Sparks

Chapter 2

         I adjusted my jacket again as I attempted to casually lean against the wall. The holes in the cloth were thankfully unnoticeable, unless one knew where to look, and what to look for. Students passed me by in the hallway, some staring at me in interest, most merely walking by, too absorbed in their personal schedules to notice me. I could hear my mother speaking with the principal inside, discussing my schedule and reassuring her that no special measures would be taken to accommodate the new kid. I was just like everyone else.
         I sighed inwardly. Just like everyone else, and that wasn’t changing soon. I tried to peer inside through the tinted window, but the only thing I saw was myself staring back. A young, 17-year-old with messy black hair that always hung down over his eyes. Spikes and strands poked up all over, refusing to conform like all the rest. The dark hair matched my dark eyes, which were a bit cold in my opinion, but some said they gleamed with an inner fire, like I had something fighting to get out. A long, sharp face, neatly trimmed, but not what you would call professional. My mouth lay flat, for once not getting me into trouble with its customary back-talk.
         I rested my head against the glass. The chill felt good, and I hoped some of it would seep in to calm my overworked brain. I stood up straight as I heard movement on the other side of the door. My mother opened the door slowly, pulling a strand of her dark hair behind her ear as she did so. Monica Cayle was a short and stocky woman, easily a head-and-a-half shorter than my tall, skinny frame. While I came across as a scarecrow, she had a pleasant healthiness to her form. She paused and looked at me thoughtfully. Then she nodded to herself and walked past me towards the front door.
         Inside the office I heard the principal call me. “Leonidas Cayle?” I turned away from my retreating mother and strode into the room. The large window on the farthest wall let a great deal of sunlight into the room. It streamed across the oak desk that dominated the middle of the space. Behind this stood the principal, a tall, blonde woman who stood with the haughty air of authority. The way she carried herself, it was plain to see that she had fought for her position, and would fight to defend it. She regarded me with a touch of disgust, and reached her hand out in a cold greeting as she circled the desk. “Good morning Mister Cayle. I am Victoria Damora, although it will be Miss Damora to you. I will be your principal here at Stature High School,” she spoke coolly, obviously unhappy with my presence.
         Funny, her name rhymes, I thought to myself. I’m sure something changed in my eyes as I came to this realization, as Miss Damora’s gaze became even colder, if that was possible. By all accounts, I should have been a block of ice in the middle of her office.
         I took her hand and shook it briskly, “Pleasure to meet you, Miss Damora.”
         Pleasantries aside, she returned behind her desk, mindlessly wiping her hand on her suit. She stopped opposite of me, the oak desk a barrier between us. She leaned forward on it, and fixed me with a stare. “Now, it is usually not customary for new incoming students to personally meet with their principals on the first day. However, here at Stature, I make it a point to… greet… any such students. I like to understand the exact nature of the individual joining our community here. Understand who they are, what they are like, how they can contribute…” She trailed off, obviously allowing me to come to my own conclusion about what kind of person I struck her as.
         I could see her reasoning behind this. I was dressed in a dark red t-shirt with my beaten black jacket over it. Even more beaten given the travesties I put it through last night. The jacket was a bit large for me, and it covered the majority of my hands, leaving only my fingers exposed. Below this, I had on faded grey cargo pants, with many large pockets that she could imagine were filled with any sort of immoral items. My running shoes completed the image of a less-than upstanding citizen, and my straight face did not reflect any warmth to ease her.
         I surveyed the rest of the room before answering. To my left, a large shelf stood adorned with various awards from sports, academics, and other such accomplishments. The sheer amount of gilded material was impressive in of itself. Apparently Ms. Damora’s strict rule had a goal after all. The awards gleamed brightly in the morning sun. I turned back slowly, and gave a wide smile, “I do hope I can contribute much to this fine institution.” I hoped the abundance of warmth in my voice would put her at ease.
         For some reason she didn’t take to it. Perhaps the cordiality simply didn’t reach my eyes. Her own eyes were skewering me with daggers at the moment. “Yes,” She began, “Yes, I’m sure you possess a fascinating repertoire of talents that we all would just love to see.”
         My mouth beat my brain to the response, “You know it.” Her eyes became considerably more venomous. Miss Cold-and-Disapproving instantly became Miss Dark-and-Hostile with my one phrase. Whoops.
         She scrutinized me closely, then slid a sheet of paper across the desktop. “Your schedule, Leo.” she said tersely. I snatched the paper up, took a quick glance at the first class, and headed to exit the room.
         As I opened the door and stepped out, I paused, and turned back to the principal. “Miss Damora,” I said, “Only my friends call me Leo.” And with that, I stepped out into the hall.

         I slid down my seat slowly. Kids trickled in from the hall, completely unconcerned with the closing time gap for first period. I crossed my arms over my chest and lowered my chin, keeping my eyes swiveling around the class. I sank lower in my chair, trying not to draw attention to myself as the classroom filled and the bell rang for attendance. The teacher, a short mousy woman with brown hair bounced to the front of the class and beamed out at us. She lifted a clipboard off her podium and began the customary call for attendance. It was still early enough into the year that the teacher hadn’t yet memorized most of the names. Still the hardest part wasn’t that the teachers wouldn’t know me. It was the students. Practically all of them had grown up here together, survived the crucible of past grades as one. I was the outsider, trying to break into a social circle I had no business of being a part in.
         I chewed on my lip anxiously as the teacher neared my name. She hesitated slightly over my name, paused and looked back at me in my chair. Everyone else in the class followed suit. “So,” she said, in her apparently permanent cheerful voice, “You’re the new student in town then, Leonidas?”
         I sat unmoving, then replied with a short, “Yeah.”
         She paused, then asked, “Where did you move from?”
         I shifted, uncomfortable with the interrogation, “California,” I said.
         She blinked in response, “California to Seattle is quite a drastic move. Whyever did you do that?”
         I shrugged, “Personal reasons.” Seeing nothing else coming, she pursed her lips and continued on with her task.
         I adjusted my jacket around myself, and flicked my gaze over the class again. Out of the group of people who had looked at me, only two had piqued my interest. I studied the first, a young man who definitely came in under the “large” category. He had the muscular toning that could only come with years of rigorous training and sports.. He had a distinct face, with a chiseled chin, and stern eyes. His light brown hair was cut short, giving one a clear view of his stern eyes. His clothes weren’t eye-catching in any way, yet they certainly were not cheap either.
         But what drew my attention to him wasn’t any of those things. It was that despite the fact that he simply sat there, his face locked in a slight frown, he had an aura of power about him. It differed from Damora’s, who carried herself with authority earned through effort and strength. This man’s presence simply commanded respect, as if it was his birthright. The posture in which he sat, the way his eyes searched the room. It would be impossible for this guy to take a passive role in anything. People would automatically look to him for leadership, without even thinking. Even now, he sat surrounded by a smattering of other similarly built characters. I took a logical leap and assigned them all to the football team.
         If you couldn’t tell, I have a problem with people I don’t respect demanding my unwavering loyalty. I hated him instantly.
         He responded with an offhand, “Here, ma’am.” when the teacher reached his name on the board, almost as if he was distracted with another thought.
         “Tony Dredvex,” she called. A multitude of girls turned to look at him after his response, moving with the ease of practice and habit. I rolled my eyes in exasperation.
         Coincidentally, one of the only girls that hadn’t reacted was the second person that I had noticed. She had dirty blonde hair that reached halfway down her back, and she sat quietly, stretching her long, pale legs out in front of her. Her slim nose was accented by two slender, dark blue eyes. She sucked her bottom lip in thought as she watched the rest of the girls. I couldn’t see much of her from the back of the class, but she appeared quite tall and lithe. I couldn’t quite place a label to it, but there was something different about her.
         When the teacher said, “Sarah Tristan,” she waved her arm and gave her answer in a melodic, “Present.” The teacher nodded to herself, and checked off the board again. Nodding happily to herself once more, she finished up the call, and began the lesson immediately. I suppressed a groan, slid even further into my seat, and prepared to weather the school day.

         Several grueling hours later, filled with uneventful classes, a lonely and isolated lunch, and a few icy looks from the occasions I passed Ms. Damora on her patrols, I stood at the gateway to the school, watching clusters of teenagers leaving for whatever they had to do.
         A shock of familiar blonde hair caught my attention, and I turned to see Sarah walking across the lot by herself, bouncing playfully in her step as she listened to her music coming through her earbuds. Apparently, I caught her eyes as well, as she flashed me a quick, close-mouthed smile as she caught me staring.
         I like to think I returned with a dignified smirk, but more likely I gave her a stupid grin, as she seemed to laugh quietly to herself, and continue on her way.
         My small moment of joy was interrupted by a sudden push from behind, and I stumbled forward, my surprise almost preventing me from catching myself.
         I turned around and was confronted by Tony Dredvex himself. He seemed almost as surprised as I was, as if he didn’t notice me there. We squared off against one another, forming our first solid opinions of each other. I for one, was quite confused. Tony didn’t seem like the daydreaming type. Yet he always seemed to be off somewhere else. What could he possibly be thinking about that would distract him so often?
         A posse had been trailing behind Tony, evidently following him to some sort of after-school gathering. One of the more zealous of the group stepped forward. “Hey man, you’d better watch where you’re going.”
         A sharp retort sprang to my lips, but before I could have the pleasure of speaking it, and the subsequent displeasure of dealing with the consequences, Tony waved his hand. “It’s alright Trevor. It was my fault. I wasn’t paying attention.” One corner of his mouth was curled upwards.
         I was still tense, waiting for something else to happen. After a few beats of nothing, I muttered, “S’okay. I’m fine.”
         He still had that stupid smirk on his face. He responded only with, “Good,” then made a move to step past me.
         I was never very interested in gambling. That was probably a good thing, since I would never know when to quit when I was ahead. Still, I liked to believe that life owed me some luck right about now. “This is usually the part where you apologize.”
         Tony stopped, surprised that I had actually continued speaking. He turned back to me, but didn’t respond immediately. I recognized this tactic. He was giving me time to gauge his reaction, and regret my decision. “Excuse me?”
         Time to bluff my way out of this. Just had to believe there was a full house waiting for me when the cards flipped up. “You never apologized. I’m just asking that you do so. Please.” I spat that last word a bit more harshly than was needed.
         Tony’s mouth flattened out, and he stared down at me over the bridge of his nose. “I am sorry. I will try to be more careful in the future,” he said. His response lacked any well-meaning. It was purely professional, as if he were merely finishing a business transaction.
         Looks like this hand was going to me. I smiled up at him, bobbed my head in thanks, and turned to leave the table.
         Suddenly, Tony stepped around and blocked me. I looked up at him and realized that I had the weaker hand. I should have known better. I usually bust.
         Tony scowled down at me, any trace of his previous good demeanor gone. He leaned in close, making sure that I was the only one to hear him whisper, “I’ll give you this one. Enjoy this one small victory. It will probably be your last. I know what you are, are I know what that means for your future. I’m looking forward to the next time we meet, Cayle.” A shiver raced down my spine when he said my name. He said it with an air of familiarity, as if he had already known who I was before we meet, like he was already familiar with my name. What was going on here?
         I hesitated, unable to decide between hopefully-witty retort or genuine question. Before either one could come out of my mouth, I heard, “And is there a problem here?” come from over my shoulder.
         Tony took a step back as I turned around. Miss Damora advanced on us, hands folded behind her straight back as she regarded us with something bordering on disdain. I bit back my response and forced myself not to answer. I didn’t need to anger two people in the space of ten minutes. She stopped in between both of us, studying Tony first, and then me. She didn’t say anything, simply raised an eyebrow, and waited. She was quite practiced at this.
         Tony spoke up first. I let him handle it, because if we were totally honest, he was probably more diplomatic than me. “Not at all Miss Damora. It was all an accident. Just a simple”-his eyes slid ever so slightly to look at me-“misunderstanding.”
         Damora turned to me, eyebrow still up in the air. I said something along the lines of an affirmative, before she addressed both of us. “I do hope I never catch either of you two causing such a commotion again,” she said. She made a point of individually glowering at each of us, although I could have sworn she lingered on me a touch longer. With that done, Damora turned sharply on her heel and left. Tony turned to me, his face unreadable. It was somewhere between amusement at my apparent ignorance and downright disgust. It was a very unique expression actually. Regardless, he too turned, motioned to his following with his head, and left. I took a moment to compose myself, glare at the smattering of bystanders who had stopped to watch, and set off on my own way home.