My Year in Chicago - Carl Gallagher

Ending the first day

By the time the last bell rang, I was so ready to get out of there. My brain was fried from all the new faces and information. It felt like the longest day of my life. I stuffed my books into my backpack and hurried down the crowded hallway, weaving through groups of students who seemed to know exactly where they were going. Meanwhile, I still felt completely lost.

My locker combination was starting to come easier, at least. I grabbed what I needed, shut the door, and leaned against it, waiting for Julien. He'd texted earlier saying he'd be late—something about football practice running long. Of course, he'd get caught up in his own stuff and leave me hanging.

I sighed, scrolling through my phone to kill time. The noise of the hallway buzzed around me—people laughing, talking, calling out to friends. I glanced up for a second, not really paying attention, until a group of guys by the door caught my eye.

One of them stood out. He had short, messy brown hair and was dressed in a dark jacket, with a hood peeking out from underneath. He wasn't as loud as the rest of his friends, but there was something about him—the way he leaned against the wall, arms crossed, looking effortlessly cool. He had this quiet confidence, like he didn't need to try hard to be noticed.

And I noticed him.

I watched for a second longer, curious, until one of his friends laughed and said, "Carl, man, you coming over later or what?"

Carl.

That name hit me like a brick. This was *Carl Gallagher*, the guy I was supposed to tutor in French. I didn't expect him to look like this. He wasn't scrawny like I'd imagined; he had this kind of tough edge to him. His hair was longer than the buzz cut I'd heard about—more grown out now, a little wild, but it suited him. There was something sharp in his eyes too, like he'd seen more than most people his age.

I leaned back against the lockers, pretending to check my phone again, but I kept listening.

"Yeah, I'll be there," Carl replied, his voice low and casual. He barely looked at his friends as he spoke, like he wasn't too invested in their conversation. It was strange how calm he seemed, considering how rowdy the rest of them were.

I wanted to walk up to him, maybe introduce myself. I mean, we were going to spend time together soon enough. But something held me back. Maybe it was the way he seemed so at ease in his group, like he was part of a world I didn't fit into. Or maybe it was just the first-day nerves still clinging to me.

I took one last glance at him before the honk of a car horn snapped me out of it. Julien was finally here. I sighed, feeling a weird sense of relief, and made my way outside.

The cool air hit me as soon as I stepped through the doors. The parking lot was thinning out as students headed home or to wherever they spent their afternoons. Julien's car was parked by the curb, his sunglasses on like he was too cool for this. I rolled my eyes and slid into the passenger seat.

"How was your first day?" he asked, glancing over at me.

I shrugged. "It was fine. You?"

"Same old," he said with a smirk. "You make any friends?"

I gave him a look. "It was the first day, Julien. It's not like I'm going to magically have a group of friends already."

"Just asking." He cranked up the music, and we pulled out of the lot.

As we drove home, my mind drifted back to Carl. It was weird—how I'd already seen him, heard him laugh, before our tutoring sessions had even started. I wondered what it would be like to work with him. Would he be this cool, distant guy who couldn't care less about school? Or was there something more to him?