her own before – but it was stupid. I knew it was stupid even to come here, I knew it before I did it. It was just . . . well, it was worth a try, anyway. I put the car in gear and drove away.
I passed Brooke several blocks later, waiting at the bus stop. She didn’t wave, and I drove by without slowing.
I’d never really liked school. I liked learning, but I liked a very specific learning environment. Noisy classrooms with yellowed floor tiles, fluorescent lights and a few hundred kids who thought I was a freak were, unsurprisingly, not a part of the environment I preferred. Give me a good library, an Internet connection and some educational TV, and I could sit and ‘learn’ for hours, as long as I enjoyed the subject; I’d venture to say that I knew more about serial killers and criminal profiling than almost anybody in town, up to and including the FBI team that had come to investigate the Handyman killings. But I was also a realist, and I recognised organised education as a necessary evil. I wanted to become a real mortician when I grew up, and that meant I needed college, and that meant I needed high school. If I could sit through just two more years of broken desks, social cliques and school spirit, I’d be in the clear.
I parked in the back lot. It was the end of August, and the weather was warm but cooling rapidly. Scattered groups of kids were shouting to each other cheerfully, leaning on their cars or strolling slowly towards the various buildings. Our school had three: the main building, the tech building (which was fairly low tech, despite its name), and the gym. I saw a couple of sophomores wandering about in a daze, still daunted by their first day in a real high school. They probably couldn’t read their class schedules.
‘Hey, John,’ said Marci, leaning against one of the flowerboxes in the side lawn. Her best friend, Rachel, was with her. ‘How’s it going?’
I stopped. After our bike-riding date I hadn’t heard from her, and I’d assumed she’d lost interest. Yet here she was, on the first day of school, ignoring everyone else on the lawn and talking to me.
‘Not bad,’ I said. ‘Nothing like the first day of school to get you going in the morning.’
‘Ug,’ said Marci, ‘it’s like a Monday.’
‘It is a Monday.’
‘No, I mean like the Monday to end all Mondays,’ she said. ‘It’s that same depressing “Oh no, the weekend is really over” feeling, magnified a thousand times.’ She grinned mischievously. ‘I’m taking bets on the first person to ditch class.’
‘Counting the whole school?’ I asked. ‘I bet there’s some people that don’t even show up.’
‘That’s what I told her,’ said Rachel.
‘What’s your first period?’ asked Marci.
I looked at my schedule, though I had it memorised. ‘Social Studies with Verner.’
Marci smiled. ‘Sweet – us too. Then here’s the rules: check out everyone in our first-period class, make your pick, and then we’ll watch them for the rest of the day. First one to ditch is the winner.’
‘You mean whoever bets on the first ditcher is the winner,’ said Rachel.
‘That’s debatable,’ Marci replied, standing up. ‘Let’s go grab some seats in the back, so we can get a good view of all our contestants.’
Rachel stood as well, and together they walked over to the nearest door for the main building. After a second of hesitation, I followed them. I’d never walked into school with anybody before, except Max, but that barely counted. He was only my friend because I didn’t have anyone else, and I was only his friend for the same reason. Besides, I hadn’t seen him in weeks, and I was with two very cute girls.
Marci and Rachel waved and smiled and chatted with a dozen or so people on our way through the halls, and I hung behind them like a shadow – not hiding, but not inserting myself into their conversations, either. It
I passed Brooke several blocks later, waiting at the bus stop. She didn’t wave, and I drove by without slowing.
I’d never really liked school. I liked learning, but I liked a very specific learning environment. Noisy classrooms with yellowed floor tiles, fluorescent lights and a few hundred kids who thought I was a freak were, unsurprisingly, not a part of the environment I preferred. Give me a good library, an Internet connection and some educational TV, and I could sit and ‘learn’ for hours, as long as I enjoyed the subject; I’d venture to say that I knew more about serial killers and criminal profiling than almost anybody in town, up to and including the FBI team that had come to investigate the Handyman killings. But I was also a realist, and I recognised organised education as a necessary evil. I wanted to become a real mortician when I grew up, and that meant I needed college, and that meant I needed high school. If I could sit through just two more years of broken desks, social cliques and school spirit, I’d be in the clear.
I parked in the back lot. It was the end of August, and the weather was warm but cooling rapidly. Scattered groups of kids were shouting to each other cheerfully, leaning on their cars or strolling slowly towards the various buildings. Our school had three: the main building, the tech building (which was fairly low tech, despite its name), and the gym. I saw a couple of sophomores wandering about in a daze, still daunted by their first day in a real high school. They probably couldn’t read their class schedules.
‘Hey, John,’ said Marci, leaning against one of the flowerboxes in the side lawn. Her best friend, Rachel, was with her. ‘How’s it going?’
I stopped. After our bike-riding date I hadn’t heard from her, and I’d assumed she’d lost interest. Yet here she was, on the first day of school, ignoring everyone else on the lawn and talking to me.
‘Not bad,’ I said. ‘Nothing like the first day of school to get you going in the morning.’
‘Ug,’ said Marci, ‘it’s like a Monday.’
‘It is a Monday.’
‘No, I mean like the Monday to end all Mondays,’ she said. ‘It’s that same depressing “Oh no, the weekend is really over” feeling, magnified a thousand times.’ She grinned mischievously. ‘I’m taking bets on the first person to ditch class.’
‘Counting the whole school?’ I asked. ‘I bet there’s some people that don’t even show up.’
‘That’s what I told her,’ said Rachel.
‘What’s your first period?’ asked Marci.
I looked at my schedule, though I had it memorised. ‘Social Studies with Verner.’
Marci smiled. ‘Sweet – us too. Then here’s the rules: check out everyone in our first-period class, make your pick, and then we’ll watch them for the rest of the day. First one to ditch is the winner.’
‘You mean whoever bets on the first ditcher is the winner,’ said Rachel.
‘That’s debatable,’ Marci replied, standing up. ‘Let’s go grab some seats in the back, so we can get a good view of all our contestants.’
Rachel stood as well, and together they walked over to the nearest door for the main building. After a second of hesitation, I followed them. I’d never walked into school with anybody before, except Max, but that barely counted. He was only my friend because I didn’t have anyone else, and I was only his friend for the same reason. Besides, I hadn’t seen him in weeks, and I was with two very cute girls.
Marci and Rachel waved and smiled and chatted with a dozen or so people on our way through the halls, and I hung behind them like a shadow – not hiding, but not inserting myself into their conversations, either. It
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