from Ch. 4 “Dr. J”

I’m not a big fan of being lost in a crowd, but you have to be cautious not look too conspicuous at Skyview High. I try to blend in with everyone else in the hallways. I see a lot of kids like me who keep to themselves and don’t fit in here. We’re like teenage chameleons. After the eighth-period bell and the mad rush to bust out of the building, I prefer to leave a little later when I hear the custodian pushing his gigantic wheel-rattling garbage can past the main office. I started using the computer lab after school since day one even though my computer at home is way better. Skyview is definitely far behind the times when it comes to technology. I was hoping to meet a cool tech freak or two like myself, but I guess everyone goes home to login. Instead, I was immediately recruited to help set up the school’s upgraded security network. Nobody seemed to know what they were doing. I was only a little help though. They wanted me to work on it, but then wouldn’t trust me with any of the passwords.

By the time I leave, Skyview High’s hallways resemble a ghost town with crumbled paper balls like tumbleweeds. That’s when the hallway smells like cleaning products were just sprayed, and the bathroom odors are masked by an overpowering bleach scent. We only have like two custodians to clean the entire building.

When I walk out the front doors to go behind the huge brick wall with the graffitied-on school crest, I see gangs of kids hanging out aimlessly, rough housing, arguing, or just talking. There are different cliques in my peripheral vision. I try to avoid eye contact because nobody here seems to remember me from seventh grade. As a matter of fact during the first week in the parking lot a crowd formed around two boys. They pushed each other and were about to go at it. Spectators encircled them and began to chant. “Fight! Fight! Fight!” I looked away and kept walking while at least fifty people treated the problem like a royal rumble. That’s happened quite a few times.

Often, out of the clear blue, disagreements escalate over the dumbest things. It feels like it’s always been that way, even in my other schools too. It’s amazing how a fistfight will seem to erupt over nothing at all. That is why I don’t want certain people to catch my eye. I simply don’t want a problem with anyone, and bullies always look for problems to start. Who wants to get cut or shot? Nothing much has changed in that way since seventh grade. What’s the point of being like that? Having been in the hospital for a long time, and seeing kids with real problems in the ER and cancer ward, I’ve realized that fighting is just stupid because life is too short and priceless. Kids who pick fights all the time don’t understand one bit that other people can experience the worst devastating pain that’s really tough to heal. So to make a long story short, I don’t want anyone messing with me, and I sneak through the empty part of the parking lot among the litter and over the small puddles with oil streaks that seem to not dry up even without any recent rain. I definitely go out of my way to avoid confrontation. When it comes to leaving school, I don’t look back unless I have to.

My best friend Jenny waits for me at the end of every school day, usually holding a basketball. She has eighth-period gym, so she gets out early but then goes to the library in her gym clothes to use the news article database after ninth period. She does this because I take so long to leave after having been recruited for tech support. It appears Jenny also tries to blend into the scenery like a chameleon because she wears green a lot and stands in front of a lone tall tree away from the crowds. Usually, she’ll wear baggy clothes so her body doesn’t show. Jenny’s a little shy and modest that way. Her hands are small and thin with a few freckles on her wrists. She has fidgety hands and a nerve-wracking way of looking over her shoulder constantly. When she is on alert, her eyes dart back and froth like she is watching two people play ping-pong.

Our meeting spot is the rusty bike rack under that one tall tree on campus that scatters pinecones, needles, and dried acorns all over. On the first day of school the pine needles were moist underneath. They left a dewy impression like each one had a damp halo. Jenny seemed to hyper-focus on the needles and said it would make an interesting photography subject.

“Hey, are you going to walk to school with me tomorrow?” she asked.

“Yeah, I had to go with my mom today because of…well, you know how she is. Anyway, I’m glad the first day is finally done.”

“I know,” Jenny said. “We don’t ever really do much the first week let alone the first day. I have to amuse myself in the library whenever I can. It stinks though. All the books I look up seem to be missing.”

Jenny and I talked a lot after the first day of school. Nobody bothered us by the bike rack because of all the crusty bird droppings. It’s never been a popular spot, but Jenny said it was safe and continued talking about what stinks most about living in Skyview. I asked her where all the bikes were. There was only one neglected, mangled, rusty ten-speed still chained to the steel-barred rack. It looked like scavengers had picked it clean because it was missing both tires and the seat. I always wondered why someone would chain a bike and then just forget it.