Formidable

September 1

Lying in bed Dylan watched the light of his alarm : 6 am.He closed his book and put it down on the nightstand next to his bed. He knew it by heart now, but he still read it whenever he could. For other people it was just an old book, but for Dylan it was more than that : this book was the last link between him and his past; reading it made him feel safe.Last week made it 10 years that he had been living there in that narrow and much too dark room. The paint on the walls of his room was long gone now, and during the night the only light he had came from the sky, the moon and all the stars.

Dylan stood up and dressed quietly, adjusted the collar of his shirt and fastened the belt in his pants. Then he putonhis hat, his favorite one, dark with a green ribbon. He took his backpack, only carrying it on oneshoulder. He started to go down the stairs; people were still asleep at this time. He loved the calm that prevailed in the property atthis hour. He went in the kitchen and atehis breakfast in front of the window, watching the peaceful street. The sun was rising and the light it brought warmed Dylan's face. He valued moments like this.

7 am. The clock on the wall reminded him he had to go now if he didn't want to be late. Today he had to make a good impression. It was his last chance, he knew it. In the street, despite its disjointed cobblestones Dylan walked at a rapid pace. Today was the first day of school, his last year in high school. He had to succeed this year. He had no choice now. In the past, his life hadheldonlyfailures and conflicts. But today, at almost 18 yearsold, he should behave like an adult. While walking,he started to remember how he got there.

The first day he arrived at the orphanage was the day after his parents' death. He was seven years old at the time, but he could easily remember everything about that day. He still had the peculiar impression of emptiness. He was all alone now. His mother had been shot deadby his father before he killed himself in front of Dylan. In his hands he held a book, the book his mother used to read to him. The cover was spotted with age, but it was the only item he had been able to keep from his home. Nobody wanted to adopt him and he felt the world was against him. But he was satisfied that he had no parents; he didn't want anybody to replace his mother.Several years later, as a teenager, he started to rebel against the people who worked at the orphanage. He usedto fight in middle school and he had been excluded more times than he could remember.

In high school he fought with another student and,as he refused to give the reason for his behavior, he was no longer admitted. He kept the secret even fromJames, his only friend at the orphanage. While remembering his past, he finally arrived in the high school's street. The building looked impressive from the outside, the walls rising to the sky apparently without end.

The white color of the school was stained by the ravages of time and pollution. The bars present in some windows had nothing welcoming. Dylan thought of leaving, but rebounded. "It's only for a year and then I'll be free." He advanced towards the great dark wooden door; he threw a quick look inside and saw a crowd of students. They seemed to be waiting for something. He crossed the threshold and found himself in the court. While approaching the mass of people, he felt someone tap him on the shoulder. He turned to find the author of this gesture, a tall man with a beard and slightly balding. "Hats or caps are not permitted onthe school premises. Nothing should cover your head when you're within its walls, young man. Do you understand?" Without waiting for a response, the old man went away. "One year, just one year." Dylan forced himself to think.

***

With a cup of coffee in her hand, Mrs. Flaugerwalked to her car in a hurry: returning to work could notstart with a late arrival. In her car, she finished putting on her lipstick while looking in the rearviewmirror. The red wentperfectly with her outfit, a white short-sleevedblouse tuckedintoa red skirt, thus showing her shapewithout giving too much away. She was not the kind of woman to want to draw attention to herself. She preferred to wear sober, discreet outfits, but for the first day she had chosen something different. Mrs. Flaugerwas a woman of rare elegance, but she did not seem to be aware of her beauty, much lessofthe looksthat men gave  her.