Notes: This is the first one chronologically in their lives. These snippets aren't one right after another, but they are in chronological order.

Schedules

The only kid in the room not staring at him is Pat, but that doesn’t mean anything, ‘cause Pat’s sitting directly in front of him and can’t very well turn around to stare without pissing the teacher off.

Well, Pat and the other guy, whose name Tim doesn’t know – the one in the seat across the aisle from him, in enough chains to moor a small boat and enough black to make shadows cower in shame.

The bell rings, shrill and sudden, and in front of him, Pat jumps, startled. The tone finishes, and the teacher starts calling attendance.

“Catherine Allen,” she begins, and is answered by a cheerful, “Here!” and a wave from a girl in an Abercrombie tee. “Michael Galiana.”

It’s a slow list, and Tim listens in a distracted stupor to both the teacher and Pat, who is rambling on about the girl he met last period who is the hottest thing this side of summer camp, and doesn’t really comprehend either of them.

“Adam…Kol-sen-kee,” the teacher says, faltering on the syllables of the name, and the kid on Tim’s right responds with a wry, “Kol-chenk-uh. I’m not a Czech pastry, you know,” which garners some laughs.

Pat turns around to look at him, grinning, before trading a look with Tim that whispers, He seems cool.

“You like them?” Pat asks, gesturing at Not-A-Czech-Pastry’s shirt, which is emblazoned with a band logo.

Not-A-Czech-Pastry looks down, reading it before answering, “Yeah. Not my favorite, but my favorite wasn’t selling shirts last time I saw them live, and my cousin’s dog chewed it to shreds over the summer.”

Tim has one ear on the teacher’s roll-calling, and interrupts Pat as he’s asking, “So what is your favorite?” to hiss, “Say ‘here’!”

By the time Pat is paying attention to them again, after having responded that yes, he is the little brother of Amy Verano, and yes, he would tell her hi from Mrs. Lee, Tim is telling Not-A-Czech-Pastry, “I like them, but they seem kind of flat on their CD’s.”

“They’re better on stage,” he’s assured. “Way better. No comparison.”

“Heard of –” Tim starts, but Pat jumps in with, “What’s your schedule like?” holding out a slip of paper for comparison that is soon followed, after some digging around in pockets and backpacks, by Not-A-Czech-Pastry’s and Tim’s.

Not-A-Czech-Pastry examines both of the others, Tim leaning to the side at an angle that would make the teacher nervous, were she watching, to compare for himself.

“I’ve got science with you,” Tim says, glancing at the name at the top of the sheet. Adam, right.

“And Spanish with you,” Adam adds, pointing at Pat. “And then we’re in gym and English together, all three of us.”

“Cool,” Pat says, and grins, just as the teacher hits a ruler on Adam’s desk, half-shouting, “MistersKolcenkeRyderandVerano, are you paying attention?” and they smile at each other before fervently asserting that yes, they were indeed, and no, they have no idea what that sheet is for. No ma’am, it won’t happen again.