Chapter 4A: Let me introduce myself

A/N: Thanks to Jim for editing!

I glanced at the glowing red numbers on my black alarm clock from where I lay stretched out on my already-made bed, fully dressed in my new jeans--dark blue, and not faded in any way. I didn't care if it was in style. You'd never catch me buying a pair of jeans that looked like a car had run them over. I could make them look like that myself. And I was wearing a Dane's House black t-shirt from the tattoo shop where Chad worked. My brother only did piercings there, but Dane had designed the blue dragon on the back of the t-shirt, an actual tattoo that was on his back.

I lifted the red notebook I was holding, one of the new ones that was supposed to be for school, and looked at my own handwriting over the first page of it. Two paragraphs of... well, nothing, actually. I'd woken up at four in the morning, my fingers itching to write. But, nothing in particular had come to me. I'd taken a look at the scarecrow painting on my wall, right where it was supposed to be--hanging so I could see it when I walked through my bedroom door--and I'd thought about Milo, and how I liked him, and how he didn't like me, and how even though I thought he was full of shit, the fact that he kept saying that he didn't like me, was actually starting to bother me. I started to write about something like that. A boy who didn't like me. Two paragraphs worth. It was shit.

I leaned over my bed, dropping the notebook carelessly onto my white carpeting, and then the pen on top of the notebook before I rolled over, pushed myself up, and stood on my bed to better see out my bedroom window. From ground level, my window was facing the front yard, but I couldn't see much beyond my mom's flower bed. It didn't really matter, though. I wasn't looking for anything in specific, I was just investigating why there was no sun pouring into my room, like usual when I woke up. It seemed gray outside. Gloomy. It made me feel tired. But, I reasoned, I felt tired because I'd gone to bed at one in the morning, and woken up at four.

I was thinking about pulling back my thick, white comforter so I could crawl under it when my fire-alarm-sounding clock went off at exactly six fifteen. I turned my head to flash it a disapproving look before I slowly climbed off my bed, turned it off, and headed upstairs.

As always on the first day of school, my dad was in the kitchen waiting for me with banana muffins that he'd brought home from one of the bakeries the day before. My mom was long gone. During the school year, my mother wasn't only a piano teacher, but also a substitute music teacher; and already, Little Creek Elementary School, located on the hill, needed one. We ate our breakfast, took a few minutes to feed all of my mom's pets, and my dad left to work the same time I got into my navy-blue Buick and left for school.

The high school, named after Heywell's first mayor, James Hellver, was commonly referred to as Hellschool, and was located on the south side of town. There was no going down the hill to get to it because, I suppose, it was considered to be on the hill. If I went out my back door, and walked for four miles, I'd run right into it. Getting there in a car was a little more complicated, since I was driving through neighborhoods. But basically, it was by the city park built on the land that my dad had donated. In the same area, there was the Heywell City Library, a Foodmart, one of the two Trust banks in town, and assorted restaurants, including one of my dad's bakeries, the one I most frequently worked at.

The buildings in the area were somewhat newer than the old brick buildings you'd find downtown. The library was a two-story, long building that looked like it was entirely made of windows, while the school was void of any windows at all. Being the only high school besides the Stratfort Private School, Hellschool was a rather large structure. Sand colored, there were two stories that made up the main building where most classes were held. At the center of the building there was an open courtyard, where most of the clubs gathered throughout the day. The gym had its own building behind the school, and it was connected to our school's two auditoriums. Outside of the gym, behind the school, there were two brick-colored double-wide trailers that had been made into classrooms for the electives that the school didn't seem to have room for. Last year, Haily had gone to chorus practice there.

I parked on the east end of the student parking lot. It was a long walk to the school from there, but that put me right next to Caleb's jeep, and we always parked there. It was less crowded, and given the fender-bender rates among students, a little walk was worth avoiding the trouble.

As I neared Hellschool, the spirit banners were visible at the front entrance. We had the worst school colors ever, if you asked me. Purple and orange. Even Caleb said that our cheerleaders were an eyesore because of it. But even so, I had to admit that our school did have spirit. The first day was not only one of the biggest social events we had all year, it was also the day that clubs were out in full force recruiting new members. The same applied for the football team, the cheerleading squad, and girls' softball, which always started a month before baseball. There were no actual classes on the first day. The first few hours of the day were spent in long lines acquiring class and locker assignments, while the second half was spent introducing yourself to whatever teachers you happened to have that quarter. We were given a day-one temporary schedule and required to go to twenty- to thirty-minute classes starting just after a lunch break at noon. The classes on the first day usually only lasted a couple hours total. After that, everyone was divided into the auditoriums by year and we were all addressed by either the principal or the vice principal. But I wasn't exactly in a hurry to get to any of this, and it didn't look like Caleb was, either, when I found him waiting for me, sitting at the bottom of the four concrete stairs that led up to the building. He was staring at the sky accusingly, as if he fully expected it to drop something vile on him at any moment; as I took my seat next to him, sliding my backpack off my shoulders, I looked up, too.

The sky did indeed, seem gray today. Overcast with thin clouds, covering any sign of blue as far as we could see. It wasn't cold, or even hot; and without so much as a light breeze in the air, everything seemed quiet, even among the static of mixed voices belonging to the masses. The atmosphere could be described as ominous. Normally, I liked to be more positive than that, but it was true. Mid-August in Heywell was generally sunny and warm, our fall not making its presence truly known until around mid September. There were only a few trees around town that had turned already, lending colors of red, purple, yellow and orange to the otherwise green landscape.

"What's with this shit?" Caleb finally remarked, without looking at me. I didn't have to ask to know that he was as put off by today's gloom as I was.

"Maybe it'll clear up later," I suggested.

"Maybe," he agreed. "This is just like that dream I had."

"Which one?"

"The one with the talking pizza."

I shook my head. "No. That was a movie."

"Whatever. It's still like a dream I had."

I finally looked away from the sky to face Caleb, noting the product in his hair he'd used to make his waves seem tighter, cleaner. His hair hadn't looked that neat all summer. "Probably," I said. "Where are Haily and Joe?"

Caleb yawned, pointing behind us with his thumb, in the direction where most people were passing us and entering the school. "Saving our places in line."

"Dude, it's an alphabetical system," I responded. "The only two of us in the same line are Haily and Joe." Caleb looked confused by that. I just laughed at him. We seemed to have that same conversation every year. He never seemed to quite grasp the fact that he actually had to stand in line on his own. "Let's go," I said. "I wanna know what our schedules are gonna be." I stood, grabbing my backpack and heading up the stairs with Caleb right next to me. "What electives did you sign up for?"

"I don't remember," Caleb said. "My dad filled out my requests last year."

"You let your dad do it?"

"I was busy," he replied, shrugging. "Plus, the whole thing's stupid, anyway. In two years I only got one class I actually wanted."

He had a point there. Our school's more desired elective classes were limited. I'd been trying to get into basic art since I was a freshman, and it hadn't happened yet. Of course, the school had their own alternative electives that they were happy to place us in. Cooking hadn't been that bad during my freshman year, but last year the knitting club was something that I could have gone without. I probably wouldn't have signed up for any electives if our school didn't require two a year, just like they required physical activity for at least one semester a year. If someone couldn't participate in gym because of a disability, they were required to study and take written tests all term.

Caleb and I made our way through the school, once again becoming familiar with the worn white linoleum floors, fluorescent lights, orange doors and purple lockers. A few teachers that my brother had last year stopped us to chat, mostly interested in how Chad was doing. We stopped at the vending machines near the school offices for some sodas, and Caleb complained about how they didn't have the big peanut-butter cookies this year that everyone liked. On the way to the courtyard, we ran into random people heading in the same direction. Most of them were from our year, and many of them we'd seen over the summer, or even more recently, like Peter Forest and Teresa Milldrum.

When we did reach the courtyard, it was chaos. The school-endorsed clubs had gathered around several of the round, stone tables decorating the brick outdoor flooring along with the three large planters filled with freshly planted seasonals that looked pretty now, but would likely whither up and die in a month's time. Coach Don, with his cropped black hair and hooked nose was out with his clipboard and had a whole line of guys waiting to get their names on it as he told them football tryouts started next weekend, on Saturday, at seven in the morning. Just like every year, Coach Don waved to Caleb and me, and told Caleb that they could sure use him on the team.

And just like every year, Caleb said no thanks and kept walking. Just like he couldn't understand why he had to wait in line, he didn't understand why anyone would want to spend their spare time tackling other guys and playing with a ball--which in Caleb's opinion, didn't even look like a real ball--when they could be out tackling girls. Caleb didn't buy all of the fuss about girls liking sports players more, either. Last year when our school's best wide receiver, Brandon Sholer, decided to tell Caleb that he could get more girls than Caleb because he was on the team and girls liked that sort of thing, Caleb stole Brandon's girlfriend, just to prove a point. I'm not sure if he actually knew what his point was, though. He seemed more interested in pissing Brandon off at the time than anything else. There were simply some things I'd never understand about Caleb.

The courtyard was rectangular in shape, and besides the door we came through, there were four more orange doors, all open where people were dividing into lines according to their last names. I spotted Haily and Joe in one line. They were almost inside, and I waved at them before I pointed Caleb towards his line and headed for mine. It took about thirty minutes to get into the school and down the hall to a classroom where teachers were handing out our schedules. It only took me five seconds to strike up a conversation with two nervous freshmen who wanted to know if there was any truth to the freshman-hazing horror stories they'd heard about. I assured them that the worst they'd have to endure was having frosh stamped on their foreheads; and then explained how it had happened to Caleb, Haily and me our second week of high school at the hands of my brother, who'd made the whole thing feel more like a welcome party into adolescence than a hellish experience.

When I first received my schedule, I was actually happy with it for once. Other than biology and world history, I got English three, which was more or less a creative writing class. I also finally got basic art. I didn't expect to learn in that class as much as I expected to have a free period where I could practice one of my favorite hobbies. It was well known that Mr. Allen was interested in free expression. As long as you were creating something in his class with the materials provided for the day, he was happy. But, my joy over getting a class that I actually asked for was short-lived.

I was settling into my locker, unpacking my bag after collecting my book assignments from the library, and planning on finding my friends when I was finished, when they found me instead. Haily, at least, got my attention when she stopped next to me and started unloading her books into my locker.

"Um... Haily? What are you doing?"

"I need to use your locker until I can get another one," she informed me, looking somewhat agitated. I just shrugged and continued to unload my books, but grinned when I glanced behind me and saw Caleb just across from me, opening a purple locker next to the drinking fountain.

"What's wrong with your locker, Haily?" he called over.

"I'm next to Assface," she announced, and both Caleb and I paused to look at her as she continued to unload her things. "It wouldn't be so bad if I could get him to stop talking. And smiling at me. All the fucking time. I was trying to put away my things and he kept asking me out--and then, he kept talking about you," she said, stopping to look at me.

"Whatever," I replied, shrugging. "Just ignore him, okay? I don't mind if you use my locker."

"Thanks, Nels," she said, and I watched her push her braid back over her shoulder as she continued to occupy the two bottom shelves in my locker. "It's just, he gets on my nerves, you know?"

"He gets on everyone's nerves," Caleb called, but then flashed me a smile when I looked back at him. "And we're pretending that he doesn't exist, from now on."

I smiled at that, appreciating that he remembered our conversation from Saturday night.

"Well, it's hard to pretend he doesn't exist when he's in my ear saying that Nels is talking to that friend of his so much that he must want to fuck him. I swear to god..."

"What did he say?" Caleb demanded, as I went rigid over Assface's remarks. It was definitely disturbing to hear, but that could have been because there was a certain amount of truth in it. I forced myself to recover quickly, and I turned to face Caleb as he joined Haily and me on our side of the hall.

"Fuck what Assface said," I insisted. "He's not even worth talking about."

"I guess..." Caleb replied, looking a little uncertain.

"It doesn't bother me, okay?" I assured him. I lifted my schedule out of the back pocket of my jeans and held it up. "What lunch did you guys get?"

"Second," Haily answered.

"Me too," Caleb said, and Haily smiled at him.

"Second." I looked up when Joe appeared behind Caleb, holding up his schedule. "But my locker's on the other side of the fucking school. I'm surrounded by freshmen."

"Don't look at me," Caleb informed him. "You're not moving in."

"What lunch do you have Nels?" Haily asked me, probably because I was frowning down at my schedule.

"First," I said, drawing everyone's attention because clearly, they thought, I meant to say second. "I have first."

Something as trivial as the matter of when I would be eating my lunch probably shouldn't have seemed like a big deal. After all, at least I was having lunch. It didn't really matter when I ate it. Except, I was in high school. And, this had never happened before. Freshmen and sophomores generally had first lunch, while juniors and seniors had second. Of course, there were exceptions to this. Like, a large freshman class generally meant that a few lower classmen would end up with a second lunch period. Or, because of scheduling conflicts. I discovered that I had one of those when Caleb insisted that we all go wait in the line for people who hated their schedules. He was also the one who explained to the very tired-looking school counselor behind the computer that I had to have a second period lunch. I agreed. Unfortunately, it was my art class that was getting in the way. I had to call off all three of my friends when Joe stepped forward and insisted that the counselor change all three of their lunches to first lunches instead of changing mine to second. It was touching and all, but the counselor refused to do it. I decided that I could practice all the creative expression I wanted at home, and decided to have lunch with my friends. Of course, this meant a new elective, and there was only one left, I was told. Parenting. A class that covered pregnancy, childbirth and child development up to age five. It didn't sound half as bad when I discovered that Haily was taking the same class by choice--at her mother's request, she said.