Behind the Falls Page 4

  “Wait, did I sleep through calculus? How did I get to lit class?” the boy laughs. I can’t believe he can be so calm. I would be mortified right now. Did she really just call him Holden Caulfield?

  “Do you have an answer, Mr. Maxwell?” He responds by stretching his arms overhead and leaning side to side.

  “Seventy-four!” he proclaims when he’s done stretching. Most of the class laughs. Of course this was so completely far from the answer that it’s obvious he either hasn’t paid attention to the question or just really doesn’t know. The teacher shakes her head.

  “You’re better than this, Holden,” she says but she doesn’t sound angry at all.

  “You asked for an answer,” he shrugs. “If you wanted the right answer you should have asked one of these eager beavers that has their hands in the air, don’t you think?” As he says it he looks directly at me. There’s no mistaking he’s looking at me. I’m glad MY hand isn’t in the air. I still feel threatened by him. The eye contact is direct and he looks like he could kick my ass if he wanted to. “They at least THINK they know the answer. I suffer under no such delusions. I’m not even sure what the question was.” He’s still staring at me as he says this.

  Did I somehow just make my first enemy without even trying? There was no provocation, not even laughter with the rest of the class at his wrong answer. He holds my gaze for what seems like an eternity and then he smiles that same crooked grin and shrugs then turns back to the view out the window.

  “In the future, please remember that my name is Mrs. Kabobcheck,” says the teacher then moves on to ask the next person to answer her question. The eyes of the rest of the class eventually turn forward once again and the black-haired boy continues his contemplation of whatever it is he sees outside of the window.

  When the bell rings to signal the end of class I jump then I worry if anyone noticed that I jumped. Students scramble to gather their books and head out of class. I’m in the hallway before I realize I have no idea how to even find my next class. How brilliant of the office to give me a map of the school but not include room numbers on my schedule of classes. So now I know that I have history but I have no idea where the classroom is. I’m standing to the side, near the wall and out of the way trying to figure out what to do and not freak out when I hear a voice just behind me.

  “Hey, new kid, need some help?” I turn around to see emo guy standing just behind me. Actually, up close, he doesn’t look so weird. I mean, yeah, he’s got piercings in his ears and all over his face and his hair completely covers that one eye but otherwise he looks pretty regular. He’s roughly my height and lean without being skinny like I am. He’s not large but he’s not as narrow as I am. His shoulders are wider than his hips anyway.

  His face is thin and almost pale but not make-up, goth weirdo pale just naturally pale. He has a very thin silver hoop in the eyebrow of the eye I can see and one like it in the opposite nostril of the nose that’s actually kinda like the type of nose I wish I had. My nose is small and almost too snubbed for a guy’s nose. His is straight and the bridge is thin but it’s a little wider at the bottom, just a typical nose. His mouth is almost wide but I think that’s because his face is thin. The dots I noticed earlier are piercings. On either side of his bottom lip just under the lip where it starts to curve up he has tiny studs. His lips are neither thin nor too thick and they’re a normal lip color, unlike my own, too pink too full lips.

  His eyes are a brilliant, crystal blue, like almost the shade of blue of a Husky dog (and I always think those dogs look possessed) but the iris is totally ringed in a darker shade of blue. His eyelashes are dark and make his eyes look even bluer and I can tell by his lashes and brows that his hair is actually naturally black. It’s definitely not the shiny fake black that so many emo kids obviously dye their hair. He blinks at me waiting for me to say something. He doesn’t ring his eyes in black liner like most emo kids do. His eyes have a kind of sleepy look. It’s not that they’re squinty so much that it looks like he’s just about to close them or just about to open them all of the way. Genes suck. I wish I looked like THIS guy.

  “Uh,” I say with the eloquence I reserve for strangers, “I have a map and a schedule but no idea where these classrooms are,” I manage. I’m almost proud of myself for speaking a full sentence. He takes a look at my schedule and with a laugh, shakes his head and takes it from me as he tosses his hair out of his eye.

  “It would have been helpful of them to add the classroom numbers,” he agrees as he holds my schedule against the wall for a desk and starts writing on it. “Everything that starts with a number one for example 101 will be on the first floor. All of the 200’s are upstairs. Your next class is upstairs. There’s a stairwell at the end of this hall,” he explains as he writes.

  He hands the schedule back to me with a room number next to every class that’s marked. “That should help some,” he says as a girl throws herself into his arms.

  “I did it!” she cries as she kisses him. I just kind of stand there and watch as he picks her up in celebration of something.

  “I knew you could do it, Kitty cat!” he enthuses as he puts her down. “See what a few hours of studying can do?”

  “I got a B+ so you saved my French grade, Max.” She kisses him again then glances over at me. “Who is this?” Unlike when he looked at me, she really frightens me. She doesn’t look at me with curiosity. Her look is angry, like she doesn’t even appreciate me standing here at all.

  Her hair is dyed. It’s impossible to tell what the natural color is. The very edge of her short, spiky bangs is jet black then as the bangs get closer to the scalp it’s white blonde. The blonde is followed by a bright orange shade. The next section of hair is a really dark shade of red but the color changes from the roots to the ends with the black, orange and blonde mixed in with the red. It’s very short in the back and somewhat spiky at the crown but then it eventually gets longer and angles towards that longest section over her ears.

  Her skin is a milky white and her eyebrows are pale so I think just maybe she’s a natural blonde or redhead. She wears dark, smudged eye make-up and dark lipstick. She has her lips pierced in the same spot as the guy but her piercings are hoops that go through her lip and into her mouth. She has a tiny button nose and she might actually be cute if she washed off the heavy make-up and if she smiled instead of scowling at me. She’s also sort of pouting and not in a cute way either. She’s wearing black skinny jeans and a black tee shirt with a picture of a broken doll on it. On her arms she wears purple and black striped arm bands that go from wrist to elbow.

  “This is Noah. He just started today,” he says. He doesn’t get an opportunity to introduce her to me because she’s dragging him down the hall. “See you later, Noah,” he calls over his shoulder as she leads him away. He throws an arm casually over her shoulder and they walk down the hall.

  It’s only after they turn into their next class that I wonder how he knew my name. The mystery is solved when I look at my schedule to find my next class and I see my name is on the top of it. So the office put my name on my schedule, which is something I already know, but failed to put the room numbers which I obviously don’t know. That makes sense…not.

  I don’t have any trouble finding my next few classes. The hallways terrify me quite frankly. I hug the walls and try to make myself as small and unnoticeable as I can and by the time I get to my classes my heart is pounding. I’m glad Mom talked me into taking the meds. I couldn’t have negotiated the halls on my own.

  I try to relax as the morning grows later. Apparently new kids are sort of a big deal in this school. I guess not too many families relocate INTO Lansing. By the end of the second class I’ve had conversations (mostly one sided but I try to contribute) with at least a dozen people. Everyone seems very willing to befriend me and two different girls offer to help me find my next class. This in itself is a bit terrifying. How will I ever be able to do this day after day for an entire school year?

&n
bsp; My fifth class is chemistry and after the teacher gives me my book he points me to a lab table at the very back of the room. It’s already occupied by one person, the boy from math class. “Hey, new kid, consider yourself lucky. I told Mr. Greene you could be my lab partner.” I put my book on the table and slide onto the empty stool next to him.

  “I guess we didn’t actually meet earlier,” he says. “I’m Max.”

  “Noah,” I say even though he knows this already.

  “Look, Noah, here’s the deal,” he explains as students continue to slowly filter into the room. “The way this class works is that everyone is partnered up and other than tests the grades are earned between the partners. So all of the work all of the experiments, all of the practical labs are a joint effort. There used to be an odd number of students. I volunteered to work alone. I wanted it that way. I don’t have to count on someone else for my grade. So basically what I’m saying is, don’t mess up my grade okay?”

  I can’t tell if he’s being serious. He seemed totally oblivious in math class and even now he looks at me with those sleepy eyes that say he’s bored but his tone, though friendly, sounds serious. I decide to err on the side of caution and work under the assumption that he means it.

  When class starts the teacher writes a list of supplies on the board in the front of the room. Max shows me the cabinet where everything is kept and I help him carry the chemicals and beakers and test tubes back to our table. I’ve studied chemistry but I’ve never done any applied work. Mom didn’t really want the chemicals and their frequent odor in the house. I’m nervous that I’m going to screw up on the first day and piss Max off but he puts me at ease.

  He does most of the work, explaining as he goes and then he tells me to go ahead and copy his notes. Since school only started two weeks ago I shouldn’t have too much catching up to do. I open the notebook he hands me and am thankful that I can read his hand writing. Actually, it’s printing in all capital letters. The letters kind of flow, it’s not like they’re all blocky and straight like mine would be if I wrote in all capitals. It’s almost like art but it’s much more legible than my own handwriting.

  Max is writing out the final findings of our lab while I copy his notes and our elbows keep bumping. I’m right handed and sitting to his left and apparently he’s left handed so this doesn’t really work. “Switch,” he says after the fourth elbow bump. He lifts his notes over my head as he gets up and moves into my seat while I slide over to his. This works out much better.

  At the end of class I help Max clean up our experiment and we walk out of the classroom together. “Do you have lunch this period?” he asks. I nod. I know there are two lunch periods. I’m worried about lunch. Actually, I’m worried about the cafeteria.

  “What homeroom are you in?” he asks. He has such an easy manner. I wish I could be as comfortable in my own skin. I tell him my homeroom is 103. “I’m across the hall,” he says, “I’ll walk with you.”

  As we walk, Max explains a few things about Lansing High. “It’s easy to be the new kid here,” he tells me. “I’ve been to some schools where being new is a guarantee of loneliness and I’ve been to schools where I’ve been treated like the latest prisoner on the cell block. Here though, it’s such a small school and small town that anything new is interesting and exciting. You’re like the shiny new toy everyone wants to play with.

  “You will never be more popular than you are right now. I’d suggest you use that to your advantage. I mean, you can have your pick of pretty much any girl in this place. The teachers and the principal will also give you the benefit of the doubt for a few weeks so if you want to cut class, ignore homework for a while now is the time to do it. Not in chemistry, though,” he says this last part with a crooked grin that shows one dimple and he winks but I’m pretty sure he’s serious about not screwing up in chemistry.

  “Uh, are you only concerned about chemistry? I mean…”now I’m wishing I hadn’t opened my mouth. I’ve been fine today talking to all of these friendly kids I’ve been meeting but only when I’m answering their thousands of questions. I haven’t really been asking them questions or contributing more to the conversations. As a matter of fact, Max is the only one I’ve really made eye contact with and that has been brief. Now that I’ve started I have to finish the thought, “You didn’t seem too concerned in math class…” I can feel my cheeks heat up with embarrassment. Max just takes it in stride.

  “I’ll be screwing up the grading curve in that class before Christmas. I don’t want everyone to hate me. Sometimes I just need to take a day off, you know? There were these clouds doing such interesting things that math just seemed so insignificant in comparison. It’s nice to have a window seat in calculus.”

  “You were talking about other schools. You haven’t always been here?” I can’t believe I ask such a stupid question. I mean if he’s got other school experiences to compare Lansing to obviously he hasn’t always lived here.

  “This is my seventh, and hopefully last, school,” he says. “I just started here last year. My dad is ex-military so we moved a LOT. He took early retirement from the military but he still does a lot of work with the defense department. He’s a computer genius. All of his work is pretty hush hush. I’m hoping we don’t move again before I graduate. He says we probably won’t. I like having roots for once even if Lansing is a pretty boring town.” We get to my locker and I stop.

  “This is me,” I say. Max gestures down the hall.

  “I’m just down there. You can sit with us at lunch if you like?” as he’s talking the girl from earlier arrives. She looks at me through hooded eyes but then smiles at Max.

  “I am so glad that morning is over,” she says as she leans in close to him. She takes his arm and steers him towards his locker without a word to me. As soon as I’m alone at my locker I realize how loud the hallway has become. There’s more energy and more volume, what with the slamming of lockers and people calling out to each other. The pre-lunch traffic is completely different from the in between classes traffic. I’m putting my books in my locker when Sherrie arrives at hers.

  “Hi, Noah!” she smiles at me. “How’s it going so far?” I shrug.

  “Uh, better than I expected actually,” I say as I shut my locker door.

  “You want to sit with me at lunch? There aren’t assigned seats per se but everyone pretty much has their own little groups that have been established since the beginning of the school year and we pretty much keep to the same tables.” Now that I’ve had two offers of someplace to sit at lunch I give my attention to the concept of the cafeteria and for the first time today I’m truly overwhelmed and not in the nervous between classes way. I’m full on panicked about the concept of entering the cafeteria.

  “No, you go ahead,” I tell her. She asks me if I’m sure and when I confirm that I am she closes her locker and moves on to lunch. I put my forehead against the cool metal of my locker door. If the busy hallways freak me out I know the cafeteria is likely to be a nightmare.

  Then I start worrying about random things. What if I go to the café and I don’t see anyone I’ve met or I get there and there’s no room at their table after all? What if I go through the lunch line and get my food and get to the register and have no money? What if I drop my tray in front of the entire room? I remember a phobia I used to have a few years ago. I had this fear of eating in public that centered around the fear of choking on my food. I feel the anxiety coming on quickly.

  Yeah, they sound like ridiculous fears but to me they are all too real. I try to talk myself down like Dr. Bachman taught me. First things first, I KNOW I have money. I had twenty dollars in my wallet before my mom gave me lunch money for today. I’m sure there will be an empty seat SOMEWHERE even if I have to sit alone. I’ve never been clumsy, there’s no real reason to think I’ll drop my tray. Even though it’s a phobia that has been so strong in the past that it kept me from eating at all I’ve never actually choked on food. I still don’t want to go. My st
omach is actually churning by this point so it’s not like I’m going to eat. I turn around and slouch against my locker, eyes closed, trying unsuccessfully to calm the wild beating of my heart. I consider whether I should go to the nurse and take some meds.

  “Hey, you okay?” I open my eyes to see Max and his girl standing in front of me. As usual, she looks irritated but he looks concerned.

  “Yeah, no….I don’t know, just…overwhelmed,” I admit. Max looks at me, really looks at me for a moment. I can only see the one eye because of his hair but I feel like he’s seeing into me somehow. He looks at the girl.

  “Kitty Cat, why don’t you go on and I’ll meet you there,” he says. He gives her a quick kiss on top of her multi-colored head and she begrudgingly leaves. Max turns his attention back to me. “What do you need, Noah?” he asks and I can hear the concern in his voice.

  “I don’t know,” I shrug. “I really just wish there was a closet I could hide in for the next hour,” I can’t believe I just said that. Max surprises me with an easy laugh.

  “I can do better than a cramped closet,” he says. “Follow me.” We walk to the end of the hallway, turn then follow that hallway and turn again. He looks around then pokes his head into a classroom and motions me to follow him. We’re in some kind of music room.

  “This is where I go if I just want some silence. Mr. Harper is usually gone within five minutes of the lunch bell but if he’s here I just ask if I can use the piano during lunch so he doesn’t know what I’m really up to. I didn’t take any music classes this year but he’s still pretty cool about it. He knows I don’t have an actual piano at home and sometimes an electronic keyboard just doesn’t feel the same, you know?” I shake my head. I’ve never been musical. I wouldn’t know.

  “If you come here and he’s in the room just tell him you’re looking for me,” he continues to lead me through the band room. I have no idea what he’s really up to but it’s obvious by now that his goal is not the band room. We go to the back of the room and turn a corner that I didn’t even realize was there and we’re in a narrow hallway. It gets gradually darker as we walk and then it’s apparent we’re in a backstage area. Max leads me through a doorway on the side of the backstage area and we’re in the seating area of the auditorium.