7734
Trust and verify.
- Location
- Philmont
Rain came down.
The weather was horrible that day, he thought miserably. The move here had been painful, to say the least, and now the black sky was pouring down on him. Worse, this place was so foreign to him. He could understand a short move- after dozens of them, it was second nature- but this! Half a world away, and not even a decent place to go to here.
As the doors to St. Joseph High School opened on their automatic hinges, he muttered quietly to himself about things that pencil-pushers thought were a good idea as he stepped in. Once he was inside, the water pooling under him, he looked up and noticed something. Specifically, the students. The students stared at his long coat, the oiled canvas almost shining under the fluorescent light. He stared back, looking at the half-dozen pastel hair colors on display, noting the fact there were only one or two that seemed to be dye jobs- and those, revealing another odd color underneath.
Shaking his head briskly, he pulled a short slip of paper from his coat's inside pocket. His locker was down on the third row in a large bank located fairly centrally- not out in the boonies. Always a good sign. Combination was fairly easy to remember, too- tangent one-quarter, a hundred eleven perished in flames divided by the first four prime numbers, and finally the age of a long-running Nintendo game. Hanging the greatcoat up idly, he fingered his pinstriped vest softly. On one hand, it was important to make a good impression. On the other, overdressing frequently meant a lack of confidence. At home, it had seemed to be a good idea to split the difference, but now it looked like less of a good idea. Shrugging, he kept the vest on.
Class proceeded normally, for the most part. Seven fifteen to eight-ten for the first period, a dull class taught by a duller almost-retired teacher. Eight-twenty to nine-fifteen for second, consumed in a blistering hail of references to bygone series and something called "The Chan". Nine-twenty to quarter past ten for the third "hour" that he had to sit through, this one colored by the uncannily large number of girls in it. Next came lunch, a forty-minute respite he used to find the library and check out his textbooks. At five to noon the fourth period began, now with an energetic teacher who held far too much stock in Starbucks. He was quite glad when the class exited at one, freeing him from the clutches of the over-energized madman. The fifth class, five past one to two, was once again filled to the brim with excited girls, all intermittently gazing at the rather hunky teacher in a too-tight polo or their phones avidly. The last class, thankfully, was much more peaceful, and came with the added benefit of being taught by a fairly good-looking teacher who looked rather warm in the humid room at the top of the school.
As three o'clock came and the school emptied, he started flicking his eyes over his shoulders anxiously. For a second, it almost seemed as if someone was watching him. Brushing the feeling off, he made sure the leg loops were tight on his coat, before mounting his bike and taking off for home.
On the ride back to his house, he wondered quietly about how long he'd be staying here this time. His last home in Pueblo had been his for a few years, but before that had been Caracas, Toronto, and Valencia, all in a bare two hands of months. At least it wasn't Edinburg again- that city had just smelled, no matter how you sliced it.
Now, though? Now he could have a home, hopefully. He turned eighteen soon- once that had happened, he could possibly stop wandering the world behind his parents like a piece of luggage, always a stop behind and a bother to get.
If all else failed, he could probably find a girlfriend. Maybe. Hopefully. As long as it didn't end up like the time during Carnaval, at least. Although, that one had been fun…
Shaking his head, he pulled into his driveway and parked in the garage next to his father's car. It was time to do his homework, check his computer, and wait for next week to roll around. The first day might always be new, but the second was interesting.
The weather was horrible that day, he thought miserably. The move here had been painful, to say the least, and now the black sky was pouring down on him. Worse, this place was so foreign to him. He could understand a short move- after dozens of them, it was second nature- but this! Half a world away, and not even a decent place to go to here.
As the doors to St. Joseph High School opened on their automatic hinges, he muttered quietly to himself about things that pencil-pushers thought were a good idea as he stepped in. Once he was inside, the water pooling under him, he looked up and noticed something. Specifically, the students. The students stared at his long coat, the oiled canvas almost shining under the fluorescent light. He stared back, looking at the half-dozen pastel hair colors on display, noting the fact there were only one or two that seemed to be dye jobs- and those, revealing another odd color underneath.
Shaking his head briskly, he pulled a short slip of paper from his coat's inside pocket. His locker was down on the third row in a large bank located fairly centrally- not out in the boonies. Always a good sign. Combination was fairly easy to remember, too- tangent one-quarter, a hundred eleven perished in flames divided by the first four prime numbers, and finally the age of a long-running Nintendo game. Hanging the greatcoat up idly, he fingered his pinstriped vest softly. On one hand, it was important to make a good impression. On the other, overdressing frequently meant a lack of confidence. At home, it had seemed to be a good idea to split the difference, but now it looked like less of a good idea. Shrugging, he kept the vest on.
Class proceeded normally, for the most part. Seven fifteen to eight-ten for the first period, a dull class taught by a duller almost-retired teacher. Eight-twenty to nine-fifteen for second, consumed in a blistering hail of references to bygone series and something called "The Chan". Nine-twenty to quarter past ten for the third "hour" that he had to sit through, this one colored by the uncannily large number of girls in it. Next came lunch, a forty-minute respite he used to find the library and check out his textbooks. At five to noon the fourth period began, now with an energetic teacher who held far too much stock in Starbucks. He was quite glad when the class exited at one, freeing him from the clutches of the over-energized madman. The fifth class, five past one to two, was once again filled to the brim with excited girls, all intermittently gazing at the rather hunky teacher in a too-tight polo or their phones avidly. The last class, thankfully, was much more peaceful, and came with the added benefit of being taught by a fairly good-looking teacher who looked rather warm in the humid room at the top of the school.
As three o'clock came and the school emptied, he started flicking his eyes over his shoulders anxiously. For a second, it almost seemed as if someone was watching him. Brushing the feeling off, he made sure the leg loops were tight on his coat, before mounting his bike and taking off for home.
On the ride back to his house, he wondered quietly about how long he'd be staying here this time. His last home in Pueblo had been his for a few years, but before that had been Caracas, Toronto, and Valencia, all in a bare two hands of months. At least it wasn't Edinburg again- that city had just smelled, no matter how you sliced it.
Now, though? Now he could have a home, hopefully. He turned eighteen soon- once that had happened, he could possibly stop wandering the world behind his parents like a piece of luggage, always a stop behind and a bother to get.
If all else failed, he could probably find a girlfriend. Maybe. Hopefully. As long as it didn't end up like the time during Carnaval, at least. Although, that one had been fun…
Shaking his head, he pulled into his driveway and parked in the garage next to his father's car. It was time to do his homework, check his computer, and wait for next week to roll around. The first day might always be new, but the second was interesting.
To: OOC
