Just A Memory

The School

Serenity, The School

Tuesday, September 4th, 7:20 AM

I spend most of that bus ride alone, an invisible child. No one wants to talk to me, none of them even acknowledge my presence. Well, I guess that's fine. An open seat is always a win anyways. As I stare out the window, observing the passing houses, stores, and streets, I try to focus on my studies. After reciting in my head all the things I've learned from math, science, language arts, and social studies, over and over again, my mind starts to drift to other things. Who was that kid and what was the pendant? Does he have anything to do with the house? I attempt to focus on schoolwork again, but every time my mind starts to wander to the same thoughts over and over. After 15 long minutes of alternating between studying and paranoia, I see the school for the first time.

As the bus neared, I get a good glimpse of where I would be trapped in for the next seven hours. The school seems like a pretty normal school from what I know about them, one fitting for a normal town like Serenity. Nothing was off about it and nothing was weird. The school, which doesn't seem to have a name, is built up with red brick. It has an open feel with a massive amount of windows, and is about four stories high. On two sides of the school there's a quaint lineup of small shops and restaurants, and a library on the third side. Seems like a cozy place to spend seven hours, but even with the surplus of windows I cannot tell what's inside, or how the teachers or students will be, and that is what will make or break this experience.

There were no teachers to help me, or anybody else, when we walk in. All we have is that sheet of paper telling us our locker and class. My first negative experience of the day. Disheartening, but not major. Unless I mess up without the aid of a teacher, which I tell myself I won't, that this is simple work, that I don't need help from anybody, but something in the back of my mind taunts me- "You can't do it, you can't do it"- again and again and again. Pushing the demons in my mind out, I focus on the task. Locker number- 4761. Assuming that is the fourth floor, I quickly sprint walk up the stairwell, hoping to get to class quickly. In my rush, somebody trips me and I lose my balance, almost falling flat on my face again, but this time me flailing my arms wasn't to no avail, as I land in a weird push up position instead of falling face first into the granite floor. It still hurt, but not as much as if I face planted straight into the ground. Everybody either glances at me before turning back to their friends or stares at me trying to hold back laughter as I get up slowly, my pants still partially stained from the last fall. I looked stupid, again. If I keep this going, I would guarantee myself with the status of a loser for months, maybe years.

I grumble and brush the dust off my shoulders, looking around to see the kid that shoved me. Nobody stands out to me, except the three guys from the bus stop. They're close to me, laughing and pretending to trip over. When they see me, they start laughing even more, apparently at what a failure I am. Just like the bus stop incident. They must've been the ones who tripped me. Putting aside my small vendetta I now have against the people I practically idolized a few days ago as to try to not waste my time, I make my way up to the fourth floor. After three minutes of searching fruitlessly, as I couldn't make sense of the locker arrangement and numbering system, I finally stumble upon my locker. Half the people are already putting their stuff in and grabbing what they need, while I have only just now arrived at my locker.

I place the bag in neatly and proceed to start unpacking the items I need for homeroom. Checking my notes, it's a binder, a pencil, and the book that he or she assigned us- a work of fiction titled Just a Memory, containing exactly 289 pages and 17 chapters. I've already read the first five or and analyzed them to get a head start. As I've said, I'm prepared to ace this class, and I feel like nobody can stop me from reaching my goal until, as I grab my binder, somebody shoves me aside and and tells me to "Move it, nerd" in a tone of anger and annoyance. It's one of the boys from the bus stop. The ringleader, from what I've seen. He seemed to be the one who tripped me. Sighing, I decide not to confront him and step aside to let him grab the items he needs from his locker. By the time he's finished, half of the people are heading towards classes while the rest are close to finished. If this takes any longer, I'm going to be late and make a bad impression on my homeroom teacher, and I can't let that happen.

"but it will" the voice in the back of my mind taunts, louder than before. "No matter what you do, it's not enough."

There's no time for neatness or organization after losing that much time, so I quickly shuffle through my bag and grab my binder, pencil, and book.

Quickly checking my paper to find the room, 420, I start sprinting to find my class. Luckily, the classes were ordered properly and I find it quickly. I am not fast enough though, for the bell has rung and the demons in my head are shouting now. Mocking me.

"I knew you couldn't do it, you failure."

"You spend too much time thinking about that boy and the house, you paranoid piece of garbage."

"Everybody's going to laugh at you. Not even an hour in and you're already the biggest loser in the school."

I'm the only one not in class. I can hear my heavy breathing as I run across the empty halls and I know I'm dead. The teacher is waiting for me. She's a young pale skinned woman with her brunette hair wrapped in a tight bun, and she seems to be watching me closely, judging me. One of her more noticeable features are her sharp, cold, dead blue eyes, and she's wearing glasses with a thin metal frame which only make her more intimidating. To complete her look of a total psychopath, she is brandishing a metal ruler like it's a murder weapon. I start stuttering, trying to get words out to form an apology, but something in my mind prevents me from forming full sentences. "Hi... miss..."

The teachers lips purse and eyes narrow as she clenches her fist around the ruler, "address me as the Professor. I am not a 'miss.' Now, you have disrupted the class due to your excessive lateness. I will have you know that this class is not for the weak. If you are lazy, late often, or not good enough, I will make the problem gets fixed."

The class is chuckling, mocking me, just like my brain's paranoia said they would. Collecting myself and trying not to lose the small spark of hope I have left, I walk in looking down with metered steps and deep breaths and take my seat in the back of the class, still whispering to each other about me. The seat is next to the mysterious boy and two rows behind the three boys from the bus stop. They can't bother me badly from there and at least I can ponder who the boy is and what his story is some more. The one positive in a failed first day.