Walking through the hallways at seven thirty in the morning was pretty much the last thing I wanted to be doing, especially when there was a cloud of either Axe or body odor at every turn. The worst was when it was body odor mixed with Axe. As I made my way to my first class, I couldn’t help but wonder why some people didn’t shower.
Nothing made me feel more like a loner than showingup to class early and sitting by myself while the teacher was busy getting her shit in order. Her name was completely gone from my mind, but I knew I had the same teacher for some creative writing class back in ninth grade. She was nice and all, but I knew she would try to—“Good morning, Ryan. How are you?”
There it was. The small talk. Always with the small talk.
“I’m great, Mrs. Enderly. Andyou?” Her name popped into my head at just the last second, thankfully. After she answered, I excused myself to go get a bottle of water from the vending machine. Even though I wasn’t thirsty, I just needed to get away for a few minutes before class actually began.
The rest of the day passed like any other first day of school. Fill out this paper, pass back that one, answer stupid personal questionsabout yourself all to keep the teacher satisfied with their thin creativity. Secretly, I had harbored the hope that my last first day of high school would be more exciting than this. Last year, it’d been drilled into our heads that junior year was the most important thing we’d ever do in life. You’d think the year following the most important year ever would be somewhat interesting or exciting.
Clearly that was not the case because even this year, it was the same old boring routine.
The light at the end of the tunnel, for me at least, was my last two classes of the day. Woodshop was the only place I felt like I ever really belonged. It was the only class I’d enjoyed in middle school and the one path I actively chose to continue through high school. My parents hated that I took it—thoughtit made me look like a loser. And I had been looking forward to taking Architecture and Engineering since I saw it as part of the Building and Design curriculum back in freshman year. It never even registered on their radar that I took AP Physics as part of my plan to major in Architecture in college. All they really cared about was that I was nothing like my brother—the perfect, jocky PromKing.
It had taken a lot of mental energy to pursue something my parents hated. But I had made up my mind and they would have to deal with it. So with a lightness I hadn’t felt all day, I walked into the woodshop classroom and felt happy.
That was until I saw him. Quinn Jacobs.
I hated him.
For the last five years, he served only as a daily reminder of the fact that I had never been able tostand up to my brother. And of course he was sitting right next to the only open seat in the classroom.
Great.
Trying my best to go unnoticed, I navigated my way through the awkwardly laid out worktables and benches, past the machinery that fascinated and scared me. Just as I was about two feet away from the open chair, I tripped over my own two feet and went flying across the room. Like somescene from a comic book, I literally slid across the baby-blue linoleum floor and skidded to a stop at my teacher’s feet.
As he looked down at me, a small, kind smile lighting up his face, the bell rang, signaling the start of ninth period. “Looks like you just made it,” the teacher joked. Holding out his hand for me to take, he helped me up. When I turned around and faced the class, everyonewas giggling, covering their mouths as if it would somehow disguise how funny they thought it all was.
“Welcome to Advanced Woodshop. I’m Mr. Morgan.” I took his opening lines as an opportunity to make it the rest of the way to my seat as discreetly as possible. And of course my spot had to be at the front of the room where I could feel everyone staring at me, as if their eyes were boring holesinto my back.
Mr. Morgan continued with some basic back-to-school information as I pulled out my one notebook and stubby pencil. The scrawny kid sitting at the other end of the table was Korey Culligan. He folded his arms over a notebook neatly labeledWoodshop.I bet he was proud of himself for being so prepared for the first day of school. Sizing him up, I would have put money on him beinga freshman, but he was a senior just like me. Skinny and rather gawky looking, he was the definition of awkward—something I was more than thrilled to have outgrown. In short, he looked like me from a few years ago.
While I didn’t have popularity going for me, at least I knew I had it in the looks department. Tall, lean, muscular without being too much over the top, I wasn’t too hard on the eyes.It was a nice change from being so skinny that teachers were actually worried if I was eating enough. And even though I’d never dated anyone, I caught the stares. I saw how the girls looked at me and I could only imagine what they were thinking.
Too bad for them I didn’t care much abouttheiropinion.
But as I lost myself to thoughts of the past, as it always did, a vision of that first dayof middle school from so many years ago flashed in my brain. I had all the hope in the world that I would be part of the cool kids. That I would fit in and have a ton of friends. That was until my brother tried to beat me up while everyone looked on. And before he talked everyone out of ever giving me the chance.
Turns out that falling on your ass as a senior in front of the entire class wasequally as embarrassing.
Might as well have shown up naked. That would have made a better impression.
Chuckling at my own stupid internal thoughts caught my teacher off guard. “What’s so funny about that, Mister—” He paused, waiting for me to supply my last name.
“Masterson,” I sputtered. “Ryan Masterson.”
“Okay, Ryan Masterson, can you please explain to me how slicing your finger off on theband saw warrants laughter?”
“It doesn’t, sir.” The immediacy and sincerity of my answer satisfied him, making him shift his attention from me to the different pieces of equipment around the room. Despite my interest in the subject, I found myself bored to death as Mr. Morgan walked about the room, yammering on and on about this and that. This was Advanced Woodshop, after all. We had all alreadytaken the introductory class.
Mid-yawn and more than a little bored, my mind wandered. “He probably stayed up all night planning out this lesson, huh?” The question was accompanied by an elbow nudging my arm.
Craning my head to the seat next to me, my eyes met Quinn’s. Words escaped me as the brightest shade of blue I’d ever seen filled my vision. If he wasn’t sitting right here in front ofme, I’d question whether he was real or not. “What?” I finally managed, sounding more mad than entranced.
You’re madbecauseyou’re entranced,I thought somewhere in the back of my mind.
“Nothing,” he dismissed, keeping his voice hushed.
Annoyed for some reason, I repeated, “What?”
