Subtle Love

I have never enjoyed school. Every day there is an adventure in its own self. Mocking glares and taunting jeers are my best friends there. They never seem to leave me alone, always following me around, widening the gap in my heart. But my fellow peers do not know that. Instead of showing them the humiliation that tears up my heart, I make them believe that nothing they can do will ever hurt me.

At least that is how it was in my old school. Anything can happen in my new school, Cherrywood High, home of the Scorpions. Maybe, just maybe, my new peers will act civilized around me, ignoring the fact that my speech is a little choppy but good nonetheless. Hopefully, the teachers will avoid torturing me by asking me to introduce myself. See that is what happens when you move to a new town, a month after school has officially started.

I can only hope that my brother, no matter how badass he can be, will stay by my side and at least attempt to stop any oncoming jeer. Isn’t that what older brothers are for?

Entering the school side by side, I follow my brother into the main office to get our schedules. We enter the room and walk over the secretary typing away onto her keyboard, furiously. Standing in front of her desk, we wait for her to notice us, but it seems that whatever she is doing is more crucial than a couple of students trying to get to their classes to get educated.

My brother was never the patient kind, so it is only expected that he gets her attention.

“Excuse me,” he says gruffly, his voice deep and rough, lathered with sleep and drowsiness but with authority and impatience.

The secretary continues typing away on her keyboard, not even acknowledging that she heard him speak, which quite frankly, annoys me as well.

I see my brother getting angrier by the second. He has never liked to be ignored, and that has never changed.

Slamming his palms on the table he leans over and sneers at the secretary, “I said, ‘excuse me,’ which means you drop whatever the hell you are doing and listen to me.” Not only do we have the attention of the secretary, who looks like she could pee in her skirt any second now, but also the other attendants sitting at their desks, doing work, looking over here worriedly.

“Um… how can I help you two?” she asks nervously, visibly shaking in her seat.

“You can start giving is our schedules,” Ryker, my brother, orders.

“Yes. Um… what are your names?” she asks, opening a drawer and getting out a fairly thin file labeled “New.”

“Ryker and Roman Hopewell,” he informs, getting a piece of gum from his pocket and stuffing it angrily in his mouth, chomping loudly.

“Y-yes, here you go,” she says, finding the two pieces of paper in the folder and holding it out to Ryker, her hand wobbling like an old woman’s. Ryker snatches it out of her hand and heads out of the room, not even offering a quick thank you. I follow behind him, ignoring the questioning gazes of the secretary and other attendants behind.

Outside the main office is a bench, where Ryker roughly walks over to and throws his bag down, flopping down right next to it. I venture over to him, gently taking a seat unlike he did, crossing my legs and chewing nervously on my bottom lip, placing my hands on my lap.

“Here,” Ryker shoves my schedule in front of my face and I quickly take it from him, reading it over once. Ryker does the same with his then shoves it roughly in his bag, not caring whether it gets crinkled or not. It is not like he cares about many things in the first place.

“You ready to go to class?” he questions, tapping his booted foot on the ground, probably to a tune playing in his head. I nod my head yes, though I really want to yell, “No! I just want to hide under my pillow and never come out!” But that is probably a bad idea.

“What’s your first class?” he ponders, scratching the back of his head.

“Ch-chemistry,” I stutter, pulling back a piece of hair behind my ear.

“Do you need help getting there?”

“I’ll m-manage,” I answer, nervously gripping the strap of my bag.

“You sure?” he asks. I nod in answer. “Well, then I best be going to class. Homeroom is about to finish in a few minutes. Might as well start finding my class,” he rambles, getting up from his seat and lazily putting his bag on his shoulder. “I’ll see you at lunch?” he asks, looking at me. I nod another yes in response while he just sighs at my silent gesture.

“See you later, little sister,” turning abruptly on his heels, walking down the hall.

“W-wait!” I stop him, running over to him. He sighs in annoyance and turns around and looks down at my short frame.

“What?” he snaps.

“P-promise me that you w-won’t fall into the wr-wrong c-company again. I don’t k-know what would h-happen if I lost a-another person in m-my life,” I beg, my eyes pleading into his own. He knows fairly well I am not talking about my mother, but someone else whom is much more important.

Instantly, upon noting the desperation in my voice, his whole stature softens and he looks at me guiltily. “I promise you I won’t do anything to ever hurt you, Roman. I may not show it a lot of the times, but I do love you. I have to go now, but I’ll see you at lunch, okay?” his usual hard voice is soft, as he looks down at me with brotherly love.

Before turning around and going to his own class, he leans down and plants a soft kiss on my forehead. “See you, kid. Stay out of trouble,” he winks at me and smiles before going his own way. I roll my eyes at him but smile nonetheless.

Turning around, I follow the signs in the hallways which say which rooms are where and where the lockers are. Figuring since I still had sometime before homeroom finishes, I find my locker and enter the combination. I stuff some notebooks and binders in there which I will not need until after lunch. No point carrying around a bunch of stuff I probably will not utilize until later. Why kill your shoulders and back?

I slam my locker door shut and continue finding my first period class, which is in the upper level of the school. While I walk my way up the stairs, the bell rings, startling me, almost making me lose stability on the steps, signaling that homeroom has ended. Almost instantly, I hear the clamor of students making their way out of classes and socializing and bickering with their friends.

Some students that pass by me give me curious looks, probably noting that I am indeed a new student. Some offer smiles and I politely smile back, almost instantly looking down at my shoes right after, which was probably not a good idea. I accidently walk into a hard wall and fall backwards instantly, my head hitting the tiled floor, sparking an instant pain. Wincing I sit up and caress my head while looking up.

Blushing, I scramble to my feet, still holding the back of my head, and apologize. It was not a wall I ran into, but a very muscular, good-looking guy, obviously out of my league. I look down at my feet, hiding my red-as-a-tomato face.

“I am s-sorry. I w-wasn’t looking where I w-was going,” I stutter, twirling my fingers together.

“Next time watch where you’re going,” he snarls, making me jump at the sharpness of his voice. “Wouldn’t want you to walk in front of a freaking bus,” he snaps, his green eyes flaming in anger. I blush harder, if that is even possible whimper another sorry before walking past him and making my way down the hall, trying to avoid any other “walls.”

“Hey! Wait! You dropped this!” an unfamiliar voice yells behind me. Stopping in my tracks, I turn around and come face to face with a very beautiful looking girl. Her brown, wavy tresses flow past her upper chest, resting on her stomach and her bright green eyes shine brighter than the luminescent in the room. She could be classified as a Victoria’s Secret model, but her choice of clothing is very conservative compared to other girls I have already seen in this school. I swear I am not lesbian, but no one could deny that she was beautiful.

Holding out her manicured hand in front of me, she hands me a silver chain with a locket on it. My locket. My hand goes up to my neck and notices the absence of the cool metal upon my skin. My hand drops from my neck and reaches out to grab my necklace, internally sighing that someone had the heart to give it back to me. It is very special to me and my heart would break if I ever lost this precious gift.

“Thank you,” I utter, thankfully not stuttering this time.

“It’s not a problem! I would hate it if I lost my jewelry. Anyway, I am Reagan. You must be new, am I right?” she greets, smiling cheerfully, her attitude a bit… flamboyant from other people I have met. She holds out her hand, and I shake it shyly, instantly dropping it after a few seconds. She does not seem to mind and smiles a little wider.

“Hi. I a-am new. My name i-is Roman,” I utter, looking shyly at the floor.

“Roman? What a nice name. Very unique, plus it suits you well. Well, Roman, what class do you have first? Perhaps I could help,” she offers, not caring that I have stutter, which is new. People usually walk away the first time they hear me speak, not wanting to talk to a girl with problems.

“Thank you. Um… I have ch-chemistry f-first, with M-Mr. Eaton,” I disclose, taking her help as to avoid any other accidents with other students.

“Oh, that is great! I have him too, so we can just walk together!” she claps, grabbing my hand and hauling me down the hallway, talking a mile a minute about how awesome of a teacher he is. Entering the last room at the end of the hallway, Reagan pulls me in and walks over to the teacher’s desk where a rather young teacher is grading papers.

“Mr. Eaton, I have fresh meat for you! This is Roman,” Reagan hollers, placing me in front of his desk standing beside me.

Mr. Eaton looks up at his desk and smiles at me, “Hello, I am Mr. Eaton, as you’ve heard, and welcome to my chemistry class. Reagan, why don’t you get a text book from the backroom for Miss Roman here and I’ll just hand out some papers for her,” he orders, opening a drawer in his desk and getting out a folder with a bunch of papers in it.

Reagan leaves my side and skips to the back of the classroom, leaving me here. Mr. Eaton hands me over some papers, “Here you go, Miss Roman. These are just some worksheets of the stuff we’ve been doing and the course syllabus. I won’t force you to introduce yourself, but I would like to ask if you would want to,” he states, looking at me. I quickly nod my head no; thanking the heavens he gave me a choice. He is definitely going to be one of my favorite teachers.

“Okay, then. That’s absolutely fine. You can take a seat anywhere. I don’t assign any seats, so make yourself comfortable,” he smiles once more before going back to grading his papers. I turn on my heels and face the half-filled classroom, all looking my way curiously. Reagan is in the middle of the room at a lab table, waving her hands in the air, trying to attract my attention.

I start my way over to her, ignoring the curious glances of my fellow peers when I pass by them. Finally, when I reach Reagan, I sit beside her, giving her a small, timid smile, putting my book bag on the side of the desk on the ground. She hands me a chemistry textbook for which I thank for and stuff in my bag.

“So, I saw what happened between you and Gabe, the guy you bumped into. Don’t worry about him, he is a total douchebag one-oh-one—probably the biggest jerk in the school—but he wouldn’t hurt a fly. Don’t take anything to heart if he ever says anything to you. That guy has it rough… I would know. I am his cousin,” she rambles, talking animatedly with her hands. She is his cousin… cool. Explains why they both look amazing.

“So, where did you move from?” she questions, changing the subject, resting her elbows on the table, her palm holding her chin.

“V-Virginia,” I answer.

“Oh wow! That is so cool! New Jersey must be a new experience all together for you! I must assure you, though, that not all of us are like those wanna-be Italian motherfuckers on Jersey Shore. We have class,” she clarifies while flicking a piece of hair behind her shoulder to make a point which makes me laugh.

“That’s g-good to k-know,” I say, chuckling a little bit, relaxing my chair, noting that Reagan is not going to be that person that makes my life a living hell.

“Do you mind me asking a question? It is a little personal, I must warn,” she says timidly, scrunching her nose up in curiosity. I motion ‘go ahead’ with my hand. “Do you always talk like that, or is it just first day nerves? I’m not saying it’s a bad thing, I won’t treat you any differently about it, but I’m just curious,” she smiles. I did not mind her asking; I was used to these questions in the first place.

“Yeah, I’ve b-been talking like t-this since I was l-little,” I answer, smiling back.

“Okay, cool. I just want to let you know that you won’t be treated miserably around here. Our principal stutters so we all know what to expect and stuff,” she explains, taking out her notebook and pencil and placing it neatly on her desk.

“Thanks,” I say, doing the same as her. The bell rings once more, signaling that class has started. By now, the class is filled and is full of banter as usual. Mr. Eaton gets up from his desk and goes over to the board, writing some REDOX equation on the board. I would know since I have already studied this back in Virginia.

“Okay class, settle down and start doing these warm-up equations. Also, we have a new student, Roman, so please make her comfortable,” he starts. Everyone turns to look at me, and some smile, (some guys actually whistle), and some say hi. I smile shyly in return, blood rushing up to my cheeks. They all turn away after a few moments and start doing the equations.

I pick up my pencil and flip to a brand new page in my notebook and start to do them as well. I finish up after a few minutes and notice I am the first one done. I place my pencil gently on the notebook and look at the different posters, all about responsibility or chemistry, around the room. I am so engrossed at the different posters; I did not even see Mr. Eaton stand by my desks, which startled me when he asked if I needed any help.

“No, I j-just finished e-early,” I clarify.

“Really, can I check?” he holds out his hand for the notebook and I politely give it to him. He eyes sweep over the page and nod in approval when he is done.

“Good work, you already started this in your old school, right?” he asks. I nod my head yes. “That’s nice. At least someone gets how to do it,” he smirks, making me smile. Some students laugh in return, knowing he was talking about them.

He hands me back my notebook and I place it on my desk. I start doodling in it to pass the remaining time. Mr. Eaton gives everyone five more minutes to finish their work. When the time is up, he goes over the answers then moves on with the lesson, things I already did in Virginia. The whole hour I talk with Reagan, (well, she mostly talks and I listen), and takes necessary notes that I did not already have. Soon, the bell rings and it is time to go to the next class. I pack away my things and walk out the door, Reagan still talking next to me.

“So, what do you have now?” Reagan asks, swinging her arms by her side.

“Ph-photography,” I answer, holding onto my book strap, tightly.

“Cool. I have drama which is right next to your class. So I’ll drop you off and then head to mine. When class ends, I’ll pick you up and then help you to your next class. What do you have after photography, anyway?” she rambles. She talks a lot. That is for sure.

“Study hall,” I say without stuttering, fist pumping in my head.

“Cool. No one really does anything during study hall. The monitors don’t really care unless you behave. They take place in the cafeteria because study hall has like, one hundred people, all from different grades and stuff. You can’t fit that many people in a classroom. Hopefully, you’ll find someone there to talk to, or you could head over to the library. The monitors give out passes to whoever comes first, until they finish all of them. So if you really want to go, be there a little early,” she instructs, stopping in front of a classroom.

“Okay, so this is your room. I’ll just be going next door now, so I’ll see you when class ends. Bye!” she chirps, skipping over to the next class. Sighing, I pull open the door and enter the dimly lit room. The teacher’s desk is on the other side of the classroom, and I can see the head of my teacher poking out right next to it, probably trying to find something.

I walk over to her, ignoring, once again, the curious gazes of the classmates. I stop in front of her desk and wait for her to come out from under. Hopefully, she will not fall in a hole and end up in Wonderland. Finally, after a few seconds, she puts a camera on her desk, pulling herself up as well, finally noticing me.

“Oh hello dear, I had no clue you were standing there. My apologies, I was trying to find my camera in my messy bag. How can I help you, deary?” she asks, smoothing out her long maxi skirt.

“Um… I’m n-new here,” I explain.

“Oh! Right! You must be Roman Hopewell. I am Mrs. Haut, your photography teacher,” she holds out her hand for me to shake, which I gladly accept. “Well then, I suppose I should give you a camera. I’m sure you know the rules and regulations and responsibilities of having one, so no need to explain myself there. Anyway,” she pulls out a camera from a cabinet in her desk, “here you go. You may sit next to Mr. Parker. Mr. Parker, please raise your hand,” she looks behind me, towards the back of the classroom.

I turn around and see a fairly good looking guy raise his hand lazily in the air. Not only is he extremely good-looking, but he is the guy I bumped into earlier this morning. Blushing, I make my way over to the back of the room where the only seat is available. I place my camera on the desk before sitting down, gently placing my bag on the floor. I awkwardly wait for Mrs. Haut to start the class, but she is really flustered, like most art teachers. Gabe, as Reagan told me, does not try to start a conversation, which I am thoroughly grateful for. I do not want to talk to the guy who so rudely told me off this morning. Instead, a petite red head sitting in front of me turns around and smiles at me.

“Hi, I’m Janice. You must be new here. What is your name?” she asks.

“Roman,” I answer.

“Roman, what a nice name. You know, I’ve always wanted to go to Rome. That’s where my parents met. Have you ever been there?” she asks. Wow, was everyone in this school talkative?

“Nope,” I utter.

“Oh, what a shame. Hopefully we’ll get to go sometime in the future. Maybe I’ll be like my parents and meet my future husband as well,” she giggles, her eyes twinkling in wonder. I smile back at her, nodding my head.

“Janice, shut the hell up and turn around, you’re giving me a headache,” Gabe orders from next to me in his deep, smooth voice.

“Gabe, you know better than to order me around. It will never happen! I will never listen to you. So I suggest you stuff in your headphones because I am talking to Roman, here,” she snaps at him, glaring.

“I don’t even know what Trent sees in you,” he mutters, taking Janice’s advice and listening to music. She glares at him once more in return then rolls her eyes.

“Don’t mind this douchebag, here. He PMS’s every day of the year,” she expresses with annoyance. I laugh at her insult and smile. We talk for a bit until Mrs. Haut starts the class. She goes over what the new project is and when it is due by. Basically, we just need to capture the child in us. After that, she lets us start it, for which a lot of kids go out of the classroom for.

“Why don’t we go to the football field? We can take pictures there,” Janice suggests. I nod in approval and gather my stuff and we walk out the door. Walking through the school, we finally go out of a door and walk towards the field. There is a gym class outside playing capture the flag. Everyone seems to be getting along and having fun.

Janice and I stop walking and stand by the sidelines. We take out our cameras and set everything up. I take a few pictures of the group playing, everyone smiling and laughing, definitely displaying their inner child.

It was not long before someone screams, “Watch out!” But it is too late by the time I see a football soaring in the air towards me and hitting me right on the front of the head, immediately knocking me down and bringing me into the darkness.