Chapter 4 – Max Ride? What Kind of Name is that?

Chester Nimitz High was known state-wide for its prestigious sports programs, rigorous academic courses, and a chess team that went to nationals. If I played my cards right, I could go out with one of the very popular, but highly longed for, nerds by the end of the school year. That might make Ella happy, but I think she'd prefer me coming home with the star quarterback or school president, 'cause you know the chances of that were so likely. Maybe I should be more concerned about boys, if I actually cared to act like a girl, but since I didn't, I hardly ever gave them a thought. I was more concerned about surviving the year without major incident.

The first major hassle of the day was figuring out how to open the lock on my locker. With the town we live in, it's so small that no one ever has a second thought about stealing because the suspects can be narrowed down shortly. However, after a struggle-free time in Middle School, the state made a stupid rule that all schools now had to have security. Now for students like me, I would have to waste the entire time in between periods trying to figure out how to open the dang thing, and when I finally do figure it out, I'll forget the combination.

I walked into homeroom a little zombie-like. The rest of the day seemed pointless already, so I made an executive decision to act as detached as possible. Just kind of soak it in instead of trying to make the most out of this horrible situation.

The next big problem was navigating the halls. Nimitz High was the combination of students from two different middle schools, so it had over twice as many than I was accustomed to. Kids ran in all directions, gathered into little herds that blocked the hallway, and there were others exactly like me, lost and tired of the running and sheep-like students. I needed a GPS.

My first period class was United States History, which I finally found the classroom after passing by it twice. Thank you teacher for having the door completely open so that it covered the room number. I applaud you. Our instructor, a wiry looking woman with crazy brunette hair, was writing a seating chart on the chalk board. Oh, in case you haven't noticed how poor our district is, despite its academic and athletic, and chess, prowess, we couldn't afford even white erase boards. The district next to ours had smart boards and projectors in every room. We had to use the pull-down white boards with the old-fashioned projectors.

Our teacher, Miss Wesley, stood before the class and clapped her hands together for our attention as the bell rang. She looked like she'd just graduated college this past spring, which could have been the case. "Welcome, students," she said as everyone began to quiet down. "Today is the beginning of the rest of your life." Oh jeez, who was she kidding? "But to help with your future, you must learn the past. Every event that has taken place was a step towards the society that we are today, building blocks for the modern era. I want this class to be fun but informative at the same time." She paced the room as she talked, meeting the eyes of every student in the class. She walked to her desk and grabbed a large notebook. "I'll now be taking attendance." I didn't pay attention to the names of the students around me. I was actually a bit excited for this class. History, especially the progress of women in America, was a subject that really fascinated me. Knowing how we'd started out and now that we had equal rights with men was a big movement in our nation.

"Max Ride?" Miss Wesley asked, looking at some of the guys in the room.

"Here," I called, feeling slightly annoyed.

The boy sitting next to me turned and snickered. "Max Ride? What kind of name is that?"

It took all of my self-control not to lash out at him. "It's short for Maxine," I said slowly, as if I were talking to a five-year-old. "It's like when a girl goes by Sam even though her name is Samantha."

He snorted. "Isn't Ella Martinez your sister? Why is your last name Ride? It sounds like you were the illegitimate child of a Cowboy or something."

Under normal circumstances, I would have politely explained to this kid that Ella and I had different fathers, but this guy was really testing my patience. One thing about me is that when someone rubs me the wrong way, I explode. He was walking a thin line, on one side was a field of pillows and the other was a land swarming with porcupines. Guess which side he was leaning toward?

"You're an ass," I said under my breath. I didn't intend for anyone to hear that, but apparently I'd said it louder than I thought. Some kids stared at me with wide eyes, others began laughing, and Miss Wesley looked un-amused.

"Max, report to detention, now," she said, seemingly disappointed that this was the first period of the first day of school. I stared at her in disbelief. I was being sent off for that? You'd think that in middle school the rules would be more strict; it usually took punching a guy's lights out to be sent to the office. This was pathetic. If I would have known that it was that simple to get detention I would have tried for something more memorable, ya know?

Miss Wesley motioned for me to get up in front of the room, and I obliged with embarrassment. The students looked excited, pleased that they were witnesses to the first real gossip of the year. I wanted to get the hell out of this place, but I was afraid that even thinking a swear would put me in deeper water. She wrote down something on a piece of paper, secured it with a resounding snap on a clipboard, and handed it to me. "Take this to Room 117, first floor," she instructed. "You'll remain there for the rest of the period and then you're free to go to the rest of your classes."

Oh great, this would go over well with Mom.

It was apparently punishment to send a student to this place known as "in-class detention", to make them sit among others of their horrible kind in silence while you get to skip out on your class that period. If they considered that a penalty for breaking school rules, I think I'd do something to get sent there in all my least favorite classes.

I walked through the halls looking for 117. The staircase that I'd descended placed me in the 130's, so I had time to think through why calling a kid an ass was such a bad thing. I mean, I'd told Angel Moore earlier today that it was wrong to call kids stupid, but she was six-years-old. We were in high school; kids wrote worse things on the walls of the girl's bathroom. If they opened a text message or stumbled upon an IM conversation that was going on in the computer lab, I'm sure these teachers would suspend the involved party. It seemed like an injustice, especially since I'd heard that a teacher wasn't reprimanded last year for calling a student a smartass. Talk about a double standard.

The halls were dull and puke-evoking, with the white paint chipping off to reveal disgusting shades of brown. Lockers appeared to have been donated from decades ago since they seemed to have been red about 30 years ago. Now I couldn't even describe what color they were. This school had probably seen its better days around the same era the lockers were built. It didn't look suitable to house 500 students.

I spotted 117, the door was shut completely with no windows. Was anyone in there? I wondered as I stood in the hallway self-consciously. Maybe they didn't expect students to be sent here so soon. I mulled over if I'd broken a record for this, being the fastest student to get an in-class detention. There was really no point of waiting around, begging for an opportunity to get in greater trouble. I inhaled deeply and twisted the knob. It cracked open, releasing a current of cool air with the sound of an air conditioner rumbling loudly. I stepped inside.

No teacher was sitting at the front desk, which had a clipboard on it similar to the one I was carrying, but I was surprised to see a boy sitting at a desk in the front row. He had short strawberry blond hair and blue eyes. He looked to be about my height and was slender, but had a young face. He looked up at me as I entered and smirked. "If you wanted to be the first in here, I beat you to it," he said sarcastically.

I didn't know how to respond. It wasn't like I wanted to be here. I placed the clipboard on top of the other on the desk and took a seat by the kid.

"What are you in for?" he asked, kicking back and sprawling his gangly legs out in front of him.

"I called a kid an ass," I told him dismissively. He surprised me by cackling like a lunatic. "What?" I asked, feeling like my anger was walking that thin line again.

"That's it?" he asked, appalled, after he had stopped. "Jeez, I'm a bit disappointed by how easy it is to get sent here." He shook his head in mock-dissatisfaction. At least I wasn't the only one who thought so.

"Why? What were you sent here for?" I was getting annoyed, so I pressed my fingers to my temple. The ripple of a headache was creeping its way through my brain.

He smiled, as if pleased with himself. "In Algebra, when the teacher handed me a calculator, I took it apart so I could build my latest masterpiece."

It took me a minute to process that. "What?" I asked oh so coherently.

He sat up in his chair, leaning toward me as if he were revealing a huge secret. "You see, I took apart my alarm clock and used it's switchboard as a timing device. I needed some extra wires, and it just so happened that my first class was Algebra. The teacher said that it was ours to look after, and when I was done with the wires I was going to put it back together. I didn't see what the big deal was." He motioned with his hands as he spoke like he was building this mechanism in the air.

"What exactly were you building?" I asked after another pause. The kids in this place were crazy. First a boy calls me an illegitimate child, and now we have a mad scientist in our midst.

"A timed stink bomb," he said enthusiastically. "All I need to complete it is a can of hairspray."

I leaned back in my chair and looked him over. He didn't seem like the trouble-stirring type, with his clean and slight face. But that was probably what made him the perfect suspect for danger. I supposed it would have been perfect if he hadn't done this in front of a teacher.

He extended his hand. "The name's James Griffith. As long as you keep cussing out the jackasses around here, I guess I'll be seeing you around often."

I shook his hand, although it was a little unorthodox to be making my first friend in detention. "I'm Max Ride."

"Your last name is Ride?" he asked incredulously.

I glared at him; he was pushing me again. "My parents weren't married. In fact they weren't even really in a relationship when my Mom got pregnant with me. Instead of forcing me to have her last name or my dad's when I got older, she allowed me to choose. I chose my own last name. It's after Sally Ride, the first female astronaut to go into space. She was like a pioneer so I admired her."

"Well, I'll expect to see your name in the headlines when we're older." He reclined again in his seat. Raising his hand in the air, he made a motion like a newspaper headline. "'First Foul-Mouthed Female to Enter Space.' The press will be all over a story like that."

I punched his arm jokingly. "Ow," he muttered, rubbing the welt that was developing on his puny arm.

A balding man in a navy suit entered into the room, examining the two of us with a scrutinizing eye. He didn't look too pleased. He strode to the desk and looked at the clipboard. "So nice of you to join us, Miss Ride," he said reproachfully. "I see you've already caught the idea of detention."

James and I shared a significant glance. We smirked and then sat back in our chairs, enjoying our 'punishment'.

I'm in need of inspiration. I can't really find a reason to write right now, and every time I try nothing good comes out of it. If anyone has any advice, I'm all ears. Or eyes or whatever.

To clear up any confusion, yes, James is Iggy, and no he isn't blind. He's never been to the School, so he's never had his vision messed up. And none of them have wings, but again I mention that this story isn't the regular "flock is normal" type thing, but it may seem like it for a while.

I'm leaving on Wednesday for New York and I won't be back until late Saturday, then I'm probably spending all of Sunday with my cousin who is in town. I might not post anything new for a while, but I'm trying to convince my brother to let me bring his lap top on the trip.

Review Please!!