24 Hours

Chapter 1: A New Start...(?)

When my dad told me I was gonna hate where we were moving to, I thought it was just another drugged opinion. Turns out, he was right.
Cedar Pines, Connecticut is about as interesting as watching grass grow.
You know how in those movies, there's always some kind of place that looks like a deserted bomb site? Cedar Pines looks exactly like that: barren landscape, shrubs and grass, houses falling apart, and people looking like they had one too many baths in the Hudson River. In retrospect, it's a step up.
Enough about the wasteland I live in. Time to talk about my favorite subject: me!
My name is Chris Baxman. I'm just a normal high school freshman with no goals but to make it through one day without getting yelled at or having money stolen.
If you thinking I'm talking about bullies, you're wrong. I meant my dad, who cannot go one hour without making a break to the nearest Corner Store to buy a cigarette. Ever since the death of my mom, drugs have been his new love. Ask me why I never spend time with my dad, and I'll say, "Huh? THAT guy?"
Ok, me-time is up. Back to the story.
"Come on, Chris. It's not that bad," my dad said. "Look on the bright side. At least there's more space for us!" He flashed me a goofy grin and went back to his cigarette.
"Yeah, Dad. More space for you to kill just about everything."
"Shut up, kid! At least I TRIED to be nice! One more snap like that and you're gonna be moving boxes till you hear wolves!"
Yep, my dad. Such a great parental figure.
"Alright, son, here we are. It's a great house, eh?" my dad asked me as we pulled up the driveway.
"Wow, no kidding! This place is a fumigation gold mine!" I sniggered.
Our new house (or what was left of it) looked like a blind man put it together. The walls were made of chipped wood poorly painted a sickly shade of yellow. The roof tiles were cracked and slowly crumbling off the top of the house. Through my window, I could see a small patch of torn-up turf in the backyard; probably our backyard, and out of the corner of my eye I could've SWORN I saw a rat on our porch.
"Give me a break. It was worth what I paid for it!" My dad clearly wasn't happy with the way I was acting. "Come on, Chris, help me load some furniture inside. Then, we can focus on your first day at your new school tomorrow!"
I hopped out of our dirt-colored Jeep and "helped" him load some chairs and cabinets inside. All the time I was working, my dad took the easiest, lightest decorations, smoked some more, and occasionally told me "That doesn't go there, son! Honestly, WHAT is on your mind today?"
By around three o' clock, all the things in the Jeep were placed inside our rat's nest of a house. (I'm not joking, there really were rats. At least now we have a carpet.) Around that time, the moving truck showed up, and a portly man with a thin combover hopped out. I didn't notice him until my dad started screaming.
"WHAT!? I HAVE TO PAY TWO THOUSAND DOLLARS FOR YOU TO LOAD THIS CRUD INSIDE?"
"Um, s-sir, p-p-p-please. This is f-for the d-distance salary, t-t-too," the stocky man stammered, rapidly wiping his brow with a handkerchief.
"OK, FINE!" My dad rustled up a large wad of cash and threw it at the man's face. "DO YOUR JOB RIGHT NOW OR I'M CALLING MY LAWYERS, YOU HEAR?"
Unwilling to hear or see any more, I shuffled up to my filthy, disappointing room. An electric fan hummed by a small, chestnut nightstand. Against the left wall was a small, worn-down bed meant for a child.
Great. I got the deluxe package.
After playing rock-paper-scissors with myself, I decided that going to sleep before eating was better than having a face-to-face conversation with my DAD about SCHOOL. I climbed under the disgusting excuse for a comforter and closed my eyes...

Chapter 2: I Get Schooled
My first morning in Cedar Pines. Not bad, actually. Birds are chirping, the sun is peeking through my window, and everything is silent-
"SON! GET UP!"
Or not.
I almost had a heart attack as I looked into the outraged face of my dad. His eyes were bloodshot as if he'd stayed up smoking all night. His hair was wild and shaggy, and the five o' clock shadow told me he hadn't shaved in a while.
"What now, Dad? Did you drop a cigarette in the toilet again?"
"Chris, I DON'T have time for your puns! You're LATE for SCHOOL!" my dad roared. For once, there wasn't a cigar in his mouth.
"What!? Why didn't you wake me up!?" To be honest, I was more than happy enough to hear that.
"I WAS, uh... NEVER MIND! YOU BETTER HAVE YOUR BUTT ON THE BUS IN TEN MINUTES!"
As soon as my dad left, I dragged myself out of bed and randomly picked out my clothes for the day. When I looked in the mirror, I saw what I had chosen- a pair of simple, no-name jeans, a box with black Converse shoes inside, and a red Harvey Guy T-shirt with a picture of a salmon on the back- so I looked casual but cool at the same time.
Next, I needed to work on my hair. (Call me a diva, but I looked like a buried mop.) I pulled out a comb and did my "I just got out of the pool" look so that my brown hair and olive skin made me look like some kind of movie lifeguard. Well, without the perfect muscles.
When I looked at my watch, it said 8:15. Great; I had five minutes until the bus arrived.
I realized I didn't have nearly enough time to shower, so I decided to make myself a quick, healthy breakfast: microwave bacon. When it was done, I stealth-walked outside so my dad wouldn't be able to find me and criticize me with the usual- "Are you going to school or the MALL, kid?"
By the time the bus showed up, I had already done the morning Jumble. It looked like any other bus: stop sign, yellow, and a bunch of other bus-like things I have no time to describe. But for me, it's the inside of the bus that counts.
I climbed up the steps. The bus driver said nothing but looked friendly, because he has apparently taken time this morning to shave and comb his hair. It was a good thing too, because at my old school, the only thing the bus driver said was, "One dollar or you're walking, kid."
Finding a seat was the hard part. I made a list of where NOT to sit before actually finding a seat. Football team: no. Cheerleaders: maybe. Tough kids wearing black and cursing towards my direction: why not? (Just kidding, haha.)
I eventually settled on a seat in the back with a nerdy-looking kid. He had short, black hair, skin the color of spruce wood, and a sense of fashion that matched his appearance, topped with a bow tie and thick-rimmed glasses.
"Hi there!" he said in a flat, friendly voice. "Is this your first day?"
"Umm, yeah..." I replied, trying not to go too far into this conversation.
"Well, don't worry. I can show you where all the 'cool' kids hang. And by that, I mean me." He flashed me a grin.
Right.
"What's your name, kid?" He asked me. "I'm Parson, but my friends call me Parse. You know, kinda like that famous-"
"I didn't ask for a biography, Parson. My name is Chris Baxman. Don't make a nickname out of it," I said quickly when I saw him raise his hand in a I-know-that-person kind of way.
"Alright then, Chris. If you need help with any of your subjects, let me know." He pushed up his glasses and pulled a chemistry book out of his backpack, of which he immediately started reading.
If my school was like this, I'd be in for a wild ride.