Chapter 1
August 25th, 2010
The first week or so of classes are, usually, tedious. It consists of nothing but teachers trying to get acquainted with all of their classes, underclassmen getting lost in the maze of halls and throngs of other students, and almost every teacher began class the exact same way—with introductions and a syllabus. Every year it’s the same thing, over and over again. It’s becoming so tedious in fact, that for the first few days Chase never pays attention. There isn’t a point to it. He knows what’s going to be said, what’s going to happen. No one ever actually teaches anything for that first week, preferring to wait until everyone is “settled in” and comfortable. He drops syllabus after syllabus into his bookbag and ignores anything that happens for the remainder of the class, instead spending an hour working on an intricate design in one of his notebooks.
Once or twice a teacher walks by, taking a moment to comment on Chase’s art skills and asking if he’s in any art classes, but silence from Chase and flipping his notebook shut has the tendency to halt any further conversation attempts. He doesn’t want to talk about what other classes he’s taking, he wants to focus on the one he’s in so they can get through introductions faster and start doing some actual work. You’d think after three years of being in the same school, everyone would know everyone else by that point. The school wasn’t overly large; it wasn’t as if you were suddenly in a class full of different people every hour. But still, sure enough, it wouldn’t be until the following week that anyone would actually start their class.
Something Chase does pay attention to however, is the number of students per class. He has a habit of counting everyone he sees and making a mental note of it, in the possible event of group or partnered projects. Those are more likely in his science and history classes than anything else, but it’s good to be prepared. Granted the first day’s total isn’t normally the final result. There are plenty of people who don’t show up on the first day, or who wind up switching out of a class by the end of the week. Still, it’s a base number to go off of, which he appreciates. Chase likes to work by himself whenever possible, and will usually say as much to his teachers if the class is looking big enough to grant him a partner. Group projects are a little more difficult to get out of, but Chase usually manages with the compelling case of not wanting to risk his grade in case others don’t do their work right. Most teachers appreciate a student who cares so much about their GPA.
Of course, you still have those that are more interested in “boosting social habits”, in which case he will still have to work with two or three other people. In those instances, Chase tries to interact with his partners as little as possible. He does the work the self-proclaimed group leader assigns, and that’s that. They finish the project, they get their grades, and they never speak again. In the instances that Chase has had to work with a group that doesn’t meet his expectations for a given grade, he usually takes it up with the teacher, arguing that if he’d been allowed to do the project on his own then he would’ve gotten a nearly perfect score. Most teachers don’t like it when you point things like that out to them, it seems.
Eventually he’s able to make his way to chemistry, his chosen science class for the year. He’s planning on doing advanced chemistry for his senior year, along with physics to fill in that empty space where a fourth history class would be. Chase is good at math and science—he’s good with formulas and equations. Science and math classes have always been very simple for him, and he really doesn’t get how some people fail the classes or don’t understand the material. It’s all fairly straightforward and easy to comprehend. What Chase does not like is the teacher he’s been given for the year. Mr. Miller is a middle-aged man easily in his forties, balding horribly. He’s short, shorter than Chase is, and looks almost swollen around the middle and sweats profusely beneath his olive green button-up and argyle sweater vest. He smells not unlike mothballs and something slightly musty, and his voice is so monotone that it almost makes Chase cringe. He does not like Mr. Miller, he decides rather quickly.
Chase, as per usual in most of his classes, sits as close to the teacher’s desk as possible, despite how much he dislikes this one in particular. He’s learned that he’s less likely to have seat neighbors, sitting so front-and-center. The less people around Chase, the happier he is. Or at the very least, the less aggravated he becomes. For a split second in this class, he does debate on sitting further back, but a group of girls have taken up the back of the few rows near him and he doesn’t want to be any closer to them, either. So Chase resigns himself to his uncomfortable fate, and takes a seat quietly, pulling his notebook out for more drawing.
“Good afternoon everyone, I’m Mr. Miller. Now, today you’re seeing me in the afternoon, but normally you’ll see me in the morning on, I believe Tuesdays and Thursdays, on B days. Fridays, as you all know, will be like today, with the shortened classes and you’ll go to all of them.” Mr. Miller says, standing up at the front of the room and writing on the whiteboard as he talks. He writes out the schedule, the one Chase has now seen seven times, and circles the days of the week when chemistry is in the morning. “For most of you, this is your last science class in school. Others will go on to advanced chem, or physics, or maybe environmental. If you fail this course, and you weren’t planning on taking a fourth science class, you will have to take one anyway. So if you already have your senior year schedule planned, I suggest making sure you don’t fail anything this year.”
Chase is half tempted to roll his eyes, but manages to settle for a slight sigh, instead. He opened his notebook as soon as Mr. Miller began to talk, and has been busy adding lines to his ongoing drawing, which is making less and less sense the longer he goes on with it. By the end of the day it will be an unrecognizable and highly abstract work of art that will be torn out, crumpled up, and thrown away within a week. His parents frequently ask why he’s never taken any art classes, with how often he’s drawing something. Just because he uses drawing as a pastime doesn’t mean Chase wants to take a whole course on it.
“The syllabus outlines everything we’ll be doing this year. All the major labs and end-of-quarter tests. Smaller labs and tests will be tossed in throughout the year, and I frequently add in pop quizzes, so be on the lookout for those.” Mr. Miller continues, shuffling to his desk to grab a stack of papers. “It also tells you my grading scale, rules for late work and absences, and an overview of rules for when we’re doing labs. You should be aware of those by now, but we’ll go over them again just in case.”
Chase doesn’t so much as flinch when the large stack of papers is dropped onto his desk, right next to the paper he’s drawing on. He does look up and give Mr. Miller a slight eyebrow raise, to which he’s treated with a flat expression.
“Pass these back and throughout the room please.” Mr. Miller addresses to everyone, before he turns his attention down to Chase, specifically. “Would you mind putting the notebook away and paying attention, Mr..?”
Rather than responding to the obvious question, Chase silently flips his notebook shut and pulls the stack of papers closer to himself, ignoring Mr. Miller’s proximity. He grabs one stapled set off the top before moving to hand the stack behind him to a girl two desks down, watching her try reaching over the desks before huffing and standing up to grab them. She gives Chase an annoyed look at not getting up himself, one that he ignores in favor of turning back around and flipping through his papers. He notices that Mr. Miller is still standing next to his desk, making him pause and glance up again to see the teacher giving him a questioning look. The two engage in a short staring match before Chase decides he would very much like to stop being stared at, looking back down to his papers.
“Brown,” he mutters.
“Thank you, Mr. Brown. I trust you’ll pay attention from now on.”
Doubtful, Chase doesn’t say, but definitely thinks. Still, Mr. Miller seems satisfied with wheedling Chase’s last name out of him, and moves away back to the front of the room to write on the whiteboard again. The green marker he picks up squeaks against the surface of the board, making Chase cringe slightly before exhaling and shifting minutely in his seat.
“So, lab safety.” Mr. Miller begins, writing the words out in big letters and underlining them before turning back to the class. “Who can give me some rules on lab safety?”
“Close-toed shoes,” one of the girls behind Chase calls out, causing Mr. Miller to nod and turn around, writing a bulleted list.
“Long hair tied up”, “No dangling jewelry”, “Wear goggles and gloves and stuff” are all various answers that are shouted out around the room, keeping Mr. Miller writing for a few moments while Chase drops his syllabus into his bag with all the others he’s accumulated. Before long there’s a decent amount of items written across the board, and Chase is able to draw a little more before Mr. Miller turns back around to the class.
“Good, very good. Seems like you’ve got it all down, so there’s no need to spend too much time on it. I’ll go over everything else on the syllabus, and at the end we’ll stop and have time for questions.” Mr. Miller explains. “By the way, I want these all signed on the last page by your parents—not you, not your aunt or your uncle, not a friend, your parents—and back to me on Friday. Remember, you cannot participate in labs without these signed.”
Considering the fact that Chase is apparently not allowed to draw in Mr. Miller’s presence, he sets himself up for a very long hour of sitting in his desk, staring at the whiteboard. It isn’t overly hard to tune out the teacher’s voice, but it is moderately difficult not to let it lull him to sleep. The monotony is getting to him, where Chase usually has no problems staying awake throughout the entire day. He foresees the class becoming a bit of a problem, and knows the administration won’t switch him to the other chemistry class available just because he finds his teacher boring. Still, staying awake will be quite the task for him in the future.
That thought stays with Chase through the rest of class and through the last one, up until he’s walking out of the building and heading for his car in the parking lot. That was something he’d been glad to get before the school year started. It meant he didn’t have to ride the bus, which is an uncomfortable and quite frankly disgusting experience, in Chase’s opinion. It’s not a big car, and in fact it isn’t even new, a Focus already being a couple years old, but Chase likes it either way. What he didn’t like was that sometimes the ignition barrel stuck and didn’t want to turn, forcing Chase to sit there wiggling the key for a minute or two before it would click like it was supposed to. Apart from that, it’s a good car. He’s not entirely sure on what color it is—sort of a gray-periwinkle, a very washed out and dulled blue.
It seems this is one of those days where it isn’t going to work immediately, and Chase sits there in the hot car for a moment longer than he appreciates, fiddling with the keys to try and turn the car on. Luckily the air worked just fine, but it couldn’t do a whole lot if the car refused to cooperate and turn on like it was supposed to. Really, it wasn’t as hot as it could be, Chase knows. All day it’s been overcast, and at any minute he’s been expecting rain, but it seems to be holding off. If Chase is lucky, it’ll continue to hold until he’s home so he doesn’t have to drive through it. Once the key in the ignition clicks and the car comes to life, Chase fiddles with the controls for the air and heat before starting the grueling task that is trying to leave a high school parking lot after school.
Luckily for him, the rain decides to wait a whole hour after he’s home to start pouring down, making Chase glance up from where he’s sitting on his bed adding to his little drawing of the day. It’s partially to make up for the time lost in Mr. Miller’s class, and partially because he has nothing better to do. None of the teachers have given any homework beyond their syllabus, and Chase has to wait for at least one parent to be home before he can tackle that mountain of paper. Normally his father is home by right around five-thirty, but his mother’s job makes her time off vary. Some days she’s home by noon, others not until six. Chase usually enjoys the few hours he has to himself after school, sitting in the silence of the house and listening to the rain beating on the windows and the roof.
Their house is only one story, a little ways outside of town with a few other houses nearby on the same street. There’s a pool outback that no one ever bothers with, and a shed with a lawnmower for the days when Chase’s father feels up to mowing. The living room is what takes up most of the house, a wide-open space stepped into as soon as you come in the door. There’s a half-wall that separates that room for what could be a dining room, if Chase’s mother didn’t chose to put it somewhere else. Instead it just serves as empty space, leading to the sliding glass doors that take you out to the deck and the pool.
The dining table is in what Chase deems “The Owl Room” on account of all the owl-related sculptures his mother keeps there. It’s big enough to seat six even though they’re only a family of three, and it’s rare if extended family ever visits. Connecting the Owl Room and the empty space of the living room is the kitchen, which has a second, smaller table in a corner that seats four. Beyond that, on the other side of the house, there’s a short hall that leads to three bedrooms and a bathroom. Chase’s bedroom is the furthest back, and where he spends the vast majority of his time. He has a bed, a desk, a dresser, and a beanbag chair in a corner that he rarely uses, due to his tendency to fall asleep in it while doing homework. There’s a small TV on top of the dresser, but Chase hardly ever watches anything on it. Most television shows don’t appeal to him very much, so he settles for avoiding them altogether.
The room next to Chase’s is empty, save for a few stacked boxes here and there filled with holiday decorations, or things that simply don’t have a better place in the house. Across the hall is Chase’s parent’s room, separated from his by the bathroom. His parents have their own bathroom of course, connected to their room, but as Chase doesn’t often enter his parent’s room in general, he’s normally a little hazy on the details of their bathroom. He knows for sure there’s a rather large corner-tub that the previous house’s owner had installed. The bathroom Chase uses only has a shower stall, no actual tub.
They’ve lived in the same house for as long as Chase can remember, and he’s always been in the same school district. He doesn’t particularly have a problem with the monotony of always being in the same place, but he is looking forward to college, and being able to hopefully see something other than the same town, and the same school. Chase has been in the same place for seventeen years, and he doesn’t mind the idea of a different view for once in his life.
Around six, he sits at the dining table in the Owl Room with both parents for dinner, the two of them talking to each other about their work like usual before asking Chase how his first day of school went. He hums quietly at first instead of answering, slowly chewing his way through a piece of steak and picking disinterestedly at his corn. “It was fine. I have some stuff for you to sign and fill out.”
“Same as every year,” his mother mentions. “What about your teachers, do you like all of them? What about your classmates? You know it wouldn’t kill you to be a little nicer and maybe make a friend or two.”
“My teachers are fine. As for friends, I’ve gotten this far in my life without them, I don’t see them suddenly popping up now.” Chase mutters. “My locker is below Laura Brown’s this year.”
“Laura Brown, you know I saw her mother in the supermarket just a couple days ago while I was working.” Chase’s mother begins, and he knows he’s inadvertently set himself up for a very unwanted story. “You never told me Laura was the captain of the soccer team. Apparently she’s really good, and she’s in all AP classes this year, Mrs. Brown told me.”
“Considering I don’t talk to Laura Brown, it’s hard to see why I would know her class schedule or sports activities.” Chase mentions, logically in his opinion. He isn’t friends with Laura—in fact he’s pretty sure she hates him. Which isn’t much of a stretch from how most of the student body who are familiar with Chase feel about him.
“She’s applying to Dartmouth for college, did you know that? Dartmouth, Chase. An Ivy League college. You could be going to Dartmouth. Remind me again why you aren’t going to Dartmouth?”
“Severe lack of interest in an Ivy League college.”
Chase listens to his mother go on about Dartmouth and Ivy League colleges for a good five minutes before his father manages to get her off the subject, but it’s five minutes longer than Chase wanted to deal with. Once he’s done eating, he puts his plate in the sink and goes back to his room, shutting the door behind him and sitting up on his bed to watch the water droplets slide down the glass of his window. First day of school and he’s already anticipating a painfully boring year. While Chase maintains high grades and a more or less perfect attendance record, that doesn’t mean he enjoys school, not any more than the average teenager does at least.
He could care less about how prestigious the college he finds he wants to go to is. Ivy League doesn’t mean very much to him, apart from telling people you went to a specific college just for the sake of telling them. Ivy League colleges have low acceptance rates, and while Chase doesn’t at all doubt that he could manage to get accepted, he’s leaning more toward an out-of-state college. Of course, his mother would argue that there are other Ivy League colleges, in other states that he could very easily apply to. The thought has Chase sighing heavily, grabbing his notebook and a pair of headphones before sliding off the edge of his bed. He makes his way over to the corner where the beanbag chair is, carefully sitting down so as not to sink so much into the soft surface. Plugging his headphones into his phone, he looks around for a few minutes before settling on a song he likes, getting comfortable to work on his drawing some more. Within ten minutes, the pencil is falling out of his hand, and Chase is asleep.
