Read Online Rise of the Fallen 1 - My Soul to Keep by Sean Hayden - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Sean Hayden
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reached for the tiny
sliver of chalk in the metal tray beneath the blackboard that seemed to have grown
four times its normal size. Slowly, I lifted my hand and gripped the chalk between
my thumb and finger. With a small puff of dust it shattered into three-hundred and
seventeen pieces.
I mean that literally. Time froze and my brain picked out not only
each piece of chalk suspended in the air between my hand and the floor, but the
thirty-six pieces still trapped between my thumb and finger. I closed my eyes and
shook my head.
“Today, Mr. Sullivan.”
I looked back at Johnson standing at the rear of the classroom with
his arms folded over his brown suit jacket. I gave a wan little smile and turned
back around, reaching for another piece of chalk. This time I gripped it as lightly
as possible without dropping it to the linoleum floor.
I gave a nervous laugh at my shaking hand as it brought the chalk to
the board right under the jumble of numbers Mr. Johnson left to torture me. I closed
my eyes, opened them, and tried to focus. The numbers seemed to float in front of
the board and started to glow almost blue. They stayed the color as the letters
in the equations flared red. My hand became a blur and my mouth started giving a
play-by-play recap of everything my hand did like some crazed sports announcer on
television. The worst part of the whole thing was my brain understood everything
I said. As I wrote the final answer on the board and boxed it in, the last of my
breath flew from my lungs and I spun to face the class.
Everyone stared, and by everyone I mean every student (including the
blind one) and the teacher. They sat there open mouthed like I'd sprouted wings.
I glanced behind me to make sure I hadn’t.
“Is that right?”
Mr. Johnson nodded at my question and I gave a quick sigh before heading
back to my empty seat and tried very hard to make myself as small as possible.
Chapter 8
“Welcome to hell.”
“Excuse me?” Even I could hear the confusion in Jessica’s voice.
“I’m sorry, did I say hell? I meant the cafeteria.” I smiled when she
giggled. I smiled bigger when her hand tightened around my wrist. My face nearly
broke in half when she tripped and ended up in my arms. “Are you okay?”
“I am now, thanks for catching me.”
“My pleasure,” I said and meant it.
I led her over to the table I usually sat at with Jeremy and pulled
the seat out for her. “What are you doing?”
“It’s your first day. I’ll get us food and be right back.” I saw her
struggling with her own sense of independence. “Tomorrow, you can get us food and
I’ll sit on my butt.”
“Deal,” she said and felt around the contours of the chair before sitting
down at the table.
“Hope you like Alpo. Don’t worry, I’ll get kibbles too.”
Another small laugh and another huge smile.
I did feel guilty knowing she thought I was joking about the food.
Sometimes I swore they really were serving us dog-food. I made my way into lunch
lady land and smelled the sloppy-joes before I saw them. Shuddering, I forced myself
to keep the remnants of pretzel in my stomach. I grabbed the cream colored lunch
tray from the stack at the start of the line. I started off slowly in the Jell-o
section and browsed my choices solemnly. I avoided the fruit filled ones, knowing
the fruit probably came from a can produced somewhere around the time our school
had been built. I settled for two small cups of plain orange.
Next came the cheerleader food, little Styrofoam bowls of lettuce and
sliced veggies. Due to my companion’s feminine nature, I grabbed one of them and
slid it on the tray with a packet of ranch dressing. I never met a girl who didn’t
eat salad and ranch dressing.
I slid the tray down the metal rails and faced my greatest fear, the
dreaded sloppy-joes of James Underwood High. I looked up at Mrs. Sanchez in her
blue pants, white shirt, and greasy spatula. I closed my eyes in resigned determination,
and
sliver of chalk in the metal tray beneath the blackboard that seemed to have grown
four times its normal size. Slowly, I lifted my hand and gripped the chalk between
my thumb and finger. With a small puff of dust it shattered into three-hundred and
seventeen pieces.
I mean that literally. Time froze and my brain picked out not only
each piece of chalk suspended in the air between my hand and the floor, but the
thirty-six pieces still trapped between my thumb and finger. I closed my eyes and
shook my head.
“Today, Mr. Sullivan.”
I looked back at Johnson standing at the rear of the classroom with
his arms folded over his brown suit jacket. I gave a wan little smile and turned
back around, reaching for another piece of chalk. This time I gripped it as lightly
as possible without dropping it to the linoleum floor.
I gave a nervous laugh at my shaking hand as it brought the chalk to
the board right under the jumble of numbers Mr. Johnson left to torture me. I closed
my eyes, opened them, and tried to focus. The numbers seemed to float in front of
the board and started to glow almost blue. They stayed the color as the letters
in the equations flared red. My hand became a blur and my mouth started giving a
play-by-play recap of everything my hand did like some crazed sports announcer on
television. The worst part of the whole thing was my brain understood everything
I said. As I wrote the final answer on the board and boxed it in, the last of my
breath flew from my lungs and I spun to face the class.
Everyone stared, and by everyone I mean every student (including the
blind one) and the teacher. They sat there open mouthed like I'd sprouted wings.
I glanced behind me to make sure I hadn’t.
“Is that right?”
Mr. Johnson nodded at my question and I gave a quick sigh before heading
back to my empty seat and tried very hard to make myself as small as possible.
Chapter 8
“Welcome to hell.”
“Excuse me?” Even I could hear the confusion in Jessica’s voice.
“I’m sorry, did I say hell? I meant the cafeteria.” I smiled when she
giggled. I smiled bigger when her hand tightened around my wrist. My face nearly
broke in half when she tripped and ended up in my arms. “Are you okay?”
“I am now, thanks for catching me.”
“My pleasure,” I said and meant it.
I led her over to the table I usually sat at with Jeremy and pulled
the seat out for her. “What are you doing?”
“It’s your first day. I’ll get us food and be right back.” I saw her
struggling with her own sense of independence. “Tomorrow, you can get us food and
I’ll sit on my butt.”
“Deal,” she said and felt around the contours of the chair before sitting
down at the table.
“Hope you like Alpo. Don’t worry, I’ll get kibbles too.”
Another small laugh and another huge smile.
I did feel guilty knowing she thought I was joking about the food.
Sometimes I swore they really were serving us dog-food. I made my way into lunch
lady land and smelled the sloppy-joes before I saw them. Shuddering, I forced myself
to keep the remnants of pretzel in my stomach. I grabbed the cream colored lunch
tray from the stack at the start of the line. I started off slowly in the Jell-o
section and browsed my choices solemnly. I avoided the fruit filled ones, knowing
the fruit probably came from a can produced somewhere around the time our school
had been built. I settled for two small cups of plain orange.
Next came the cheerleader food, little Styrofoam bowls of lettuce and
sliced veggies. Due to my companion’s feminine nature, I grabbed one of them and
slid it on the tray with a packet of ranch dressing. I never met a girl who didn’t
eat salad and ranch dressing.
I slid the tray down the metal rails and faced my greatest fear, the
dreaded sloppy-joes of James Underwood High. I looked up at Mrs. Sanchez in her
blue pants, white shirt, and greasy spatula. I closed my eyes in resigned determination,
and
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