Chapter 7: Back To School - Morning

August 11, 1980

I woke up early. That was an achievement for me, as I’d always been a late sleeper when allowed to be. I got up, padded to the bathroom in my pajamas (something I’d not been strict about wearing, before) and took care of everything that needed it. Just as I was finishing with my teeth, there was a knock at the door.

“Hey! I need the bathroom, too!”

I pulled the door open. “Good timing, sis. I’d finished, anyway. We’ve gotta figure out how this works, but I don’t want to hog the bathroom any more than you do.”

She hugged me. This was going to take more getting used to, if this was going to continue.

“Thanks, bro. And, out!”

She closed the door. I blinked, amused, and headed back to my room. I had my clothes picked out and ready: a nice hunter green short-sleeve button-down (for those who think short-sleeve button-downs are uncouth: no one but people who someone paid to dress up would wear long sleeves in Houston in August) and black jeans. The shirt was Angie’s pick - I was in favor, though; it worked very well with my hazel eyes. The jeans were mine (with Angie’s approval).

Clean and dressed, I headed out for breakfast. Mom had made bacon and eggs today — a rare treat on a school day, where it was often just cereal (I was planning on adding fruit, at least — and better cereal). Similarly rare, dad was still home. He usually left for work before I even woke up.

Angie appeared, wearing a short-sleeved blue dress with an embroidered flower. No cleavage; mom would never have gone for that. Not now, anyway. I figured they would come to blows over that at some point. Angie didn’t strike me as willing to go through all of high school in the sort of outfits mom would want her to wear. I was pretty sure mom would back down, but not without a fight.

We were both almost paranoid about breakfast. It wouldn’t do to pick out the right first-day outfit and then spill something on it. We survived with no damage to our clothes, went and fetched brand-new backpacks with our supplies, and headed for the back door. The backpack was a major change for me. The first time through I had avoided my locker, because I hated walking all over the school, and carried a ridiculously big backpack with every textbook in it. This time I was going to do the locker thing and see how that went. The walking would do me good, anyway.

Once we got outside there were, of course, the obligatory photos. Dad herded Angie and me to the front yard so our big magnolia would be in the background. I couldn’t disagree; it was a majestic tree and would look nice in the photos. The first go-round, that’s where they took the same photo. We waited as Dad got the good camera ready. Mom frowned as he was fiddling with it.

“OK, you two, act like you like each other.” We scooted a little closer. “Oh, come on, I’ve seen you looking more friendly than that and it wasn’t for a photo!”

I looked at Angie; she looked at me. We scooted in until we were touching.

“Almost. How about ... put your arms around each other?”

Angie was taller than I was, if not by that much, so my arm over her shoulders was out. Her arm over my shoulders would look silly. We opted for putting an arm around each other mid-back.

“There! That’s good. Sam, is the camera ready?”

“Yes — got it. Here we go. Steve, Angie, smile! And say cheese!”

“Cheese!” “Cheese!”

Dad snapped some photos. I’d forgotten what it was like when you couldn’t see the photo right away and tell if you needed another. He took ten or so, at different angles, with different poses.

“OK, Sam, that’s enough,” Mom laughed. “We’ve got to get going. I don’t want them to be late!”

“I’m sure I’ve got a good one in there somewhere.” Dad was a good photographer; I’m sure he had a good one, too.

We bundled into the back seat and headed off to school. Angie looked at me, and I looked at her, as we drove. She smiled, perhaps a trifle shyly. “Look, I mean, I’ll know just a few people. Warn me if I’m making friends with the wrong people.”

I nodded. “Of course I will, if I can. Will you listen?”

She laughed loudly at that. Mom turned to look. “What’s so funny?”

“Oh, Mom. I asked Steve to let me know if I was making friends with the wrong people. He asked if I’d listen if he did. It’s funny because it’s true. Aren’t sisters supposed to ignore their over-protective brothers?” She turned her head to me. “I will, I promise. I only know a few people and I’ve learned from experience sometimes the nicest people ... aren’t.” She suppressed a tiny little grimace. There must be a story there.

“I will. I mean, of course I will. And, the same for you, too. Yeah, I know more people, but c’mon. There are over 400 of us in a grade. Only a bit over 100 went to my junior high, and I didn’t even know all of them. Almost everyone will be new to me, too. You might find out that someone I’m friends with is a jerk.”

“Deal. We’ll watch out for each other.” Angie reached over and gave my leg a squeeze.

“I’m so glad you two are getting along so well,” Mom said. “I was worried, with neither of you having a sibling before.”

“No chance to form bad habits?” I said with a shrug. They both laughed.

Memorial High was an unassuming set of buildings in the 1980s. Opened in 1962, it consisted of several wings, each free-standing, with walkways connecting them on two stories. Each wing was color-coded (Gray, Orange, Red, Blue, Aqua, Yellow, and so on). Facing the front of the buildings, the four wings in front and the two in back ran east-west, while the single wing on the right-hand side ran north-south. In between two of the front wings and the two back wings was a large library and storeroom. The wing to the far left (Gray) held the offices. you didn’t want to be in Gray unless you were meeting with a counselor — anything else usually meant you were in trouble. Across from Gray was an arts section with an auditorium, band and orchestra spaces, and practice rooms. Further back were a cafeteria, the PE gyms, and a bunch of fields. Across the street, connected by a pedestrian bridge, was a field house and football and baseball fields. The football field didn’t seat enough people for varsity games, so only the JV used it.

All of it looked very plain and boring. There was little sign that this was one of the best public schools in the state. Looking at the students’ backgrounds would give a strong hint: these were mostly the kids of well-off to downright rich parents. Most of them would, in other circumstances, be in private schools. Their parents had both the income and the status to make that a first choice. But Memorial had no serious competition from private schools.

Instead of putting money into private schools, they poured it into Memorial. The teachers were the best in the district, resources were plentiful (except for space - which was at a premium), athletics were well-funded, and so on. The conservative bent of the area applied to the school — dress codes were in place and enforced, not just students but teachers as well.

Still, this was 1980, decades before my first-go-round kids went to school. The campus was open and adjoined commercial areas. Kids came and went, with or without permission. No one could have even imagined an active-shooter drill. In Texas, 18-year-olds could drink, and it was common for seniors to go off campus, get a bit buzzed, and be back for afternoon classes. When my kids were in school, there were cameras everywhere, and ‘Resource Officers’ — on-duty police officers there in case something required their services. None of that applied in 1980. It was normal for 1980 — everything was just as it was my first go-round — and also strange.

What I didn’t appreciate about my school then, I did now. It was bland and homogeneous but had plenty of room for kids to grow and develop and become who they were meant to be. At the highest end of the high end — most of the students were at the high end — competition for class rank was intense. Kids were bidding for the Ivy League and other top schools. At the low end (only a relative handful of students), they still pushed the stoners, the burnouts, and so forth to get a solid education. The college placement rate was up around 97%, even counting the low end.

First day of school was a bit of a mess. Imagine well over a thousand students in the main courtyard — outside the theater building — standing in dozens of lines leading to tables organized by grade level and last name. Angie and I got into the line leading to the Freshman M’s (M-Q, in fact) and waited. She was looking around at everything and everyone. OK, so was I.

From behind I heard, “Hey! Steve!” I looked back and there was Dan Miller. I hadn’t seen him since the pool party, of course.

“Hey, Dan! Fancy meeting you here!”

He laughed. “Hey — is that your sister?”

I nodded. “Angie, this is Dan, Dan Miller. Don’t let his looks and charm fool you. He’s got a brain, too.”

She laughed. Dan offered his hand, which she took, smiling. “A pleasure to meet you, Angie. Steve’s told me all too little about you. It’s gotta be weird for you both, suddenly having a sister or a brother.”

She laughed again and blushed a little. “Yeah, well, it could be worse. At least Steve’s a good guy.”

“He is. And speaking of, I’m glad to see you up and about. How’s the head?” Word must have spread. That didn’t surprise me.

“OK. I had terrible headaches for a few days, but it’s mostly better. Concussions suck. I’ll be wearing a bike helmet from now on, geeky or not.”

Angie nodded. “Yeah, me too. It just brought home how important it is.”

“Hey, maybe you’ll start a fashion trend. I know I’m not the only one whose parents are on me about it, especially since your little mishap.”

We got to the front of the line, and I turned my attention to the girl sitting there. “Steve Marshall, and this is my sister Angie.” She flipped thorough some papers and produced class schedules.

“Here you go. Do you know how to get to your classes? There’s a map here if you need one.”

I grabbed one, plus one for Angie. “I’m sure we’ll manage. Thanks, um...?”

“Oh! It’s Bethany,” she smiled. “Welcome to Memorial!”

“Hey Dan, we’re gonna go figure out where we should be. Hopefully, we’ll wind up in class together.”

Angie and I headed off to the side and compared lists. “Hey, cool, we’ve got the same morning schedule at least”.

My day started off with English I, PE, Spanish II, and Biology. Then we had lunch, followed by World Geography, Geometry, and then Typing. I could now somewhat remember the decision on Typing. It’d been a controversial decision last spring. I hadn’t liked the other electives, and I thought it would be a good skill to have. I had mixed feelings now. Angie started out with English I, PE, and Spanish II — in the same classes — but then continued with Chemistry, Algebra I, Home Ec, and World Geography. We shared the same teacher for World Geography, at least, so we could study together.