Continuum (2 page)

I catch a glimpse of my former best friend, Mackenzie Brooks, out of the corner of my eye.  Mackenzie is sitting with all the old gang-- Sophia Henning, Emma Cole, Chloe Stanford.  We had been a tight knit group from elementary school and throughout middle school.  They are chatting animatedly and their laughter carries over to my table.

Mackenzie is the school’s queen bee.  Actually she is more like the queen of the jungle with her thick wavy blonde hair and gold flecked green eyes.  She reminds me of a lioness with her ability to make a smile look like an act of aggression.   Mackenzie is the epitome of the teenage boy fantasy and the classic teenage girl villain.  She is tall and curvy in all the right places, which makes her designer clothes look fantastic.  Mackenzie is smart but prefers to get by on her charm.  All the teachers love her without her having to try.  All the boys have been in love with her since elementary school.

We have known each other since the second grade when we were seated next to each other.  She had forgotten her pencil case on the first day of school and I let her borrow my favorite pink and yellow striped pencil with a yellow smiley face eraser attached.  We were pretty much inseparable from that day on.  Mackenzie is seated at the head of the table, all the others fixated on her as she talks.  

Seated on her right is Sophia who moved next door the Mackenzie when we were eight.  The class drama queen, she’s had a starring role in every play and musical since Freshman year.  She is the definition of disciplined with voice lessons, acting classes, and rehearsals every night.  Her cunning brown eyes are framed by long, subtly highlighted brown hair which is always perfectly straight, bangs trimmed precisely to the millimeter, and never a hair out of place.  She tilts her head back and claps her hands together in laughter at whatever Mackenzie is saying.

Next to her is Emma.  We used to take ballet together when we were younger.  I had a major growth spurt that summer and was very tall and very awkward for my age.  She was at the head of the barre, I always relegated to the back of the group.  During one memorable class, I lost my balance and managed to knock over every girl at the barre like a line of dominoes.  Emma was the only one kind enough to speak to me after that day.  Let’s just say I didn’t last very long in the class.  But you can tell Emma is still a dancer.  Even wearing her street clothes, her auburn hair is pulled back tightly in a bun.  Her slight, willowy frame is curled gracefully in her plastic chair as she participates in their chatter. 

On Mackenzie’s left is Chloe, her blue eyes glinting mischievously.  Mackenzie and I met Chloe at math camp when we were 10.  Chloe’s parents had just divorced when she moved here with her mother from Chicago.  Chloe has shelves full of academic accolades which she never talks about and a closet full of designer clothes that she proudly shows off.  Her mother believes girls are meant to be seen and not heard.  She is the evil genius of the group.  She would get us out of trouble as often as she would get us into it.

Who was I in this group?  I guess I was the glue.  Sophia and Mackenzie had a tendency to fight for the spotlight and I was always the mediator.  When Chloe would hatch a plan that got us into trouble, I was always the one that covered for Emma.  Nowadays, I am still their glue.  Their combined hatred for me binds them together.

So here I am, watching them from a distance as they sit around giggling.  It was always our ritual to get together before school.  I can close my eyes and play out their exact conversation.  Topics probably ranged from how unbelievably dreamy Sam Jordan was.  Did you see him on Friday at football practice?  He had definitely filled out over the summer.  What was that horrid thing Megan Fischer wore to school today?  Is she trying to look that bad on purpose?  

I look back up and Emma catches my eye for a second mid-laughter but she quickly looks away.  Perhaps I had become their new topic to dissect.  I turn and face the window again, feeling nothing.  They are complete strangers to me now.

The bell rings and the whole room rises in a synchronized motion.  I head down the hall past the rows of Freshman lockers to first period European History with Mrs. Douglas.  Mrs. Douglas was supposed to retire four years ago but her husband got sick and died suddenly.  She had to continue working to support herself and her grown son, who was a disabled veteran.  When I enter the room, she is sitting at her desk glasses perched on her nose, flipping through  her ancient brown notebook with her neat precise writing on yellowing pages.

Mrs. Douglas has been teaching for so long, she has given up on trying to discipline her students.  She never takes attendance and doesn’t care if you text message during class.  I take my seat in the far right corner next to the window.  I carefully arrange my European History book and notebook on the narrow desk.  The second bell rings and Mrs. Douglas doesn't bother to leave her desk or even look up from her notebook.  In a lulling, monotone voice, she just starts reading straight from her notes, her eyes moving along the page.  As my fellow classmates droop in their seats and take out their cellphones to text each other under their notebooks, I turn to stare out the window as her lecture drones on.

Fall is finally starting after a record breaking, oppressively hot summer.  The ground of the parking lot is strewn with leaves of all colors.  I am intrigued by the way they all dance so gracefully whenever the wind blew.  With no cover from the trees, the sunlight twinkles off the windshields of the neatly parked cars.  I am watching as a cardinal hops along the roof of a silver Toyota, when I detect a distant roar growing closer.  A leather clad figure wearing a shiny black helmet on black motorcycle roars into the parking lot.  My eyes scan the license plate number and my mind automatically assesses the number but I don’t recognize it.  Must be a new teacher or student.  I know everyone’s license plate number in Everest Heights.

I turn away from the window to face the blackboard and watch the clock slowly winding down.  This is a habit I’ve been trying to break since the second hand seems to move slower when I watch it.  We’re barely halfway through so I spend the rest of class carefully duplicating the photo of a Gothic cathedral into my notebook.  When the bell rings, the class is shaken from our slumber and inattention, becoming mobile again.

Navigating through the crowded hallway, I head outside to the gym building choosing to cut through the empty bank of picnic tables next to the school despite the cold.   Pulling my jacket tight against my body, the wind blows through me as I angle toward the low brick building.  Inside the girls' locker room, I quickly change into my gym uniform consisting of a light silver gray t-shirt with Everest Heights High School printed in navy across the chest and a miniature roaring panther with matching navy sweatpants with silver EHHS printed down the leg.  Hastily, I pull my long hair into a high ponytail and switch out my boots for a pair of black low top sneakers before jogging out onto the football field.  

My breath comes out in little white puffs and my exposed arms are covered in goosebumps.  The class is huddled together in clusters trying to keep out the cold.  Coach Morris appears wearing his requisite navy and silver tracksuit, a shiny silver whistle hanging from a navy lanyard emblazoned with the school's initials.  Coach Morris is about two things--playing by the rules and winning.  If you don’t know how to play, you can’t win.  With this logic in mind, we spend the whole class shivering on the faded grass of the football field while he runs down the list of every flag football rule and regulation in existence.  The bell rings before he actually finishes.

English.  Calculus.  French.  Art.  Lunch.  Psychology.  They all pass in a haze.  

Today is a day like any other.

Ethan

The pounding of lockers shutting around me echo the pounding in my head.  Today is only Day 2 at Everest Heights High School.  My body is still in a different time zone.  This would be my seventh time moving in twelve years, but it doesn't make it any easier.  Moving always leaves me feeling exhausted.  This time around had been particularly draining.

As I pull my books out of my locker, Mackenzie sidles up to me and leans against the locker neighboring mine a beaming smile spreading across her face.  Out of the corner of my eye, I spot her friends huddled together whispering and giggling.  Mackenzie was nice enough, but she was always surrounded by a group of girls who dissolve into giggles at the slightest provocation.  That was not nice, in fact it was downright annoying.

I put on my happy face as I shut my locker and greet her, “Good morning, Mackenzie.”  

Cue the giggling and eyelash fluttering.  I give her friends a smile and a wave as they depart down the hallway toward the library.  A group of girls, Freshmen by the look of them, scramble to get out of their way.  My face aches from the polite smiles I have been forcing on my face all week. 

Mackenzie leans over and hooks her arm around mine, her curly blonde hair brushing against my skin.  Her hair smells strongly of perfume.  The abundant scent is sharp in my nose, intensified by my raging headache.  Everything about Mackenzie is perfect and sunshine, from her shiny, highlighted blonde hair hanging down her back to the blinding gleam of her perfectly straight white teeth.  Even her voice is deceptively sweet and singsong, dripping with molasses, “Good morning.  Walk me to class.”  It was more of a command than a question.  It was only my second day and Mackenzie and her friends had already commandeered most of my time here.

I casually unwind myself from her surprisingly strong grip, giving her my best polite but regretful smile, “Actually, I can’t this morning.  I have to head over the administration office and see Mrs. Morrow, my last school sent in my transcripts late and my schedule got screwed up.  They called my mom this morning and said they finally came in so I have to get my schedule adjusted."  

"Oh, that really sucks.  Why don’t I come with you?” 

“Nah, it’s no big deal.”  Her perfect white smile falters and I quickly add, “I don’t want to make you late for first period.  I’m sure I can get everything straightened out this morning.”

She pouts, "Will we see you at lunch?"

At least I didn’t have to eat lunch alone as the new kid.  "Sure, I’ll see you later.”

It only takes Mrs. Morrow a few minutes to adjust my classes.  With my newly rearranged schedule in hand, I head to first period European History.  I’m early and only a smattering of students are in the room.  Having studied European History in Europe, this class should be a breeze.  I select a choice seat toward the back of the classroom near the windows.  It’s starting to drizzle and the pattering of the rain against the glass is soothing.  

I flip through the European History textbook before class begins.  The stained, yellowed pages of the dog eared textbook are filled with innocuous doodles and notes hastily scribbled in the margins from previous owners.  A steady stream of chatter fills the room as the time inches closer to the final bell.  I look up when a familiar scent wafts towards me.  Mackenzie is maneuvering her way past a pair of boys chatting by the door, using her hips to knock them out of her path.  One of them flashes her an annoyed look when he bumps into his desk, his books clattering to the ground.  She takes the empty desk right behind me, her glossy pink lips grinning from ear to ear as she sets her books down.

“Ohh, we’re in European History together.  We can study together.  Isn’t it great?  It’s going to be such an awesome senior year!”  Her eyes glaze over with that starry look that girls get when they start scheming.  Before I can reply, the bell rings shrilly quieting the classroom down.  Without skipping a beat, Mrs. Douglas starts reading off a faded notebook resting on the desk without ever leaving her chair.  Or varying her tone.  Or blinking.

Relieved that I don’t have to reply to Mackenzie’s declaration, I turn my attention to the front of the classroom.  My plan for senior year was for it to be as normal as possible.  Even though I would be going to college next year, Everest Heights was going to be our home now and I wanted it to feel that way instead of another layover.

My European History book is opened to a random page, partially covering my notebook.  I pretend to scribble notes down.  Instead, I start sketching out ideas for my next project.  My dad had just brought me some amazing materials to play with from his latest trip.

Without interrupting Mrs. Douglas’s steady droning, the classroom door swings open.  Everyone looks up at the disruption and then resume their looks of utter boredom toward the front of the room.  

Standing in the doorway is the most beautiful girl I have ever laid eyes on.  Dressed simply in a leather jacket and jeans, her skin is creamy, almost translucent and her face is framed by long dark hair, windswept and wet from the rain, little droplets of water dripping off the long strands.  Her eyes are a pale green that seem to glow against the dark backdrop of her hair.  She glances in my direction, a look of annoyance flashes across her face.  Just as quickly, it disappears as she makes her way to an empty desk across the room.  

Who is that girl?

Fallon

For once my alarm wakes me and I reach over and click it off.  I sit up but stay in bed.  It’s a miserable misty, gray morning.  Something was different about the dream last night.  What had changed?  What did it mean if it had?  I try to retrieve the details of the dream but the memory of it faded quickly after I woke up.  

Preoccupied by my analysis, I find myself running late to first period.  To really make my morning, it is still cold outside this morning but just warm enough for rain.  I pull up the hood of my jacket and run the entire way to school.  I slide through the door five minutes into class, my hair clinging to my face and water dripping off my hair and clothes.  Mrs. Douglas doesn't pause or even glance up from her notes.  

I am irritated to see Mackenzie, of all people, in my usual seat.  I settle for a seat in the other corner of the room.  As I pull off my wet jacket and take out my books, I notice the reason for Mackenzie being in my seat.  There's a new boy sitting in front of my usual seat.  He is looking at me with a curious expression on his face.  When our eyes meet, his lips lift into a slight smile before turning back toward Mrs. Douglas.  His eyes are the clearest shade of blue, his gaze penetrating straight through me.  For a moment, I feel a fluttering in my chest before I snuff out the reaction.