Categories > Original > Sci-Fi > Chapter 1: Homecoming
As I walked into Meadowfield High School I could see a banner below the school name and it read "A Great Place to Be!" The dingy sign hung low and it was apparently a goal of the other students to hit it as hard as possible in order to bring it lower as they passed.
I hadn't seen these people in years, since seventh grade. My palms were clammy and moist as I wiped them down the front of my jeans. My brown zip up coat giving me away that I was an outsider: the lack of designer labels pasted to front of my clothes was an obvious sign I suppose. I looked down at my schedule and saw that I had (ta-da) contemporary listerature with Mr. Hamilton first period. I didn't know who Mr. Hamilton was nor did I know where he was located in the school. Nervously, I peered around the hall hoping to find someone half-way kind looking to point me in the right direction. Finally, a boy wearing dark blue jeans and a dark green hoodie walked by me and seemed pleasent enough. I tapped him on the shoulder. He was much taller than I am--he had to be somewhere around six foot two. (I had been the recessive gene in the family. My mother was tall, blonde and tan; my father tall, jet black hair and blue eyes. Naturally, I came out with jet black hair, green eyes, pale and stood at a fantastic five foot four.) His sandy blonde hair and blue eyes seemed nice.
"Hi, um, I'm looking for Mr. Hamilton's class. Do you think you could-uh-tell me where to go?" I asked sounding dumber than usual.
He looked down and after a moment gave a heart-felt smile.
"You're Pharaoh, right?" He asked.
"Oh, um, yeah." I said low.
"I'm Christan...but everyone just calls me Chris." He told me. I had to have been gawking at him--no one would normally talk to a "psycho from the mental ward" at least not on their own free will.
"Uh, I can show you how to get there if you want. I'm in that class too." Chris said interrupting my incredibly awkward moment.
"That'd be great." I said and forced a smile.
As we walked down the arts and crafts infested halls, I realized that people were starring at me. I didn't know what it was. Maybe it was because these people hadn't seen me in four years--maybe they had forgotten me and I was the "new girl."
I entered the class room and it was the one place I felt like I might be able to belong. I had read nearly every book that was on the shelves. Frankenstein, A Midsummer's Night Dream, The Handmaid's Tale, Grapes of Wrath--all these books I had read and practically memorized seeing as how that was all I was trusted with in Cherry Acres. Mr. Hamilton was an interesting looking man. Maybe he was really good looking back in his younger years. He was now a cute old man. He had grey hair that seemed it could never be maintained, his brown eyes sparkling behind his spectacles, huge grin and many rings on his fingers told me he was eccentric and that we would get along just fine. Every question he asked, I answered. Every book he mentioned I had read. I was incredibly enthused to be in his class.
--MORE SOON....
I hadn't seen these people in years, since seventh grade. My palms were clammy and moist as I wiped them down the front of my jeans. My brown zip up coat giving me away that I was an outsider: the lack of designer labels pasted to front of my clothes was an obvious sign I suppose. I looked down at my schedule and saw that I had (ta-da) contemporary listerature with Mr. Hamilton first period. I didn't know who Mr. Hamilton was nor did I know where he was located in the school. Nervously, I peered around the hall hoping to find someone half-way kind looking to point me in the right direction. Finally, a boy wearing dark blue jeans and a dark green hoodie walked by me and seemed pleasent enough. I tapped him on the shoulder. He was much taller than I am--he had to be somewhere around six foot two. (I had been the recessive gene in the family. My mother was tall, blonde and tan; my father tall, jet black hair and blue eyes. Naturally, I came out with jet black hair, green eyes, pale and stood at a fantastic five foot four.) His sandy blonde hair and blue eyes seemed nice.
"Hi, um, I'm looking for Mr. Hamilton's class. Do you think you could-uh-tell me where to go?" I asked sounding dumber than usual.
He looked down and after a moment gave a heart-felt smile.
"You're Pharaoh, right?" He asked.
"Oh, um, yeah." I said low.
"I'm Christan...but everyone just calls me Chris." He told me. I had to have been gawking at him--no one would normally talk to a "psycho from the mental ward" at least not on their own free will.
"Uh, I can show you how to get there if you want. I'm in that class too." Chris said interrupting my incredibly awkward moment.
"That'd be great." I said and forced a smile.
As we walked down the arts and crafts infested halls, I realized that people were starring at me. I didn't know what it was. Maybe it was because these people hadn't seen me in four years--maybe they had forgotten me and I was the "new girl."
I entered the class room and it was the one place I felt like I might be able to belong. I had read nearly every book that was on the shelves. Frankenstein, A Midsummer's Night Dream, The Handmaid's Tale, Grapes of Wrath--all these books I had read and practically memorized seeing as how that was all I was trusted with in Cherry Acres. Mr. Hamilton was an interesting looking man. Maybe he was really good looking back in his younger years. He was now a cute old man. He had grey hair that seemed it could never be maintained, his brown eyes sparkling behind his spectacles, huge grin and many rings on his fingers told me he was eccentric and that we would get along just fine. Every question he asked, I answered. Every book he mentioned I had read. I was incredibly enthused to be in his class.
--MORE SOON....
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