The Illusions of Brook Forbes - Beginnings

The First Day

The grey leather seat is hot against my bare legs from the late August heat, and the creases of my shorts slightly dig into my lower thigh with each pot hole we drive over in my dad's big Ford. My mom and dad are deep in a conversation about what to do on Mondays now that their kids were back in school, but they still had the days off. My mom wanted to clean and sleep in, while my dad wanted to watch movies and sleep in. After four red lights and a stop sign, they agreed to clean while watching movies. Sleeping in was not an option on school mornings.

My shirt felt snug against my armpits in the wet, hurricane season air. The walk from the Ford to school was not a walk so much as a swim, only I could breathe. I verbally groan in frustration as I feel my red hair grow thicker and thicker from the humidity with each step I take. I spent too long getting ready this groggy morning for all of my hard work to go to waste, so when I saw that students were allowed to go in the gym to wait for the first bell, a smile was plastered on my face. I immediately headed that way, following the path of dinosaur prints and posters of the 'Red Raptors' sports teams until the opened gym door allowed the cool rush of conditioned air to mesmerize me. It was safe to say that the gym was huge- we were a school of about 2,000 students, and the gym could hold up to 5,000 people just in case we ever needed it, which we didn't. I scanned the gym for my friends, well, mostly Trey because over the summer he grew almost a foot taller than the rest of us. After what felt like an eternity but was probably a grand total of ten seconds, I find my people and walk over with that big smile on my face once again. I say a strand of different hellos and hugged almost everyone, but as I went to question why Helia was not around, I heard fast footsteps and a high-pitched shriek as two arms swung around my neck from behind, causing both of us to fall into the protecting, and thankfully strong, arms of our friends. Helia kisses my cheek as an apology and left my back to go and stand with Todd, wrapping her arm around his mid back.

We chit-chat for a good ten minutes before the bell rings, signaling us to all part ways to our homerooms. We wave good bye as we leave the gym, and I stroll up the stairs on the far side of the school to make my way to Room 207, my home room for the next four years of my life. Everyone in my grade with the last name "F" is in my home room, and we'll share this class to make daily attendance easier on the school. As the next bell rings, a lady walks in and closes the door behind her. She looks about forty, maybe younger. Her mid-length dark brown hair lights up her bright blue eyes. Her pale face is slim and her clothes fit her body shape perfectly. For one moment, I think "wow, if only I could be her" but that moment is shortly lived by the opening of her mouth.

"Once the bell rings, you cannot and will not enter this classroom. You can go sit in the office and wait for first period to start, then allow that teacher to fix the attendance mistake. I do not accept tardiness in my class, ever." The words dripped from her mouth like water melting off of ice sickles that could fall at any moment. Her tone is stern and her voice is strong. I immediately realize that she is going to be a tough teacher, and I counted my blessings to know she is just my home room teacher this year, not an actual teacher for me. She was a senior-year math teacher, and I am now dreading the day I have any tests with her. Her desk tag says "Ms. Janice Honey" which is ironic since she does not seem very sweet at all.

We start with what Ms. Honey claims to be the normal "first day of a new school year" routine. We are issued planners that had the student hand book as well as pre-assigned dates to school events like breaks and assemblies. She goes through the planner part itself, and shows us how to use the planner, including the section of the entire school staff's emails in case we ever needed them. She honestly seems more bored than we are by now. We may only be freshman, but we each have used a planner before.

She moves on to discussing our school ID cards and lunch numbers. She walks around and gives us each a sticker with the bell schedule on it for the inside cover of our planner. Each time section has a long blank next to it, so I write in what subject I have for each section. In as neatly handwriting as I could, I write "homeroom, math, computer, english, science, lunch, history, acting, PE" and by the time I finish that, I notice that Ms. Honey talked for over 20 minutes. I only have three minutes to pack my things for the next bell to ring. As I start putting my things away, the kid next to me that I do not recognize stands up and knocks my desk with his bag, and my three pens that had not made it into my bag yet roll to the floor. He mutters a 'sorry' with bright red cheeks of embarrassment and hands them back to me without making eye contact. I try to say thank you, but it was probably not heard since the bell rang over my half apology. I quickly shove my pens into my bag, throw the bag over my shoulder, and race across school to math class.