Eastwood Academy

Chapter 5: Meeting Gavin

I feel oddly nervous as I stop outside room 451, checking again to ensure I have the right classroom. My history class is taught by man called Mr. Rogers. I managed to drag myself out of bed half an hour earlier than I wanted to give myself extra time to map my class route. Thank god I did because I got lost twice and had to ask a couple of scared-looking freshmen for directions. But so far I've been able to find all the right classrooms before the bell rings.

I pull open the door and walk into the classroom, relieved to see I'm not the only one who arrived early. A handful of students are already seated, but I don't know any of them. As I scan the room I notice there are names on each desk. Apparently, we've been assigned seats.

I look around the room until I spot mine, and then make my way to my desk. Seated next to me is a slender boy with blue eyes and dark brown shaggy hair, which is falling into his eyes. He's tall enough that he has to stretch his legs out from under his desk. Otherwise, he'd be cramped. He's cute. Really cute. Not as good looking as River or Tyler, but easy enough on the eyes that I'm too busy looking at him to wonder who has been assigned to sit on my other side. He smiles at me as I slide into my seat next to him and set my coffee cup on my desk. People here are definitely friendlier than I was anticipating.

"Hi, I'm Gavin," my neighbor introduces himself. "I'm sorry, I don't remember your name. Have we had class together before?"

"I'm Brooklyn," I tell him. "I just transferred, that's why I don't look familiar."

"Oh, okay, that makes sense. How's your first day going?" Gavin asks. He has a warm, easy demeanor.

"Pretty good so far," I answered. This is the kind of standard small talk that I usually try to avoid because it makes me nervous, but on this occasion, I'm grateful for it. I'm about to ask Gavin if he's ever been in a class taught by Mr. Rogers, and if so, is he a good teacher? But before I can verbalize the question, River walks in the door. I try not to watch him as he moves. However, I can't help but stare at his graceful stride as he crosses the room and sits down. Right next to me.

I stare ahead and fight the urge to fidget. As he sits down, Gavin looks up in recognition. I make the mistake of looking at him right as he looks in our direction, and our eyes meet. I'm desperately searching for something to say to him so that I don't look like a complete idiot. River looks at me and then slides his gaze to the cup of coffee sitting in front of me, eyeing it like it's a public hazard. I'm about to offer up another floundering apology for the coffee incident, but Gavin speaks before I can.

"Hey River," he greets him. The words are friendly enough, but his tone is cold, and all the warmth is gone from his eyes. As River's gaze slides past me to him, I feel a mix of relief and disappointment.

"Gavin," River replies in that same curt tone that Gavin just used.

"Did you have a nice summer?" Gavin asks in a polite but restrained voice as if it's taking a great deal of willpower for him to be civil toward River.

"Yeah, how was yours?" River asks, sounding like he could care less.

"Fine, thanks," Gavin replies. "Any fun plans to start off senior year?"

"Tyler's having a kickback for the committee this weekend," River says.

"So, a total rager then?" Gavin asks, and River laughs dryly.

"Yeah, something like that," River says.

"Not wasting any time getting back to it then," Gavin comments and then turns toward me. "This is Brooklyn; by the way, she just transferred."

"Yes, we met briefly. I should warn you that you're sitting next to a walking hazard. I hope you don't like your shoes too much. Brooklyn here has a talent for spilling things on people. If you're planning to go to the party this weekend, I'd think twice about bringing her. Her baseline sober is pretty bad. I'd hate to see what she's like drunk," River informs Gavin casually as my face blazes even hotter.

A talent for spilling things on people!? Based on what?? A single incident? I'm about to protest being labeled a "walking hazard" but River's not done yet.

"Do us all a favor and throw that out," he says, nodding towards my coffee. "I don't want to have to replace my entire wardrobe just because I got assigned to sit next to you," River says to me, a mocking edge in his voice.

His expression is restrained, but there's an amused gleam in his eyes that lets me know he's enjoying this. Gavin looks ready to cut into River, and I'm about to really give him a piece of my mind when Mr. Rogers enters the room. He's a tall, lean man with a beard, glasses, and a sweater vest.

"Good morning, Eastwood students! Are you excited to be seniors?" he asks as he makes his way to the front of the room and grabs a large stack of papers off of his desk. A round of cheering erupts to answer his question. Making his way down the rows of desks, he deposits a packet of paper for each student. The paper on the top is the syllabus, and underneath it is our first assignment.

"You will be assigned a variety of solo work and group projects this year," Mr Rogers informs us. "I know all of you are very excited for your final year and that I don't have to remind you how much your grades matter, especially in this first semester. Without further ado, let's get started." I pull out my notebook and a pencil, as does Gavin. River sits back and links his hands together behind his head as if this is a kickback, not a class.

Mr. Rogers spends the first few minutes of class telling us how much our first semester counts for college applications. Then, he moves on to the syllabus and the topics we'll cover. I take so many notes that my hand soon cramps. Out of the corner of my eye, I see River suppressing laughter at my diligent note-taking. Clenching my jaw in frustration, I do my best to ignore him and pay attention to Mr. Rogers.

When class ends, River rises smoothly out of his seat and makes for the exit. I notice multiple sets of eyes following his exit, along with a few longing stares.

"Don't worry about River. He's not worth your time," Gavin tells me as I gather my things and we walk into the hall.

"Is he always that rude?" I ask.

"He's arrogant, but that was a little aggressive even for him," Gavin says. "River's known for being volatile, but not over something as dumb as spilling coffee. Maybe he just woke up on the wrong side of the bed."

"I hope he's not like that all semester," I say.

"Just ignore him, and he'll probably ignore you, too," Gavin advises me. By this point, we've reached the end of the hall, and both of us turn to go in separate directions. I have Art History next as an elective added to pad my resume and give me a broad range of curriculum. Then, I'm off to meet my guidance counselor, Amanda, in person to see if she can help me sort through the wreckage of my high school transcripts.