Bright green eyes…

“…class consists of actually learning, unlike the rest of the wishy-washy English department…”

Deep voice, frequently loaded with sarcasm…

“It’s not all essays and text book work in here. We’ll be getting into many fascinating works…”

Tall, boney, and gangly…

“Many assignments will also involve group work, which I’m sure instantly delights you all…”

Messy hair that looks like it’s long ago lost a fight with many a hair dye…

“…will also prepare you for the real world; I won’t be babying you every step of the way…”

I’m pretty sure already that my English teacher is perfect.

It’s only my first day, but…that means nothing when it comes to true love like this. He’s…he’s…well, okay, I’ve heard a lot of horror stories already about his work load and how he’s a robot with no heart but…how can you not love this guy?

It’s fourth period, right before lunch, and I’ve transferred here for this year after my old school had three lock downs for a weapon on campus for the last year. I guess there’s a lot worse out there, but…going to this school is an easy switch anyway.

But already, people have asked conversationally to look at my schedule, and then sigh and say, “good luck with Mr. Z there”. I was really nervous about it; I usually favor those classes that are kind of like free periods (and at my old school, I mean, student expectations weren’t very high).

But now that I’m here…man, he’s just…extraordinary. It’s every one else who has the problem – they can’t see his inner (and, frankly, outer) beauty.

“…so get this syllabus signed by your parents tonight…”

I tune into the real world long enough to take one and pass it back.

“…and I better see it in your hands tomorrow.”

The bell rings and everyone gets up and out. I lag behind as much as I can, dragging out gathering up my stuff, and I glance at Mr. Zachuuski (his full name; so…so appealing) from out of the corner of my eye. The boy to my right gets all his books shoved to the floor by some ass trying to get out quickly, and I stoop down to help him pick it all up. I look at his books – Calculus, AP Chem, Honors Anatomy…

“Quite the load this year, huh?” I comment.

“Yeah, it’s…it’s not bad,” he says, shuffling out of the room.

I flick my eyes back to Mr. Z, whose own are boring back into mine, dead-panned, and I hurry out after the boy.

“So, um – have you been at this school all four years?” I ask awkwardly. It’s a little selfish, but it would be awesome to snag a brainiac as a friend. Added bonuses are the cuteness and niceness.

“Oh,” he looks at me a little blankly before replying, “Yeah. I started here as a freshman…it’s weird to be a senior now.” He paused before, “You?”

Score! He knows the campus and, he asked the return question, which means he can’t be totally irritated by me. “Actually, I just transferred here this year. It’s a big campus, so…I’m still finding my way around.”

“If you, um…need any help, I could show you. What’s your fifth and sixth?”

We stop walking for a moment and I give him my schedule. As he takes it, I insist on holding his books for him.

“Okay…oh, Vincent Scene, huh? Nice name. Anyway, after this there’s Art in E4…that’s over on the other side of this building…”

Then it’s government in C7, it’s right over there, and oh, Mr. Brigg is really nice, a little boring but great teacher, yadda yadda…I half-listen, just trying to make chit chat. I thank him afterwards and he takes back his books. We say goodbye and he’s on his way.

Now I’m left in the middle of strangerville for lunch. I’m not hungry, and I don’t usually eat lunch at school anyway, so I take to wandering around. I check out the campus a little, walk past my next to classes, regard some of the nice murals on the outside of the buildings…

After a little while I’m walking down the outdoor halls towards the chain-link fence to the P.E. field. I don’t have P.E. this year because I’ve already fulfilled those requirements, but it’s still neat to look everything over. There’s hardly any one by this area, except three kids that I spot by the fence being noisy.

“Hey, hey, hey! Stop it!” the one girl out of the three screams, while still laughing, as the two boys jokingly try to push her over the fence. There’s a little bit of a drop before the actual field, but it wouldn’t actually harm anyone.

I’m walking past them, inwardly amused, but the girl is flailing so hard, and there’s a small amount of space for me to walk in between the fence and the building parallel to it, and she ends up kicking me.

The boys immediately let her down and turn to me, with loose grins on their faces, and she stumbles around to face me too.

“Jeez, I’m sorry!” she says, looking genuinely regretful.

“It’s fine,” I mutter, looking at them.

With her in the middle, and the two boys a little behind her, it’s almost a picturesque scene. They go very well together. They all have artificial snow blond hair, except the taller boy has a few blue and green streaks near the front.

The girl has her long hair in low pigtails, and long bangs hanging out. She has on a red tank top, a short black jean skirt, and three different colored fishnet tights all ripped up together. She also has a million beaded bracelets on each arm.

The boy with the blue and green in his hair is striking in a certain way. He just has on a black tee and jeans, but he has a confident air about him that draws attention. The shorter boy’s hair is pure white like the girl’s, and it’s shorter than the tall boy’s super straight shoulder-length hair. The shorter boy has on a gray flannel shirt, skinny jeans, and very colorful skater shoes.

I feel totally boring next to these kids. Shaggy black hair, a tee and jeans. Real exciting.

“You okay?” the girl asks. I silently nod. “Oh, wait!” She suddenly says loudly. “That’s where I know you! You’re in my French class, huh?”

It clicks in my head, and I remember talking to her about how terrible Mr. Z is. “Second period?” I ask, to be sure.

“Yeah, yeah! Hey, cool. Oh! Um, I’m Tori,” she gestures to herself then looks back.

“Jon,” the tall boy says.

“Karma,” the short boy says in a whispery kind of voice. His face, his voice, and his name all just add to his super-androgynous-ness.

“Hey,” I say to them all generally. “I’m Vincent.”

Tori smiles. “You said you’re new, right? You got somewhere to sit for lunch?”

“No, not really,” I reply.

“Well, hang out with us!” she says animatedly, pulling me over back to the fence, Jon and Karma trailing over with her.

We stand in silence kind of awkwardly before I throw out, “So did you do the hair thing on purpose?”

“Yeah,” Tori laughs. “Last Halloween we wanted to be spooky ghosts together but we liked it so much it kind of stuck. Except Jon ruined it and added color to it,” she adds, glaring playfully at Jon. He smirks.

We hang out and talk shallowly like people do with someone they’ve just met, and then the bell rings signaling the end of lunch. We all say our goodbyes and are off to our classes.

Art is nice and fun; the teacher is a real nut, which is always good for art classes. The group of kids in the class seems interesting too; it’s always a different kind of set of people when it’s an elective.

After that is Government, which I have with Karma. The first day (hell, first week) is always a whole bunch of nothing, so Karma and I just goof off and get to know each other the whole time.

After school, I decide to hang out for a while, just getting a feel for the campus and people. I see brainiac-kid from English and we politely said hi to each other, and not long after, I head off for home.

By lunch I’d gotten so distracted by Tori and co. that it takes me until I get home and start reflecting on the day before I remember Mr. Z again.

Ah, Mr. Z…it’s uplifting just thinking about him. I don’t know if we’ll ever quite make it on to friendly terms – he doesn’t seem like the kind of guy who ever gets past a certain sterile kind of relationship with any given student. He’s definitely not the kind of teacher you can have a heart-to-heart with. This thought conjures up an inane daydream that I act out in my head.

“Oh, Mr. Z, I couldn’t do that paper you wanted…”

“Aw, Vincent, no problem…you can turn it in later. Is everything okay at home?”

“Well…yeah…I guess so…”

“Oh, Vin, come on, you can tell me. Sometimes you just need to let it out.”

“Well, the other day…”

It ends with wordless conversation and gesticulating hand gestures, and Mr. Z patting me on the shoulder solemnly. I shake my head and make one of those ‘what the hell did I just think that for’ faces before pulling out all the syllabuses I got today and handing them to my dad to sign.

--

The rest of the week passes like any other first school week. Office practice, I sit around and sort office supplies. French II, Tori and I just talk to each other. Computer programming, I play minesweeper. English, I dreamily stare at Mr. Z and hang off his every word. Art, I doodle. And in government, I talk with Karma.

Easy-peasy. I hope the whole year’s like this, but I know it won’t. I mean, this is supposed to be better than my old school.

Sometimes I see Mr. Z walking in the hall and my heart jumps. He’s so woefully adorable. I feel like waving or something, but then I tell myself to stop being such a lovesick school girl and I keep on walking. It’s really stupid that I like him, really, I mean I’ve never even liked guys before, let alone older guys. It’s a strange infatuation.

During lunch, I get more involved in conversations with Tori and the rest. Sometimes after English, I really want to hang out with braniac-kid (who I found out is named Lance) but he hasn’t cordially invited me, and I don’t want to invite myself. In the third week of school however, he says, “Hey, where do you usually sit at lunch?”

“Oh, I sit by the fence,” I reply, pointing in the general direction. “I mean, usually.” I add.

“Ah. Well, I sit over on the other side by the back so if you ever want to come by…” he trails off, smiling kindly.

“Yeah, awesome,” I return the smile. We part for today, but I figure I’ll visit him tomorrow.

And tomorrow, I do exactly that. I don’t go directly there; I wait a little before walking along the fence, looking for Lance.

“Oh, hey there,” he says, spotting me first.

“Hey,” I say, seeing him and three other people behind him. “What’s up?”

“Nothing,” he replies. “Oh, this is, um…” he turns and gestures to his friends, but he remains silent. His friends pick up on the cue.

“Lucifer.”

“Beau.”

“Tyr.”

I want to make a face at the funny names, but even stranger yet are the kind of people that goody-two shoes braniac here hangs around with.

The first one on the left, Lucifer, is probably taller than Mr. Z (as though he’s a unit of measure), but he’s very roughly graceful looking, somehow. He’s Chinese, with natural black hair that’s gelled up into somewhat long spikes poking out all over the place. He has a plain black fitted tee and tight black pants with a studded belt, but most predominant is his face – he’s got some sort of quality face stuff on that makes it a little paler looking than natural, and heavy dark make up around his eyes. I kind of want to giggle at the whole mall goth thing going on here, but it suits him well.

The next one, Beau, is interesting as well; dyed white bangs in front, and a red braid that went a little past the nape of his neck, with little chunks of hair sticking out all down the thing. He’s wearing a shirt that looks like it’s unpurposefully too small, and shorts that seemed to be cut from a pair of jeans. From the shorts extend faded black and purple tights. Along his arms are an array of bracelets.

Tyr, however, sitting on the floor next to Beau, is the most normal looking. Some metal band shirt and skater jeans. His hair is dark brown, with heavy bangs that swoop to the side. His eyes are tired.

They’re like the dark version of Tori, Jon and Karma.

For the weeks that come, I alternately hang out with Tori’s group and Lance’s group. I usually hang out with Tori, but if Lance and I are talking for a while coming out of English, I just keep going and end up spending lunch with him.

I’ve started getting to know everyone there. Lucifer is the obvious leader of the group. He’s a rowdy loudmouth and Lance laughs at or agrees with everything he says. Beau and Tyr usually keep to themselves, talking quietly, hunched together, though they sometimes join the rest. Beau’s really happy all the time, but Tyr is kind of mopey and quiet.

On another note, there’s always Mr. Z weighing on my mind. I haven’t told anyone about my crush on him yet, and nothing substantial has really happened between us, aside from me asking, “on what pages was the homework again?”

And then my classes are remaining pretty easy; it’s senior year so there’s a lot of electives. My old school sucked compared to this so I’m pretty content.

Usually I get to school later than others so I don’t have to hang around before the bell. I go to my locker if I need to and then I head off to office practice. Normally office practice is extremely uneventful. I sit and answer the phone when it rings and I give students who are teacher aides any supplies that they request from the back for their teacher. I’m able to get some homework done here too. Sometimes someone I recognize comes in and catches my interest for a little while but no one I’m on speaking terms with or anything.

Today is no different. I’m sitting around doing my English homework that’s due today. The clanky front door to the main office opens loudly and I reflexively look up. I double take when I see Mr. Z, but I look down again and try to look nonplussed though I’m inwardly smiling.

He looks even more tired than usual – dragging his feet a little and a thermos of what I presume is coffee clutched in one hand. He goes to the office lady sitting near me and is about to ask for something but since she’s on the phone she holds up a finger in a just-a-moment way before she gestures to me.

It takes a lot of self control to keep a smile off my face as he shuffles over to me.

“Could I get about…um, thirty scantrons?” he asks me, running a hand through his hair and setting his thermos down on the high counter.

“Sure,” I say with a smile before going into the small back room. I find the drawer with scantrons and take out a chunk that’s a good amount more than thirty. I guess he has to get this stuff himself because no one wants to be his teacher aide.

When I bring them back out and give them to him, he pauses before saying, “Actually, could I get…could you get me some of those Expo markers? Sorry.”

He seems genuinely irritated with himself by having forgotten the markers and I’m surprised by his actual use of apology. Hm, morning-Mr. Z…seeing a new side of him here. I like it.

I give him a sterile smile and go into the back again and get out a couple of markers of random colors. When I come back out I see Mr. Z rubbing his hands over his face. I set the markers down, which makes a tapping noise, and he drops his hands and looks at me.

“Thanks,” he says and takes the scantrons into one hand and his thermos in the other, which left him staring blankly at the markers. He then put the scantrons under his arm, pressed against his side, and his thermos in one hand. He tries to get all the markers in one hand, but they’re rather thick and I gave him quite a few so he fumbles with them for a moment, which breaks his concentration with the other arm and the scantrons all fall onto the floor.

Resisting the urge to burst out in laughter at the helpless scene, I hurry around the counter and bend to pick up the scantrons for him, which he was just staring at dazedly.

“Would you like me to help?” I ask, and without waiting, I keep the scantrons and grab half of the markers. I nod at the office lady (I’m still not positive what her name is) to let her know what I’m doing, before leading Mr. Z out the office, glancing back to make sure he was following. I held the door out for him and he walks out and down the hall, then I promptly catch up with him.

We walk in what is, on my part, a tremendously awkward silence. I want to say something but I’m pretty sure Mr. Z is not at all in the mood. His classroom isn’t very far away so I just keep my mouth shut and walk a little further behind him so I don’t feel the need to constantly glace at his face.

We get to his class room, and it’s empty of any students. It must be his prep period. I line up the markers on the little shelf for it under the white board and Mr. Z just kind of throws them all down in one place. He then sits at his desk and sets the coffee down.

“Where do you want these?” I ask, holding up the scantrons.

“Oh, just—” he holds out his hand and I give them to him.

There’s a short silence in which he shuffles around papers on his desk. I look around awkwardly before suggesting, “Could I help you with anything else?”

He glances up, seemingly pleasantly surprised that a student wants to be in his presence voluntarily for a prolonged amount of time. “Well, actually…” he looks around his desk in thought. “If you could put this in the administrator’s inbox…”

He hands me a thick manila envelope. “Thanks, Vincent.”

I blink, holding the envelope, before, “Sure thing.”

Mr. Z looks back down at his desk and I turn around and walk out the door, a small smile on my face. Outside his classroom, I walk down the halls in bliss. Not only did I get some good one-on-one Mr. Z action just now, but he remembered my name! How exciting.

I look at the large envelope in my hands. I try to snoop a little, but it’s sealed tightly. Once back in the office, I slip the envelope into the administrator’s inbox, as par instructions, and then went back to my seat behind the desk. I look down a little guiltily at my unfinished English homework before hurriedly finishing it.