Conscience and Cowards

Episode One

#Paul – Friday, September 10 – The Office

Paul sat on the “discipline bench” in the main office, wondering why the hell he was there. He’d been called to the office and parked with the behavior cases to await judgment. The bench was very uncomfortable.

Probably on purpose.

Had someone told a teacher he had a gun in his bag? He didn’t. Maybe they were profiling him. Maybe they were going to expel him, just in case he brought a gun one day. They’d be doing him a favor.

Instead of getting sent to the vice-principal like everyone else, one of the guidance counselors, Ms. Moore, came out and called Paul’s name. She looked around like she wasn’t sure what he looked like.

“I’m Paul Turner,” he said, standing up.

“Oh, good, Paul,” Ms. Moore said. “Come into my office.”

“What did I do?” Paul asked.

“I just need your help.”

“My help?” he asked.

They turned into Ms. Moore’s office. A girl sat in front of Ms. Moore’s desk. She was wearing combat boots and wildly mismatched clothes. Her hair was a shocking red, and she had heavy black liner around her eyes. There were several piercings. Not all in her ears. She was putting a scratched-to-hell school laptop and charger into her bag.

“Sit down, Paul,” Ms. Moore said. Paul sat in the chair next to her. She looked like she’d been in a paint store when it exploded. “This is Lois Barnes. This is her first day. Lois, this is Paul.”

“Hi,” Paul said.

“Hey.”

“We’re starting a new program,” Ms. Moore began. “Instead of throwing our new students into the deep end, we’re assigning student guides to everyone who comes in after the beginning of the year.”

“Student guides?” Paul asked.

“Someone to show new students around. Help them get acclimated,” Ms. Moore said.

“Why me?” Paul asked.

“You have the same schedule,” Ms. Moore said.

“So, the computer picked me.”

“More went into it than that,” Ms. Moore said. “There were other factors to consider.”

Paul looked at Lois.

Lois looked back.

Ms. Moore was full of crap.

“Anyway,” Ms. Moore continued, “It’s your job to show her where the classrooms are, introduce her to the teachers, and show her how things work.”

“I’ve been to high school before,” Lois said.

“I know you have,” Ms. Moore said. “But every school is different. That’s why Paul is going to show you around. Okay?”

“Okay,” Lois said.

“Okay,” Paul said.

“Alright, you two,” Ms. Moore said, “get going.” She handed Paul a hall pass.

2. #Lois – Friday, September 10 – Walking to First Period with Paul

Paul was about her height and not bad looking, but his clothes were frumpy and he didn’t spend much time on his hair. That was a good thing. Assholes spent their mornings making sure their hair was just so.

They walked down the quiet hall. Classes had begun. L’s boots thunked. She saw the same lame pep posters and slogans hung on the walls.

“I bet you get a lot of stupid Family Guy jokes,” Paul said.

“All the time,” L said. “Superman, too. But don’t call me ‘Lois.’ Call me ‘L.’”

“Okay,” Paul said.

Paul led L to the stairs.

“My last school didn’t have an upstairs,” L said.

“There’s an elevator, but you can only use it if you’re in a wheelchair or have a broken leg or something,” Paul said.

They reached the top of the stairs in silence. Paul led L to a classroom down the hall on the left.

“This is Mr. Kelly’s English class,” Paul announced.

“Sounds awesome,” L said.

The room had posters of Shakespeare and Edgar Allan Poe, a “Read to Succeed” bulletin board, and framed book covers stuck on the wall. It was stupid as hell.

Mr. Kelly was in front of the room saying something, but he stopped when L and Paul walked in. The teacher’s eyes bugged out a little when he looked at her, but his face went back to neutral. They walked up to where Mr. Kelly was leaning against his desk. L could feel everyone staring at her.

Screw them. Let them look.

“What do we have here?” Mr. Kelly asked. Bingo. He was an asshole like everyone else.

“This is L,” Paul said. “She’s new. L, this is Mr. Kelly.”

“L?” Mr. Kelly asked skeptically.

“L,” L repeated, daring him to question it.

L handed Mr. Kelly her schedule. He scanned it and handed it back.

“Okay, L,” the teacher said. “Welcome to English Three. Sit wherever you want.”

Paul headed for what seemed to be his usual seat at the back of the room. L followed him. The class was starting to murmur and cast sideways glances. Someone even took a picture.

She watched Paul take out a notebook and a paperback. She saw it was To Kill a Mockingbird. She’d already read it.

Mr. Kelly resumed droning on about Atticus Finch. Finally, he stopped talking and told the class to start reading. As the class flipped to whatever page they were on, he approached her with a copy.

“I’ve already read it,” L announced.

“Good,” Mr. Kelly said. “You can pick it up on Chapter Nine.”

“But I’ve already read it,” L repeated.

“It’s a classic,” Mr. Kelly said. “I re-read it every time I teach it, and I get something new out of it every time.”

L rolled her eyes, reluctantly opened the book, and flipped to Chapter 9. What was the point of reading the same book again and again? Smug, Mr. Kelly returned to his desk.

Instead of reading, L thought about what she’d wear tomorrow. Last week she’d gone to the thrift store in her old town and bought a short yellow skirt, black-and-yellow stockings, and a black blouse that made her look like a bee. She thought she’d maybe wear that with the boots and do her hair up in a beehive to complement the stockings. Would anybody get it? Even if they didn’t, they’d instinctively know to stay away from her.

Mr. Kelly had the class read until the end of the period, telling them he would answer questions, which no one asked. The bell finally rang.

“If you haven’t finished Chapter Nine, make sure you’ve read it before you come to class tomorrow,” Mr. Kelly said as his students packed up their stuff. He was looking straight at L. She looked back. When he broke eye contact, L and Paul left. They were the last ones.

“Are you ready for history?” Paul asked.

“Do I have a choice?” L asked.

“It’s high school,” Paul said. “There are no choices.”

“Hi, Paul,” a tailored brunette said as she passed by. She smiled like she meant it.

“Hi, Jane,” he said. Lois saw him look back. For a split second, something in his face changed. Then it was gone.

“There are no choices,” L agreed.

“History is back downstairs,” Paul said, leading her to the staircase again.

“How convenient,” L said.

“Yeah,” Paul said over his shoulder. “They really like to make it easy on us.”

“What kind of history is it?” she asked.

“American,” he replied. “Have you already done that?”

“Nope,” she said, disappointed.

They turned into the classroom. The teacher was sitting at her desk surrounded by a bunch of kids talking over each other to get her attention. Great. One of those teachers who thought she was cool.

L and Paul waited until the ring of admirers sat down. The classroom walls were loaded with pictures of old presidents and maps of countries that didn’t exist anymore. Paul did the introductions. Her name was Ms. Anderson. Her eyes also bugged out.

“You can sit there,” Ms. Anderson said, pointing to a desk in the front of the room. “I’ll get you a book.”

“Great,” L said, thinking it was anything but. The front of the room was for suck-ups. She and Paul split up. He went to the back of the room where she couldn’t see him. She would rather sit next to him, but did it matter?

L sat at her desk. After a moment, Ms. Anderson plunked a textbook down in front of her. It looked heavy. She lifted it. It was.

The lesson began. The subject was the War of 1812, and L quickly concluded it was the most boring war America had ever fought. Ms. Anderson talked for the entire period, and L took notes because there was nothing better to do.

“You don’t have to take notes,” Paul told her after class. “Everything she says is in the book.”

“So, if I take notes, I won’t have to read the book,” L said.

“I never thought of it that way,” said Paul. “Seems like a lot of effort, though.”

Next was Algebra II. The class was mostly quadratic equations on a worksheet. L found it insultingly easy.

The bell rang.

“Lunchtime,” Paul said. “My favorite time of day. You don’t want to be seen with me. I’m the school’s biggest dork. You’ll get bullied.”

“Do you think I didn’t get bullied at my last school?” L asked. “Look at me. I can take it. Let’s stick together.” They began walking to the cafeteria.

“Maybe you won’t be bullied here,” said Paul. “You could start fresh.”

“There’s no such thing,” L said. “All high schools are alike.”

“That sucks,” Paul said. “How many have you been to?”

“This is my fourth in three years,” said L.

“You move around a lot?”

“My mom tries to keep us ahead of the landlords,” L explained. “She makes rent for a while, stops paying, we get evicted and move to a new town. My mom says we won’t this time because she’s got a steady job at the glass plant. She always says something like that. It’s BS.”

Paul looked surprised, but L decided not to hold it against him. He probably hadn’t heard a story like hers before.

“That sucks,” Paul said.

“I’ll be here maybe six months,” L said. “Don’t get attached.” Wasn’t that what she was doing with this Paul kid a little bit? Well, after the day was over, she’d go back to her solitary world.

“Okay, I won’t,” Paul said. Did he seem a little disappointed?

They entered the cafeteria. It was huge compared to her last school. There was an open door that led to picnic tables outside. It was loud despite not being full. The teachers didn’t walk around looking for evildoers. They sat at their own table.

L and Paul got into line. Paul got the main entrée, and L got the vegetarian selection. At the end of the line, the cashier was perched on a stool at a register.

“Two-fifty,” the lunch lady said to L.

“I get free,” L said defiantly. The lunch lady looked up, eyes widening.

“Name?”

“L Barnes.”

The lunch lady took out a list and scanned it.

“You’re not on the list,” the lunch lady said.

“I’m new,” L said. “I know how this works. I’ll be on the list in a couple of days. I hope you’ll take my word for it and not embarrass me in front of everyone. I don’t have any money.”

“I can…” Paul began to say.

“I don’t need it,” L said quickly.

“Go ahead,” the lunch lady said, sighing. It was obvious she didn’t believe L, but she wasn’t willing to take the chance she was wrong. Paul paid for his lunch, and they stood there with their trays.

“Where do you sit?” L asked. “Outside?”

“There are no teachers outside.” Why did he need supervision? “I sit in the back at the emptiest table I can find,” Paul said. “Are you sure you want to sit with me? I have cooties.”

“So do I,” L commiserated.

They found a table in the back with a few solitary kids sitting at it. L and Paul sat next to each other at the large, circular table, but not too close. They started to eat.

“So, what’s your story?” L asked. Nothing wrong with a little conversation.

“I don’t really have one,” Paul responded. “I go to school. I go to my job. I go home. Rinse and repeat.”

“No clique?” L asked.

“What’s a clique?”

“Kids who stick together,” L explained. “Jocks. Glee Club. FFA.” She pointed. “Look at that table over there.” Paul turned and looked. It was Jane from the hallway and her friends. They were staring at their phones and occasionally speaking to each other. They all had iPhones. “Those are the popular kids. The Richies.”

“The what?”

“Richie Rich. It’s from an old comic book about a rich boy who has an infinite amount of money. There was a movie too, back in the 90s. Haven’t you seen it?” L asked.

“No.”

“You should. It’s awesome in an awful kind of way. The Richies are the society kids. Kids from rich families. People who think they’re the shit. The ones who rule the school. That’s a clique.”

“No clique wants me,” Paul said. “How about you? What clique would you be joining?”

“What do you think?” L asked.

“I think it’s a trick question,” Paul said.

L smiled for the first time since she’d arrived at Somerville High School.

“Correct,” she said. This kid was all right.

Paul was about to say something, but just then a boy smacked him hard on the back and yanked his chair up, almost spilling him out. He was very tall and dressed in a basketball jersey over a t-shirt. He was handsome. There was just the right amount of scruff on his face. Everything about him screamed cool.

He didn’t look at Paul after he did it. He exchanged high-fives with his boys.

L knew immediately he was a jock and a giant douchebag. Those two went together a lot.

“Nice to see you too,” Paul said.