Chapter 5 – Mysterious Stranger

Here's a list of the key points I was compiling that I could take away from my first day of school:

Don't cuss anyone out, under any circumstance. If you do feel the need, do it via email or Myspace or anything of those sorts. You won't get caught.

Keep all electronic devices away from James. Who knows if you'll see it again… at least in the way it was originally constructed.

Find a way to get to in-class detention when you're annoyed with your class. It may be a little monotonous, but if you really need to catch up on sleep, no one will disrupt you.

I was a little disappointed that the rest of the day wasn't as exciting as it had started out. Besides James, I didn't manage to make any other friends, and even then I didn't see him for the rest of the day. I assumed he spent most of his time in detention. At lunch I managed to sit with some girls in my fourth period Spanish class, but I didn't really talk with them since I had trouble connecting with people in general.

Most of my classes were real snore-fests, but getting out would probably be harder than I'd originally thought possible. In my English class with Mr. Lorenzo, a kid's cell phone vibrated twice and he didn't hear it. That was a definite no-no in the student hand book. I'd have to get creative in that class. Then in Algebra the girl next to me ate a snack, but Mrs. Conklin just told her to put it away. I realized my task was going to be a lot harder when I was in the hallways as a teacher passed right by a couple making out and didn't spare a second glance. Maybe they just had something against me, like a universal Wanted sign had been posted without my knowledge. It had my picture centered and read below "any chance you have of nailing this girl, flag her down immediately!"

It was a little bittersweet as my last class of the day rolled along. I was excited because I'd been through enough mindless torture to last me until next September, but it sucked because eighth period was P.E. Unlike middle school which was coed gym, they had separate classes for the boys and girls running simultaneously. Some genius decided that, even though it was our first day of classes, we should have gym anyway. They handed out uniforms and we had to change in the disgusting and cramped locker room – which by the way had some very inappropriate phrases written in the bathroom stalls.

The girls were outside on the soccer field while the guys were running the track that was circumscribed about where we were. Rows of bleachers lined the east side of the field for when they held soccer games or track events after school.

Mrs. Roland blew her obnoxious whistle and signaled for the girls to encircle her. "Good afternoon, ladies," she declared as only a coach could. "Today we're playing a friendly game of soccer, and since it's the first day it isn't mandatory. Anyone who wants to play walk out to the field, and everyone else can watch from the sidelines. Just remember that next week we'll begin our physical fitness trials, which no one is exempt from." The whistle sounded again, and we all scattered in different directions. Most of the preppy girls walked towards the bleachers while I headed toward the field.

Just as we started organizing teams, the guys started running around the track. As they came near where a heard of us were standing, they slowed their jogs to watch us. I was trying, unsuccessfully, to juggle a soccer ball, and as a group of guys passed they laughed at my pathetic attempt. I was tempted to run over and sock them, but my headache from before hadn't completely gone away. Rubbing my head, I took my position as our team's goalie.

The game was mostly like one of those giant pinball machines, where the ball would go to one person and they'd kick it, which would in turn bounce off of two or more other players. There was one girl on my team who was clearly played soccer because she was making all of us look like traffic cones with the way she was dodging defenders. She scored a few goals like it was nothing.

I basically just stood in goal, not really doing anything, which was fine with me. I do consider myself athletic, and on any normal day I'd be out there fouling girls left and right, but today I was extremely worn out. Maybe I needed to knock some people around to make myself perk up, but since it wouldn't be a pretty sight to see me perky, I decided against it.

I suddenly felt extremely self-conscience, as if eyes were watching my every move. My head involuntarily turned in the direction where I felt the stare coming from, but I just looked at empty bleachers. All the girls who weren't playing were socializing on the other side. I tried to peer in between the seats to see if anyone was there, but I couldn't make out anything except a patch of white –

"Hey, watch it!" someone shouted from close by.

"Huh-" I barely made out before a ball came whizzing by and smashed into the side of my head. It rolled off into the goal, causing a cacophony of cheers to erupt from the other team. I, on the other hand, wasn't in the greatest condition. The ball caused my brain to rattle against my skull like a ping pong ball, the pain rippling from all sides. I clutched at my head involuntarily as I hit the grass, feeling my vision getting blurry. The sun seemed too bright now, as it normally shone in the late summer. I closed my eyes to escape the one source of pain.

"Are you alright?" a feminine voice asked. I blinked a few times past the blaring sun and my eyes focused on Mrs. Roland and one of the girls on my team standing above me. They were slowly becoming more visible and it seemed like they were speaking in slow motion like the movies. My view of them was slightly clouded.

"Yeah," I croaked, slowly feeling my strength returning. My vision was getting better by the second. As my brain began to settle, I felt a little embarrassed for zoning out during the game. "Can I just sit out the rest of the game?" I asked as I raised my torso into a sitting position.

"Sure, kid," Mrs. Roland said. She and the other girl helped me stand up. "If you need any Advil I can give you some now."

I shook my head. "No, I'm fine," I lied, although I was feeling better.

I headed toward the bleachers, pausing as a group of guys were running by on the track. Some of them laughed at me from what happened before, I suspected, but I didn't care. My head was still sore from being hit, but the incident had caused my headache to raise a couple notches on the pain scale. The sun was still stinging my eyes, the tell-tail sign of the beginning of a migraine. The field was open; all trees had been removed when they constructed the track. There was no escape from the light, except for one place: underneath the bleachers. They were tall enough to block off most of the rays and it was secluded from all the squawking girly girls. I crawled in between the beams that supported the seats and collapsed unto the ground, sighing and closing my eyes as I felt the immediate difference in heat and light between this closed space and the outside world.

When I reopened my eyes, I was shocked when I was greeted by the dark questioning gaze of a boy sitting across from me.

He was sitting against the beams that separated one grouping of bleachers from the other, dressed completely in black. His skin was olive toned and his angular face was surrounded by long black hair that fell past his shoulders. He was lean but appeared to have a toned, muscular body underneath his slim form. The part of him that captivated me was his dark eyes, as hard and closed-off as onyx. Whoa, did I just say captivated? Forget I said that. I blame the migraine.

He raised an eyebrow, questioning me wordlessly.

We sat there quietly for a few minutes. He was waiting for me to answer his unspoken question, while I was waiting for him to ask it.

"Hi," I said awkwardly, coughing to disguise my discomfort. "Uh, what are you doing here?" I asked, trying to pry information from him. I was intrigued by his silent demeanor.

"I should be asking you the same thing," he said in a rough, low voice. It sounded as though he rarely spoke.

"I asked you first," I said in my more usual stand-offish tone.

He just stared at me, slightly amused. I was slowly becoming irritated by his silence. He was the opposite of James, who talked freely.

"You look like the athletic type," I continued, noting his body again. "You seem like someone who'd be on the track team. Why aren't you running with the other guys?"

He smirked, as if to say, "Yeah, I know I could, but I'm making a statement by sitting out. I'm just that cool." I was really getting annoyed.

I spotted a white sketchbook sitting on his lap, turned to a blank page. I eyed it curiously. "You're an artist? Can I see what you were drawing?" I leaned forward to get a better look, but he withdrew from me and hid the pad against his chest.

"I don't let people see my work," he said, sending me a warning glance that said "Drop the subject".

I remembered seeing the white patch in this area earlier, but I didn't recall seeing this mysterious, and very annoying, stranger. "Have you been here all period? I didn't see you out on the field," I said as an excuse.

"Yeah."

"You didn't want to sit with all those preppy bitches?"

"No."

"Why not? Guys would sit out on purpose to talk with pretty girls. Wait a minute; you're not gay, are you?"

He smirked again, his main, irritating, feature. I figured that was the closest to a humorous look I'd get out of him. "I wanted to get away." He shrugged off the issue again, although he still hadn't answered if he was gay or not. Not that it really mattered to me.

We were silent again, just drinking each other in. I was confused yet fascinated by his silent, closed-off personality, yet that was what aggravated me the most. Would it kill the kid to talk for once? It wasn't like I was the first person he'd ever talked to.

"I'm Max," I said after a while of feeling self-conscience under his deep, dark gaze.

"Fang," he said after a moment's hesitation.

"You're name is Fang?"

"Yeah, you got something against it?" he challenged.

I had nothing to say to him because it was only this morning that someone had questioned me about my name. Sure, Fang was a bit of an unorthodox name, and he was a bit unusual himself, but the name suited him. He was dark, cryptic, and a bit brooding. If it were anyone else with him, they'd be frightened by his threatening glance.

The final bell rang, and I nearly jumped up in joy if I wouldn't have hit my head against the metal. Fang gathered his sketchbook and tucked it underneath his arm. He scooted forward as I shuffled out of the bleachers. When I was back in the sunlight, the pain in my head, which had been fading, started to return. I grimaced and lowered my gaze from the light. "See you sometime?" I left it as a question as Fang emerged beside me.

"I'll be around," he said with a shrug. That wasn't exactly a yes, but I was pleased that we were making progress. As in, he was saying three words to me now instead of one. I couldn't explain why I was anxious about his answer, though.

I sighed and walked away, still feeling his eyes on my back. But my mind slowly forgot about him as I remembered that I was finally going home. My first day of high school had come and gone, and I didn't feel any different than before. See, folks, it's not as life changing as you thought!

Okay, Fang is not gay in this. I just didn't see that question as something he'd answer. I found inspiration! Yah me! And it was reflected in this chapter. :P I was watching the USA soccer game against Egypt, which the U.S. made the semis of the Confederate Cup with the win and a lot of luck. So I was in a very soccer-ish mood.

To answer some of the comments from before, reproachfully means shamefully or wearily. Do the flock members have powers? You must read for yourself. :) I already had planned the ways we'd meet the flock members beforehand, but I was really grateful for everyone's encouragement. Nudge won't be introduced for a few more chapters, so sorry to all you Nudge fans! I have some interesting things in store coming up, so stay tuned!

Review please!!