The Price of Blood

Chapter 5

"Come in."                                                                                                                                                                                            I push open the door and my eyes almost pop out of my sockets.  The walls of the room are covered with pictures of American Football Teams.  Every single team I've ever heard of plaster the wall, from the Green Bay Packers to the Tennessee Titans.  J.J Watt, Aaron Rodgers and Tom Brady are the most prominent photos of players on the wall.  However, the biggest thing is a huge NFL wall-chart attached to pages and pages of game analysis.  How can Mr James have time for all of this NFL stuff while running a school in the daytime?  The man himself has lots of essays covering his desk and he looks like he is doing work, but when I move closer I actually see he is annotating a picture of Demarco Murray with pros and cons of his play last game.  Mr James is in his late 20's and is quite attractive.  He is wearing a spotless suit, but I see a small badge of the logo of the New York Jets on his blazer.  He looks up to see me staring at him in utter bewilderment and he turns slightly pink.

"Hello Miss Groves." he says, "Please, have a seat."                                                                                                           I oblige and sit down on the small chair on the other side of his desk.  He puts away the picture of Demarco Murray, embarrassed.                                                                                                                                                  "Welcome to Rocky Green.  Usually I would say that I hoped you've enjoyed your first day, but under the circumstances," he surveys me with a slightly amused look, "I think that is not necessary today."       "Thank you." I say politely. He smiles and reaches under the table, pulling out a brown envelope.            "More America Football players?" I ask.  I cannot help myself.  The idea of a Headmaster liking American Football is preposterous to me.  Mr James looks at me, half-amused, half-serious.                       "No.  But I would like to review your subject choices, is that alright with you?" he asks.                                  I nod and he fishes out my file from the envelope.  I see my name, date of birth, address, parent's names, parent's occupation, emergency contact, health issues and all the other possible things that a nosy headmaster would want to know.  He puts on his glasses and I watch his eyes survey the section entitled "Subject Choices".  He raises his eyebrows and then puts the paper down, impressed.                "Well, you certainly have gone all guns blazing with your choices," he comments, "With a timetable like this, you will have almost no time for extra-curricular activities.  Is that what you want?"                      I suppress a laugh.  That was actually one of the main things I wanted to do.  Not do any other clubs.    "I don't know Sir," I respond, "I guess the most important thing about school is school.  That's why we are educated and have lessons."                                                                                                                                          "Yes," Mr James agrees, "But there should also be time for fun activities.  There are so many to get involved in, all of which you can sign up in the student block for."                                                                             I'm only really half-listening.  I really don't want to be tuned in to some NFL fanatic who tells me to do more fun stuff.  Fun stuff is fun, but so is school work.  Well, some school work.  Not Trig.  Mr James gives me another peculiar look and then tells me to have a nice rest of the day.                                                    "Oh and um..." he suddenly lowers his voice, "Please don't mention my decor to your homeroom.  I wouldn't thank you for it."                                                                                                                                                            I nod quickly, realize I am dismissed and walk out of the door.

The rest of the day goes by at a snails pace.  U.S. History and Government was the only actually interesting lesson.  We wrote an essay entitled "The Emancipation Proclamation: Freedom or Damnation?"  and had to try and explain to a confused old cranky teacher (also called Mr Grieg) that The Emancipation Proclamation was released by Abraham Lincoln, not Barack Obama.  Many people wrote huge answers, filled with questions related to the balance of politics and practicality and also answers with whole sections of the Proclamation written out in full.  I was praised for my "beautiful style" and "craftsmanship of my paragraphs".    In Language Arts, we learnt how to speak in Romanian, something which I never thought I  could (and never wanted to) do.  Spit sprayed from people's mouths and irritated swearing rose out from the class.  In Health, we answered the question about "Will there be antibiotic resistance to penicillin in the future" and got antigens and antibodies mixed up, even though we had been doing them for about 3 years in Health.  In Home Economics, I burnt myself on the hob and had to go and see the Matron for the second time that day.  My chicken and mushroom tart got burnt as well and it tasted like grey grit.                                      

However, what surprised the most about the day was that everyone seemed to like me.  No-one gave me the hard stares I've been so used to in all my time at every single school I've been to.  One of the reasons probably why was because of my passing out fiasco.  Everyone seemed to know about it.  Most of them constantly asked me whether I was OK.  Only a few people were constantly telling me there should be a medical team by my side ever minute.  The homeroom was full of kind words for me.  However, no-one picked me out, which was really nice.  Well, I say everyone.  Jake Dean just stared at me throughout the whole lunch break.  His sister, Jess I think her name was, was trying to draw his attention to the conversation, but alas to no avail.  His eyes had almost sunk into mine and my thoughts were blurry and fuzzy. I felt like his face was imprinted into my skull.  Such a gorgeous face mind you.  But still.  It made me feel sick, his beautiful eyes swirling around my head.  But apart from him, everything went fine.  The day could have been a whole more shitty.

As I sit down on the bus after the busy school day, I feel my phone buzzing like crazy.  I don't usually get texts on the first day of school.  One of the crazy things about Rocky Green is that everyone seems to find out everyone's contact numbers, even before they have met them.  I grab my phone from my pocket and almost cry out in amazement, before a scowl paints my face with fury.  Some unknown number has texted me 30 times today!  This is ridiculous!  I show Harriet and Jamie, who both raise their eyebrows at me.  Harriet indicates me to look at the messages.  Shaking slightly with pure anger and disgust, I unlock my phone and go onto my messages.  There is a sudden blinding flash of light and I squint to see.  The light was almost toxic and my eyes are hurting so much that I can barely look back at my phone screen.  When I do look however, all of the messages bar one are deleted.  Confused and tired, I click on the unknown number.  I drop my phone.  I hear the smash of glass across the floor.  Harriet and Jamie look at me, bewildered.  For on that screen, the words "You know who I am.  You can't run forever.  You love me really.  And I love you too." cut into my chest like knifes.

Tonight, I will dream of Jake Dean.