My Missing Piece

Part One

Coraline Price stood awkwardly in the middle of a high school corridor. Students streamed past her, their new shoes squeaking against the recently washed linoleum. Chatter streamed past her and bounced off of the bland, beige walls. Dark blue lockers were lining the walls as far as the eyes could see, broken into sections by heavy wood doors leading into classrooms. Coraline glanced at her phone in her hand. She had a picture of her schedule as well as a map to the school pulled up. Cautiously, she began to make her way to room 1015. She gave a silent cheer when she found the open door into the large classroom. She silently slid into a seat in the back, dropping her gray messenger bag onto the floor next to her. She was thankful that the school allowed bags, meaning she didn't have to hunt for her locker between every class. She also thanked whoever's idea it was to do block scheduling, meaning she only had to bring half of her textbooks with her.

As the clock neared 7:45, more students began to file into the classroom. Coraline frowned slightly as people chose their desks to sit next to specific people. They already had their places, and had found them in the first half of the school year. That's what ends up happening when you move to a new school over break. Everyone has already made friends. There was an established hierarchy; the athletic white kids with the most money were at the top, and mingled only with the middle-class ethnic kids and their friends of various ethnicities. Everyone else--the emos, the goths, the gays, the nerds, the geeks, the loud, the quiet--were pushed off to the side, and made friends with whomever.

Coraline sighed and pulled a spiral bound notebook from her back. A black ballpoint pen was clipped to the cover, which had the best pictures she took of her old town taped to the front. The metal spine creaked as she opened it. It was separated into sections by various colored paper clips, which held pictures corresponding to the scripts and short stories in each section. She hummed quietly to herself as she flipped to the most recent story. It was just shy of a page long. She reread what she had written and glanced at a picture of a tree tunnel she had walked through on the way to school. She gave a silent thanks to her dad for getting her an instant camera for her birthday. Freshly inspired, she quickly began to continue where she had left off in her story; small, neat words flowed easily onto the blank sheet of notebook paper.

Leaves crunched louder beneath their feet as they picked up speed. They could barely hear their pursuer behind them through their heavy breathes. Ingrid fell with a cry as she tripped over a long root. Asa cursed loudly but helped her up nonetheless. He gripped her hand tightly in his own, practically dragging her along behind him. He took note of her bloodied knee and forehead. He would take care of her. They just needed to get to the cabin first. He could see it in the distance, so close but so far. He glanced behind him, and screeched when he came face-to-face to their pursuer. The tall man grabbed Ingrid's hand and yanked her from Asa's grasp. Enraged, he pulled back and--

The bell rang--a loud, shrill sound--and broke Coraline's concentration. She muttered under her breath, but still stuffed her notebook into her notebook into her bag. The principal's voice echoed through the classroom. Students groaned as they stood for the pledge of allegiance, but droned through it nonetheless. The teacher screamed attendance over the principal's voice after the moment of silence. People began to chat once again afterwards; the teacher didn't care and simply played on her phone as the boys started to screw around. Some things will never change, thought Coraline. She pulled her iPod from her bag and placed in her earbuds. Her head was already starting to pound from the sheer idiocy of the male population. She was thankful for the indie music forcing out the sounds of the rest of the world.

A frown played across her features when she watched the other students begin to leave. At her old school, homeroom lasted half an hour, and was similar to a second study hall. She assumed that it was mainly used to take attendance and slung her bag over her shoulder. Following the stream of students, she made her way to her photography class. At least passing period was ten minutes. She would never make it to her next period on time otherwise in the giant maze of a school.