Centron: The Dawning of a Hero

A Day at School

It was Monday, which I didn’t really like, because it usually meant going to school to start the school week unless of holidays, of course. I got out of bed at the usual time: 5:30. At 5:30, there wasn’t really any light coming from the sky, so it was really dark. Any illumination would come from lights. Duh. The annoying radio came on abruptly. I woke up instantly and turned it off. I got up drowsily, slumping my back, like a 60-year old with back problems. The bus didn’t come until 6:30, so I had an hour to get ready, plenty of time, but it was hard to stay awake, and very hard to move while paying attention to what your doing. If you had six hours of sleep, you would know!
I took a shower but it took fifteen minutes to progress through, because I’m usually unaware of time and I tend to fall into half-sleepiness.
I want this part to be brief and short, so let’s cut to the chase.
The smell of coffee kissed my nose, courtesy of my uncle, an expert coffee maker. I got dressed and went downstairs into the kitchen and sure enough, I heard boiling water. I routinely turned and looked up into the pantry for anything to eat.
The coffee was still dripping into the glass carafe when I finished eating. Then I went upstairs to do anything I needed to do for school.


School. I literally hated school. It would be fine if it weren’t for the judgmental, obnoxious kids there. I often asked to myself “Why do we go to school?” If anyone answered that by saying, “to get an education,” you’re wrong. We practically learned nothing in school. Unless you consider treating each other badly an answer, you’re wrong.
I used to like school. That was when Mr. Rodell was my teacher. Fifth grade. He always had something fun planned for us to do. He made sure everyone of us enjoyed it, ‘cause it wouldn’t be too long until we went to Jr. High.
People were cliquish and cocky to people from other places. Not everyone, mind you. It was so-so; it was only certain people. People were nice and everything. (am I starting to confuse you?) It’s just that extra impression that drives people crazy.


“The bus is here!” Uncle hollered as he heard the familiar bus engine that eighteen wheelers seem to share.
I was in my bathroom, brushing my teeth and then I had to rush to get finished. I grabbed my backpack and my lunch and bolted down the hallway and then turned left to the stairs. I literally skipped two stair steps at a time to make it faster to catch up to the bus stop. I could see the bus screech to a halt at the stop and people were already getting on.
“Good bye!” Aunt said goodbye. “Have a nice day at school!”
Hah. Not! I wish, though.
I closed the door behind me and headed out toward the stop. The path from the doorstep to the driveway went to the right, but I cut through the grass. Lunch bag in my hand, I leapt over the tree stump in my front yard. The bag slipped out my hand and onto the grass. I quickly picked it up and held it tighter now. I ran the rest of the way there and pretty soon, the bus doors opened and I was let in.
I sat down in seat 7, the seat I usually sat in. The bus doors closed and the bus resumed its voyage through the neighborhood. I put the lunch in my backpack and stared out the window. I could see light began to rise in the east. (I knew I was looking in that direction because the sun always logically rose from the east.)
Five houses down and I saw something peculiar. There was a for sale sign that hadn’t been there before. Or at least I didn’t see it before. Every day I went through the neighborhood on my bike and peddled toward the pond in the back of the proximity. It must have been put up between when I was biking and now. These people are good about keeping things estranged.
There were a few people on the bus when I got on. Now there were plenty more. The bus didn’t get really crowded until later on.
Uh-oh. I could see Holton’s house come into view. It was light enough for us to see the numbers on the houses. 2254. The #1 number I dreaded. Why?
Holton Zerner was a person who would turn a beautiful piece of artwork and make it into the crappiest piece of sh-t a person could – well, be around. Seriously. He was that kind of guy! A masterpiece sh-t maker. That’s what he was. Of course he didn’t do it to his own stuff. He did it to other people’s belongings. Basically, that guy was an idiot and an idiot not to fess with. That’s why I normally ignored him except when he got on my nerves. That pisses me off, though. Luckily, I sat twelve seats away.
His stop came looming into view. I gulped. I swore to myself I would run away if I saw him. And I did. “God, no,” I whispered. The bus doors opened and in stepped the devil’s prize. If there was anyone withstood his presence, I’d believe it was a miracle. Holton turned toward the back of the aisle, where he was headed. I expected that he would do something bad to me. I immediately stared out the window, pretending not to pay attention. I winced as he walked up and passed right by. Amazing! Obviously, he was in a good mood today. If he was in a good mood, I was happy.
Once he sat down, the bus rolled along the ominously empty street en route the next stop. This is where Fred and Velma caught the bus. Just kidding! But it was still where Fred Fanticos and Al Quinterrel got on. They basically made sick jokes about drugs and sex. Honestly! Nonstop, too!
“Al, do you still have that porno magazine? I’ve been dying to see again,” Fred would ask.
“Are you on crack, or something? I thought I let you see it for long enough,” Al would reply back. If this is the kind of mentality that all guys have, just figure out how many babies with perverted fathers would be born each year!
“Ah, come on! Just one more time!” He begged. If I had a guy just ask me that, I would not let him sit with me.
“Fine! You can have it! I’m done looking at those erotic images, anyway. But if your parents find out and you got caught with it, don’t blame me!” Is all he said.
After Al and Fred got on, I looked at my watch. It read: 6:45. Excellent. This is the time that the bus finished its round and was now headed towards the front of the neighborhood again. Soon after the bus let on the last person, I sighed. This is the time of morning when there can be seen the most beautiful sunrises. The bus turned out of the neighborhood and on the way to school. Cursed school.


“Ladies and gentlemen, I suggest that you shut your pothole before I kick your tail end!” Mrs. Magurgee scolded as she walked into the classroom. “Class is about to start.”
Binga binga bong bong, binga binga bong bong,
Binga binga bong bong, binga binga bong bong,. Came the jingle, as if on cue.
“Good morning students, teachers, and everyone else that goes to this school!” welcomed the principal over the intercom. “We’re having a wonderful day today, but I want to make a couple of announcements.
“Friday is the last day to turn in your Box Tops for education. Also, I’ve heard reports that teachers are complaining that between classes, students are being loud and obnoxious. (not a surprise) Please keep that to minimum.
“Students who are seen or heard using profane language, making gestures that trigger hormones, picking on peers, that includes: insults, harassment, abuse, cheating, stealing, hurting someone physically or emotionally, name-calling, gossip, or any other form of bullying, will receive strict punishment in relation to this new system that will enact at 7:20 a.m. tomorrow. Any questions regarding this program from the students will be answered from teachers after these announcements.” The class was stirring, whispering to their classmates their point of view to this new program.
“Teachers, we will be having a meeting in this after school, today, in my office about this. I expect all of you to be there!” the principle reminded.
“Oh, God,” Mrs. Magurgee realized, rather talking to herself than to the class. “I’ve got to take Megan to soccer practice at that time!”
“Conflicting schedule,” I said to myself.
The principle continued, “And with all due respect, let us say the pledges to our flags.” Flags? I thought we had only one U.S. Flag!
There was a brief pause.
“I Pledge the allegiance, to the flag, of the United States of America, and to the Republic, for which it stands, one nation, under God, indivisible…”
Indi – what? America …is so divided.
America is indivisible no longer. I mean, people are divided into categories: Democrats, Republicans, Liberals, Conservative, male, female, believer, nonbeliever…and the list goes on and on. I don’t know what they mean by “indivisible”, but from where I come from, people are divided all the time!
“…with liberty and justice for all.” Everybody seemed to drone rather than pledge.
Even all mighty Texas has a simple pledge or solute.
“And now, the Texas Pledge,” the principle ordered, still over the loudspeaker.
“Honor the Texas flag, I pledge allegiance to thee…” everyone but me intoned.
“Darin, why aren’t saying the pledge?” urged Mrs. Magurgee.
“It’s a pledge everyone says all too often,” I explained, trying to make a point.
What I meant was is that you shouldn’t have to say a state pledge every day. Once a week is fine with me, but every day is too often. Once every day is boastful to me.
“…Texas, one and indivisible.” They finished.
“Today is Manic Monday when everybody does a manic activity. So, why don’t we start by giving each other a warm welcome.”
“Good morning,” everyone turned to the person on each side of them and greeted them. Now, that is what I was fond of.
“There is one more thing I would like to put in front of every one of you. Regardless of what people call you or what you’re known as, remember who you really are. Do not care if anyone makes fun of you, because they will get caught.” That struck me as unexpected, especially from a principle on the intercom. I thought announcements were supposed to be generic.
“That is all. Good day,” Is the final thing she said before ending the announcements.
There was a ten second silence. Then the silence was broken by the class suddenly bursting into talk about the new program.
Mrs. Magurgee had to end it by bawling, “Hush!” The class was put in a state of silence again. “Any questions on this program?” She asked.
It took about eight seconds before somebody actually asked, “What exactly is thingy that she said over the loudspeaker? Because Amber and I have been wondering about it.” I looked over at where it came from and saw that it was Tailor Faison, who was obviously a girl, considering her word usage in the question.
“I don’t know much about this program considering that I’ve only received an e-mail about it yesterday,” She replied. “But what I do know, that this is a way to enforce discipline and order.” There became sighs of grief.
“But don’t worry, ‘cause I know you guys don’t do that kind of stuff,” She comforted.
Yeah right. That’ll be the day!
“In the meantime, since it’s Manic Monday, we’re just going to play Loud Speedball and if any of you haven’t heard of it, it’s just like Silent Speedball except it more manic!” She put an emphasis on the last word. The class stood up in slight apprehensiveness as she went over to her desk and rummaged through her top desk drawer and pulled out a navy blue sponge ball. Then she tossed it over to Dillon Fresner. Dillon was an okay guy. He’d make straight B’s in math. He never understood algebra and computing numbers. That was his weakness in math. He would almost always stay beside his best buddies Alan and Jake. Most people are the funniest when they’re not trying to be. But when it comes to comedy, it come to him naturally.
“Ok you, mister. Start the game,” She prodded.
Dillon looked around the room to search for someone to throw at that could possibly not catch it and get out. After a while he set his eyes on Amber and shot it at her. Everyone was paying attention at that time. Amber was quick enough to catch it, though.
She did the same thing that Dillon did after he received the ball and threw it toward Jake. It nearly missed his head and caught with his left hand. He pegged it at Brittany and she got hit in the abdomen. She tried to cup it when it slipped out of her reach and on to the floor. The girls around her giggled at her mistake and she was the first person to get out in the game.
The class started to get rowdy at this point but Mrs. Magurgee didn’t try to stop it. I guess because since it was Manic Monday, it was to be manic.
The game continued in ease and I saw that it wasn’t much different than Silent Speedball. A few people got out the first few minutes. It was then that it was passed to me. Thrown at me, actually, from Sammy Molego. It bounced off my right hand and slightly to the left. I attempted to catch it with my left hand but closed it too early. It leaped toward my head. I made one more attempt to catch it, but this time, grossly, but inventively, with my mouth. Miraculously, I had truly seized it; the spongy sphere wedged between my fore teeth. It was not actually in my mouth, but held in the front like I was biting into an apple.
The whole class seemed to be grossed out, especially the girls. I had just soiled a perfectly clean ball with my saliva. Mrs. Magurgee was watching closely and seemed to be contemplating on whether to continue the game or end the game from that point.
I took it out of my mouth and saw that there were bite marks on it. Everyone was staring at me. I didn’t know what to do. It was an awkward moment. Probably the most awkward moment in my ten years of living.
With a wry frown, Mrs. Magurgee asked for the ball to be put up