent the rest of break pleasantly speculating about what Muffy's news was. At the end of break, I left for choir.
I had been persuaded to join the jazz choir in my sophomore year, because, I play piano. Our teacher Mr. Cartwright is the coolest, most enthusiastic teacher I had ever had, and I honestly loved the class. I am not the best singer, but, as the primary accompanist, I did not have to sing.
I got to the class, just as the second bell rang. I grabbed the sheet music binder from its place on the shelf and wandered over to the piano. Mr. C, as we called him, usually reserved the first day of class for picking soloists and duets for the fall concerts. This meant that I was playing all period. As I looked around the room, from my vantage point at the piano, I saw something that I had never thought could be. Not five feet away from me, sitting in a chair, was the guy.
