Phenomen-04: A Narrative of Naivety

The Kid who Sat in Front

August woke up exactly three seconds before his alarm went off. He excitedly shoved the blanket off his chest and checked his backpack for all his essentials. Summer went by so fast, he thought, I haven't seen some of those people in months! He rummaged his closet for his favorite shirt, a minimalist, solid black tee-shirt he wore whenever he could under a red sweatshirt his best friend had bought him. He threw on a pair of cargo pants, shoved a book into wherever he could find space in his backpack and ran downstairs without bothering to brush his blonde hair, his feet thumping on each step.

He grabbed a breakfast bar out of the cupboard and waited at the window for the bus. It'll be nice to see my friends again, but the fact still stands that it's school nonetheless. August was never the kind of person to hate going to school, but if it meant going during classes, he was mentally on another planet. His friends were basically the reason he went, and they shaped his personality to what it is now.

As the white headlights of the bus struck his eyes through the evergreen trees by his house, August nearly broke the door open in excitement. When the bus rolled up and the doors spread open, the driver said, "Mr. Hansen, nice to see you again."

"Nice to see you're still driving, Mr. King. Hope your summer was great!" August hopped onto the bus and sat in the back, one seat from the last. He reminisced about the cold feeling of the gray leather seats and all the other people who stole his spot. The questionable stains on the windows reminded him of his first ride on this bus; five years ago. He always thought the stains were from some sort of accident or something way less likely than what had actually happened.

As the bus pulled in to the drop-off at the front of Fromone Junior High, August's heart began pounding much faster than it had been before. He thought of all the things there that he missed over the summer. It had been so long since he was trapped in rooms painted with a remarkably banal beige color with lights on the ceiling that were probably made in 1975, judging by how dimly they lit the room. Many found this to be boring (distractingly so), but August was always reminded of the fun times he had surrounded by these hues of blandness.

August raced to his homeroom as soon as the buses let out. He was always excited to meet his new teachers, but he had heard bad things about the eighth-grade ones. Stories of how they feed on the fear and uncertainty of their students, and prey on who dares make a sound in their classroom while they taught in their painfully monotone voice. Apparently, someone was suspended the year before because they fell asleep in class, and the teacher actually scared the principle into suspending them. There was only one teacher in the whole grade people had said was the saving grace from a terrifyingly awful year, and August was expecting to have that one; all the teachers from prior years liked him, so why would they doom him with someone who wasn't as buoyant and exuberant as he was?

August's smile faded very fast. The teacher sat at her desk right next to the door, and she looked like an evil, dying librarian. Her glasses sat low on her nose, her hair was curly and gray, and her face sagged in a way that made it look like she was unable to smile even if she tried. Her eyes were tired, with bags below them. Her outfit was dreary and bland, a disgusting old green colored knitted vest with a wrinkled button-up white shirt below that. Her look of boredom and tiredness struck a sour chord with August.

"You got a name, kid?" she mumbled. As August stepped closer, he noticed a putrid smell of molding coffee. Her voice was old and raspy, the kind that tells you all about a person. Unfortunately, that's just because you associate it with evilness.

"A-August Hansen." August tried not to breathe.

"Nice to meet you," she lied, "I'm Mrs. Derwam. Your seat is right in the back, next to Jackson." A red-haired kid wearing square glasses and a red polo shirt swung his head toward August. He smiled nervously before looking back at his task. "There's a questionnaire on your desk. Complete it in the next ten minutes or it's your recess."

August heaved his backpack onto his shoulder and walked away a little bit faster than usual. "Jackson?" He walked to his desk and pulled his backpack back off his shoulder to put on the seat.

"Hm? Oh, yeah. Jackson Midow, nice to meet you." Jackson held out his hand for a handshake, but then quickly pulled in back to himself. But not before August put his hand out to accept the shake, at which point Jackson put his hand back out after August flinched his hand back. They both put their hands back at their sides and smiled at each other instead.

"August Hansen. Ready to move on the High School already, or is it just me?" August picked up his backpack and sat down, placing it back on his lap.

Jackson cracked a chuckle. "Heh, yeah. This teacher's already driving me crazy." He said the second sentence in a quieter voice.

"I mean, 180 days with this coffin-dodger? I'd rather eat a mousetrap." August flipped his folder out onto his desk, then lifted the lid to put the rest of his books in. Then he noticed someone sitting in front of Jackson that he didn't notice had arrived.

The kid looked shady, wore a black knitted hat, dark purple hair that covered half of each of his eyes with the bangs, a plum-colored sweatshirt with a zipper that was fully zipped, and dark gray pants. He had his feet up on the desk and his hands on the back of his head. His deep purple eyes darted in August's direction. He put his feet down.

"Uh, hey. Didn't see you come in. I'm August Hansen. You?" August waved gently.

The kid didn't respond.

"A lot of new kids this year. You feel any more comfortable in the crowd?" August tilted his head, hoping the kid might respond.

The kid didn't say anything, but the word "crowd" seemed to trigger something in his mind. His eyes widened for a moment, but they closed a moment after. Really. His face showed a look of contemplation as if something August said or did piqued his interest. He still said nothing, just pushing his chair back with his shoe and letting the legs click back on the floor.

August couldn't help staring. The kid didn't seem like he enjoyed his company. And August had to fix that.