Coincidences

Act XLIV

The first hours were catastrophically showered with bad luck. Everyone was ordered to assemble inside the multipurpose room for a sudden meeting. Thanks, Mr. Reed. The teacher instructed us to leave our bags by our desks and form a straight line that would make a captain proud. I found myself at the end of the line― behind Zoey, then Tyrone, then Rocky. Neither of us knew the reason to this formation. I was about to change my place in line, but the teacher marched forward, the person up front soon followed and a dominos effect came to play. We were on the move before we knew it.

The multipurpose room was quite big, big enough to pass as a miniature theater that can accommodate up to more than a hundred people if squeezed in. Not my definition of "accommodate". The stage had three, no, I forgot, four entrances. Two lateral ones, one at the back, and a trapdoor below. The seats were removable cushioned chairs; they resemble the luxurious ones from antique stores. They had more than fifty, and I wonder about the budget Mr. Reed works with. That principal, slash doctor, slash whatever job he has.

When we arrived, and we were the first, since we were the closest to the room, I unwillingly sat next to them, the bunch. Gulp. The minutes passed, as the other classes came and "accommodated" themselves, screaming out complains and shoving others, picking a fight for some space. One person, I saw him as it happened, discreetly begging his fellow classmate, and he silently swore to him, that if he sat in his seat, he would never ever get called up front to the stage.

Order came to be, when our good old Mr. Jonathan Reed stepped into the limelight. He was holding a big folder of announcements, notably written in his face with big letters: This is going to take long.

Being the millennials that we are, the whole audience instinctively took out the phones and laptops, even the teachers.

Mr. Reed greatly encouraged everyone to set aside the electronics and listen to what he had to say, which he admittedly claimed was boring but necessary. It took a while for the message to propagate, and even more time was wasted on forcefully taking from the stubborn kids. Alas, it was finally time to begin.

He started off with a lame introduction. "Welcome to another exciting school year, fellow students of this humble school, Acacia High. First, we, the staff would like to ask to you: how was your summer vacation, everyone?" The look on his face turned diabolically comical. Or comically diabolical, I can't tell. "Anyone enjoyed it?" Everybody groaned.

"Leave that aside, let's carry on. Second, we would like to happily welcome the first-years, who are now one of us, Acacians. We highly expect your stay to be memorable, so that, at least, you could say that school isn't that bad." Although it is. "You know, let's call someone new up here on the stage." He scouted the area, searching for newbies. "You there, at the back, with the orange striped shirt." The guy from earlier, the one who didn't want to get called. He blushed, ashamed of being the center of attention, thus he raised his palm to hide his face. Some of his seatmates let out small chuckles.

The shy boy, as soon as he made it up there, had to go through Mr. Reed's picky behavior. The principal sped off throwing interrogations to the poor boy. Like, for example:

"What's your name, boy? Haven't seen you at the list."

"How old are you? Do you think you're too young to be here, dwarf?"

"What do you want to be? A politician? Hell to you, kiddo."

He sounded an awful lot like a police officer. Or a detective.

"You may go back to your seat, Martin Bruner. I'll be keeping an eye on you." The boy fled past me, as I wrote on my notebook. "First-years, just so you know, when I was a young lad, I was a cop. Don't think you can get past me." He held up a picture, looked more like a poster, that showed a much younger him, wearing a police uniform. How many jobs do this guy have? He could solve poverty by himself!

"Third, I would like to talk about the upcoming events the school has to offer. An example is...."

Well, blah, blah, blah. Something about a spelling bee... winner will receive a gift card... the "something something cycling association" is sponsoring... perfect attendance gets a bike... the California State Test... an actors community... other uninteresting stuff. The prizes are great and all, but last year, I won the spelling bee and got a Barnes & Noble gift card, along with a, believe it or not, Toys R' Us one. Seriously, we're high schoolers, not toddlers.

Besides, although Mr. Reed tries to make the speech appealing, I already have my hands full on others problems. The still and lackluster aura surrounding Zoey, Ty, Rocky, and I is killing us immensely from the inside. Have you ever been in a situation where they put you out of your comfort zone? Ask anyone of us. We sure have.

"Well, that concludes all that I have to say, so, since we already spent an hour, we kindly ask the teachers to please lead the students out in an orderly manner. Thank you very much. That's all," he ended, wiping the sweat off his head. He took a glance at me and the others, noticed the tension between us, and turned his back at us.

Zoey seemed to have noticed him, too, but she didn't say a word. We headed back to the classroom, like little ducklings tailing the mother. A few moments later, someone grasped my arm and said to the teacher, "I'll borrow him for a while. Go on." Mr. Jonathan Reed dragged me across the halls.

We made it to his office, checked if there was anyone, and then, Jonathan locked the door behind us.