Soulkeeper

Chapter Two : High School

It was still fairly dark outside by the time I made it to school. Castle Hill High is your average Northeastern American charter school for grades nine through twelve. Designed for curb appeal, the main building had a right wing, which was basically a hall of classrooms with various shorter halls connected, and a left wing, which was shaped like a giant circle. The left wing held the main office, library, cafeteria and various other "common" student spaces while the right wing was strictly classrooms and lockers. Castle Hill High's faculty was a melting pot of home-grown locals and cherry-picked educators. The diversity is apparent through classroom structure and expectations which can vary widely from teacher to teacher.

When entering Castle Hill High as a freshman, students were coached to choose a "pathway" to define their high school experience. Pathways included trade-based tracks, advanced subjects, dual college credit courses, athletic tracks and independent studies, which is fancy for "easy classes with random electives". My high school career is limited to the shortest, effortless direct path to graduation. Despite my general lack of interest, there was the occasional teacher that kept my engaged enough to convince me I might care more than just passing. Unfortunately, my home room period was not that type of teacher.

Gliding underneath the flat steal roof of the overhang towards the entrance of school's right wing and yanking open the glass door by the smooth black door handle, I glanced back to see if anyone was behind me. Perhaps my nightmares have me approaching paranoia. At ease from the lack of people behind me, I power-walked down the white tiled hall lined with distressed grey lockers along the cold white cement block walls. As I walked under the flickering florescent lights, I made a left turn to the connected business hall. Our school designates halls by subject area, so most halls connected to the main drag are much shorter. Passing through the dimly lit doorway to the class at the dead end of abandoned hall, I headed for the only semi-wobbly desk in the back row of the class.

Classrooms at Castle Hill High are mostly your typical "classroom set-up". An array of smart, chalk, white and cork boards line the walls. Our teachers have free reign when it comes to their classroom atmosphere. They choose their seating, arrangement, color scheme, decorations, and even what type of posters they hang. My homeroom class is simple. Isolated seat-table-combination desks are arranged into columns and rows facing the front of the classroom where the smart board is mounted. The ambiance is warmed by the scattered lamps and strung twinkle lights around the room. Other than the scattered photos and posters of various overseas locations, the walls are essentially bare.

As I slid off my worn canvas bag's strap, I leaned into the seat of the desk at the exact moment our tall, slender Entrepreneurship teacher Mr. Heineken turned off the lights. Since the room had no windows, the only illumination came from the lamps and strung lights. Mr. Heineken pointed the remote in his hand to the smart board receiver and turned up the volume.

Generally speaking, our announcements are the same every school day. Some aspiring news anchor who just so happens to be blonde over does her lines with a disengaged, most often delayed, boy, who barely speaks. We all say the pledge of allegiance before covering various messages of congratulations and happy birthdays. Followed by announcements from various groups and clubs. Moving on to lunch they share the menu; today is meatloaf with mash potatoes and carrots. Yay. My favorite...

The blonde girl always ends the dreadful clip with an "inspirational" quote of the day, "In life there is no trying. You either do it or you don't. You either win or your fail." She always attempts to have a serious monotone voice that abruptly changes to ear screeching yell as she signs off, "Well that's all for today! BYE!"

As my deep dark hazel eyes adjust to the lights flickering on, I tuck my unruly thick wavy black hair behind my small ears, pull out my spiral bound notebook and black mechanical lead pencil. Settling in to learn, I pull the sleeves of my flannel down past my knuckles, and rest my high cheekbone on my palm supported my elbow on the right side of my desk.

Mr. Heineken pulled up a presentation on the smart board labeled Building a Business Plan: Step by Step. Before addressing the class, he ran his long masculine hand through his thick brown wavy hair and smoothed down the various shades of blue striped tie against his rather thin white button-down that is neatly tucked into a crisp pair of blue slacks. After clearing his throat and adjusting his posture he addresses the class, "What is the first step in building a business?"

Many eager hands shoot into the stale air as I prepare myself to take notes and hopefully avoid being asked anything. Despite being in this class for the greater part of three months, my clearly "intelligent" peers haven't learned that Mr. Heineken ignores people who raise their hand and appear to be paying attention. He commands everyone's participation by singling out those who seem distant or preoccupied. So, it isn't a surprise when Alister O'Connell is called on to answer the question.

Trying not to gawk, I slightly turn my head to the left to see Alister sitting in a relaxed position with his long muscular legs extended under the desk, thick muscular arms crossed over an impeccably built chest and the nape of his neck resting on the back of the chair.

Mr. Heineken, clearly amused, repeats himself with a commanding voice, "Mr. O'Connell, I have asked you a question. What is the first step in building a business plan?"

Alister pushed the top of his black sweatshirt hood down towards the back of his head to reveal his messy thick sandy hair, bright glistening blue eyes and stern expression reinforced by his sharp chiseled facial features. Sarcastically flashing a smile with his bright white teeth, he responded, "How would I know, isn't that what you are paid to tell us?" Barely sitting up, Alister beams a I-don't-give-a-shit expression back at Mr. Heineken.

Mr. Heineken suppressed his laughter by clearing his throat and responding to the whole class to further assert his authority, "Ah, Mr. O'Connell is indeed correct. I am the teacher in this classroom, but Mr. O'Connell, you have failed to recognize your job. As a student it is your job to sit up and pay attention, that is unless you wish to repeat your senior year."

Alister smirked, "Well then teach me, teacher." He halfway sat up and appeared to be more interested than before Mr. Heineken called him out.

Despite my best efforts as Mr. Heineken began running though his presentation, I became lost in my thoughts. Not only anything in particular, just aimlessly staring off. Mr. Heineken pulls me from mental outer space, "This presentation is posted online in our course's lecture tab. Refer back to it before contacting me with any questions. Although I am sure most of you will use Google. Thankfully, your homework assignment is harder to Google. Everyone must complete step one of a fictional business plan. Remember this needs to be an original idea for either a service you wish to provide or a product you wish to sell."

Just as clockwork the chimes begin to ring as the principle's prerecord voice echoes through the school, "All students must report to second period." As it repeats three times, I flip my spiral bound notebook shut and then toss it and my mechanical pencil into the main pouch of my book bag. I exit the classroom and walk down to the main hallway to head to my next class, Creative Writing.