by Pearl Love
Jeremy guessed the lists indicated the students’ homeroom assignments arranged by last name, though he knew his name wouldn’t be there.
“Administration Office,” he mumbled under his breath.
The letter he’d received a couple of months previously, announcing he’d been accepted as a transfer student, had instructed him to report to the office on his first day. He looked around for anything that would help him locate his destination, but it was difficult to see anything through the mass of bodies. Swiveling his head back and forth, he continued to search for directional signs, unconsciously fingering his pendant. The stone hit him midsternum, the perfect height for grabbing. He had barely taken it off since receiving it two years ago, and the familiar weight of it was like an old friend. More like his only friend.
“Hey, loser, stop standing in the middle of the floor. Get out of the way!”
The admonition was accompanied by a hard shove, but Jeremy loosened his stance and easily rolled with the blow. Apparently all those years of yoga he’d endured under his mom’s tutelage hadn’t been for nothing. We’ll make a ballerina out of you yet, Squirt. He reached for his pendant as he remembered Chris’s teasing voice complimenting him on his limberness.
Pushing down the sadness that twisted in his chest at the fond memory, Jeremy finally found what he’d been seeking. A sign hanging from the ceiling farther down the hall pointed the way, and he turned right to begin pushing his way along the corridor. Several of the students he passed gave him varying degrees of looks, from mildly curious to vaguely hostile. This was his fourth time changing schools since the sixth grade, so he easily ignored the “new kid” stares. If there was anything he was used to, it was not fitting in.
Jeremy paused as he finally located the door with the words “Administration” stenciled on the rectangular pane of translucent Aquatex glass. He took a deep breath and fiddled briefly with a ringlet of hair before tossing it over his shoulder and pushing open the door.
A heavyset, middle-aged woman looked up from her computer when he appeared in the doorway. A pair of glasses was perched on the end of her broad nose, secured around her neck by a delicate chain. Her hair was a mixture of black and gray and done up in a tidy arrangement of large curls. The AC was on high to combat the late summer heat, and she’d pulled a lightweight white shawl over her flowered dress. Jeremy thought with some amusement that she looked like Isabel Sanford, one of his favorite actresses. He instantly felt a little more at ease.
“What do you need, honey? Can’t find your name on the boards?”
“Um, no ma’am. I’m a transfer student. My acceptance letter told me to come here when I arrived.”
The lady—Mrs. Green according to the name placard on her desk—nodded. “Oh, yes. You need to report to the vice principal. She’ll give you your orientation.” Mrs. Green swung her chair around so she was facing the large file cabinet behind her. “What’d you say your name was, honey?” she tossed over her shoulder.
“Michalak. M-I-C-H-A-L-A-K,” he spelled helpfully. “Jeremy.”
“Ah, here we go.” She retrieved a folder from the cabinet and spun back around, holding the folder out toward him. “Take this with you. The vice principal’s office is right over there.”
Jeremy followed the direction of her pointing finger toward a door to the left side of the room. He nodded in acknowledgment. “Thank you, ma’am,” he said, flashing her a grin. His dimples were fairly deep, and he knew the effect they tended to have on sweet old ladies. Sure enough she smiled back at him pleasantly before returning to her typing.
A voice answered his knock, and he stepped into the office feeling a sense of inevitability. Why was he putting himself through this again? Did he really think this place would be any different?
“How can I help you, young man?”
Jeremy banished his negative thoughts and took in the woman sitting behind the heavy wooden desk. Wow, Angela Bassett! was his first thought. At second glance, the woman was a bit older than the actress but lost nothing in the comparison. Her dark brown hair poured sleekly down to her shoulders to brush the top of her tailored red jacket. Beneath the jacket, a gold chain rested against what looked like black silk, though Jeremy didn’t hazard a guess as to whether the material was merely a decent facsimile. Her hands rested atop the desk, her perfectly manicured nails tapping somewhat impatiently against the surface.
“I’m a new student.” Jeremy noticed her gaze flick toward the folder in his hand, and he held it out for her to take.
“Well, Jeremy,” she said after taking a moment to peruse his file, “I’m Darlene Simonds, and I’d like to welcome you to Winton Yowell. As vice principal, it’s my job to liaise with students, to provide a sounding board for any questions or issues they may have during the school year.”
Jeremy nodded, pretending like he cared. Frankly, he didn’t envy her. It sounded like a thankless job. He of all people knew how much teenagers could suck.
“It’s also my duty to inform new students of what’s expected of them as part of the Winton Yowell family. Normally I give this speech to the entire freshman class during orientation, but I doubt you’d appreciate sitting in an auditorium full of underclassmen today, especially when sophomores and up only have class this morning.”
She smiled conspiratorially, and he nodded again, still feeling mostly disinterested though the prospect of being able to go home in a few hours did hold great appeal.
“I don’t have to tell you that we expect our young people to excel in their academic studies. Winton Yowell has been ranked the top high school in the city for the past fifteen years based on grades and Common Core tests. Not to mention,” she added with a smug look, “we have the highest college admission rate of any high school in the state.”
Jeremy already knew all this, given that it had been his first choice of school when he was in eighth grade. “That’s great, Ms. Simonds.” He figured he couldn’t go wrong with the neutral title, especially since she didn’t seem to be wearing a wedding ring.
“But we don’t only expect our students to do well in their studies, Jeremy. We also pride ourselves of graduating young men and women who are well rounded in sports and the arts. Winton Yowell has a number of athletic teams and fine arts clubs, in which I highly encourage you to consider participating.”
For the first time, she had his full attention. “Yes, ma’am. In fact, I’m really interested in the band program.”
Ms. Simonds’ smile broadened. “Is that so? Then you’re in luck!” She glanced briefly down at his file before fixing him with a friendly, if severe, gaze. “You’ve been assigned to Mr. Crabtree’s homeroom. It just so happens he’s the band director.” She sat back in her chair, her hands clasped over her midsection in the classic pose of a pleased facilitator. “I’m sure you’ll have plenty to discuss with him. Now, do you have any questions for me, Jeremy?”
He rapidly tried to think of something so as not to make her feel she hadn’t been helpful. “Um, when will I get my class assignments?”
“Ah, yes. Your only class today will be homeroom, and your teacher will explain the procedure. Junior year is the first time students can choose their classes based on their academic track, so you won’t be alone in being new to the process.”
The remainder of the meeting passed quickly, and after Ms. Simonds reminded him to be sure and come to her with anything he needed, Jeremy left her to her business. He made a silent vow that he would do everything in his power to never have to speak with her again. Something about her made him inexplicably uneasy.
Jeremy had to ask a couple of times for directions, but after receiving some grudging help, he finally found his new homeroom. The class was located on the second floor at the opposite end of the main hallway from the administrative office. He glanced down at the paper Vice Principal Simonds had given him and matched the number on the page with the number imprinted on the door—204.
“Well, here goes nothing.”
&
nbsp; Jeremy could hear loud noises through the door, and the first impression he received after opening it slightly to peek inside was one of pure chaos. What appeared to be about thirty students were standing or sitting, both on the desks and in the adjacent seats, with no discernible order or purpose. The storm preceding the arrival of an authority figure—Jeremy was well familiar with the custom of doing whatever the heck you wanted to do before the teacher arrived. However, given his status as a stranger to his soon-to-be fellow students, he was reluctant to join in the mayhem.
He let the door close and considered how to proceed. He supposed he could always wait out in the hall until the teacher got there, but standing beside the door would only make him look suspicious, like he didn’t belong. Teachers weren’t overly fond of loiterers, he knew from experience. He glanced down the hall back the way he’d come and, sure enough, an adult was approaching his position with a look of purpose. The man didn’t appear particularly old—maybe midthirties at most—but his balding head, obvious paunch, and round glasses didn’t do much for him. Not to mention he was dressed like someone out of a 1950s sitcom, complete with brown corduroy pants, a light blue shirt, and an unbuttoned cardigan that failed to match any other item of clothing.
Jeremy tensed when the man caught sight of him, and he straightened, mentally preparing to explain himself. But instead of a lecture, the man favored him with a kindly smile, lively blue eyes dancing merrily behind his spectacles as he looked at Jeremy curiously.
“Are you my new transfer student?”
Jeremy blinked, though he supposed he shouldn’t have been surprised. “Um, yes, sir,” he replied. “Mr. Crabtree?”
“Indeed.” The teacher’s smile broadened. “Didn’t want to head into the breach without an escort? Can’t say I blame you.” He chuckled. “I don’t love having to meet a new group of students every year. What say we tackle this together, hmmm?”
Jeremy returned the teacher’s smile with a shy one of his own. This Mr. Crabtree seemed like a good guy, but he decided to reserve full judgment for now. At his nod, Mr. Crabtree stepped around him and opened the door.
“Okay, people. I’m here to officially put an end to your summer vacations. I know you’re all smart enough to find your seats. Please go ahead and take them now so we can get attendance out of the way.” Mr. Crabtree paused and glanced over at Jeremy. “Come on in, son.”
Jeremy took a deep breath and crossed the threshold, knowing all too well what awaited him. As he’d expected, his tentative sweep of the room was met with openly goggling stares. He’d faced the same reaction each time he’d entered a new school as a transfer, and it probably wasn’t all that usual for someone to start at a new school with only two years left before graduation. Hunching his shoulders, Jeremy looked around for the empty chair that was probably his.
He found it pretty quickly, but just as swiftly found himself gazing into the bemused brown eyes of the kid sitting immediately to the right of his new seat. He groaned under his breath. Of all the luck, he had to end up in the same homeroom as that jerk from the bus this morning.
Jeremy held no illusions about his appearance. He’d cultivated his unusual style quite deliberately. The long, crazy hair, his collection of classical composer T-shirts, even his beat-up Converse shoes were all calculated to give the impression of the improbable love child of a geek and a hippie. The way he saw it, there were three ways to survive high school: blend in, stand out, or be too weird for anyone to bother. He’d chosen the latter route long ago, and, with a few regrettable exceptions, the tactic had served him fairly well until now. His look had certainly done its job with the guy from the bus. He could practically see the “weirdo” thought bubble that had appeared above the guy’s head when they’d seen each other.
But there had been something else as well in the guy’s eyes. An awareness about that secret Jeremy had never particularly tried to hide but did as little as possible to advertise. Jeremy knew perfectly well his new classmate had labeled him a homo, and he was certainly no stranger to the concept of that particular prejudice. Besides, it wasn’t like the guy was wrong.
He could still recall the beautiful melody that had filled him when they locked gazes on the bus. The music had permeated every cell of his body as though coming from somewhere deep inside. He had been fond of music since he was a young child and could usually be caught humming some tune or other that drifted into his head. But this was different. He hadn’t heard the music before. Rather, it was like he’d been born knowing it, but only when he stared into the brown eyes of a stranger did he remember the notes. Now he couldn’t forget them, and being in the same class as the unexpected source certainly wouldn’t help.
Jeremy shifted his gaze pointedly, hoping the guy hadn’t seen any recognition or panic on his face. Not that he would have minded staring for as long as he could get away with it. It was a real shame such a hot-looking guy turned out to be a homophobic creep.
Chapter FOUR
“WHO YOU got this year?”
Tyrell glanced over his shoulder. Ryan was standing close behind him, peering at the list of F-to-H names. Looking back at the board, Tyrell quickly skimmed the paper and found his own name.
“Room 204. Mr. Crabtree.”
Ryan clapped him hard on the shoulder. “Awesome! We’re finally back in the same homeroom. It sucked last year not having you there to make that boring period go faster.”
Tyrell smirked. He and Ryan had been in the same class since they met, and he hoped sophomore year would be the lone exception to that rule. “Yeah, I’m glad too. You know anything about Crabtree?” He stepped back to allow the students milling behind him to find their class assignments.
“Nah,” Ryan said, shaking his head.
“He’s the band director.”
Tyrell and Ryan both turned to look down at Cynthia as she came to stand between them.
“How do you know that?” Tyrell asked. “You’re not in band.” He stared at her closely but was relieved to see she had recovered from her emotional breakdown. Her eyes were still a bit pink, but otherwise, she seemed fine.
Cynthia gave him the side-eye, her above-average height allowing her not to have to look up too far to meet his gaze. “Because unlike some people, I avail myself of every aspect of life here at Winton Yowell and know about other activities besides the ones I’m involved in.”
“Yeah, whatever,” Ryan interjected. “You gotta crush on some band geek or somethin’?”
Tyrell noted the sudden color in Cynthia’s cheeks with mild interest as she elbowed Ryan with some viciousness in the ribs. “Where are you this year, Cyn?” he asked to prevent any bloodshed.
“Room 210,” she replied with a final glare at Ryan. Cynthia rolled her eyes when he merely returned her look with a goofy, exaggerated grin. She did appear somewhat mollified by the fact that he was gingerly rubbing the spot where she’d hit him. “Maybe next year I’ll finally be with you guys.”
Whereas he and Ryan had managed it nearly every year since grade school, Tyrell had never been in the same class as Cynthia. “That would be a nice way to spend senior year,” he said. He blinked when the pink in her cheeks grew more intense, wondering what that was all about.
The three of them chatted until they’d reached the second floor, at which point Cynthia parted ways with them to head to her homeroom. Tyrell and Ryan waved her off before turning toward their own class. The room was about half-full when they arrived, with the students who’d gotten there ahead of them busily searching for their assigned seats. They were never too hard to find since homeroom seating was always arranged in alphabetical order.
Ryan found his seat about midway down the row. “Hey, you’re right behind me again,” he threw over his shoulder happily as he swung his bag onto his new desk.
Since their last names were so near each other, it wasn’t unusual for them to end up in such close proximity. Tyrell claimed his own desk and glanced around at the ones next to him. The folded
card sitting on top of the desk to his left featured a name he didn’t recognize but it wasn’t like he knew every student in the school.
He and Ryan chatted while they waited for the period to start, greeting familiar faces and speculating vaguely about how the school year would turn out.
“Oh, yeah,” Ryan asked suddenly, “are you coming to the game this evening?” Winton Yowell’s football team was playing an exhibition game against their biggest rival, Kendall Academy, to kick off the semester. “Do you have to pick up Kevin after school?”
Tyrell shook his head. “No. He has late baseball practice today. He said their coach would be giving orientation to their new players, and he has to stay since he made junior captain.”
“Really?” Ryan grinned. Tyrell knew he’d always been fond of Kevin, and since he didn’t have any siblings of his own, had adopted Tyrell’s little brother as his own. “That’s great! Tell him I said congrats. Anyway,” he added after Tyrell nodded in acknowledgment, “are you coming? Is your grandma doing okay?”
Tyrell smiled, grateful for Ryan’s thoughtfulness. Ryan had known Lucille for years and had long ago adopted her as a surrogate grandmother. “Yeah, she was doing okay this morning. I should be able to go since Kendall isn’t too far from the house.” Ryan knew he was responsible for Lucille from the moment he got home from school until his mother arrived. “It starts at five, right? Good,” he said at Ryan’s nod. “I’ll spend the afternoon with her and then head to the game. Kevin should be home by the time I need to leave.”
“Cool.”
Ryan was visibly excited, and Tyrell couldn’t blame him. The game would be Ryan’s debut as a starting lineman, a distinction he’d earned through lots of hard work and practice. Tyrell was truly proud of Ryan and glad he’d be able to witness the beginning of his varsity career.
