First Day at Arc, Junior Second Period
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A teacher, or someone, finally comes in and makes everyone go onto the stage one by one.
You could have screamed. This for a first day of classes?!? You should have left when you had the chance.
Each student goes up on stage one by one and gives their name, grade level, and special talent. Luckily you end up being one of the first and you have nothing to say. You give your name, you say you are a junior, and your special talent, you announce, is having no special talents. You hear the teacher laugh from where he sits in the low bucket auditorium seats. You are the first to say it, so he allows you to get away with it. You rush to your seat.
You get a chance to slow your pounding heart while watching the others. Highlights include Tianna Powell singing an incredible solo of the Star-Spangled Banner after saying she couldn't possibly sing without her twin sister. And also a fun juggling act from a guy wearing a blue blazer named Miles Henderson. He actually juggled cell phones from classmates without dropping one.
That gives you a different impression of those people in blue blazers.
You are still flustered when that ends and you go on to your second period class, French. The classroom where your French class meets is somehow cozy with a strange feel of France. You think that even though you have never in life visited the country.
"Bonjour," say the teacher, a slim, young woman with classy wire-framed glasses.
"Bonjour," you reply.
The teacher tells you to find the seat with your name on it in rapid French. Fortunately, you understand her. Other students walk around looking for their names as well. A girl is already sitting next to the spot that you finally identify as yours.
"Bonjour," you say, with no intention to try very hard.
"Bonjour," the girl says, and a stream of lovely sounds spill out of her, but you have no clue what they mean.
You sit down in a daze.
"Was that French?"
The girl laughs. "I think so."
The girl has olive skin and long, shiny, black hair that falls down her back. She has some kind of foreign accent. Maybe Middle Eastern.
You shake your head. "I don't think you should be in this class."
The girl looks slightly worried. "Why not?"
"You should probably be teaching the class!"
The girl giggles again. "Oh, no , no, no. This is what you call street French."
"Really? What street is that?"
You think to yourself, maybe if I go to that street, I can actually learn this language. However, the girl doesn't seem to have a clue about the street you asked about. You notice the girl's name on the desk in front of her, written in nice lettering on white cardstock next to a small French flag. Her name is Fallon.
You wonder how to properly pronounce that name.
A sudden silence comes over the class of about twenty students. You look around expectantly. You find nothing of interest except a fairly good-looking blonde-haired guy in a blue blazer entering the room just as the bell rings.
Another blue blazer?
You notice Fallon suddenly hunching her shoulders or maybe hiding her face. Interesting. You see the teacher staring or glaring at the blue blazer boy.
"Emory McKesson," she says loudly enough for the whole class to hear.
"Bonjour," the blue blazer boy says quite casually.
The teacher continues to glare.
"So glad to see you again," she says, though she does not sound glad at all.
Emory pauses as practically every person in the class watches.
"So glad to be seen," he says, completely unfazed by the teacher's--what was it? Sarcasm? Displeasure? Anger?
The blue blazer boy, Emory, takes a seat next to Fallon. You see the girl roll her eyes. At least, that's how it looks. You wonder if all of the females in the class have a problem with this guy. You might be the one exception.
"Emory, find your assigned seat please," the teacher says.
The teacher begins speaking while doing some things at her desk. Emory ignores her.
"Fallon," you hear him say, "I called you twice."
You see Fallon out of the corner of your eye. She puts on an insincere sorry face.
"You did?" you hear her ask. "I got a new phone now."
Emory makes a noise. "Good for you. So will you be there on Friday?"
"Uh, Friday? I don't know. Will Contessah be there?"
"Uh, we should all be there."
"Oh. Why don't you tell Contessah to call me? She can call the old number. It will work for her."
"Oh, it will?" Emory says with a smirk. He leans toward Fallon, at which point you openly watch the two of them. "You like games, don't you?"
"Of course I do, but not your kind. Do not get any ideas."
Emory leans closer. "Too late."
You jump when the teacher speaks, sounding grumpier than before. You almost forgot you were in class.
"Emory, you can find your seat or you can leave my class."
Emory sighs with an annoyed look. He says to the girl, "Your blazer will be ready on Friday."
He stands and moves to a seat on the other side of the room. You notice, then, an amazing smell that must be Emory's cologne. Intoxicating. And you hear Emory's reply to the teacher.
"C'est bon."
You smile to yourself. You have no idea what is going on or who any of these people are. Even so, this is the closest you've ever come to a soap opera.
You decide to:
Get up and leave the classroom
or
Ask the girl, Fallon, what that was all about
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