Shackled Serenity

by Leon Logos

  There was an awkward silence as the class simply gawked at her wordlessly. Some of the kids in the back craned their necks to get a good look at her. She noticed a rather bitchy-looking girl in the front row appraising her from head-to-toe, a sassy expression on her face. A boy sitting behind her did the same.

  “So, Serenity,” Mr. Marshall beamed. “Where do you come from?”

  She was relieved when the teacher broke the silence.

  “Well…” she began, thinking. It was always difficult deciding whether to lie flat-out or just to bend the truth. “I moved here to Sequim—from Salt Lake City.”

  Utah was their previous “home.”

  “Interesting,” said Mr. Marshall. “Very close to Yellowstone. Have you been there?”

  “Nope,” she replied quietly. “And what else can you tell us about yourself?”

  “Nothing you’d like to know,” she said darkly.

  This comment produced further silence.

  “Well, that’s all fine. You can take the seat next to Tony. Raise your hand, Mr. Abraham.”

  A boy with ear-piercings and a lackadaisical demeanor raised his hand. Immediately, Serenity could tell he was one of the popular kids just based on appearance. His clothes were fashionable, and he possessed an aura of swagger. Serenity walked through the rows, ignoring the glances directed at her. She took her seat next to “Tony,” which was right in the middle of the classroom. The teacher proceeded to take roll.

  As Serenity put her things down and settled in, she noticed Tony eyeing her attentively. He was laid-back, his back slouched against his seat. She ignored him, directing her focus to the teacher. Mr. Marshall was only taking attendance, but the speed at which he did so was impressive; it only took a second for the student to respond. As he finished, he walked over to the center of the class.

  “Everybody take out your journals,” he said.

  The class shuffled in their seats, lethargically reaching into their bags for their journals. She did the same, taking out a fresh, new composition notebook and setting it on top of her desk. With a black pen, she scribbled her name, the class, and the period. The Promethean board turned on, revealing a journal prompt:

  JOURNAL #13

  “I know that I am intelligent because I know nothing.” - Socrates

  She read the quote three times over, unsure of what to do next. Mr. Marshall detected her confusion and came to her aid—sort of.

  “Mr. Abraham, why don’t you explain to Serenity how we do things around here?” he requested sternly.

  She looked at Tony, who rolled his eyes in annoyance. When Mr. Marshall turned his back, he insolently stuck out the middle finger acidly. Two things were clear at this juncture: Tony did not like Mr. Marshall—and Tony was a troublemaker. These types of students encompassed high schools throughout the nation. Serenity waited patiently for Tony to speak, but he didn’t. She spoke first.

  “So, what exactly are we—” she began.

  “Read the shit on the board,” Tony cut her off.

  “Okay, I’ve done that part already. So, we’re just supposed to interpret the quote and analyze it?”

  Tony scoffed, folding his arms; she noticed a lion tattoo on his right shoulder. The evidence was accumulating…

  “If you knew what to do, why the hell you ask for help, then?”

  She frowned.

  “I didn’t. Mr. Marshall did,” she corrected.

  “He only did because you were about to. Don’t play stupid, sweetie,” Tony smiled, winking.

  “Okay…?”

  Serenity turned away, slightly astonished at this boy’s character. Shaking her head, she began writing down whatever crossed her mind regarding the quote. She had a feeling this class was going to be difficult…

  The next period was a bit more exciting than English. Her third-period class was Chemistry, taught by a stout old man whose voice was booming and bounced off every wall and space in the classroom. Mr. Ramos’s animated personality captured her attention efficiently, especially with his surprisingly humorous jokes. Mr. Ramos didn’t bother introducing her to the class as Mr. Marshall had done; he had approved her schedule and then transitioned back to teaching-mode.

  Serenity watched attentively as Mr. Ramos demonstrated the effects of magnesium ribbon placed in hydrochloric acid; the liquid began bubbling, and thick gas began fuming out of the test tube, causing a tiny explosion. She was sitting next to a quiet girl with ginger shoulder-length hair, pale blue eyes like the ocean, and a despondent expression on her face. When Serenity had taken the seat next to her, she had kindly introduced herself as Amara Miller. But that was the end of it; Amara had gone quiet after that.

  Fifth period was dull: Home Economics. She had chosen this class only because it was easy, and she had experience in cooking, but this class did not leave a satisfactory first-impression on her. Ms. Thompkins was an African-American woman from Jamaica who seemingly only taught the rudimentary facets of the culinary arts. When she arrived, they were sorted into groups and assigned omelets to make. It was already two months into the school year… Her group comprised of two girls and a boy who slept the entire time. He had received the role of “kitchen helper,” which was tantamount to “useless member.” Serenity aided in their task, and the other girls cooperated. They seemed intrigued by her.

  “Wait, so you come from Utah? Were you born there?” one of them, a redhead, asked.

  “No, I’ve lived in a lot of places,” she said truthfully.

  “But where were you born? Not that it matters.”

  “I was born in Atlanta,” she lied.

  “Wooow,” both girls said in unison, enthralled. “That’s far!”

  Serenity smiled, expanding on the lie. Further lying often led to no good; it was fueling the fire of deceit so intensely to the point when, if the truth were finally discovered, there would be no talking out of it.

  Thankfully, nobody questioned her too much. The culture of America was one of self-centered individualism. She appeared like an ordinary student, and that was what she was aiming for.

  Before the start of the seventh period, she had lunch. This was indisputably the best part of school days. Not only was she free to roam after escaping the confined spaces of a classroom, but it was a time to satisfy her hunger and obtain energy for the rest of the day. Additionally, it was time to eat and socialize with fellow peers. The problem was simple; she had no friends and nobody to sit with. The school lunch being served today was chicken fingers with mashed potatoes and the usual cartons of milk. The prevalent sentiment that school lunch was crap lingered in Sequim; most students brought their lunch or bought snacks being sold by teachers.

  There was obviously a cafeteria, but Serenity chose to eat outside on campus where all the picnic tables were. Her lunch tray in hand, she came to a halt in the courtyard, scanning it for available seats. She spotted the girl from her Chemistry class, Amara, eating alone at a table. Her head was bowed down, no lunch of her insight. She crossed over to the center of the courtyard where Amara was and approached her.

  “Hey,” Serenity said. “You mind if I sit with you?”

  Amara looked up at her, taken by surprise. She blinked a couple of times before nodding, gesturing her to take the seat opposite. Serenity took her seat, putting her hair up in a pony-tail. Amara did not meet eye contact with her; she continued to lower her gaze, seemingly zoned out from reality. She felt it unwise to dwell into Amara’s matters but was still curious.

  “Are you okay?” Serenity asked concernedly.

  “Yeah, of course,” Amara replied flatly. “I just have a lot on my mind.”

  “School stuff?” Serenity asked, maintaining the flow of conversation.

  She started on her chicken fingers; it tasted unremarkably similar to all the other chicken nuggets in the nation that were served in schools.

  “S-something like that,” Amara stuttered unconvincingly.

  Serenity was skeptical but did not question it. This was
n’t an interrogation. She changed the subject to something more appropriate and less personal. Amara seemed more immersed in the conversation now. Thankfully, the timorous girl did not appear to be irked by her presence.

  Detecting watchful eyes, Serenity capitalized on her peripheral vision to ascertain whether somebody was spying on her; sure enough, Tony, the kid from Mr. Marshall, was blatantly staring at her from the other side of the courtyard. He was seated on top of a table, filled with his friends, indiscreetly vaping an e-cigarette. His friends were doing the same.She shifted her attention back to Amara.

  “How do you like it here?” Amara asked.

  “Too early to say,” she replied thoughtfully. “I haven’t even completed a day. Though, I guess it’s not so bad.”

  True, her first impression of the school wasn’t atrocious.

  “Well, I hope your stay doesn’t turn out as bad as mine. I can’t wait to graduate finally, but then I remember I have one more year,” Amara said broodingly.

  “You don’t like it here? Is there anything I should know?” Serenity inquired.

  Amara’s image as a depressed individual was accentuating.

  “Don’t trust anybody. High school is full of douchebags and backstabbers,” Amara said cynically.

  “Though, you’re the first person that isn’t so wicked.”

  “I’m not,” Serenity assured. (Though, in her head, she certainly questioned this assertion.)

  “So, are you from here?”

  “I’ve lived in Sequim my whole life. Never really traveled out of state much. This is a small town. Small city.”

  “It’s beautiful, though,” Serenity shrugged. “I really love all the lavender.”

  “I guess, but since you’re not from here, you don’t really know. It’s boring here…” Amara said glumly.

  “I can see why…”

  Amara paused, looking over her shoulder. She smirked.

  “It seems like Tony has an interest in you.”

  “You know, Tony?” Serenity asked blankly.

  “I should be asking you that question. Everybody does, he’s probably the most popular junior,” Amara scoffed.

  “I did get the impression he was popular,” said Serenity.

  “He’s not popular for a good reason,” Amara said darkly. “And don’t consider yourself special. He goes after dozens of girls.”

  “I’m flattered to be one of them,” Serenity said sarcastically.

  Amara laughed out loud.

  Serenity’s next and final class of the day was period seven: P.E. Serenity was mainly ambivalent about physical education. She liked it only because it was easy; as much as she denied it, she was physically fit. Therefore, all the exercises, sports, and cardio is done in the class was not difficult. What she didn’t like about the class was that she simply did not find it fun or productive; she already trained almost every day after school. P.E. was obnoxiously supplemental.

  Every day, the students were required to dress out into shorts and the school P.E. T-shirt; she was pardoned for not doing so for being new. Coach Jacobs put her into a random team for basketball, the sport they were playing for the second quarter. She sat on the bench (they were in the outdoor courts) as her team, and the opposing team they were matched against, played. Since she was fully clothed, she elected not to participate; sweating while in tight jeans and a hoodie was something to avoid.

  “Are you sure you don’t want to play?” the captain of her team asked. “A girl scoring is worth more points. And you’re the tallest one on the team.”

  “No, thank you,” she replied adamantly. The captain scowled, continuing to play.

  They were called into the locker rooms ten minutes before the end of the school day. Dismissal time was at 2:20. The girls’ locker room smelled heavily of thick perfume and was pervasive with gossip. She stood against the wall, waiting patiently until dismissal. The afternoon announcements came onto the P.A., presented by a rather dull, intonation-lacking voice. A brunette girl, who she recognized from her first period, approached her with a fake smile. Serenity returned the smile half-heartedly.

  “You’re new here, right?” she asked. Serenity nodded, glancing at the clock.

  “Just some advice,” the brunette said, her tone shifting. “Stay away from guys out of your league.”

  Serenity raised an eyebrow, staring at the brunette, dazed. The girl beamed and then turned around gracefully with a spin of her heel, her ponytail swishing as she walked off. She was a dancer.

  Serenity took her time, making her way towards the student parking lot. All of the brothers, except Agno, were waiting by the van.

  The school campus was crowded with students eager to get out of school; they sped out of the parking lot and into the streets recklessly.

  “Where’s Agno?” Desmos asked.

  “In the principal’s office with his new girl,” Cackle joked.

  “I wouldn’t be surprised,” Garen said truthfully. “But if he doesn’t get back in five minutes, he’s getting smashed.”

  “Someone find him,” Desmos said impatiently. “The quicker we get out of this place, the better.”

  “Could you open the door?” she asked Desmos.

  Desmos ignored her, his arms folded, looking out for Agno. He was very ill-tempered; the onset of school-season often did this to him. Kyler was silently crouched down by the rear of the van.

  She pulled out her phone, ready to text or call Agno if needed; though, Serenity rarely messaged any of the brothers. Only when it was absolutely necessary did she do so. And most of the time, they never even replied.

  After ten minutes, Desmos and Garen contained outrage. Thankfully, Agno showed up before either of them lost control.

  “Show up late again and—” Desmos began.

  “Sorry, sorry, sorry!” Agno said quickly. “I was a bit preoccupied.”

  Desmos swore under his breath, getting into the van. They followed suit, as Desmos turned on the engine. In a matter of thirty seconds, they were out of the school parking lot and into the streets.

  “It isn’t so bad,” Agno said candidly. “Sequim chicks ain’t so bad.”

  “All the guys in weight-training are pansies,” Garen said haughtily. “Most of them can’t even bench 250.”

  “All of the dudes are cocky, though,” Cackle smiled mischievously, who was easily the most pugnacious of the family. “It’s going to be an interesting three months. I can’t wait to bully these fools.”

  Serenity almost forgot they were only staying for three months. For some reason, she had believed them to be staying in a full school year. When she gave it some thought, staying an entire school year wouldn’t be—as Agno put it—so bad. Not bad at all.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  The remainder of the week was rather uneventful. Every day after school, Desmos had them train like always. Fortunately, the training wasn’t as intense as it was during the off-school-season. The hours were also reduced. Though, she still collapsed after every two-mile run and got murdered during sparring; but at least her energy wasn’t completely depleted. For the days following Monday, at school, Serenity used the time to adapt and orient herself. There weren’t any singularities about Sequim High in comparison to all the other high schools she had attended. She learned to blend into the environment fairly quickly and memorized the layout of the school even quicker. Her classes were starting to feel more comfortable now that she was accommodated; out of all her classes, Chemistry was probably her favorite. Not that she liked the subject itself, but because Mr. Ramos was hilarious, and Chemistry was her only class with Amara, who had now become her friend. The conversation they had at lunch sparked the friendship.

  Thursday that week, they were sitting together during lunch. Amara was telling a story about the time she intentionally gave a “dense” student the wrong answers to an Algebra test her freshman year.

  “I just hate it when people ask you for answers repeatedly. I mean, can’t they just study the mater
ial themselves for once?” Amara said, flustered.

  “I get what you’re coming from, but some kids just aren’t smart,” said Serenity logically.

  “It’s not my fault that they’re stupid,” Amara replied reasonably. “It’s like constantly lending materials to that one kid who never comes to class prepared. Why do they even show up?”

  Serenity chuckled at Amara’s argument. The fact that they had grown very close in such a short amount of time was evidence of their compatibility; Amara was a congenial person, and both of them had much in common.

  “And I just remembered, I have to pick up my little sister after school today,” Amara groaned. “My mom’s working overtime today. If you have any younger siblings, you understand how annoying it is.”

  “I’m the youngest in my family,” Serenity shook her head. “Not really. I could never understand it.”

  “Wow, does it suck? Being the youngest?”

  “You have no idea,” she responded, tone bitter. “Though being the youngest isn’t the core of the problem.”

  “What do you mean?” Amara asked curiously.

  “Well, …it’s the most deficient. My older siblings excel while I, for lack of a better term, fail…” Serenity sighed.

  “How many do you have?”

  “Five…” she said gloomily.

  “Ouch,” Amara hissed.

  “How about you?”

  “Only one, thankfully.”

  “Lucky you.”

  Every day after the bell rang for dismissal, it was a mission to get out of the building, especially when on the third floor. The hallways would instantly flood with students, making it even difficult to move. It was frustrating chiefly due to her intentions of getting to the van as quickly as possible; Desmos would get ticked off if one of them was late. She felt Agno’s lack of punctuality the earlier Monday didn’t spark Desmos’s temper enough. If it was her that had been late, things would’ve been different; she’d be scolded and mistreated (more than usual) for the rest of the day. As she made her way through the campus, a voice called out to her.