24 Hours

Chapter 4: Some Days...

It's 5:30 in the afternoon.
I just got home from a long day of school. Specifically, lectures, whispers, and teachers constantly saying, "Well, Mr. Baxman, don't expect privileges on your first day." And how do I choose to spend my free time before tomorrow?
In my room. Alone. Trying to ignore the raging fit my dad is having downstairs. (Honestly, I don't even think he had a reason to get mad. He just randomly exploded into anger.)
I sighed and looked down at the mountain of homework before me. God, Mom used to make me finish my homework the instant I got home.
Mom...
A stab of nostalgia takes my mind off Mount Algebra. I never actually got to know my mom. It just seemed so sudden, how she was talking to my dad, and about an hour later, she wasn't there. My dad told me she was gone, but I never knew how.
Having dealt with enough emotions today (solely anger), I turn back to my assignments. The next few hours is just me filling out chemistry, making guesses at my English, and listening to my dad screech, "...AND THEN HE TOLD ME, 'IF YOU'RE GONNA PARK YOUR CAR THERE...'" to nobody in particular.
I suppose my day could've gone better. Basically, this is a summary:
Parse and I were rushing to our first period classes. After the run-in with Vincent, we were falling five minutes behind, and if we didn't make it before the second bell rang, I swore Parse would've had a heart attack.
"Thank God we don't have Mr. What's-His-Name today," I muttered to Parse.
He grinned. "Most kids don't like him. I'm glad to know you're not any different. Convenient how our schedules are the exact same, huh?"
"Heh heh, yeah..." I chuckled, unsure whether I was truly happy or not.
The two of us walked into a classroom that neared the end of a hall. Inside were two dozen kids and an elephant in the back, holding a small kid's glasses and spitting on them, saying, "I washed your glasses for you, nerd, now pay up."
Yep. Vincent Malasky is in my first period class. As if the encounter less then ten minutes ago didn't make things awkward.
Unfortunately for Parse and I, the only two open seats left in the small room were the ones on the left and right of Vincent. I chose to sit east of him, and a sharp impact glanced off my skull.
"Hey, Alec," he sneered grotesquely.
I groaned. "What do you want, you one-ton tub of butter?"
"Funny how things ended up in your favor earlier. Stick around more, and I'll show you how they're SUPPOSED to be," he snorted, picking at some belly button lint through a hole in his massive shirt.
"Yeah? How's that?" I replied bitterly. "Are you gonna 'sic a teacher on US?"
"Don't talk back to me, Alec, or I'll target you instead of Farce here."
"Bring it on."
Just then a tall, extremely skinny man in a plaid shirt and khakis strode into the room, a pair of horn-rimmed glasses bouncing off his owl-like face. (Who did this guy think he was, Harry Potter in disguise?)
"Settle down, class," he commanded in a shrill, nasal tone, even though nobody was talking when he came in. He then peered down at where I was sitting. "I see we have a new student. Name?"
"Smart Alec," cackled Vincent. He was the only one laughing.
The teacher frowned. "Very funny, Malasky, but I was asking the one to your right, unless you're aiming for detention. Name?" he repeated.
"Chris Baxman," I said casually.
"Well, Mr. Baxman, I am Professor Starkwell. I expect full participation in any task you are given. Otherwise, you will suffer the consequences," he stated in a pompous manner. "Do you know what class I teach?"
Since Parse and I shared classes, he told me exactly when I had my classes, and what they were. "English, Mr. Starkwell," I replied.
"Very good, Mr. Baxman," he shrilled. "At least one of my newer students pays attention to my class. Anyway," he said, motioning to the rest of the class, "today we are beginning our analysis on poetry. Complete these worksheets by the end of the period, and refer to me for help, though you needn't any. Then read pages 296-315 in your textbooks, and your homework is to write a two-page summary based on the characteristics of the article you have read. That is all for this class period."
After passing out all of the papers, Starkwell returned to his desk and pulled out a thick novel, of which he started reading. (I actually thought, for a second, he and Parse were related.)
Turning to my worksheet, I worked for about five minutes before a wet wad of paper splattered onto my shoulder. Brushing it off, I tried to ignore it, but my reaction failed to please when another hit my cheek.
I turned towards Vincent. "Is this some kind of joke?"
"What's the matter, Alec?" he simpered, with fake sympathy in his voice. "Don't like it when someone's botherin' you for a change?"
"Your loss," I muttered before turning back to my assignment.
"Mr. Baxman!" Professor Starkwell said, glaring at me. "Detention for a week. You should know better than to be talking in my class."
Dumbstruck, a million thoughts filled my mind. Most of them involved flipping a desk or grabbing Starkwell's book and trying to shove it up Vincent's squashed nose. I heard uncovered laughing to my left.
English ended much too slowly for me, but I was grateful for it. Vincent was snorting and guffawing for the entire class, occasionally giggling, "Alec got what he deserved, didn't he?"
Parse tagged alongside me. "You okay?"
"Yeah, I guess," I replied. "It's just detention, and it doesn't start till next week."
His eyes widened. "You must feel so scared, going to detention. Just to think of the things it does to you..."
At first I thought he was joking, but going back to earlier moments, I was pretty sure he was being serious. "So, did you think the homework was a bit overboard?"
"Nah," he answered. "Just wait till you get to the rest of your classes."
He wasn't kidding. Flashing back to my room, I realized that English actually didn't pile on the homework NEARLY as much as my other subjects of the day. As if going to Starkwell's torture chamber with a five-hundred-pound idiot wasn't enough, suddenly I had three more classes after that.
After the English, however, the rest of my classes were kind of a blur. I'm not one of those guys who never lets go of things like this, but that one peeved me a little. To get punished for murmuring a few things while a moron busts his guts for an hour and gets off scot-free was beyond stupid.
Out of nowhere, my dad slammed open the door, looking the same as he had this morning. I saw some cigarettes tangled in his beard, guilty as usual.
"CHRIS!" he roared. "WHY ISN'T YOUR-"
(He screamed a bunch of cuss words, more than I could count)
"-HOMEWORK DONE!?"
"Dad, when you get ten pounds of useless paper and you have to fill out everything on them, do you think you could do it in an hour?" I sighed.
"SHUT UP, KID!" he yelled, slapping me squarely on my face. "THAT BETTER BE FINISHED IN ONE MORE HOUR, OR YOU'RE NOT EATING TILL BREAKFAST!"
He stormed out, not even bothering to close the door. I simply just turned back to the nightstand I was using for my desk.
Some days...

Author's Note:
Hello, Scribes! I want to apologize for not updating recently; I was gathering material for a collection of poetry: Souls of the Forgotten. Feel free to check that out! Also, I wanted to thank you guys for 200 reads! It's not big, but for me, it's INCREDIBLE! Remember to pay a visit to my sister (Dragonshadowhunter) or a few other honorable mentions (drew2020, Laurenthewizard, izzy the frizzy (sorry if I got that wrong), weirdmagicwitch). They aren't huge authors, just like me! That's all I've got to say; comment on what you think, or become a Scribe today by following! Until then, however... KEEP WRITING!