Rotten Apples - Chapter 1

1.

I slowly opened my eyes as light sparkled through the window, throwing diamonds across my pristine white bedspread.
Ughhhh… Monday. I thought to myself, before rolling over and slapping the snooze button on the alarm clock beeping angrily at me from my nightstand.
Finally, I forced myself out of bed, but not before I hit the snooze button at least five times. At this point I only had 20 minutes before the first Homeroom bell would sound - and It took me 10 minutes to drive to school.
So, I quickly shrugged into my traditional school outfit, jeans and a baggy sweater, and pulled my wavy black hair into a pony tale, before flying downstairs to the kitchen, where Grandma Bella was already into the second stanza of “Good Morning Baltimore.” (If you don’t know the song it is from my Grandma’s favorite musical Hairspray. I would like to add at this point that we live no where near Baltimore.)
Winterville, Maine is in one of the farthest corners of Maine, where snow is an almost constant presence. This year we had our first snowfall in the beginning of October.
I unwillingly returned to this white world, and my mother’s childhood home, at the beginning of sixth grade. For the previous 12 years I had lived with my mother in Miami. And to this day – four years after moving here – I still struggle with the cold.
“Alex. Don’t forget your jacket.” My grandma reminded me as she had every morning since I moved here.
While I always strived to appear ordinary, Grandma Bella always stood out. Quite and accomplishment, really, since she stands only 4’11” tall. Today, my grandma’s slightly pink hair was so tightly curled, it looked like a poodle had managed to attach itself permanently to her head, and disregarding all the rules of fashion, Grandma Bella was wearing spandex pants, high-top sneakers and a huge olive green turtleneck sweater that swamped her tiny, frail frame.
“Got it. Thanks grandma.” I said after snatching the bright yellow parka off the hook in the closet, pecking her on the cheek, grabbing a granola bar and crashing into the door frame on my way to the car.
“Ouch” I groaned as Grandma Bella chuckled from the kitchen.
When I arrived at school, I knew immediately that I only had a few minutes to get to my classroom.
The only kids left in the parking lot were smoking under the safety of the overhang. These students, while never late to class, were always the last to arrive. Each hoping to get their last nicotine high before lunch.
I scrambled out of the car and struggled not to cough as I walked though the dense nitrogen rich cloud billowing in front of the door. Smiling, I passed Bobby, Chris, Amanda – or Mandy – as she preferred to be known, and Matt.
In a school with only 258 students, everyone knew everything about everyone else. Including where they lived, who they were dating and how long their family had lived in the area. When I first moved to Winterville, I found this quite disconcerting – especially since my 6th grade class in Miami had over 400 students. Unfortunetly, Bergen High School remains as distressing as ever.
In a school where everyone grew up together, I continue to remain an outsider –the “girl from Miami” – even though my bronzed skin returned to its naturally pasty shade only three months after I arrived, much to my chagrin.
When I first arrived in Winterville I was something of an oddity, with my dark hair, bronzed skin, violet eyes, love of Mexican food and abhorrence toward seafood, especially lobster (Which I quickly learned is practically a crime in Maine.) Everyone wanted to know about life in the south. They would ask me about hurricanes and if you really had to run in a zigzag when chased by an alligator. When I confirmed this, everyone’s eyes grew wide in astonishment and disbelief. For that first year, I was constantly bombarded with questions.
Thankfully, I have begun to fade back into the background.
Now, I think most people just consider me odd, including my teachers.
I ran to my locker, praying that I would not trip over the shoelaces whipping around my ankles. As I began to fiddle with the knob, I heard it – the first bell of the day.
I was late.
Groaning, I hoisted my book-laden backpack off the ground and trudged to my classroom.
“Mrs. Johnson….” I began as I entered the room.
“Ms. Ritter, nice of you to join us.” A tall thin woman peered at me through her oval glasses her lips pursed in a thin line of disapproval “But you need to get a pass from the office. You are late. And – might I remind you that this is your fourth tardy of the semester.”
I nodded sheepishly as a couple of students, including my archnemesis Brianna giggled from the back of the classroom.
“You need to get here earlier.” She scolded. “This is only the second week of the winter semester. I will not tolerate this for an entire four months.”
“Alright” I mumbled as I turned and trudged to the office.
“Good morning Miss Ritter.” The receptionist brightly welcomed me as I entered the office. The bright fluorescent lights making me feel much too visible in the small beige space.
“Good Morning, Ms. Reynolds. How are you today?”
“Good, good. But, William had an ear infection last night. He kept us up all last night. The doctor has given us some drops, so hopefully I will be able to get some rest tomorrow night, but you know how these things are. Johnny used to get them all the time, at least once a month… ”
I smiled and nodded sympathetically while she continued to drone. Mrs. Reynolds, while one of the nicest women I have ever met, has a tendency to ramble, so it is best to let the conversation continue until its natural end.
“Anyway, you don’t need to hear about all of my domestic issues.” She said finally reaching the end of her tirade. “What can I do for you?”
“I’m late.” I blushed.
“Again?”
“Yeah, I just can’t seem to drag myself out of bed.”
“Oh well, you probably just miss that Florida sunshine.” She laughed.
I smiled weakly.
“Well here you go.”
“Thanks.” I said as I slid the small slip of paper of the desk and turned to go.
“Oh… and Alex, try not to be late anymore.” Ms. Reynolds called out behind me. “One more and I will have to give you a detention. And I would hate that, especially since your Grandma used to baby-sit Johnny for me when I needed help. She is such a good woman…”
I gave a small wave as I opened the office door, surreptitiously waiting to make my exit. However, as usual, my subtly was thwarted by my clumsiness. I immediately crashed into a rock hard object on the other side of the door. I felt my feet leave the ground as I fell backward, but not before realizing what, or rather who, I had literally bounced off of.
Standing in front of me was the most beautiful boy I had ever seen. Even in the harsh florescent lights of the school, which made ever other student look pale and sickly, he was breathtaking. His thick, wavy, chestnut-colored hair hung over light, sea-green eyes and, as trite as this sounds, his jaw and cheek bones really looked like they had been modeled after Greek gods. But even these were not even his most striking characteristics. The boy literally glowed, as if lit from the inside. His skin glistened as the light escaped through his pores and radiated around him.
His shining skin was the last thing I remember before the world went dark.
“Alex… Alex are you okay?” A familiar nasally-voice worried as I slowly opened my eyes.
“Ughhhh…. What happened?” I moaned, staring up at Brian McAlroy, a freckly-faced boy with large bottle-cap glasses and braces.
“I am not sure” He said, offering me his hand. “I had a doctor’s appointment, so I was coming to the office to get a pass for class and you were just lying here. For a second I though you were dead, but then I saw your chest rise” he blushed, as if suddenly realizing he had acknowledged something he shouldn’t “and I tried to wake you up,” he finished quickly.
“There was a boy.” I said, slowly recollecting the accident as I got to my feet.
“Hmmm… Well, I didn’t see anyone else around. If there was someone here, he clearly isn’t here anymore. He probably thought he killed you. I would have fled too.”
I stared at the boy in front of me, slightly disturbed.
“Oh well… maybe I was just imagining things.” I shrugged, finally regaining my composure, and winced as a sharp pain shot through my neck.
“Do you want me to take you to the nurse?” Brian asked concerned.
“No that’s alright, I know where it is. But, thanks for the offer.”
“Alright, well I guess I will see you in class then.”
“Sure… See you.” I smiled as he turned into the office, leaving me with my confused thoughts.
I knew someone had been there. Even I have never managed to bounce off of thin air before. But, would someone really just leave me unconscious, lying on the cold floor?
That seems a little harsh.
I could not understand it. The question plagued me for the rest of the morning, until finally, freedom, more commonly known as lunch, was upon me.
I bustled into the cafeteria with the rest of my class and filed into line. On the menu today: Mac n’ Cheese, which consisted of lumpy neon orange cheese sauce and burnt pasta.
After picking up my appetizing-looking meal, I searched the cafeteria before spotting my two best friends, Claire and Sarah, sitting at one of the far corner tables with a large group of girls.
Claire, the smaller of the two, waved frantically and called out in greeting. Claire, at only 5 feet 2 inches tall, seemed to defy the laws of physics every time she spoke. Her voice, with a bit of country twang, seemed to explode out of her petite body.
And in fact, the elderly couple, Mr. and Mrs. Spratt, who were walking their Chihuahua, Benny, two miles away, heard Claire and turned around suddenly to see who was speaking to them. Confused, they turned and continued on their way down the empty street, both a little concerned that their no-fat and no-lean diets were starting to affect their sanity.
“Hi Claire.” I smiled as I plopped down on the bench next to her.
“That looks… interesting.” Claire shuddered, staring at the congealed mass on my plate. “I never knew cheese could be that color.”
“Yeah neither did I.” I replied, biting into my only edible item – the apple I brought from home.
“So have you heard?” Claire asked clearly bursting at the seems with the latest gossip. Although the question was completely unnecessary, Sarah and I never knew what was going on in school until Claire shared it with us. And Claire knew everything.
Most people think Claire is simply nosey, but in fact she has excellent hearing. Sometimes she hears sounds I think are usually reserved for dogs and other small animals. This is why I think she sometimes has trouble gauging the volume of her voice.
“Heard what?” Sarah asked.
“About the new boy.” Claire bubbled.
“No. Who is he?” Sarah asked.
“Well, from what I heard, he’s name is Aylmer. He is gorgeous, a senior and… best of all he is from…Europe.” Claire breathed the last word in reverence.
“Wow...” Sarah exhaled, already infatuated by the mere thought, even though she has been dating her boyfriend, John, for ages and is completely in love with him.
“Wait… what does he look like?” I demanded, catching the two off-guard as anger bubbled to the surface.
“I am actually not sure,” Claire admitted awkwardly. “I tried to get answers, but no one seems to be able to agree. One girl said he has green eyes, another one said they are blue and another said they are brown. It is really weird.”
“Maybe, it is just the light playing tricks on his eyes.” Sarah suggested.
“I would consider that, if it was the only feature up for debate,” Claire acknowledged. “But no one seems to be able to agree on his hair color, either. Someone thinks it is black, another said red and another said blond.”
“That's kinda spooky.” Sarah’s brow furrowed.
“I know. It is like he appears differently to each person that looks at him.”
“I think I know the boy, but I would stay away if I were you,” I warned, glancing meaningfully at my friends. “I ran into him earlier today as I was leaving the front office. I saw his face right before I fell. He had brown hair and green eyes” I decided it was best to leave out the glowing part – even I was not sure I believed that. “But, whoever it was left me on the ground unconscious.”
“Really…” Sarah looked appalled.
Sarah was probably the most compassionate people you would ever meet. She was the little girl that used to mend little bird’s broken wings after they fell out of trees or after little boys terrorized them. And I am not just saying this; it is true; Claire has recounted many stories.
Sarah was also the first person I met at Winterville Middle School. She introduced me to her friends, offered me a seat at her lunch table – a daunting place when you’re the new kid in school, and after my “uniqueness” faded she remained one of my closest friends. Yet, she is constantly shocked that others are not quite as kind as her.
“Yeah… Thankfully Brian McAlroy came by shortly after, or who knows how long I would be lying on the ground.”
“Well are you alright at least?” Sarah asked concerned.
“Yeah, I had to go to the nurse. But I don’t have a concussion – which is good, since I am not sure how many concussions you can have before you have serious brain damage. But I am sure I am near my limit.”
“Well, at least you have a couple of brain cells to spare – which is more than I can say about some of the kids at this school.” Claire shook her head sadly, looking pointedly at a group of boys sitting across the cafeteria who were betting on who could drink out of a ketchup bottle the longest. Charlie, the Vikings Mascot was winning, having chugged one and a half bottles already. “You are the smartest girl in our grade, maybe one more concussion will bring you down to our level.” She smirked. Both Claire and Sarah loved to tease me about my nerdyness.
But I could not really hold that against them, I am a self proclaimed nerd, although personally I prefer the term dork. I love school and my classes, especially math and science – I just wished school would start later – and I was very good at both of these subjects. This is just one more thing that differentiates me from the rest of the Bergen student body, including my two best friends.
On the other hand, I hate gym – my worst class and, of course, the one immediately following lunch, so I always feel like I am going to hurl.
Last semester my class covered gymnastics and for the final I had to do a floor routine (meaning: I had to get from one corner of the gymnastics mat to the other using the gymnastics moves we had covered during the previous 6 weeks of class). While everyone else in her class did cartwheels, round-offs and handstands, because they are all oddly coordinated, I did 30 summersaults across the floor, and even then, ended up going so crooked I was 10 feet from the corner by the time I finished.
That was my first D. Thankfully, Ms. Bell offered to change my grade from a D to a B if I kept track of the budget for the boy’s baseball team – a compromise I eagerly accepted.
This semester I would probably be managing the swim team.
Right now the class is “studying” volleyball. And, since everyone on the other team knows I am spectacularly uncoordinated, the ball always seems to find me. For example, last class I tried to spike the ball, missed it completely, well with me hands at least, yet somehow managed to hit the ball with my head. The week before, I tripped over my feet and skidded across the floor, finally coming to a stop next to Brianna. Brianna, kind girl that she is, simply grinned, while flailing, I tried to right myself.
And yet, three times a week, every Monday, Wednesday and Thursday, I am forced to subject myself to this humiliation.
So when the bell rang, I very reluctantly rose from my seat. Claire was not quite as hesitant.
“Already for gym?” Claire asked, bouncing up and down. Claire had a natural athleticism that most people strive for, and while they may get close, never really achieve. Even with her short stature, she excelled at every one of the sports forced upon us by Mrs. Bell. So not surprisingly, gym is Claire’s favorite class.
“Let’s just get this embarrassment over with.” I cringed.
Fortunately, I managed to make it through gym without another trip to the nurse – always an accomplishment, and after Chemistry, English, and Algebra II, I walked out into the fresh air – and immediately wished I was back inside. The sun beamed down, reflecting intensely off the fresh snow-covered cars.
Great… I thought to myself as I approached my car. My heater does not work.
The cherry red Ford Mustang convertible was the one possession, besides my clothes, that had made the trip with me from Florida. My mom had bought the car two years before her death, and while wildly impractical for the harsh Maine winters, I refused to allow my grandmother to sell it. So when I had gotten my learners permit last year, the car officially became mine. Everyday, as I climb into the driver’s seat, I hope the car makes it down the single-lane highway to school.
After clearing off the car, to the amusement of many of the students at Bergen High School, who prefer to drive Chevy trucks and Jeep Cherokees, I made my way out of the parking lot and toward home.