The name-tags on the schoolbooks read "S.K. Jones". A hand grabbed them and shoved them into a leather satchel-bag which was slung over a shoulder.
Skander Kenneth Jones.
Skander Jones was sixteen years old and six feet tall. He might also well have been six hours late.
"Honey! Break..." Mrs. Jones called out, but a tall, blond blur raced out the front door, slamming it behind it.
Skander Jones ran, his feet thumping into the pavement. Late for school AGAIN! Mrs. Ashbury was going to murder him! He grabbed a lamp-post and skidded uneasily around the corner and kept running. His heart was pounding, his legs aching. He checked his watch - 8:45. Damn it!
WHAM!
The front doors to the campus's main building burst open! Lone, running footsteps, slamming doors, squealing of shoe-rubber on linoleum.
"Late again, Mr. Jones?"
Susan Ashbury was in her forties, a married woman with three children, and no patience for tardy students. She stared up from her desk at the tall, handsome blond boy in front of her with messy hair and a flushed face.
"Sorry Mrs. A," Skander panted, "I...My...alarm..."
"YOU need to get a new alarm-clock," said Mrs. Ashbury. She filled in something in a book and then filled in something in another book. She ripped out a slip of paper and passed it to Skander. "That's the third one this week! TRY and set a RECORD for NEXT week and get NONE!"
"Yes ma'am!" Skander wheezed. He stuffed the ticket into his jeans and ran off to his locker.
Skander slammed the locker door shut and shackled the battered padlock into place. He grabbed his books and charged into English class, a full twenty minutes late.
"Very nice of you to join us, Mr. Jones, take a seat up the back," said his English teacher, lazily. "Take out your copy of 'To Kill a Mockingbird' by Harper Lee, and try and answer the questions on the sheet given to you."
Skander collapsed into a chair at the back of the class...which promptly collapsed onto the floor, throwing him back against a bookcase.
"...And Mr. Lawson, please would you take this to Mrs. Ashbury? It's a note telling her to send some maintenance men to this room to fix that broken chair..."
"Yessir," said a black boy about five and a half feet tall. He grabbed the note and left the room.
"NOW, MR. JONES," his English teacher said, "Perhaps if you can find a CHAIR that won't COLLAPSE under you, we can get on with the lesson!"
"Yes sir," said Skander, "Sorry sir."
Skander grabbed another chair and sat down.
"Dude, what gives!?"
Skander stared at his friend. Jason 'Jase' Lancet, was Skander's best friend, a boy with a thin face, brown hair, green eyes and pallid skin.
"Hey, my damn clock packed up on me again..."
"Well get it UNpacked! You can't afford to get another detention! I need you to help with my tutoring, and I'm gonna friggin' crash and BURN if you don't help me! And you can't help me if you'r stuck in some classroom every Friday doing lines about punctual..."
"WILL YOU SHUT UP!?" Skander hissed at Jase, "I'm trying, alright!?"
Skander tugged out a biro, a notebook and a copy of the American modern classic. He started reading...
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