O.n.e.

Awkwardly stumbling with the load of an overflowing backpack, Adam Lawless shuffled by his male classmates as they dropped various articles of clothing with such casual ease, heading for the changing stalls. Towels hang and flapped over shoulders and other muscular body parts while steam began to arise from the showers, like a cloud of mustard gas yearning to snuff him out.

It was questionable, really, thought Adam, how the school administration insisted on pooling all these testosterone-pumped teenage males into one tiny locker room…sweaty and naked. A prickly, almost painful sensation of heat quickly spread across Adam’s face as he sidestepped two of his P.E. classmates running off from the showers, dripping with only white towels loosely hanging about their hips. He recognized one of them as Andrew McIntire and the other as his dumb-and-dumber soccer buddy, Dale Jones. The former grabbed handfuls of clothes and towels from the wooden benches and threw them into his friend’s path as he rushed off from the showers, laughing ridiculously. Dale ran into a lowered water drinking fountain and doubled over, groaning as he clutched a certain, special part of the body that was clearly in pain at the moment.

The locker room erupted into bursts of laughter when witnessing what happened. Some hooting filled the steamy air while others voiced comments of sympathy. A voice from the back of the room called out, “Nice job there, Dickhead!”

Adam ignored the spectacle and continued to trek towards the one empty changing stall he spotted near the back of the crowded room. Squeezing and dodging bodies, he managed to make some leeway, only to see the door to the changing stall slam shut.

“Damn it,” Adam swore under his breath. He looked around at the chaos and insanity of the locker room, a swarm of buzzing, eternally constant bees closing in on him like dripping honey on a stick; practically everyone was stripping unceremoniously and talking loudly with friends, unaware of the awkward teen shifting his feet as he watched them.

Sighing heavily, Adam moved towards the lockers, cautiously avoiding the hot spray of the showers and placed his backpack down on the wooden bench lining the edge of the room. He turned around so that he faced the lockers, his fingers clutching the hem of his T-shirt just before he was about to pull it up, off his body.

He didn’t get a chance to finish the action, though, because Brant Lee-Evans walked up next to him, and abruptly asked, “Is anyone using this locker?” The boy pointed at the metal locker adjacent to Adam’s.

Hurriedly, Adam smoothed his shirt back down, and shook his head in negative.

“Okay, thanks.” Brant then pushed his bag and runners into the empty locker and sitting on the bench, stripped his shirt right off with his arms without a second of a pause.

Adam almost gaped at him before quickly turning his head in the other direction. So much for privacy.

“Good class today, wasn’t it?” said Brant, making conversation as he stepped out of his shorts and draped a pale green towel around his neck.

The locker room suddenly seemed to close in, suffocating Adam. He didn’t usually change out in the open and dreaded being bare-chested naked in front of others when he did, even if no one was looking at him. Now, here’s Brant Lee-Evans, this fairly good athlete with toned muscles right beside him, putting his rather lanky body to shame in contrast.

“Nice move on the soccer field, by the way,” added Brant, grinning, “Got us a goal.”

Adam nodded, mumbling something akin to “thanks” and attempted to wait Brant out. Unfortunately, his bench companion didn’t appear to be going anywhere anytime soon. In fact, he looked quite comfortable there, making conversation with Adam as he undressed as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

Sensing this, Adam dejectedly grabbed the edge of his shirt, and tossed it over his head as quick as he could. The cold rushed to his skin like a bucket of ice water. He shivered from the sensation as he rummaged through his backpack, trying to locate his extra T-shirt and sweater.

Brant glanced over casually.

“What did you think of the Chemistry test?” he asked, looking oblivious to everything as he watched the smaller boy.

“Er…” Adam started, now frantically searching for his clothes and nervous under another’s gaze, “it was okay, I suppose…nothing really unexpected.”

“Surprising for Mr. Vakacus,” Brant said, nodding, his arms crossed in front of his chest as he regarded Adam.

“Uh huh.” His shirt and sweater couldn’t be found anywhere.

Brant watched as his classmate raked his hand through tousled, deep brown hair. Unlike Adam, he had dark blonde hair although he was half Caucasian, having a Chinese father. No one would have been able to guess he was even biracial, let alone half Asian if the observer in question simply took in his untelling physical appearance. Predictable, genes are not.

“Well, I’ve got to get going for English. See you around, Lawless.” Brant pulled on some clothes and locked his locker before pushing up from the bench and heading off.

Adam gave a sigh of relief as the other boy left. He stood, momentarily forgetting what he was about to do.

Suddenly, as if placed there at the very moment, he noticed his clothes on the bench, behind where Brant sat. He grabbed them and changed gratefully without another thought.

---

“Oh, just brilliant,” Adam muttered as the glass slide cover cracked in his hand during second period Biology class. The broken pieces flashed and reflected prettily in his pale hand, like shards of cheap diamond glinting cheekily up at him.

“You’re a superior dunce, you know that, Lawless?” said a teasing voice to his left. Adam looked over and almost winced when he saw Lorenzo Bianchetti, a fellow member of the track and field team to which he belonged. Lorenzo smirked at him and pointedly glanced at the mess in Adam’s hands.

“Oxymoron much?” Adam shot back, then mentally slapped myself for having made such a lame and almost non-sensical remark, a released bow that not only missed the target completely, but backfired as well.

Apparently Lorenzo had similar thoughts; his nose scrunched up and he frowned, yet managed to look amused at the same time—a spectacular and amazing feat. He only gave a laugh, then shook his head as his big brown eyes twinkled and mocked like he couldn’t believe the depth of Adam’s stupidity, and went back to his microscope stationed on the lab table directly behind Adam's.

Adam sighed like a weary farmer standing on the edge of unrewarding land, full of tenacious shrubs, hard soil, and never-growing plants. He guessed that the disappointing piece of farmland was him, never becoming any smarter or wittier or more confident—always the clueless, awkward teenage boy who constantly misses the mark.

---

Before Adam realized time zipping by in its usual way—quickly during the best moments, slowly during the most hellish ones—classes had ended, and he was already spinning the knob on his locker, watching the little white numbers revolve past nimble fingers. He popped the lock, and opened the door. The usual sight greeted him: jacket hanging upon the side hook like a limp doll caught in an especially bratty little girl’s grip, lunch consisting of a sandwich and a container of fruit and veggies, textbooks and binders stacked on the collapsible shelf he bought from the clearance self in a department store, and extra clothes stuffed neatly in a spare bag at the bottom.

Riding his bike to school like a maniac on late days, P.E. first thing in the morning, and track and field practices three times a week made the bundle of extra clothes necessary for changing out of sweaty garments regularly at school.

Adam shouldered the backpack he dumped onto the floor, procured his helmet and walked out of the school after gathering and locking up his things.

The bike ride home was refreshing and cool. Birds twittered in open air and late fall wind rushed by, flapping up and down the end of Adam’s helmet strap. He enjoyed this calmer weather before the fall of fat snowflakes in the month of December, although he still loved the spirit and atmosphere of Christmas, as commercialized as it was.

Upon entering the empty house, his parents being at work, he climbed the stairs three steps at a time and flopped onto his bed, exhausted. School often had that effect on him.

---

The familiar ascending notes of the bedside alarm clock rung Adam dry of his (wet) dreams and cruelly threw him back into the world of reality, a fish gaping up at shore, out of water and out of luck. Most annoyingly, sharp streams of sunlight shot through the gaps in his bedroom curtains at exactly the spot where his blinking eyes were. Their brightness almost brought confused, blurry tears to his eyes before he adjusted, and slowly made his way out of his bed, crawling from his warm sanctuary.

Adam made a sound at the back of his throat as he regarded the mess he made on his bedsheets through bleary eyes. He stripped the bed naked, gathering the fabrics into his arms and grunted as he made to the laundry room downstairs, arms full. This messy business was happening all too often lately, he thought. It was entirely too early in the morning for him to analyze the situation beyond that simple mental statement, and honestly, he wasn't exactly eager to see what he'd find out.

The house was quiet save for Adam's usual morning routine sounds: pants-zipping, shirt-sliding, teeth-brushing, toilet-flushing, toast-popping. His parents woke even earlier than him for work, and he had no siblings--younger or older--to accompany the house with him. Although most would think Adam was a lonely only-child home by himself a lot of the time, he surprisingly loved having the place to himself. It gave him a certain degree of freedom to do what he wanted, whether it be sleep till his parents come home, or surfing the Internet like a true hermit.

"Huh," Adam murmured under his breath, stopping mid-way through applying jam to the slice of whole-wheat bread in his hand. He thought he heard a tapping sound just a second before, but decided it must have been his neighbours being quintessential noisy neighbours. Picking up the dull butter knife, he resumed preparing his breakfast.

Ta ta ta. T-t-t-ta!

"Hey, Ad!" an almost distorted, small voice yelled from outside the house.

Adam definitely caught that. He rushed over to the window and cracked it open to greet his friend, Eliza Smith, once he realized who the mysterious pebble-thrower was.

"What are you doing, Eliza? What's with the Romeo and Juliet antics?"

"Shut up, Lawless," Eliza replied smartly, looking up at him, her hands on her hanches. She grabbed a knob on the tree beside her, and hoisted herself up to a low branch. Like an enfant monkey, she hung onto branch after branch and climbed the old tree to Adam's window. Panting slightly and hair in her eyes, Elizia extended her hand out, saying, "And help me up, Adam."

The boy grabbed her arm and compiled. "Romeo" tumbled in rather clumsily.

Eliza Smith is an interesting character was a comment that often came up in her report cards throughout elementary school. Adam could not agree more. There was obviously something called a door attached to Adam's house, but Eliza always prefered the more dramatic and fun, though usually impractical, approach. So every time she came over, she would enter her friend's house in a different way, each time more creative than the last. She climbed the roof before, and Adam nearly had a heartattack when she called him on her cell phone from above to say she couldn't get down.

("Ad, I think you better get some reinforcements."

"I'm not asking more people to participate in your crazy social experiment for Psychology class, Eliza. I'm sorry if your last batch of unwilling volunteers died off, but it was such a moronic idea to begin with--"

"Stop playing the village idiot, and get me down from your roof."

"...the fuck?!")

Sometimes Adam found it amusing, but more often, he thought it was a strange hassle. One day, he thought fondly, I'm going to set the cops on her.

Eliza casually plucked stray leaves and little branches from her hair and clothes as if it was something she did everyday. "I need a ride to school."

Adam rolled his eyes and said sarcastically, "Yes, well, why don't you just hop onto my 'ride', a pimped-out rusty pile of pipes called 'my bike' and we'll set off in a jiffy?"

"That's exactly what I thought you'd say," Eliza answered happily, dusting off her black pants.

A long, thoughtful pause, then:

"...the fuck?!"

History has a curious way of repeating itself, Adam learned.

---

"This is very dangerous, you know," Adam said through clenched teeth. He clutched his handle bars so hard, his knuckles became white at the tips. "And you're digging into my shoulders."

"Oh, sorry." Eliza loosened her grip on Adam's shoulders as she adjusted her positioning, her feet resting near the cassette of Adam's rear wheel.

At least she has a helmet on, thought Adam grimly, the image of them looking like two ridiculous circus clowns riding a deformed bicycle at the back of his head. He navigated his way to the school, worrying the whole time that his friend was going to fall off and crack her head upon falling on the hard pavement, knocked off by some tiny bump on the ground. He only gave a sigh of relief when he safely slid the bike into place at the rack on school grounds, and Eliza finally jumped off.

"See? That wasn't so bad!" Eliza exclaimed, clapping her friend gently as the back as he locked up and gathered his belongings.

"Yeah. Fantastic, it was," Adam murmured softly, a slightly green tinge still apparent on his face.

"Next time, I'll let you ride the back, then."

The expression on the boy's face grew a shade greener. "Er, no thanks...how about no 'next time,' instead?"

---

The school day passed like normal: Math first block (snooze, snooze), French second ("Class, how do you say 'if students were more responsible, they would succeed' in French?" Je ne sais pas...'gag me,' peut-être?), lunch ("I'll bet you five bucks the caf meat surprise is made of human meat, how about it, Lawless?" "Er, no thanks, I don't want to lose my money."), Chemistry after that ("Mr. Lawless, you're not using the microscope again next class if you break another glass slide!"), and English last ("I was reading your essay last night, Davie, and well...you can't write. At all." "Um, I'm Adam?" "Adam! Oh right, right, Adam Lawless! No, you can write. Run along now.").

Again, Adam found himself at his locker, staring into the contents of his backpack and wondering where in the world he placed his Math textbook when Lorenzo Bianchetti walked up.

"How y'doing? Good? Well, me too, thanks for asking," the newcomer said quickly, smiling as he did so. It seemed like he was always smiling that infuriating smile of his, thought Adam. "Now that pleasantries are out of the way," Lorenzo leaned back against the flat rows of lockers beside Adam's open one, "I'll say that I hope you prepared for the track and field practice tomorrow after school over the weekend. As assistant student coach and a fellow member, it is my responsibility to ensure that senior members are doing extra training for the big meets."

Adam blinked at Lorenzo's all too Italian face and stared, wondering why the assistant coach of track had to be Bianchetti.

"So, did you practice or train?"

"Er, sure," Adam shot out, wrestling with the stubborn zipper on his jacket front like an idiot.

Lorenzo peered into his face. "Well, I'll see about that, won't I, pretty boy?"

"Stop being an ass, Bianchetti," Adam said, flushing for no apparent reason and barely registereing his own reply, which came out more of a plea than an insult. "And stop giving me those Italian looks. They're stupid-looking." Adam wished he could take back what he said after realizing that the add-on, a) was lame and b) showcased his wonderfully fourishing vocabulary (not).

Lorenzo only grinned again, and taking Adam's jacket zipper, he pulled it up half way upeffortlessly, no glitch at all. He shook his head, the smiley look still on his face as he walked away.

Adam sighed. A piece of shitty farmland, again.