Near Touch

Chapter 1: Caleb Appears

Amy thought that there was absolutely nothing that she couldn't see coming her way. Until it was too late to think otherwise.

She was confident enough. Maybe even a touch more than necessarily healthy. She foresaw the grade that would stare at her angrily from the top of her most recent history assignment. Amy predicted the question Mr. Hanes posed in literature correctly, but failed to answer it so. Her thoughts on the matter differed greatly from his - as his response elucidated in his drawling, dull baritone.

She blew a long strand of hair away from her face, contemplating again whether she should tread the diplomatic route. When the bell signaling the end of the class rang, Amy wanted to be among the first students out of the door.

"Miss Irvine, a moment please?" Mr. Hanes called out.

Amy stopped. She cursed herself for wondering if this would happen and turned on the spot. Her fleeting screwed up expression was replaced by a practiced look of polite expectance.

"Your answers border on two facts. Either you have not read The Crucible, or you vehemently disagree with the popular opinion on it. Be careful." He regarded her with acute apathy, his round glasses perched crookedly on his nose. Amy considered his opinion before quickly disregarding it with a wave of her hand.

"As long as you teach this class, I will take my chances Mr. Hanes," she said indifferently, not wishing to discuss it any further. Mr. Hanes unashamedly disliked his own subject but was not above the usual hypocrisy of teachers and forced his students to love it. A small town in northern Georgia could hardly be expected to be a radical example of novel educational practices. Sirencester High School was no exception.

Amy did not claim to be an overachiever but she was not too bad.

Bored with the proceedings of an extra slow day, she looked around. The halls of the school were filled with people scrambling to get to their respective final classes of the day.

Amy leaned against her locker, pulling her Atlanta Braves cap lower on her forehead. She closed her eyes and the chaotic sounds of slamming lockers, shuffling feet, buzzing conversations, and the odd shrieking laughter filled her ears. Before she knew it, an unnecessarily cheerful voice shattered her peaceful torpor.

"Ames, you are going to be so proud of this bad boy," Gemma said.

Amy straightened up and smiled down at her. She looked at the B+ Gemma was brandishing in her face. "Impressive. Now you can brag about being almost as dumb as the other nine hundred and eighty-one people in this place."

Gemma pretended to look miffed. But before Amy could take the sting out of the jibe, a puzzled look appeared on her face and she asked, "Wait, does that include the teachers too?"

Amy shook her head and chuckled. She looked into the sincere brown eyes of her friend and weaved her arm through hers. "I would very much like to say yes, but I won't. I am proud of you, Gemma," she said, beaming with earnest admiration.

Together, they made their way to History. She set the pace and Gemma followed, another common occurrence. Amy never doubted the pattern she had become so good at analyzing. She saw Henry striding towards them and like clockwork his eyes caught up with Gemma's and a slow smile crept across his face. Both of them were head over heels for each other.

Older but not necessarily wiser, Henry had been a notorious party animal since his freshman year. Now however, those days were behind him. The death of his grandmother, the formidable Mrs. Wigmore, had left a gaping hole in the small-town community of Sirencester and an equally deep impact on Henry.

His senior year now included just one blonde, petite and chirpy indulgence. Gemma was smitten the moment she had seen him playing beer pong with his buddies at what she and Amy remembered as their first high school party. Curly-haired, tall and popular, he had been 'too cool' for her back then. But Gemma had persevered and here they were.