Disclaimer: All IP characters belong to their respective owners. Everyone else belongs to me.
Chapter 1: Zach
The adventure, as far as I know, began on a particularly boring Wednesday at Harrison-Wayne Private Academy.
The school was an old artifact found in 1912. It was three stories tall, built out of large gray bricks, and had pointed windows like the windows of an old church. The entrance to the school was a tall clock tower with four big brass bells that rang the hour, and every day, students wearing their fancy Harrison-Wayne uniforms would pass through the clocktower to get to their scheduled classes. It was at this school that our main character attends, and his name is Zach.
Zach—full name Zachary Bennett—was currently in the eighth grade. He had attended Harrison-Wayne for most of his life thanks to his father Henry, who claimed that the school was far much better than the public ones. For one thing, it cost thousands to enroll, and anything that had a price tag over four digits long screamed fanciful quality to him. The teachers there were also far more experienced, or so they said, and Henry wanted only the best for his son. Only the best for a son who would soon take his father's position as manager of Angel City Insurance.
Zach was a very studious boy who took education seriously. He never missed a day of school and he always paid extra attention. Usually, you could find him in class, jotting down whatever the teacher said or wrote down in his notebook. Other times, when class wasn't in session, you could find him working quietly either in the school library or at one of the outside tables near the blacktop. It was because of all this that Zach was a top student at Harrison-Wayne. He had never gotten anything below an A on his report card, nor could he ever see a moment when he would. He tested in the top 1% and was always fascinating his peers with his knowledge. He even managed to impress some of his teachers . . . or humiliate them. Once, a science teacher with a Ph.D. in biology had told the students that the meteor which sent the dinosaurs into the great beyond had been seen for miles as it smoldered its way to Earth at 40 kilometers a second. Zach, however, stated that since the meteor was traveling at such a speed, no one would have been able to see it coming; it was simply too fast. Zach remembered that moment quite fondly, especially the moment when he sent the teacher mumbling quietly back to his desk.
Zach had little to no imagination whatsoever; his mind was only filled with facts. The only books he liked were books with charts and graphs and old black-and-white photos from a bygone era. The only things he liked to talk about were adult things like statistics and politics and health. And the only people he liked to talk to were people who were like him. The valedictorians, for example, or the ones in the school's debate club were his personal favorites.
The staff of Harrison-Wayne held a deep respect for Zach because he never stepped out of line and always obeyed everything they said. They also felt deeply concerned for him as well, for he was always alone and never really held any conversations with anyone. Once, an English teacher had tried to understand why Zach was like this. As the boy was stuffing his textbooks—which, like the school, cost a fortune—into his backpack, the teacher sat on the desk to Zach's right and began to talk.
"So, Zach, how's your father? I heard he's doing very well at Angel Insurance."
Zach looked up at the teacher for a brief moment, then went on packing. Undeterred, the teacher continued.
"Not quite the talker, eh? I can relate. I was just like you when I was a kid. Don't worry, there's no one around to hear us, but us."
For a moment, there was more silence from the boy, then: "My father's doing fine, I suppose. Are you asking because you're curious, or are you trying to get something out of me? I know many teachers have tried before."
Quite the kid, the teacher thought. He went on. "I'm just trying to have a friendly conversation, that's all. Anyhow, do you have any interests? Any friends to hang out with after school? I always see you alone."
Zach put his backpack, fully loaded with his books, onto his desk and said: "I'm just fine where I am right now, thank you."
"With no friends? Everyone here has at least one friend. You sure you're alright?" the teacher asked.
"I don't have time for them, sorry. Most of the people here are foolish anyway. Only the valedictorians here seem to have a firm grasp of what's really important," Zach answered.
"And what do you mean by that?"
"Well, most of the people here seem to be obsessed with, well, things that are just childish. The only books I see them read are about stupid things like dragons and magic, and the only things they seem to talk about are their video games or television shows about people blowing each other up. Just pointless things, in general. I don't understand why they like it when there's so much knowledge and facts that could do them a lot better."
The teacher sighed lightly, then said: "I see what you mean. You like a practical world, huh?"
Zach nodded.
"You think those things are making us ignore the real things of the world, is that it?"
Zach nodded again.
"Well, I can see where you're coming from, but I can't help but not agree. I personally believe that those things help make the world a more colorful place. Besides, I think that they help kids a whole lot. Saves them a lot of stress and makes them more creative, more imaginative. I'm sure even the valedictorians like them."
Zach put his backpack on. With all the books inside, it sagged to his rear. He didn't seem to care. "Well, I don't like them. I can't see the point of things like imagination, especially when we have things like logic around, but I guess I'll never really understand. Now, I have to go or else my parents will be angry. Good day, sir."
As Zach walked to the door, the teacher said from behind him: "Logic will take you from point A to point B. Imagination will take you everywhere—Albert Einstein."
Zach, not turning around or stopping, had replied calmly: "Everywhere, but a place where you can make your own quotes instead of stealing from smarter, better people."
This moment, like the meteor one, was also remembered quite fondly.
Zach lived with his father and mother in an upper-middle-class neighborhood in West L.A. at a two-story house painted red. On the first floor was the foyer, the living room, the kitchen, the dining room, and a bathroom. In the second story, there were two more bathrooms, Zach's bedroom, his parent's bedroom, and the office. Ten rooms in total. It wasn't the biggest house on the block, but it was big enough for Zach's father to host small cocktail parties with pride.
Henry Bennett was a 40-something-year-old man with combed dark-brown hair, a thin but imposing body, and blue eyes sharp enough to cut through cold stone. His face still had its youthful charm to it, but Henry could see the first deep grooves of old age begin to make their way across his face. On most days, he could be seen wearing his black business suit and red tie, both neatly ironed and without any wrinkles whatsoever. He usually walked with his jaw pointed up and his back as straight as a stalk of bamboo.
Whenever he wasn't hollering at a co-worker who screwed up at Angel City Insurance, he was making sure Zach stayed in line. At some point in his life, Henry became convinced that almost every single piece of media, whether it be books or films, turned everyone who viewed it into fools and morons, and the last thing he wanted was his son becoming one as well. He made sure to burn his message into Zach's head when he was very young, and he was pleased with the results—although it needed a little reinforcing every now and then. On some days Zach would come home sad, and when Henry asked why, Zach would say it was because he had no friends and nothing to do. In response, Henry would always say the same thing: "Just remember, Zach: If you ever feel alone, just know that you are alone because you don't follow the flock and stick your nose in their crap. You are a Bennett, and Bennetts always succeed because they don't follow stupid trends like them, got it?"
The other member of Zach's family was his mother, Melissa Bennett. She was, like her husband, also a 40-something-year-old but twice as skinny. Her face was a small, timid pale moon with two hazel eyes peering out of it. Her bony arms and legs looked as though skin had just been slapped onto a skeleton. And her messy blonde hair fell down her sides and ended at her tiny breasts.
Usually, Melissa could be found in the living room, sitting on the sofa and watching her favorite game shows on the flat-screen TV (game shows, Henry said, were an exception). Standing in front of her always was a foldable table with dozens upon dozens of pill bottles, each labeled different things. Sitting beside the pill bottles would be the pills themselves, neatly arranged into dozens of small piles like hard candy and ready to be swallowed. She had lost count of just how many types of pills she took, but it didn't really matter because, at the end of the day, she felt as healthy as a horse . . . until the urge to swallow came back. When that happened, she would sweat herself into a frenzy until the time to take her pills came by; the fear of sickness was simply too great, too overwhelming. This cycle had repeated itself for God knew how long, and both Zach and her husband were impressed at how she kept herself from overdosing.
Being a hypochondriac, Melissa believed that the world was just waiting to infect you with every disease it held up its sleeve the moment you stepped out of your house, and she didn't want Zach falling for its dirty tricks. Just as her husband lectured Zach about the dangers of fools, Melissa lectured Zach about the dangers of sickness. Whenever he came home from school, the first thing she would ask him was not how his day went or if he had passed the exam he studied weeks for but if he had interacted with anyone at school. If he answered this question with a yes, then she would ask him what exactly he had done. Her reaction depended on his response. Sometimes she would simply shrug her shoulders, and other times she would go into mad hysterics and burst into agonized tears. This latter reaction would usually end with Zach tearing up as well—he could not bear to see his mother crying—and he would approach her and hug her dearly, telling her that he was sorry—sorry for playing tag with some of the bigger kids or riding Franklin Ruiz's bike or trying the monkey bars because they can lead to injury and injury leads to infection which leads to illness. Once her bawling turned into sniffling, she would hug him tightly as if it was the last time she ever would and tell him to never—never—break her rules again. It was her show of misery that kept Zach in line—the thought of seeing her upset was simply too large—and for the most part, he never stepped out of it.
One would expect a kid with parents like these would run away at the moment their backs were turned, but Zach never felt that urge. He couldn't run away even if he wanted to; he had no one to flee to, not even relatives. You could say that he despised his parents underneath all of his pompous swagger, but you would be wrong because he never felt it; his love for them was simply too deep. They were the only family he had; and with that knowledge in check, he thought it best to follow their examples.
There were times, however . . .
Times when that urge to break, that urge to maybe just reach out and grasp at something new and different—something that wasn't just knowledge and facts and phobias but human connection and experience—came to be. These urges came randomly, but whenever Zach felt them he could not resist them, like how a moth cannot resist the call of a light. Despite all of his parents' constant banter about how he couldn't do this and that, despite all that he believed in, he had heeded their calls over a hundred times or more and remembered them all.
Take, for example, the basketball day. On that day the teachers had let everyone out an hour early. They claimed it was because of an "impromptu staff meeting," but the students swore the real reason they cut the day short was that they did not want to waste their time teaching on such a beautiful day.
And what a beautiful day it had been! The air was a bit warm, but a cool breeze helped to alleviate it. There was not a cloud in the sky, and the air quality seemed to be much cleaner than normal. All the colors of the world, from the green of the grass to the blue of the sky, appeared to be brighter and more vibrant, and everyone looked to be in good humor.
On most school days Zach would be picked up by his father, but since he was at work and his mother was too afraid to drive, he decided to walk home. Going west towards the richer middle-class streets where he lived, he passed Graywood Park. Usually, the park would be full of kids from both Harrison-Wayne and other schools around the area, but today it seemed to be extra crowded despite Zach's thoughts that only his school let out. It seemed as if everybody in the area decided to drop what they were doing and go outside.
As he walked by, thinking his usual thoughts about blind deep-sea fish and how trains operated, a voice had called out from his right: "Hey, Zach, you wanna join us?" Zach turned and saw three people at the basketball court. They were Jack Hao, Olivia Nelson, and Eddie Kent—schoolmates of his. Jack had a basketball in the crook of his elbow and was looking at Zach. "You wanna come?" he called again. Instinctively, Zach responded, his voice high and full of that well-educated articulation: "I don't have time for that game, sorry. Besides, I have to go home. My parents will be angry if I don't show up."
Jack took a few steps forward, the sun gleaming in his smooth black hair. "C'mon man, just twenty minutes maybe? How about ten, does that sound fine?" he asked.
For a moment Zach thought for sure the word that would come out of his mouth would be "no," but then he considered the offer. It had been a long time since he had been invited to join a game, and he wasn't exactly at the top of the list when people chose teammates—he had his father's skinniness and his mother's rabbit face to thank for that. He always thought that games like basketball were stupid, and yet he could not help but enjoy them as well. All of the quick, flowing movement; all of the high, raw energy—he could not help but be enticed by their unpredictable charm. And whenever he saw someone play a game either in the park or on the school blacktop, he always dedicated at least five minutes to just watching them, sometimes even wishing he was with them.
"Is this some sort of trick, Jack?" Zach asked. He knew that sometimes kids like him were chosen to simply shag balls, and he did not want to look embarrassing, especially with so many people around.
"What are you talking about, man?" Jack responded. "I'm just looking for someone so that we have four people. Now, are you coming or not?"
Once again, Zach thought it over. Twenty minutes? How long had it been since he had left school? About five minutes, perhaps. Judging by the amount of time it would take for him to reach home from the park, plus the amount of time he may spend with Jack, Zach predicted that he would be home in thirty minutes, give or take. That meant he could spend even more time with Jack than just twenty. But what if he were to come home all sweaty and hot? What would his parents say then? Would his mother shake and sob? Would his father bellow with rage for not simply calling or waiting at school? What if—
"Is he alright?" Olivia asked, looking at Zach with perplexion.
"Dunno, it looks like he just . . . froze," Jack said. "I guess that means he's not joining."
When Zach heard this, he began to move. . . towards the park. He could not believe that he was doing it, and yet he took no aim to stop it; the desire to play had officially won out. As he crossed the grass between the sidewalk and the basketball court, a plan had just finished forming in his mind: he would play for twenty minutes, and then he would go back to the school as if the day had ended normally and wait for his father. If he asked why no one else was waiting for their parents, then he, Zach, would tell him what the school had done while adding that he decided to stick around for his education. The plan seemed to be perfect enough, and for a brief moment, he felt extremely guilty for creating it. Of course, he had done so before plenty of times . . .
Eddie noticed Zach coming and tapped Jack's shoulder. "Well, well, well," he said. "He really is coming after all."
Jack turned, saw Zach, and grinned brightly. "Couldn't resist, huh? How long are we going to play?"
"Twenty," Zach said.
"Sounds good, man. By the way" —Jack held out a hand— "I'm Jack. This here is Eddie, and that's Olivia."
"I know who you all are," Zach said, shaking it. "I have you for class, I think."
"Yeah, but I think it's nice to introduce yourself properly. Anyways, do you want to play Twenty-one, or just play to twelve or something like that?" Jack asked. He bounced the ball to Zach, who caught it and admired its dimpled surface. To him, it was like a foreign object from another land.
"I'll just do twelve, I think. I haven't really played the game, but I do know how it works," Zach answered, removing his backpack and putting it behind the foul line.
"Alright then," Jack said. He ran over to Zach and snatched the ball from him. "Watch out!" he laughed, and threw it towards the basket. It bounced off the metal rim.
"Great shot, Jack," Olivia said. "Your skills are unmatched."
"Shut up," he said, his face reddening a bit. "You're just mad that I beat you yesterday."
Olivia, taking no offense, giggled. Eddie said: "Yeah, with my help."
Jack walked over to Zach, who was standing in the middle of the court, looking slightly confused about what just happened. Jack bounced the ball to him again. "Sorry," he said. "I was just messing with you back there. Now show us what you got."
Remembering all the past games he had seen, Zach bounced the ball towards the net and then threw it with both hands. It arched through the air, hit the backboard, and went through. Zach lit up.
"Heck yeah, Zach! Good one!" Eddie yelled. The others cheered with him. Zach could not help but smile as the ball fell back to the cement. He didn't really know why, but seeing the ball go through the net just felt so satisfying. He wanted to make it happen again. Quickly, he grabbed the ball and tossed it to the net. It went in. He threw it a third time, and this time it ricocheted off the backboard and flew back at an angle. When that happened, he turned to the three, but none of them looked discouraged. In fact, they looked quite impressed.
"You're not too bad, man," Jack said. "Want to play a real game now?"
"Yeah," Zach said almost immediately. "Let's do twelve, just like I said. And if there's still time left, we can go to more. Is that fine?"
"Sure. Want us to go easy?" Jack asked.
"I think . . . I'll be fine, actually, so no."
"Alright then, Zach, let's go!" Jack cheered. He had retrieved the ball and threw it back to Zach. "Olivia's on Eddie's team, and I'll be on yours."
Zach played for a lot longer than he anticipated. The energy and joy of the game were simply too much for him to focus on anything else.
As they played the afternoon away, Zach slowly took in his surroundings—children playing happily on the playground, families hosting barbecues at the wooden trestle tables or feeding the ducks at the lake, a group of older kids playing soccer in the big green field. It felt as if this whole entire setting had been ripped from some cheesy summer magazine cover, and yet it was all very real. And for once in a long while, Zach didn't want to spend the day in his room, studying away the hours, his head hanging over a series of papers and schoolbooks. He was too enthralled with simply being outdoors with others his age.
Enthralled . . . until a shrill voice had screeched: "ZACHARY ELMER BENNETT, WHAT ARE YOU DOOOOOING?"
Zach froze right in the middle of the basketball court, ball in hand, along with Jack, Olivia, Eddie, and pretty much everyone else in the park. They all turned in the direction of the voice and saw Zach's mother quickly make her way to the court, her face full of mad horror, as if she had just seen some sort of Lovecraftian monster. Behind her was her car, a dark-blue Honda Accord with the driver's door swung open. Zach felt his stomach drop to his crotch and a cold sweat form on his brow.
I guess she got the courage to drive, after all, he thought glumly.
Melissa made her way to her son, the heels of her shoes clicking on the cement. Everyone watched quietly as she gripped her son's arm with her claw-like fingers, causing the ball he was holding to drop. She yanked him over to her.
"What . . . are . . . you . . . doing here, young man?" she demanded, her face close to his. "You're supposed to be home by now!"
Zach felt his mouth shake. He stammered: "M—m—mom. . ."
"Did you think that I wouldn't find out what the school did? Janet Olsen told me. Her daughter came home early so I thought you would do the same," she said. Zach noticed that her voice was slightly slurred, presumably because she had taken her daily dosage of Valiums.
"And what are you playing? Basketball? Zach, you know how dangerous basketball is, haven't I said so?"
Zach still could not speak, but now it wasn't because of his mother; it was because of everyone staring at the two of them. He could actually feel their eyes crawling all over them, and it made his face feel as though it was set ablaze. Finally, after finding his tongue, he managed: "Mom . . . shouldn't we, uh . . . maybe take this somewhere else?"
Wrong question. Melissa snarled: "Don't you ignore me, young man! You know very well that I've told you how dangerous basketball is! And yet you're here, doing it anyway! You should be ashamed!"
"Mom, I've been playing for a while now, and I'm not hurt at all," Zach said meekly.
Jack, who felt incredibly sorry for Zach, walked over to Melissa, mustered up all of his courage, and said: "Yeah, Mrs. Bennet, we've been playing for like . . . an hour, and he's doing fine."
Melissa turned to Jack, her eyes full of fire. "Shut up! Just shut up! Don't you speak to me unless you have permission!" she snapped. She returned her attention to Zach and said, pointing to Jack: "Do you know this boy?"
"Yes. He's an . . . acquaintance of mine from school. I have a few classes with him."
"But you don't know him, do you?"
"Well . . ."
Melissa put her arms on Zach's shoulders. In her eyes, he could see tears beginning to form. Please not here, he thought worriedly. Anywhere but here, mom.
"Zach, you know you're not supposed to be with people you don't know. I've told you that a hundred times or more, and yet you . . . you . . ."
She looked to be on the verge of sobbing, and Zach felt like he was going to sob as well, but out of embarrassment rather than pity for his mother; everyone was continuing to look and look, with some even recording the two of them on their phones. He might have yelled at them to buzz off if his mother hadn't said "Let's just go, Zach, I've had enough for today. Just wait till your father gets home and hears about this" and pulled him towards her car, muttering hotly under her breath. As she pulled, Zach took one sad, final glance at the park before she pushed him into the passenger seat and drove away.
After the two of them had gone, everyone who had witnessed them found that they could not quite enjoy their extra-pleasant afternoon.
That night, while he laid in bed, Zach had reflected on the events of the day.
His father had yelled at him for disrespecting his mother and attempting to pull a curtain over his eyes.
His mother had wailed, telling him that he had broken her heart yet again, that he had put himself in danger of sickness, and how she couldn't lose her precious son.
The two of them had railed on Zach for most of the late afternoon, and finally, after they wore themselves out, Henry sent Zach up into his room, ordered him to study and only study, and then slammed the door shut. He was only allowed down for dinner.
As he pulled the sheets to his chin, Zach wondered whether or not his parents were in the right for pressuring him so much about the basketball game. He supposed they were. After all, basketball was a game, a game where people got hurt—maybe not a whole lot, but the risk was there; he could see that now. And it was a stupid thing, that game—a stupid thing like all the other things the kids at his school did. He felt terrible shame for his little stunt and intense self-loathing at the thought of even considering it in the first place.
Shame and self-loathing—it was these two feelings that usually marked the end of reaching out. Much like how a kid might feel shame for stealing a candy bar in a store or ditching class to smoke a joint in the bathroom, Zach felt shame after every one of his times reaching out. How was he, a boy who flew past every test given to him and had an intellect that could rival some of the best teachers at Harrison-Wayne, able to be tempted by things so lowly and unprofessional? The thought always made him want to shrivel up into a raisin, as he was feeling that night after the game. Only a night's rest would make it go away, and when he woke up the next morning with the sunlight beaming through his bedroom window, he was back to the old Zach—cold and utterly devoid of any sort of nonsense.
And yet, there was a part of him—a very small part, really—that would say he enjoyed reaching out very much. Very much indeed.
