Brutus

Act One, Scene 1

I look around the classroom, unsure of what to expect. Creative writing sounded like a fun class, but my feet tap the floor nervously. Is Ms. Loveless as eccentric as Sammy said she was? Will we get to attend a poetry slam later on? 

The girl sitting up and to the left turns around. I've seen her in the school halls, chatting with the thespians. Her curls make it impossible to see the boy in front of her. They expand recklessly in all directions, trying to touch as much of the world as possible.

"Feel like a senior yet?"

She says this is a way that is both asking a question and telling a joke.

I smile, aware that my smile is awkward, lopsided. Uncomfortable.

"Some days I swear I'm a sophomore. Crazy how fast high school's flown by."

She returns my clumsy smile with an effortless one, and I know I've found a progressive poet. We exchange names. Her name is Nancy, but she insists I call her Nance, as if we are already great friends.

Progressive poets like her write poems to be read. They go to protests and rallies and know the best local shops. They have eclectic music tastes and charming personalities. They share their flaws with the world and openly embrace change. As high school tropes come, progressive poets are pretty chill. Their careless ease is intimidating, but it's genuine.

Nancy begins to ask me about my summer, but is interrupted by the ping of the bell. She shrugs and turns around, listening to morning announcements.

"Gooooood morning Edgewood Lions!" A student body officer shouts into the tinny intercom. "Boy, are we excited to see you back in school! I for one am glad to be out of the sun, what was up with all that hot weather?"

"No need to go to Florida with sun like that!" A second voice cuts in. "Before we get too excited, please stand for the Pledge."

We stand and recite the pledge in varying degrees of monotone.

"Alright," The first voice takes over again, "Now for a few items of business." At this, I stop listening. The rest of the class does too, except for a few freshmen, eagerly grasping at the advice the officers are giving. I smirk and silently wish them good luck. A couple minutes pass by and the student officers' sign off with the year's slogan (unite the pride). The elusive Ms. Loveless has yet to appear, so I grab headphones and wait.

After a few minutes a boy calls "We can leave after twenty minutes if the teacher isn't here, right?" Amateur. I roll my eyes. Soon, Nancy walks to my desk and resumes the conversation.

"So how did you spend the break?" She asks.

"I didn't do anything special, just slept in and went to work."

Someone give me an award for the Most Interesting Man Alive. "What about you?"

Her face lights up, she has been waiting to answer this question. "I spent the first few weeks volunteering in Peru, which was so cool. I think sloths are my favorite animals. Anyway, then I kicked around a couple weeks, went to see purelylilac (I assume that was the name of some music group), and then spent the rest of the summer on my great aunts farmland." She scrunches her nose. "Don't try to milk a goat. It's not worth it."

"I'll keep that in mind."

I want to keep the conversation going, but I can't think of anything to say. (Un?)Fortunately the door opens and Nancy slips back into her seat.

"Welcome to creative writing!" A feminine voice says, and a woman (I can only assume its Ms. Loveless) waltzes in. She is wearing a brightly colored dress that has cartoon weasels (ferrets?) covering it. My first thought is wondering how she found the dress, and my second is that only a Very Interesting person would wear something like that.