Rogues: Chapter One

CHAPTER 1

It all started in Calculus class. Believe it or not, everything started in boring, old Calculus class.

“Can anybody tell me the antiderivative of 6x to the fifth power over x to the sixth power plus seven?” Mrs. Ather droned on. She had the problem written up on her chalkboard in her favorite yellow chalk. Who still used a chalkboard?  Her use of antiquated artifacts probably had something to do with the fact that Mrs. Ather was only about eight million years old. Her white hair, tied up in her tight little bun, looked so brittle that a whisper of wind might crack it. Mrs. Ather’s glasses looked thicker than my femur.

           “Anybody?” she asked again.

           Who the hell cares? I thought to myself. I, for sure, didn't.

I, of course, was sitting in the very back of the classroom. There was a desk in the corner of two walls meeting. It wasn’t a special desk. It had the same rock hard chair and the same annoying squeak as every other desk in the classroom, but it was my desk all the same. If I laid my head slightly to the left in that desk, I could easily doze off in my last period of the day.

Not that Calculus didn’t excite me.

No wait, that’s exactly the reason I dozed off. Calculus was the epitome of misery. Calculus had no purpose. It maintained no rhyme or reason and it continually refused to make any sense. Let's just say Calculus was Cal-killing-me!

I wanted to be a photographer, not a mechanical engineer. I still hadn't figured out why my school counselor was forcing me to take the stupid class.

           “Obviously, the answer is the natural log of the absolute value of x to the sixth power plus seven.” I groaned in annoyance, not loud enough for anyone to hear though. The shrill voice belonged to none other than Paige Simms, the school’s resident know-it-all. She was a small girl, maybe she came up to my chest. Maybe. Her tight blonde ponytail was wrapped in a bright pink bow, which perfectly matched her lacy pink dress. Paige was unbelievably smart and unnervingly excited to be at school.

           I loathed her. I didn’t really have a good reason. She wasn’t mean to me-like most of my peers-and she certainly was a happy go-lucky person. I guess that was the reason I hated her so much. Her pep made me need another cup of coffee, even at three o’clock in the afternoon.

          “Of course, I could list out my steps in case the class needed any help,” Paige’s annoying, high-pitched voice echoed against the cold, stone walls of the classroom.

           Strike that. I needed two cups of coffee. And make it a double shot of caffeine.

           “Very good, Paige,” Mrs. Ather complimented, scrambling through her desk for her infamous sticker sheet. “That’s an A+ for your participation grade today.”

Mrs. Ather hobbled over to the pink priss and stuck a gold star onto Paige’s pink dress. The golden star read, “Great Job!” Paige was the only person in the room that could possibly be grinning in Calculus class. The rest of the class enjoyed being treated like seniors, not kindergarteners. Next thing you know our poor senior class would be getting gold stars for “Wonderful Effort!”

I rolled my eyes. I simply didn’t understand how anybody could be so happy.

           Calculus. Ugh! Calculus was bad. That’s about it. I had decided that Calculus wasn’t worth my time during the first week of school. Why did I need to learn about logarithms and trig functions when I could be taking a nap? I closed my eyes and snuggled into my corner. Today is perfect for napping, I thought.

           I was almost asleep. Almost. Then a shiver ran through my spine, interrupting any attempts at sleep.

There happened to be a single problem with the seat: it was right next to the window. In the spring and fall, I never found the window to be a problem. In fact, some days I would sneak my brother’s old digital camera- the cheap kind that can fit into your pocket- into the classroom and take a picture of the scurrying squirrels or fluttering butterflies. My absolute favorite picture had been taken from that very seat. It was a cool Autumn afternoon. The sun shone down on the falling leaves casting brilliant light onto the oranges and reds and yellows. It looked like fire was dancing across the trees in a cascade of color and warmth. The picture was surreal and it reminded me of how things used to be. Before… before I had to wake up into the cold, harsh world of reality.

           So, typically I enjoyed the window by my side. But it wasn’t fall and it wasn’t spring. It was winter. Winters in Manhattan are brutal. The freezing winds swirling at a hundred miles an hour, cutting through your skin and chilling your very bones. The cold air leaked through the window into the- much preferred- climate controlled room, causing me to shiver and wish that it was summer. Or Florida.

          Besides the weather, the winter “wonderland” let little wonder into Central Park. The trees were bare, their leaves long shed. Without the leaves, the trees were relinquished of their beauty. They currently looked like skeletons of their old selves- kinda like I felt. The ground was littered with dead grass and looked scary when mixed with the crisp frost. All I could envision as I looked out those windows was blue and red lights flashing on one of those utterly ridiculous crime shows.

The tourists were just as bad as the weather. Tourism tripled in the month of December. People bundled up in so many layers that they resembled the Michelin Man wobbled down the street, creating an unease to my routine. I always felt more anxious the more people around me there were. I could feel the anxiousness scurry through my torso just by looking at the waves of people. The unease made me shift in my seat. I tried- and failed- to readjust my back in the hard plastic chairs that the school was so fond of. It was amazing I could fall asleep at all in those orange chairs of misery. Still I could try.

I laid my head back into the corner that had so often been used as a pillow. I closed my eyes gingerly and tried to escape reality. Sleep brought peace. The world brought war. Sleep brought calm. The world brought misery. It was no wonder I preferred a little nap every now and then.

Unfortunately, my attempts at slumber were interrupted by a wet, slimy intrusion onto my skin. My eyes shot open and I jolted up in my chair, as if I had been shot. Anger swelled inside my already blackened heart and my teeth clenched so tightly, it was amazing I didn't chip a tooth. I used a finger to flick the intrusion off of my right cheek.

A spitball? I thought, fingers squeezed together tightly. How mature.

My head swiveled to one of the three things that ranked higher than tourists on my hatred list: jocks. Something about the testosterone filled world of sports gave athletes a severe narcissistic personality coupled with a Napoleon complex. The psychology always baffled me. How could someone think so highly of themselves and yet have to domineer over others to prove their masculinity? In my unprofessional opinion, the meanest, rudest, vilest ones had to be compensating, if you know what I mean. My problem (at the moment at least) mainly consisted of four unlikable entities.

First, there was Thomas Mackley. He was the quarterback for the school's football team. As if that didn't give him a big enough head, he also happened to be a three time state qualifier in wrestling. It was amazing the brute could fit his ego in a football helmet. Well, I suppose his head was so full of hot air, there was plenty of room for pride. His arrogance, however, was not Mackley’s only downfall. He also happened to be rude and obnoxious and downright jerkfacey. Not to mention the fact that he was a complete and utter imbecile. The cherry on top just happened to be the fact that Mackley entirely hated me. I had never even done anything to the guy! Well, other than perhaps taking a few pictures of him cheating on his girlfriend and then posting the pictures around the school.

That’s what you get for being a prick, Mackley. I thought, reminiscing on the memory of one of the only moments in high school I actually enjoyed.

Sitting on either side of Mackley were Donald Thames and Leo Burget. I had gone to school with them for four years and I honestly couldn’t tell the difference between the two. I knew both were some position on the basketball team, but I never actually paid too much attention. Between the two jocks, there may have been six brain cells. The two bulging, blonde brutes never made a single decision. They only ever did what Mackley told them to do, so most of their endeavors involved bullying me in some shape or fashion.

The fourth jock that I absolutely couldn't stand sat behind Thames (or was it Burget), right next to me. Scott “Stupid Perfect” Stairwell. I probably hated him the most, although for an entirely different reason. Scott seemed to hold the attention of all the girls in the freaking school. Scott really had that whole aloof thing going for him. He didn't talk to anybody- probably because he thought he was better than everyone in the room- and everyone found him interestingly mysterious.

Not me, however. I only seemed to notice how Scott's perfect hair fell on his perfect face with his perfect eyes and perfect smile and oh, I hated him. Scott had fantastic grades, was the freaking star of the water polo team, and could buy anything he wanted. Nobody should have everything in life going their way. It wasn't fair to the rest of us. Besides pure jealousy (not that I like to admit it), I dislike Scott, because the swimmer was, well, a douche. Scott thought just because of his athletic prowess and high socio-economic standing that he was better than the vast majority. Therefore, he downright refused to hold a conversation with anyone. He wasn't necessarily mean, but...  

I could deal with meanness better than I could deal with Scott Stairwell. I constantly received meanness. I could survive in it. Thrive in it. I didn't do Scott. The dude set me on edge.

I glared at the four imbeciles. I was not in the mood to put up with being tormented. Not that I was ever in the mood, actually. Three of the four jocks snickered and the fourth gave me an apologetic look, pleading with his stupid hazel eyes.

I ground my teeth together. I did not need their jerkiness and I definitely did not need anyone's pity. Pity was such a useless emotion. An emotion for the over-privileged, so they could look down on people like me. No thanks.

Tom noticed my glare and matched with one of his own. Our eyes met and if looks could kill I would be a pile of ashes by now. Tom’s black eyebrows knit together into a unibrow of anger and hatred. Mackley puffed up his chest and I flinched. I had been in too many one sided fights. I didn't need to be in another.

Silent snickers filled the back of the classroom. I turned my head to the corner. Shame filled my heart. How could I live so far in my brothers’ shadow that I couldn't even stand up to those imbecilic bullies?

My breath shallowed and my heartbeat quickened. I could feel every pounding “thun thun” in my chest and it felt like my ribs were cracking under the pressure. I could hear the heart pumping, the force ringing in my ears. I could feel my pulse trying, trying with all its might, to pop my blood vessels. It felt like a weight was pressing against my chest, making it impossible to breathe. My vision began to blur. I panicked, my head swirling with anxiety. With fear. With doubt. My head pounded, with every echo of my anxiety.

Calm down. I told myself. Calm down.

Ha. Like anxiety works like that. If anything, I was making it worse. I increased my own self doubts to the point where I couldn’t function. I couldn't hear a sound, and even if I could, I wouldn't have comprehended anything. My mind was racing faster than the Flash. I closed my eyes and tried to block out all the noise. The only problem with that is, you can't block the noise from your inside your own head!

As my eyes closed and my world plunged into darkness, the voices in my own head started yelling. They got progressively louder and louder. Their words echoed through my mind, bouncing from one corner to another. The anxiety started snowballing, rolling down the mountains of self doubt and fear. The snowballs crashed through into the only good thoughts I had left. My last few remnants of sane thought were knocked down like bowling pins.

I couldn't take it anymore! My eyes fluttered open. I panted for a second before a whole new wave of fear washed over me.

My pencil was floating!

I'm not kidding. My pencil, the simple little wooden pencil with no aerodynamic properties, was flying. The stupid little writing utensil had lifted off the plain, little desk. It glided through the air rising slowly away from my Calculus notes, which were thankfully still firmly planted on the desk.

I nearly screamed. I mean, I didn’t. Obviously I didn't... I just yelped a little bit. I muffled the noise though, so I basically didn't make a noise at all. Basically. Mostly. Kinda.

My heartbeat quickened as my head raced.

Damn it! I thought.

I sat there stunned for a moment or two. I didn't exactly know what I was going to do. It's not like floating pencils were a normal, natural occurrence. I didn't have any sort of plan for whenever my pencil decides to become a freaking helicopter. I watched the thing for a moment, watched it float a little higher with each passing moment. What the hell was I supposed to do?

Then all at once, it shot up into the air, faster than a speeding bullet. I had no clue what I was supposed to do, but I knew that nobody else could see the stupid thing. That would have been disastrous.

I did the only thing I could do. Well, the only thing that I could think to do anyway. I shot my hand up, straight up. Fingers wrapped around the wood and I held the pencil in my hand. Victory! Thank goodness nobody saw the floating pencil. And thank goodness I didn't start floating with the thing. Laughter almost escaped my mouth when the crisis was averted. The crisis that nobody knew about.

My victory, however, was short lived. Very short lived.

 “Grey Summers?” Mrs. Ather called out, sounding truly surprised. “Well, color me impressed. I'm so glad you want to come solve this equation. I guess we finally made a breakthrough.” The sappy smile on her old wrinkly face was unbearable.

What on earth was she talking about?

My eyes focused on my crotchety Calculus teacher for a second. I tried to put everything together in my mind. I saw a derivative problem written in yellow chalk on the board. I noticed Mrs. Ather beaming at me. But for the life of me, I couldn't decipher why.

Then it hit me, like a semi truck. My hand was raised in the air. Dammit. I didn't know how to do this crap. I could not go up to the board. I didn't even want to raise my hand. Was Mrs. Ather joking? I was simply trying to stop the stupid floating pencil.

 I couldn't say that, though. I would get locked up faster than a March hare.

“Any day now, Grey,” Mrs. Ather chimed in. A grimace had fallen upon her face and her patience was clearly running out.

I looked up, my eyes bugged out like a deer in headlights. No. Absolutely not. Just no. I could not go up there. There was absolutely no way I was going up to the board. The numbers on the board looked more like Greek than math. I couldn’t have everybody staring at me. Judging me and taunting me with their eyes. I just couldn’t. No way. No how.

I looked around the rest of the room. Everybody was staring at me. I felt a few dozen different pairs of knives shooting at me from all across the room. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t think. How did people do this? How could people be around other people? People were the worst.

Mrs. Ather was fuming, her cheeks flaming red. “Mr. Summers, up to the front of the classroom. Now!” she hollered.

I stood up from my desk, slowly. I shuffled to the front of the classroom, one foot barely sliding in front of the other. My breathing was sharp and my head was swimming. I felt every pair of eyes in the room staring at me.

I walked over to the chalkboard. I looked at the problem on the board. I looked at it again. Staring at it for what must have been an eternity, I still had no idea what was going on. Had we even gone over this stuff?

I started thinking through the problem. Well, trying to anyway. Okay, I just take the derivative. I do that through… through… power rule? Maybe.

What an utter idiot!

Wait what? I thought. I shook my head.  It doesn’t matter. Whatever. X to the 5th power equals…

Glad I’m not him.

I turned my head around and surveyed the room. No one was speaking. Everybody looked dead silent staring at my back. I swallowed.

I can do this.  

I went back to the board and began writing down numbers. Some answer was better than no answer, right?

Haha. The answer’s so obvious. It's-

This class is so boring. I wond-

That punk is finally getting-

Does he even go here?

I wish I could help-

The voices started flooding into my head. My voice was muted. All I could hear were other voices. Voices I had never heard before. I didn’t know whose they were or what they were doing in my head, but I wanted them out. A searing pain stabbed over my eyes. My vision blurred as the pain increased and I stumbled backward running into someone’s desk.

“Watch out!” came a shriek from a short girl dressed all in pink.

Papers fluttered to the ground and the voices continued to bombard my mind. I couldn’t concentrate and I definitely couldn’t focus. It felt like someone was constantly stabbing me in the brain. My knees wobbled from a sudden weakness. My body shook and ached.

                               What was happening to me? 

More and more words bounced around in my skull. I couldn’t take it anymore. I ran the hell out of that room.