Chapter 4

Walking up to the school building, I notice the name written across the thing above the doors. A wall? I don't know. It's made of brick anyhow.

Lonewood Highschool

Ugh. So ghetto.

The school looks to be in a state of decay. The once red bricks of the outside seem to be cracking, like old makeup. Why did I even come here?

The internal debate of actually attending was really hard to do. I was pretty much intent on staying at home for the next year and a half until I managed to turn eighteen, then leave this town forever. But what Mr. Colt's buddy said lingered in my mind. I don't want to go to a ward. So I dragged myself out of my apartment and made my way to this school.

Nobody seems to be here yet. At least, not that I can see. It might be that it's around half-past seven in the morning. And the cold Washington air bites at my face. I pull the sweater I found inside the closet higher around my neck. The leather jacket is wrapped around me. It's a bit too big for me, but I don't mind. It helps to hide my hands...

Walking to the door, I pull it open. The door swings open, and I walk inside. Some kids walk to and fro, and some notice me as I walk in. But I don't care about them. I walk down the hall, toward wherever the signs saying 'front office' point. I make it there.

Knocking, I pull open the door and deal with the fat lady at the desk. I explain I'm a new student. She understands and asks for my name, and I give it, and she does whatever, confirming and checking that I've been registered. I am. Point is, I walk out ten minutes later with a schedule. And a map of the school.

Looking at the map, I scan for all exits. It's a two-story building that resembles that shape of an L that got cancer. The original building must have been the L, but after numerous add-ons and renovations, the shape turned into what it is now. Ugly.

Making my way to my first class, I walk inside and find nobody. Walking over to the teachers desk, I search through the drawers to see if they have one of those stupid 'assigned seat' papers. I find none. Guess I can sit wherever.

Making my way to the back of the room, I take a seat next to a window. I guess instinct just makes me want to be near an exit just in case. I'm on the first floor so in the case of emergency I can hop out.

Sitting down, I pull out my phone and check out the features. I looked at it the day when I first got it, two days ago, a Saturday. But I really didn't find anything interesting about it. I remember one time in Tokyo, on the subway, everybody was on their phones. But looking at it, nothing strikes me as interesting.

But that's probably because I had other more fascinating things to use. I drift off and think about the other gadgets I got to use when I was actually somebody...

Kids begin to come into the room after a while. Most of them notice me as soon as they enter. Some of the more quiet ones glance at me before flitting their eyes down and away. The more loud-looking ones manage to stare maybe two seconds before my cold eyes make them flinch away too.

Finally, the teacher walks in.

He's maybe fifty, but I would guess as old as possibly sixty. He has grey hair that is combed back, and his round belly is prominent through his shirt. I notice the suspenders. At least he has some class.

Sitting down at his desk, he turns on his computer and does several clicks on it with his mouse. The kids are still talking and shuffling. Some whisper and then look back at me. But I just stare at the teacher's bald spot I've found. Telling the class to settle down he begins to take attendance. One by one, he makes his way to where my name is.

"Kelson, Reza? Is that a new student?" he asks as he looks up from his computer.

"Here," I say as I raise my hand. The whole class turns to look at me. The teacher gives a nice smile.

"Well, another new student! Come up here and introduce yourself," he says nicely.

   He's like Santa Claus. Except he doesn't have a wig on and he's actually bald somewhat.

Standing up, I make my way to the front of the class. Looking at them, I can't help but feel as if I'm being examined. Oh, the irony. I've examined all of you in the span it took you to get in here.

I've noticed how the kid in the front row has burn marks on his fingers, from the occasional lighter when he lights a cigarette. And the girl with the slight limp from her recent night-endeavor, and wearing shoes that don't make her teeter and totter when she walks. And the boy in the corner with the overly-large sweater that no doubt hides the scars on his arms, and the way he looks around nervously, afraid of something, of somebody.

"Hello," I say a bit flatly.

I remember that I have to be a teen. I turn up my act and try to be more nervous.

"Hi, I'm Reza Kelson. I'm new in Lonewood, and I like the color red."

I almost laugh at my fake act. I don't like the color red. I don't like any color. Maybe green, but even that's debatable. But it seems to work on the kids.

"Well, we're very happy to have you, Reza. I hope you have an easy time adjusting to your new life here, and please don't hesitate to ask anything of me or everybody. Right class?"

A general murmur of assent goes around. I smile a bit, then make my way to my seat. They watch me as I walk. But they turn to look back at the front when I sit down.

"So today, we'll be continuing off where we left off," says Mr. Santa.

   I saw his name on his desk earlier, Mr. Hass. But Santa sticks in my mind.

   "We'll be doing a pop quiz at the end. It's your exit ticket, so don't slack off!" he says.

  The class gives a general groan as a reply. But they pull out their stationaries and begin to take notes.

The class is easy. The topic is what I learned when I was eleven. In the program, you had to be intellectually adroit, otherwise, you had no hope. None. But I guess they go at a slower pace among the civilian population.

I pull out my notebook, but I don't bother taking notes. Waste of paper, really. And at toward the end of the class, when he passes out the quiz, I need barely thirty seconds before I need to solve all of it.

   Double-checking will not be necessary.

Standing up and grabbing my backpack, I walk to the front of the class. I feel the eyes of the class bore into my back. Reaching Santa, I hand my paper in.

"Done already?" he asks incredulously. I nod, and then I walk out of the class. Off to my next one.

..................................

Walking through the halls that nobody is in, I walk to my locker. I checked where it was, and it's near my next class. Might as well check it out. There's the occasional kid running back from the bathroom to their class, but besides them and I, there's nobody around.

Until I near my locker. The one that's supposed to be mine is blocked by the open door of the person next door, who has their door swung wide open. Whoever it is I can't see because their face is buried in their locker. I think it's a boy though, from the look of the jeans and the height. And the bit of blond hair that sticks out from the locker.

Nearing whoever it is, I say flatly, "Excuse me."

Whoever it is freezes and back out of their locker to look at me. The face surprises me.

Jack.