The Lockhart mystery

Chapter Two: Sweet, Sweet Beginnings.

The school itself seemed prestigious, too glorious for someone like me. It was a mansion, I dared to describe. Tall buildings, white and gray, the grass perfectly cut and the green grass was lush with life, tall trees placed in perfect places to get a comfortable shade whenever the sun was unbearable. Today, however, the sun was hidden behind dark clouds and the air was thick of the smell that told either there was a slight rain coming or a very, evil hurricane. You could never really tell, especially as I was not very updated on Virginia's weather.

The student body was spread about evenly, the groups and the ones who chose their own company were all very much in number, indeed, and I felt myself crowded as I tried to get to the office. Some looked my way, some made sure I knew they were not going to look my way, and some were accidentally looking my way and then, looking at another direction. I felt the piercings on my skin, little holes made by curious eyes and their unwanted attention made way under my skin, but I shook it off and cuddled myself into a blanket of indifference. I smiled to whomever met my eyes, I made sure I did not bump into any threatening looking, and that was how I was going to survive Lockhart High School.

Really, I did not understand the fretting around those who started at new schools. TV and books made a whole lot of something quite small.

As long as you stayed away from everyones business and kept yourself from unwanted attention, decent people would notice your presence and soon enough you would have friends.

Exclude and stay away from the bad, include and gain from the good. There you have it, Cathen Kish Cavelery's own How to survive High school guide.

As I somehow ended up inside the school building, I was met with a difficulty.

I had not a single clue where the office section was. And now I could follow my right were a stairway went up, or my left where walls covered with lockers colorfully.

I followed my left, figuring if I ever got lost I could just wait until the bells rang and ask a kind soul.

As I was walking, I did not speed up my pace as before. Actually, I took my time. These lockers, or some of them, had been decorated. And not the rubbish kind with profanities and other challenging images of how reproduction took place, but actual decorations, actual art, actual beauty. Especially this one, I thought as I stopped dead on my tracks. I turned to the black locker. A quote had been beautifully written on top, and then, as if painted, an image of a beautiful woman who looked down, her black lashes covering her eyes, her skin was slightly tan, her smile spread and made her face somehow glow. The quote was just above her head.

I know that I know nothing.

I reread it God knew how many times. Somehow my fingers started tracing the words, letter after letter, taking my time. Trying to soak up the depth the power these words held, trying to get it under my fingertips. I swear, I could stand there forever.

Knowing you know nothing was genius, and it made so much sense and had so much meaning I could taste the philosophy on the tip of my tongue. I knew Socrates had said the very same thing, and now I knew there was a very talented, very smart being in this school that owned this locker, and though I could never gather the courage to say a single word to this mysterious being, I knew I was appreciating their existence.

I turned around, knowing I should hurry up.

“Oh my Ghandi,” I grabbed my chest, letting out an exhale of pure shock. Before me was a very tall, very threatening looking guy with the darkest shade of eyes and his expression was not, in any kind of way, pleased to see me. And judging by his posture I guessed I was caught doing something I was not supposed to do.