Brutus

Act One, Scene 2

I wake up five minutes before my alarm goes off, face crusted with dry tears. I hit snooze before realizing how pointless it is. Stumbling to the bathroom, it occurs to me that today is only Tuesday. How long the week already feels. I wash my face, attempt to style my hair, and try to pick out the day's outfit. A blank slate. I grab a floral button-down, some black skinny jeans, and a smoothie.

Today I am environmentally conscious, so I walk to school. I know I might be late, but the morning is so warm and comfortable. The smells of dew and summer air mingle lightly. I pull my shoes off, relishing the squish of mud and grass beneath my toes. I can't be bothered to hurry. I hear the tardy bell ring from across the block and listen to it with vague disinterest. Five pings and the bell stops. Five minutes later it repeats and I know I am late. Seven minutes later and the school appears down the street. It looms larger than any of the surrounding buildings.

Two years ago Edgewood High was remodeled, and whoever did it decided to incorporate the school colors into the additions. Consequently we have a horizontal stripe of orange and black brick wrapping around half of the school. Not only is the new addition hideous, it is also completely useless. Edgewood is a very small town with an aging population. The entire top floor is empty because there aren't enough people to put classes there.

The front of Edgewood High used to feature about five thousand stairs, which looked official in pictures, but was terrible on the knees. The district hadn't intended to remove them with the remodel. They changed their mind after several emails, phone calls and protest signs kindly reminded them that Edgewood was not very wheelchair accessible. They tore up the stairs and now we have a ramp and some new trees. I think it looks fine, but some of the older citizens still complain. Something about 'tradition' and 'I went to that school and so did my children'. I don't think I've seen anyone in a wheelchair use the ramp, but hey! It was a nice thought.

I ran up the ramp and into the building. The enticing aroma of sweat, cafeteria food and cleaning supplies greet me. Yum. I try not to gag as I head upstairs to the arts center. A lady (I think she teaches Sophomore English) passes me on the stairs and shakes her head, as if she can see some sad future awaiting me because I was late to school. I roll my eyes and slide the door open. I slip into an empty chair, hoping to go undetected.

Mrs. Loveless sees me and calls out, "Late on the second day of school? Did you stop to smell the roses on your way?"

I flash her an easy (still lopsided) smile. "Yes, actually." She raises her eyebrows and returns a smile.

Then she turns, addressing the rest of the class. "Like I was saying, today is all about style. What makes Hemingway different from Hawthorne? What separates Twain from Tolkien? What will distinguish you from your peers?"

I swear I was trying to pay attention, but as soon as she starting defining syntax and diction my mind switched into autopilot. I was taking notes, but I knew I would have no idea what any of them meant when I read over them. When I got bored of note-taking, I started looking around the classroom. There seems to be between fifteen and twenty students.

Nance was sitting in the second row, entirely too close to the front. She was listening to Loveless, obviously fascinated by the lecture. Her hair was contained only by a headband. I stare at her hair, counting all of the different shades of brown. The main color was dark, like potting soil. But there were lighter strands, golden and coffee-colored. But pure coffee, not the kind diluted by milk or cream. She turns around and I blush. Raising one eyebrow, she smiles and returns her attention to the board. I look away, hoping that she doesn't get the wrong idea. I don't like her—not like that.

At least, I'm pretty sure I don't.

I look around the classroom again and my gaze settles on a boy that was definitely not in our class yesterday. He's an athlete, or at least he looks like one. Tall, but lithe. Obviously fit, but not like a football player with bulging muscles. He could play soccer, or maybe he's on the cross country team.