The Bright Ones

3 | Tom

Lights were out by 8:30 the night before. We were up by 5:00 this morning. I probably wouldn't have been so exhausted if I'd been able to sleep, but deep required a tired mind. And my mind was anything but tired. I was worried about classes beginning, my extra circulars, about letting my parents down. I had to prove to them that I could be independent. Even if that meant pretending to befriend this lot. I could manage friendly.

We were all dressed and ready for classes by 6:45, but they didn't begin until 8:00. Breakfast didn't take long and I was left wondering why we had had to get up so early.

Reeve slung his arm around my shoulders—laughing at something Dylan said. "Okay, okay!" Fletcher said trying to stop laughing himself. "We need to figure out our study schedule for this term. What does everyone have?"

"I have calc, sculpting, literature, and chem," Dylan read from his class list.

"I have trig, world history, literature, and bio," Brodie put in.

"I have trig, library assistant, literature, and music," Lawrence recited from memory.

"Cool! I have trig, world history, literature, and chem," Reeve cheered.

"Well, I have debate, accounting, literature, and creative writing," Fletcher added. "What about you, Beau?"

I pulled my paper out of my satchel. "Calc, world history, literature, and creative writing."

"Perfect!" Fletcher exclaimed. "We all have literature together, so that'll be an easy study group to coordinate."

Everyone seemed excited about that. I guess I was too. Now I wouldn't have to make friends in a few classes. I could just join their study groups. This was perfect.

~•~•~•~

Calculus was everything I'd imagined. It was boring, boring, and boring. It was probably boring because it was so easy. But I don't know why it was so easy. I hate any form of math. I enjoyed history, but the teacher was a bore. Now I was waking to literature with Brodie and Reeve.

They were going on and on about how our study group would have to be altered this Friday because of a dinner party Dylan had to go to for some representatives thing with the all-girls school across town. I only heard about this party with some interest because I wondered if Rylie would be attending.

When we got to the classroom we were met with no teaching and a half-full class. Lawrence gave a cordial smile fr the front of the class which brought us to Fletcher's attention. He was sitting right behind Lawrence and when he turned around I hardly recognized him. Fletcher was in his school uniform like everyone else, but he had on what I assumed to be reading glasses. His piercing blue eyes and caramel hair with these new glasses made his freckled cheekbones stand out. He was handsome. I'm sure the girls at the neighboring school would adore him. Or any of them!

They were all pretty handsome lads. Even Reeve, despite his large ears.

Fletcher flashed a smile even more blinding than his eyes, gesturing us to come sit near themselves "we saved you guys some seats. Beau, you're next to me, Dylan in front of him, Brodie—and Reeve when he gets here—will be in behind us."

Just as we took our spots Reeve came running in, dodging other students and desks. "Cheers lads. I was just on a call with my father. How was everyone else's first two classes." There were mixed unsatisfied grumbles. Reeve barked a laugh and took his spot right behind me.

Pointless conversation erupted between the five of them almost immediately. I opened the book the school provided for this class course. With a pen, I began underlining snippets I thought would be important. I think English was my favorite subject. The reading, the writing, the poetry.

There was a tapping in the back of the classroom and then silence. I put my pen down and turn with the rest of the class to see who wanted our attention. Standing there was a middle-aged man with salt and pepper hair, dark eyes like an abyss, thick-rimmed glasses, and a plethora of smile lines. He wasn't tall, but wasn't as short as Brodie. He wore a white button-down with khaki pants and a tweed cardigan. A copy of the book of just been underlining was in one of his hands and a briefcase was in his other.

"Good afternoon, class." He tossed his book in the air and caught it as he walked toward the front of the room. Curious eyes followed. Had no one had this teacher before? Or was I wishing something entirely different.

He sat his stuff on his desk and picked up a piece of chalk to write on the board. "My name—according to proper etiquette—is Mr. Nelson." He wrote that down and turned to us with a wild smile. "But to those of you who are comfortable with it and would prefer to be treated as equals—my name is Tom." Fascination erupted in the small sea of students.

He wrote that and placed the chalk back at the edge. Then he grabbed a list of student's names. Pushing his glasses back, he started reading. He read a few names before getting to, "Reeve Evans?" A hand raised. "William Fletcher."

My curiosity flared and I turned to look at Fletcher. It hadn't struck me before that Reeve had introduced everyone by their first and last name except Fletcher. I had just assumed that was his first name.

Fletcher sat forward in his chair, his hands slipping into his lap ringing each other quickly than slowly. "Sir?" Mr. Nelson stopped himself from reading on and looked back at Fletcher. "Could you call me Fletcher?"

Mr. Nelson seemed to understand and nodded. "Yes, of course, Fletcher." A few more names—Lawrence—Dylan Madden. "Beau Mitchell?" I raised my hand. "What an unusual name. You must be a very special character." I felt my face heat up and my body start to slide in my seat. Attention on me; exactly what I wanted.

Once he was done with the role he stood in front of his desk. "Before we start this term and you commit suicide by homework, I want to get a few things clear. I don't want to be the thorn in your ass. I want to be the reason you enjoy this class—this class that's full of so many amazing opportunities. I want to be your mentor above all else. I want to guide you gentlemen, but I can't do that if you're afraid of me." He pushed himself off his desk and tapped his knuckles on Dylan's desk. "For your first assignment—don't groan yet—is to write one page on yourself. Then! Don't get your undergarments in a bunch! Then you'll read them for the class, place those papers in a bucket, and a classmate will pick one each. You will then take that paper and write a new one on that person without conversing with them. Calm down, lads! This will all take place next week."

Writing I could do. Writing about myself, not so much. Reading I loved. Reading for the class not so much. I felt myself slide further down, my hands covering my face now.

"Ah, Beau, not a public speaker are we? Don't worry. You'll be speaking like Winston Churchill in no time."

Sniggers spread across the class. I turned away from everyone to face the window.

Great. Being singled out is just what I wanted.

______

I just can't seem to stop writing this book! I have to finish the latest chapter for Crash and Burn, but I love this story for no specific reason and I hope you do too!