FROST- Jotun Chronicles #1

Charlotte

I turned away quickly as she resumed her previous activities, pushing through the doors at the top of the stairs, glad to be out of the stairwell. I wasn’t sure if I was going to like Amy or not. She was certainly…confident.

            I found the English class just where the enthusiastic Mrs. Burns had said it would be. Mr. Scott was a beanpole of a man, with long arms and legs and little round spectacles perched on the end of his nose. He had spiky blonde hair with too much gel in it. He squinted at me as I came in.

            “Ah, Megan Walker?”

            I wondered if he asked me that because he wasn’t sure of my name, or because he couldn’t see me properly.

            “Yes,” I said. My last name wasn’t Walker, but I didn’t bother to correct him. There was no use getting into it. The Walkers took me on as a foster child when I was three years old, so they were pretty much my only family. Some loving parent had dumped me on the walkway of the nearest hospital at the tender age of newborn, so I had no wish for a family reunion.

            “Megan, have a seat." He gestured grandly at the desks in front of him, as if he were offering me a prize on the Price is Right, or something.  I ran a critical eye over my new grade eleven class. It was much as I’d feared. I estimated twelve kids, maybe. They were all staring at me with great interest. No doubt I was the most interesting thing to happen since their annual cow tipping contest…or whatever they did in this place. I gave them all a fake smile. “Hi.”

             A few of them murmured back, one girl, a mousy little thing with wisps of blonde hair falling out of her braid and wide brown eyes gave me a friendly wave.  I gravitated toward her.

            “Hi,” she said, eyes shining with enthusiasm. “I’m Charlotte.”

            I threw my book bag down beside the desk and took a seat. “Hi."

            We didn’t get to say anything else, because Mr. Scott started the lesson. We would apparently be reading Lord of the Flies and dissecting it, which made the entire class groan.

            “I’ve already read that,” Charlotte leaned over and whispered conspiratorially. “None of it made any sense at all.”

            I grinned at her and whispered back, “That’s okay. We’ll just make up symbolism when we have to write a report.”

            She seemed to get a kick out of this, snickering out loud so that Mr. Scott arched one dark brow over his glasses at her. I smiled at the horrified look on her face.

            Lunch hour was interesting. There was no cafeteria at Grande Prairie High, it was too small. Instead, everyone ate in the hallways, leaning against the lockers and lounging on the benches at the end of the hallway. Some of the students left for lunch, just the grade twelves I noticed.

            “Are we not allowed leaving the campus?” I asked Charlotte, who was grabbing a lunch bag out of her locker.

            “Not till we’re in grade twelve.” She unzipped her bag, which had pictures of penguins on it, and pulled out a crushed looking sandwich. “Num, peanut butter and jelly.” She followed me to my locker, which they had assigned to me by way of a large inked “32” on the top of my timetable.

            “I guess I should get a lock,” I said, pulling a snack bar from my book bag.

            “Oh no.” Charlotte giggled. ‘Don’t be silly, no one will steal anything. Everyone knows everyone here. You can’t get away with anything.”