Hermokrates

Chapter 1

I didn't ask for what happened to me. I wouldn't ask for what happened to me. But it happened to me anyways. If I were to start where it all began, I guess it would be the day I met Leo Valdez.

—

A rush of warm air blasted into my face as I opened the entrance door to my school. The Manhattan winter morning air had numbed my nose and ears, so I pulled my floppy green beanie over my ears. I kept my eyes on the ground as I walked to my locker.

Right, left, left, straight down the hall. Looking at the tile floor was the only way I could make it to my locker without human interaction. Sounds like a weird reason, I know. I just didn't like having to pretend to like any of the kids at this horrible school. Or teachers, actually. Acting shy just made it easier to get through the day.

Finally I reached the set of ugly pale yellow lockers. Some were still decorated with cheap Halloween decorations from the night before. I looked up, only to see some guy making out with his girlfriend against my locker. And of course, it had to be Tony Aller. Tony was a junior who's mom happened to be close friends with my mom since college. Only a grade below, I was still two years younger than him since I'd skipped a grade in elementary school. I was expected to "get along" with a jerk who spent his free time beating up kids and thinking about girls. Ugh.

I cleared my throat. "Tony," I said. He didn't hear. "Tony!" I said a little louder. After what seemed like an eternity, he broke away.

"Huh? Oh, hey Robin. I'm a little busy right now," he said, quite annoyed I had caused him to make his girlfriend wait.

"Yeah, uh, Tony, my locker?" I said as nicely as I could. He always got on my nerves, but I tried to play nice.

"Oh, what? Um. Yeah, okay," he stammered. A man of many words. Tony and the girl ran into an empty classroom, and I did not want to think about what they were doing in there.

I opened my locker. Most people decorated theirs, but I didn't see the point. My only decorations were scratched stickers and engraved curse words on the door and walls from previous idiotic students. I had a few textbooks were stacked up, with my worn copy of The Maze Runner sitting on top of the pile. No matter how many times I read that book, James Dashner never failed to entertain me.

I grabbed my history textbook and walked to my first class—head down of course.

Left, Right, Left again.

The classroom was nearly empty. I headed down the aisle to my seat at the very back. I was thinking about taking a quick nap, but the bell rang. Slowly, other students trickled into the room. Sighing, I flipped open my binder to a blank page and started making random light strokes across with my pencil, not really paying attention.

Seats around me filled, except for the one on my left. The corner seat. No one ever sat there, and it had seemed like no one ever would. The bell rang.

The history teacher, Mr. Dolores, stood up, ready to begin the lecture. Mr. Dolores was ancient. He looked like he had witnessed the history he was teaching us firsthand, paper thin skin, metal-wired glasses and all. Mr. Dolores began writing something on the whiteboard when suddenly there was a loud skidding sound in the hallway.

An impish boy appeared in the doorway. He was out of breath. He looked Latino, with deeply tanned skin and dark curly hair. He was wearing a green army jacket over a pale yellow shirt, and black skinny jeans that were being held up by—was that a tool belt? Clutched in one hand was what looked like a class schedule.

"Hi, um . . . I'm new. Are you Mr. Dollars?" he asked. Giggles rippled throughout the classroom. Mr. Dolores stared the boy down through his glasses.