Prelude to Destruction

Matt turned around in his seat when he sat down, facing me, letting me get my first real look at him. He flashed me a smile and asked casually, “Hey, do you have a pencil I can borrow?”

I was not quite sure my voice was going to work properly, so I nodded instead and lowered my gaze to my backpack to retrieve another pencil. I let my fingers linger a second longer on the pencil than was really necessary.

He glanced up at me. “Are you a senior? I don’t think I’ve ever seen you before,” he said conversationally.

I shook my head and prayed my voice would work. “Uh-uhm, no, I’m not,” I squeaked. My voice sounded so much higher than it normally did. “I’m actually a freshman… I’m just super good at math.” Super? I mocked to myself. Who says ‘super’ anymore? “My names Rosalie Lily,” I added.

His brows were raised. “Your name’s like a flower!” he exclaimed. He seemed pleased with himself to have realized that about my name. I tried to act like I hadn’t heard that comment a thousand times before. “I’m Matt. Matt Sanders. …So you’re really only a freshman?” he repeated, surprise evident in his voice.

“Uh-huh,” I said.

“Holy fucking cow,” he mumbled. “Tutor me sometime? I got C minuses in Algebra 2. I don’t know how I’m going to pass Pre-Calc.”

I smiled, ready to jump on the chance, but I wanted to play it off. “Yeah, I used to tutor kids in junior high,” I said, trying to seem indifferent. “I could tutor you after school sometime.

Matt was about to respond, but Mr. Billowe walked to the front of the class and switched off the projector and began speaking. “Alright, class, who’d like to walk us through the problem? …Mr. Sanders, how about you?” he suggested, when no one’s hand raised.

“Aw, come’on, teach!” Matt complained. “You know my paper’s still blank.”

“Exactly,” Mr. Billowe said evenly. “Pay attention. Today’s a review day. We’ll review the key concepts from Algebra 2 that you’ll need to know to pass this class. Tomorrow we jump right in; we have a lot of material to cover this semester. …Now. This logarhythm is really very simple. You just take the number seventy-four and move it so that it’s the exponent here…”

“Guess you can start tutoring me now,” mumbled Matt quietly with sad frustration.

***

It was the classic scene: new girl in school has nowhere to sit at lunch. I stood at the opening of the school cafeteria and scanned it for someone –anyone, welcoming. Nothing. I would have sat with Julia no matter how much she protested, but she didn’t have lunch at the same time I did; the seniors had a different lunch period from all the other classes.

On a spur of the moment decision, I made a beeline for the trash, dumped my lunch straight into the can, and kept on walking until I was out of the cafeteria and into the hallway.

I decided to head for the outside campus and sit under a tree; I’d start working on my Pre-Calculus homework. The grassy area was vacant –polar opposite of what it had been earlier this morning; most people preferred to eat inside, and everyone else was in classes.

I found a tree near the corner of the campus, next to a tall white wall acting as a barrier between the school and the outside world. I turned my iPod on, put my earphones in my ears, and began to work.

I was almost finished with my homework when I heard a loud, sudden, “Ouch! Holy fucking shit!”

I dropped my pencil and looked around wildly. “Oh my gosh, are you all right?” I cried, reaching out. There was a boy laying on the ground.

I watched him wave me away with one hand, pushing himself up to a sitting position with the other. “Yeah, yeah, I’m fine,” he assured me.

“What happened? And where’d you come from?” I asked him as he looked up at me.

He chuckled for a moment, like he’d just remembered something really funny. At least, I hope it was that, and not my face or anything. “Ay, uh, I’m a student here, but I left during third period. I hate that sonofabitch teacher, Mr. Dugan, do you know him? What a stupid subject, English. …Plus, I really needed some cigarettes. Fell of the top of the wall,” he explained, rubbing his back.

“Is that legal?” I asked stupidly.

“What?” he replied, unknowing.

“Smoking cigarettes. That can’t be legal; you’re not eighteen, are you?”

He gave me a Look, a Look like the ones that Julia gave me when she couldn’t believe I’d just said something really dumb. “Of course it aint legal, doesn’t mean I’m not gonna do it,” he answered. “Not like my folks care anyways; it was my dad who gave me money for the pack. …Want one?”

“No!” I gasped in revulsion. Daddy would never forgive me if I came home smelling like cigarette smoke.

“Okay, okay,” the boy said, drawing back a little bit. “Sorry.”

I gathered my books. “What grade are you in?” I asked him.

“I’m a sophomore. I have lunch right now, all the underclassmen do, but I always grab a bite to eat when I skip English,” he answered. He looked at me for the first time and said, “What about you?

“Oh, I’m a freshman,” I answered. “I’m, uh not hungry,” I said. I wasn’t about to reveal my humiliating, friendless event in the cafeteria. “My name’s Rosalie Lily, by the way.” I stuck out my hand for him to shake.

He smiled and took my hand and kissed it instead, like a gentleman would, except this kid looked far from being a gentleman, with his ripped jeans, Iron Maiden t-shirt, and stiff mohawk that added a few inches to his small frame (though he was still taller than me, standing at 4’10”).

“My name’s Jonathan,” he said, as lowered my hand, though not letting go. “But you can call me Johnny Christ.”