Welcome to Deadwood

Chapter One

   You are bigger than this place, you shouldn’t be nervous, this place is nothing. 

   Despite the number of times I had recited this over in my head, I was still anxious, I was still watching my reflection in the mirror trying to fix any imperfections, trying to make myself look seemingly uninteresting, a way for me to blend into the background. I knew high school and it was not the place to stand out, people who stood out got eaten by high school; high school was so terribly unforgiving. 

   I had already changed my shirt three times by the time my mother knocked on my bedroom door, warning me that I was at risk of running late for my first day. As appealing as this sounded, being late to my first homeroom would only make me stick out all the more, stumbling into the classroom, fumbling for words, and blushing. This was how I had started at my first high school, back in Texas, and it had taken years to recover. In fact, it was only a few days before my parents sprung the move on me that I had begun to think about how content I was, contemplating how easy high school had finally become. 

   “Ethan, your mother’s prepared y’all a beautiful breakfast, get down here before you have to leave for school,” my dad called from the kitchen, prompting an exasperated groan. 

   I cocked my head to one side and messed up my hair, grimacing and looking down at my brown boots; the suede was scuffed from the years I had worn them around Austin and at the ranch I had helped out at on weekends. It was sad in a way, that after all the years of owning them, this was where they had ended up. They, like me, were useless away from Texas, they belonged in Texas. 

   “I’m sorry,” I sighed regretfully, grabbing my rucksack from by my desk and hurrying out of the room, skidding along the hallway and down the stairs, taking them two at a time. 

   “Boy, if you keep leaping down those stairs like that I’m sure you’ll break ‘em in half,” my mother scolded as she placed a plate of food in my seat at the table, bacon and eggs, a serving of hash browns on the side. 

   “Hmm,” I munched loudly, completely disregarding what my mother had just said, “this is so good, thanks, mom.” 

   “Whatever anyone else says, your mother sure can cook one hell of a breakfast,” my dad mumbled, also preoccupied by the stack of food she had piled onto his plate. 

   “So,” she said slyly, sitting besides me and smoothing my hair back off my face, “is my young man excited for his first day at school?” 

   “No,” I answered bluntly, reaching for my glass of orange juice, only for my mom to slide it out of reach. 

   “Oh come on now, I thought we talked about this,” she frowned. 

   “We did, my judgement remains unchanged,” I replied, leaning over the table, trying to stretch out for the glass tumbler. “I’m just being less vocal about it, I thought that’s what you wanted.” 

   “We wanted you to realize what a great opportunity this could be,” my father took a sip of his black coffee, wincing as it scorched the back of his throat. 

   “Well, how can I do that when you’ve moved me from one of the greatest cities in the United States of America, to this place, to a population of three hundred and ninety five people. Hell, mom, back home, Eleventh Grade was bigger than that.” 

   “Stop,” she held her finger against my chest, her eyes flaming. This was when you knew to back off, this was when you knew to stop talking, regardless of whether you still believed you were right. “This is your home now, Ethan. I’m sorry we had to move you away from your school and your friends, but we are only trying to make the best out of a bad situation.”