The Sky is Falling

Chapter Four - Reagan Lovejoy

"Show me a starry-eyed kid, I will break his jaw"

Friday, May 22nd

6:30 A.M.

There's nothing maple-ridgey about Maple Ridge High. Ohio isn't even known for maple syrup production, let alone maple trees. Even Aileen High School would've been better.

I start my morning by doing the same things I do every day before school. Brush my hair and teeth, and stuff, and do my mundane little makeup routine. My mother taught me how when I was in the seventh grade. She only decided to teach me because she thought I would be all over the boys in my grade. I couldn't have cared less about boys in seventh grade, and I still don't now. All they care about is video games and ranking girls by looks. The girls weren't ahead by very far in the race, so ever since I moved here, I've been a bit of a loner. Not in the sense that I'm a loser who can't make any friends, I just don't want any friends. Apparently, I come off as "aggressive." Whatever. I couldn't care less about what the dunderheads at my school think.

I finish doing my makeup and go down the hall to the kitchen. My house is pretty small.

My parents are sitting at the dining table, eating breakfast together. Gross.

"Speak of the devil," my dad says. He thinks he's a comedian or something.

I sit down and stare at the scrambled eggs my mother cooked. I'd rather eat worm cheese (and yes, that's real). I put some hot sauce on it to liven it up. My mother makes a face like she's going to start blowing chunks any second now.

"Reagan, that is inhumane," she scoffs.

I shrug. "What you call 'inhumane,' I call fine dining." They stare at me like I've got something growing out of my face. "Take a picture, it'll last longer," I suggest.

"Where did we go wrong, Laura?" my dad asks. They laugh like they heard something funny. I get up from the table and get ready to go to school. Yippee. I grab my bag and bike and get out. Most kids are just handed a brand new car on their sixteenth birthday as if they grow on trees. I, for one, have always had to get to school via bicycle, even though I'm in twelfth grade.

It's not all that bad, though. There's a strange sort of peace that blankets over me while I'm riding. I pull into the school parking lot and lock my bike. Reluctantly, I walk into the building. Immediately, I see a familiar face. Elliott Moore. Wonderful. He makes eye contact and starts coming my way. As usual, I have to resist the urge to pour bleach into my eye sockets. I spin on my heels and start walking in the other direction. He calls my name so I accelerate to a brisk speed-walk. He abruptly puts his hand on my shoulder to stop me.

"Reagan, can I talk to you for a second?" Unwillingly, I turn around to meet his eyes. I smell the familiar scent of fabric softener and fresh-cut grass.

"What do you want, Moore? And make it quick, I don't want people thinking we're friends or something," I tell him.

"Have you seen Zach today?"

"Who?" I ask, genuinely confused.

He scoffs as if this 'Zach' is the most influential, well-known person in the Milky Way.

"Zachary Baker."

I give him a blank stare.

"Y'know, Asian, black hair, like, six feet tall, plays basketball?"

"Ohhh, right! Silly me! How could I have forgotten?-No."

"Seriously? Why wouldn't he show up to school?"

"Probably to get away from you."

"Ha ha, very funny," he says as I walk away from him.

"Oh and by the way," I call out to him over my shoulder. "I heard all about that note you passed, Moore."