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Vann slides off his stool without so much as a goodbye, and off he goes. The other students part to give him a path, as if no one can even chance being within a single foot of the darkly-garbed, sleeveless-leather-jacket-wearing social pariah.
Or sociopath. The jury’s still out.
Alright. Maybe Spruce is a tough place to live in for some. And maybe it’s a tougher place to break into as the new guy. You get talked about, ogled, and either completely avoided or helplessly swarmed. What if that’s Vann’s problem? All the attention? What if all he needs is someone to treat him like he’s nothing special?
Just another dude in the hallway at Spruce High, blending in with the rest of them. That sounds like bliss to me.
The air outside is now an appropriately stifling south-Texan level of nasty, even at 10:26 AM. As I tramp my way back down the creaky wooden walkway maze to the main school, I relive all those stupid, cringey words I said to him. I must’ve sounded like a sad puppy. A sad puppy with a slight Texan twang, more like. I wonder where he’s from. Didn’t someone say “a big city”? Or is that just a rumor? So much for avoiding an awkward first impression.
After stopping by my locker, I pull out my schedule to find out where my next class is. My stomach sinks with dread as I read the words. It’s PE. Physical Education. Den of the athletes.
During my freshman and sophomore years, PE classes were mercifully devoid of anyone on the football team. Unfortunately, due to some kind of new agenda pushed to the school board by none other than Coach Strong himself, all athletes are required to take PE just like anyone else for their physical education credit, as the class is intended to “teach lifelong fitness skills not adequately gained by playing a specific sport”. Some of the athletes threw a fit. Others saw it as an easy A. Regardless, it means that thanks to Coach Strong’s commitment to giving his athletes a well-rounded education, I now have a chance of ending up in a PE class with—
I push through the gym doors. Among the throng of chatting boys waiting for fourth period PE to begin, Hoyt Nowak stands right at the front. Just when I thought my day couldn’t get any worse.
And unlike English class, he isn’t alone. Hoyt’s two best buds from the varsity football team are here, too. Flanking Hoyt on one side is Julio, a thickly-muscled, thick-legged, and equally thick-headed linebacker with a large buzzed head and a permanently confused expression. Hoyt’s other side is graced by the stocky “Beefy Benji”, who is currently bent over with laughter about something, his round baby face flushed from his signature high-pitched guffawing. Also, he has dumb hair. There, I said it.
Despite my anxiously thumping heart, I quickly fade into the back of the crowd, praying Hoyt didn’t notice me walk in. Hiding behind two large boys who are talking about some game that came out this summer—obviously not Dread Knight II—I wait for the coach to show up and start class. My arms are crossed tightly. Through a narrow crack between my human wall, I watch Hoyt and his two pals as they talk and laugh and look around at the rest of the class, sizing everyone up in that cocky way star athletes do.
It’s through that same narrow crack that I spot someone else I was too preoccupied earlier to notice. Standing away from the crowd, aloof and glaring darkly at nothing in particular, is Vann.
My heart drops so fast, I feel like I literally have to pick it back up off the floor before I can breathe again. I share my third and fourth periods with the new guy??
Is this a turn of good luck, or just more of the bad variety?
An office door at the far corner of the gym opens, and out comes Coach Larry. He’s a man who likely had a tight bod to be proud of in his day, but a decade or two of beer has traded it for a gut upon which his whistle bounces as he walks. In contrast to the game-faced, muscular Coach Strong, Coach Larry has a more jovial and laidback approach to teaching, smiling cheerily at all of us like we’re happy to be here. “Welcome, welcome! Bell’s not rung yet, but from a quick looksee, seems like we’re all here. Now y’all know the drill, I’m sure, as I recognize most of you from last year, but if you don’t, head on over to the locker room and get yourself a gym uniform out of the bin. Sizes are limited, so first come first yadda-yadda and all that. Get dressed and meet me out here, boys!”
