Dom Luka With Trust (pdf)

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r me, sitting at the bottom of the four concrete stairs that led up to the b
uilding. He was staring at the sky accusingly, as if he fully expected it to
drop something vile on him at any moment; as I took my seat next to him, sl
iding my backpack off my shoulders, I looked up, too.
The sky did indeed, seem gray today. Overcast with thin clouds, covering an
y sign of blue as far as we could see. It wasn t cold, or even hot; and wit
hout so much as a light breeze in the air, everything seemed quiet, even am
ong the static of mixed voices belonging to the masses. The atmosphere coul
d be described as ominous. Normally, I liked to be more positive than that,
but it was true. Mid-August in Heywell was generally sunny and warm, our f
all not making its presence truly known until around mid September. There w
ere only a few trees around town that had turned already, lending colors of
red, purple, yellow and orange to the otherwise green landscape.
What s with this shit? Caleb finally remarked, without looking at me. I di
dn t have to ask to know that he was as put off by today s gloom as I was.
Maybe it ll clear up later, I suggested.
Maybe, he agreed. This is just like that dream I had.
Which one?
The one with the talking pizza.
I shook my head. No. That was a movie.
Whatever. It s still like a dream I had.
I finally looked away from the sky to face Caleb, noting the product in his
hair he d used to make his waves seem tighter, cleaner. His hair hadn t look
ed that neat all summer. Probably, I said. Where are Haily and Joe?
Caleb yawned, pointing behind us with his thumb, in the direction where mos
t people were passing us and entering the school. Saving our places in lin
e.
Dude, it s an alphabetical system, I responded. The only two of us in th
e same line are Haily and Joe. Caleb looked confused by that. I just laugh
ed at him. We seemed to have that same conversation every year. He never se
emed to quite grasp the fact that he actually had to stand in line on his o
wn. Let s go, I said. I wanna know what our schedules are gonna be. I s
tood, grabbing my backpack and heading up the stairs with Caleb right next
to me. What electives did you sign up for?
I don t remember, Caleb said. My dad filled out my requests last year.
You let your dad do it?
I was busy, he replied, shrugging. Plus, the whole thing s stupid, anyway.
In two years I only got one class I actually wanted.
He had a point there. Our school s more desired elective classes were limited
. I d been trying to get into basic art since I was a freshman, and it hadn t
happened yet. Of course, the school had their own alternative electives that
they were happy to place us in. Cooking hadn t been that bad during my fresh
man year, but last year the knitting club was something that I could have gon
e without. I probably wouldn t have signed up for any electives if our school
didn t require two a year, just like they required physical activity for at
least one semester a year. If someone couldn t participate in gym because of
a disability, they were required to study and take written tests all term.
Caleb and I made our way through the school, once again becoming familiar
with the worn white linoleum floors, fluorescent lights, orange doors and
purple lockers. A few teachers that my brother had last year stopped us to
chat, mostly interested in how Chad was doing. We stopped at the vending
machines near the school offices for some sodas, and Caleb complained abou
t how they didn t have the big peanut-butter cookies this year that everyo
ne liked. On the way to the courtyard, we ran into random people heading i
n the same direction. Most of them were from our year, and many of them we
d seen over the summer, or even more recently, like Peter Forest and Tere
sa Milldrum.
When we did reach the courtyard, it was chaos. The school-endorsed clubs ha
d gathered around several of the round, stone tables decorating the brick o
utdoor flooring along with the three large planters filled with freshly pla
nted seasonals that looked pretty now, but would likely whither up and die
in a month s time. Coach Don, with his cropped black hair and hooked nose w
as out with his clipboard and had a whole line of guys waiting to get their
names on it as he told them football tryouts started next weekend, on Satu
rday, at seven in the morning. Just like every year, Coach Don waved to Cal
eb and me, and told Caleb that they could sure use him on the team.
And just like every year, Caleb said no thanks and kept walking. Just like h
e couldn t understand why he had to wait in line, he didn t understand why a
nyone would want to spend their spare time tackling other guys and playing w
ith a ball--which in Caleb s opinion, didn t even look like a real ball--whe
n they could be out tackling girls. Caleb didn t buy all of the fuss about g
irls liking sports players more, either. Last year when our school s best wi
de receiver, Brandon Sholer, decided to tell Caleb that he could get more gi
rls than Caleb because he was on the team and girls liked that sort of thing
, Caleb stole Brandon s girlfriend, just to prove a point. I m not sure if h
e actually knew what his point was, though. He seemed more interested in pis
sing Brandon off at the time than anything else. There were simply some thin
gs I d never understand about Caleb.
The courtyard was rectangular in shape, and besides the door we came throu
gh, there were four more orange doors, all open where people were dividing
into lines according to their last names. I spotted Haily and Joe in one
line. They were almost inside, and I waved at them before I pointed Caleb
towards his line and headed for mine. It took about thirty minutes to get
into the school and down the hall to a classroom where teachers were handi
ng out our schedules. It only took me five seconds to strike up a conversa
tion with two nervous freshmen who wanted to know if there was any truth t
o the freshman-hazing horror stories they d heard about. I assured them th
at the worst they d have to endure was having frosh stamped on their foreh
eads; and then explained how it had happened to Caleb, Haily and me our se
cond week of high school at the hands of my brother, who d made the whole
thing feel more like a welcome party into adolescence than a hellish experience.
When I first received my schedule, I was actually happy with it for once. Oth
er than biology and world history, I got English three, which was more or les
s a creative writing class. I also finally got basic art. I didn t expect to
learn in that class as much as I expected to have a free period where I could
practice one of my favorite hobbies. It was well known that Mr. Allen was in
terested in free expression. As long as you were creating something in his cl
ass with the materials provided for the day, he was happy. But, my joy over g
etting a class that I actually asked for was short-lived.
I was settling into my locker, unpacking my bag after collecting my book a
ssignments from the library, and planning on finding my friends when I was
finished, when they found me instead. Haily, at least, got my attention w
hen she stopped next to me and started unloading her books into my locker.
Um... Haily? What are you doing? [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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