Bruised Knuckles

4. bruises

I sat down in the back row of Mr. Mogford's Physics class. My book bag remained zipped and on the floor, nothing on the desk in front of me. I leaned back against the chair and crossed my arms, watching my other classmates trail into the class one by one. Aspen showed up with her muffin, taking the seat next to me.

"You're not sitting over there?" She said, referring to the desks on the side of the classroom against the windows. "No," I shook my head, "I wanted to sit back here so maybe I can jerk off or something instead of calculating how fast a rocket goes."
Aspen scrunched her nose and stood up, taking a seat against the window where we normally sit. Cool, I thought. She never picked up on sarcasm.

The second bell rang and Mr. Mogford starting counting our heads to see how many seniors actually showed up this morning. It was a Monday, too, but most seats were filled except two. The one next to me, which Aspen was sitting in before she moved, and the other front and center with the teacher.

Once Mogford's dull and monotone voice starting talking, I zoned out and looked over at Aspen, picking at her muffin while feverishly scribbling down notes from the board. I smirked when I saw how determined she was. Her grades were almost flawless yet she never took time to explain homework to me. She was accepted into a college that was in eastern Pennsylvania, not too far from where we were in Jersey. I was going on baseball scholarships, she was going on genius scholarships.

"Heather Fiori," Mr. Mogford said while his old and bony finger scrolled on the mouse, his attendance list on the desktop he was standing in front of in the corner of the room. Heather spit her hand up into the air so fast and straight, I grunted at how stupid she looked. Her posture was flat and straight with her shoulders back. She wore her tennis outfit to school that consisted of a white skirt, grey Nike sneakers, and a pink tank top with a matching jacket. Her sand colored hair was tucked neatly back in a ponytail. Teacher's pet.

"Aspen Greer," Mogford said with a smile, not even hesitating to look at any other part of the room but the window side. Aspen was normally a creature of habit. He kept his eyes on that side of the room, crinkling his salt and pepper colored eyebrows.

"Orion Greer?" He began scanning across the room until he found me in the back row, on the very end. "How nice, switching things up?" He said with a chuckle, the sound of the mouse clicking to mark Aspen and I present. I didn't say anything in return, instead I shuffled my feet below my desk and adjusted my crossed arms against my chest.

Someone twisted the doorknob, rattling the door to try and get inside the classroom. Mr. Mogford stepped away from the desktop computer, opening the door. I knew right away who this was.

"I'm a new student," the boy with the cut lip said. He showed Mr. Mogford a crinkled sheet of paper which was his schedule.

"Very well, take a seat," Mogford said. He didn't even bother to ask this boy his name. Slowly, the boy made his way to the back row, sitting between me and a girl named Patricia.
If Aspen stayed there, I'd never have to put up with a new student.

The new boy pulled out a triple subject notebook, opening to the first page. He took out his pen next, setting it down on the desk next to the notebook. I kept my eyes on this boy, studying his actions without being too obvious. He quickly looked at me while he was leaning over the side of his desk to close his book bag. I scratched my forehead with my thumb and quickly looked in the other direction, reading a motivational poster plastered on the wall.

"If you're not going to do anything in that seat, I suggest you leave altogether," Mr. Mogford said with a stern tone, the whole class turning to look at me. I shrugged and pulled out a crumbled sheet of paper from the bottom of my bag, unraveling and spreading it out onto my desk. The whole class watched and Mr. Mogford, especially, gave me a disapproving glare as he silently finished attendance. It was then I realized that we were supposed to solve the warm up problem on the board. I took a pen from my bag next, setting it on top of the lumpy paper.

Mogford turned his back, writing a second problem onto the white board. The class was watching him now, not me. The attention from my peers didn't really bother me anymore.

The boy next to me started writing down the problems from the board. He pulled a calculator out of his pocket, which made me cock my head slightly in confusion and amusement. Who carries a calculator in their pocket? I stared at my crumbly paper, noticing a few soft tears near the edges.

"You're not gonna do anything?" I heard the boy whisper to me. He was leaning closer to my desk, looking up at me with that cut lip. It was then I noticed his slightly bruised nose, scattered freckles complimenting it. His eyes were a sparkling mixture of brown and green, and I had no choice but to be drawn to them in their entirety.

For the first time, I felt like I couldn't grasp the right words to say, my brain sending jumbled words to the tip of my tongue.
"No, never really do," I said with fumbling clarity. The boy nodded in slow, long movements, "You were acting pretty tough just an hour ago. You're not going to punch me for talking to you, right?" The boy asked me, serious with his words.

I shook my head and couldn't help but laugh quietly at his comment. What kind of animal does he think I am?

"No, I'm not," I said in a low whisper, glancing back and forth between Mogford and the new boy. The boy nodded again, faster this time, returning to his notebook where he continued to punch calculator keys and write numbers.

I watched his nimble fingers press the keys then pick up his pen. He seemed to be in a deep state of concentration. His lips were parted and his eyes were darting back and forth from calculator to notebook like this problem was the answer to every single world issue. He gained my interest in a matter of minutes, simply because he was everything Riverside kids aren't.

Once he dropped his pen for good, he glanced over at me, but I wasn't looking at him anymore. I was brushing my fingers over my knuckles, which were bruised and cut from the game. They wouldn't even have a chance to heal before practice tonight.
In fact, my knuckles were bruised from the day I picked up a bat.
Simple as that.

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i LOVED writing this chapter, especially the scene with the new boy. i really hope you enjoy it too! don't be shy and leave some comments or votes. what do you think about this new boy?