in Georgia
July 26th, 2006
Chapter 1
Bad Day
I hope it’s not meatloaf. He thought this as he peered through the doorway to see what the cheap lunch-line was serving for the day, unaware of the growing line of students fifteen feet behind him. A warm breeze blew softly at him, and he decided he would try the food.
“Hey! What are you doing? Go to the back of the line. Shannon was here first.” said an irritable school cashier. He turned and looked at a woman with short, crisp, gray hair, green eyes, and a whole lot of wrinkles.
He then glanced at Shannon, who surprisingly turned out to be a boy with a green sweater, jeans, and fair hair. He guessed there had to be some sort of an attachment between them. Good for them.
“Okay,” He said nonchalantly. What did he care? As he jogged to the end of the line, a hefty Latino guy with black hair and a mustache already present above his upper lip walked over to wait behind him.
“Yo, Evan.” He said as he grinned his stupid smile.
“Hey, Eduardo.” Evan replied, sighing.
“Didn’t look so hot in gym today.” Eduardo commented.
“Well, yea, we were playing softball....”
“What’s wrong with softball?”
“It’s the girl version of baseball. Girls play it and guys don’t, genius.”
“Oh, so we are prejudiced then, huh?” Eduardo asked. When would the line move? Evan thought.
“No, I am not prejudiced.”
“Prejudiced, Prejudiced!”Eduardo sang. Evan wondered why he was so immature.
“Shut up, before people start to stare.”
“Evan Summers is prejudiced!”
“Eduardo, shut the hell up!” Evan exclaimed angrily. At that moment, the cashier he had spoken to earlier came over to see what was happening.
“Is there a problem here, guys?” She asked, her eyebrows raised as high as they could possibly go.
“He is prejudiced!” Eduardo exclaimed seriously.
“No, I’m not! He’s an illegal Mexican who likes to get people pissed off!” Evan countered angrily.
“Excuse me, but that’s enough!” The cashier exclaimed. “You will both wait over there until everyone has purchased their food to get back in line. I don’t want to hear any more problems from you two for the rest of the day. And you are supposed to be eight grade students! Jesus!”
Evan took a long look at the spot she had pointed to. It was right by the wall with a huge panda-their school mascot-painted on it, and a big, pale banner that said “Go Pandas!”. Evan decided he didn’t want to sit there.
He looked around at the students sitting at their lunch tables, laughing and talking like there was no tomorrow. He then took a look at the other side of the room, where the cool, bad kids were sitting until they were ‘’allowed’‘ to get lunch. That was his destination.
He strolled across the large cafeteria, but unfortunately he was spotted by the same cashier.
“I told you to sit over there. I want you away from that gang of students.”
“And what gives you the authority to tell me where to sit and wait for lunch?” Evan asked, his face burning at his failure.
“I have worked at Barrett Middle School for twenty years as a cashier, long enough to be able to handle teenagers like yourself. Go over there or you will be in serious trouble.” She replied coldly.
“What have you got to show for all those long years?” Evan questioned. “Wrinkles?”
The Assistant Principal’s office was a small, lavish room with crown molding, silver and blue walls, and a plush black carpet. She had designed it herself. Her red oak desk, accompanied by an expensive-looking rotating chair, was organized to perfection. Portraits of herself were hung on every wall of the room, and an extensive bookshelf held books from “Brown” to “Shakespeare”. The only object that was not to the utmost level of ornateness was a cold, blue chair that sat in the middle of the room. As he walked in, he could only guess this was the place to sit.
“Evan Summers, this is the first time you have visited my office, is that correct?” A lady in her mid-forties asked. She was tall with straight brown hair that fell to her shoulders, glasses, and icy blue eyes. Her name was Ms. Carson.
“Yes.”
“Then I will give you my office rules.”
“Ok.”
“When I speak, you listen. When I ask you a question, you answer. When I ask you to do something, you do it. Always speak with proper English, and address me as Ms. Carson or Ma’am. Is that understood?” Ms. Carson asked.
“Yes, ma’am.” Evan replied, groaning inwardly.
“Well, then, since it is your first time here, I will not be too hard on you.”
“Thanks,” He said, wondering how much trouble he could get in anyway.
“Thank you.” Ms. Carson corrected. “I still, though, must impress the seriousness in what you have done. You were deliberately disrespectful to a staff member who is both older and wiser than you.”
“She was older.” Evan agreed.
“That is an example of the very reason you are here today, Mr. Summers.” Ms. Carson said dangerously, her blue eyes shining like light reflected off snow.
A knock on the door saved him from more converse on that matter. A man with dark blonde hair came in.
“Ms. Carson, I have some matters to clear up with you, correct?” The man asked.
Evan sat outside in the secretary’s office and stared out the window. He looked out at the bushes and trees swaying in the cool autumn breeze, and wished he could be at as much peace as they were. A flicker in the bushes caught his eye. What was it? He was not sure. Evan looked again, and saw the small dogwood tree he was watching a second before had disappeared. What had happened? His mind was swirling, but he didn’t have much time to think on it because soon he was called back into the office.
“Back to business, Mr. Summers. I believe you owe someone an apology.” Ms. Carson said. Evan looked at her and found something quite surprising. Her eyes looked troubled, as if he wasn’t her main concern at the moment. Maybe she just got sacked!
“Sorry.” Evan said.
“You need not apologize to me.”
“I don’t understand.”
Her eyes slid back into focus. “Mrs. Olson has worked here for a very long time, and deserves your respect.” She answered.
“And I hers, unless the Swallow County rules of harassment were omitted.” Evan articulated carefully.
“This is getting ridiculous. She is a senior citizen who deserves your respect. You are young and naive. As a teenager, your hormones are raging and creating you to act rashly and become sarcastic and self-indulgent. You will respect her.” Ms. Carson finished.
“I’m fourteen.” Evan replied, growing angry. “And you have no right to proclaim me sarcastic and self-indulgent, Ms. Carson.” He finished, stressing the last three syllables.
“But I do have the right to hand out punishments to those who disobey the rules. You will clean the cafeteria for the rest of the quarter.” Ms. Carson said smugly.
“What for?! And the quarter started last week!” Evan exclaimed.
“Then you should feel grateful that you have one less week of cleaning. Now get back to your class.” Ms. Carson commanded.
Evan scrambled out of the room, furious at both himself and Ms. Carson. She had only punished him because he had questioned the authority of elder people. He could’ve kept quiet, but, no, he had to push her hospitality to the limits. Evan could barely listen to his history teacher as he bumbled on about the Stone Age. It was an interesting period of time, but his mind was elsewhere.
“Evan, what’s wrong with you? You seem to have lost interest in my class. Am I getting boring?” Mr. Piper asked. He was the only teacher in Barrett Middle School who seemed to care about his students.
“No, not at all, Mr. Piper, I was just lost in thought. Sorry, I’ll pay more attention.” Evan said, straightening up.
At four o’clock, Evan headed to the cafeteria. Most of the students at Barrett Middle were strolling to the parking lot to either catch a bus, or a ride home. They were relaxed, and glad that school had ended for the day. Evan wished he could join them.
Evan took one look at the cafeteria. The tables were covered in spilled coke drinks; the floor looked like a food fight had broken out. One probably had. He grabbed a mop and started soaking up the applesauce and orange juice Evan had found under the first table. Burrito fillings were spread over the tables, lettuce on the chairs. Ketchup and mustard were found spread to make a rude word on a table where the skaters and goths sat. Pizza sauce, cheese, chili, and mayonnaise were normally found on most tables. This was disgusting.
As Evan wiped the tables down, he thought about all of the food fights he had joined in during the last couple of months. He would never do that again. Finally finishing, he decided he needed the night off.
Once out of the school, Evan started walking to the local cinema. He called up his friends Chris, an athletic football star, and Aaron, a smart kid who was at the top of every class. They both expressed sympathy to him for the cafeteria and would give him a ride to the movies.
“You mean I can’t start any more fights in the caf?” Chris had asked jokingly. Evan had given him a straightaway answer to that.
Bright lights shimmered from the theater’s logo. Laughter and voices were bouncing through the air. The smell of buttered popcorn drifted from the opening and closing entrance. A gust of wind shot through their hair, and they received the thrill that brings all teenagers to the movies.
“Last one in line buys the popcorn.” Chris said, smiling because he knew the other two had been through gym today and were tired. Aaron was last.
“Three tickets to Pirates of the Caribbean at seven fifteen.” Evan said, speaking loudly into the tiny microphone that lead into the ticket booth.
“Twenty one dollars.”
“Um, excuse me, but I think the total is nineteen fifty.” Aaron said, looking up at the guy who was ripping them off. He had a tattoo on his lower arm, was bald, and was obviously having trouble with acne.
“Matinee tickets start selling at seven dollars at seven o’clock.” The skinhead replied.
“It’s six forty-five.” Chris replied coldly.
“Would you like to see the movie?” The guy asked, clearly annoyed with them.
“I would like to see the manager.” Evan said, frustrated.
“He is on his way.” The skinhead replied, truly not caring about the situation. He had already moved on to the next person in line.
A tall, official-looking black man strolled importantly through the entrance doors. “Why don’t you three come to my office?” He asked sincerely.
“My name is Mr. Underwood. What can I do for you boys today?” Mr. Underwood asked.
As Chris explained their ordeal, Evan already knew why the skinhead had treated them this way. Was it always going to come to this? There age seemed to cause problems wherever they were. Should they go and hide in a hole until people finally respected them? No-they needed to be treated right. They were the future generation after all.
“So we won’t pay extra when we don’t need to.” Chris finished.
“Of course you won’t. I’m dreadfully sorry about what has happened, and I will be sure to talk to Nile, but I do suggest you get back in line before seven o’clock because the matinee tickets do start selling them. Have a nice evening.” Mr. Underwood said as he walked them out of his office. Though he sounded sincere, Evan could tell he did not really care about this incident and would not talk to Nile.
Chris swore once he realized the time. It was six fifty-nine. They sprinted back in line and counted the seconds on the large clock that was built into the bright red bricks on the theater’s wall. It was a very large clock, and, though the crowd was noisy, Evan could still hear the tick-tock of the clock as the seconds rolled by. Fifty seconds. Fifty-five seconds.
“Three matinee tickets to Pirates of the Caribbean at seven fifteen.” Aaron said, disgruntled.
“I’m dreadfully sorry, but we are sold out. There will be another showing at nine twenty. Come back later.” The skinhead said with no emotion.
They were so angry and frustrated, and definitely wouldn’t wait another two hours. Neither of the group wanted to talk to the manager again, so they voted to call it a day and head home. Evan looked out the window the entire ride home, his heart beating along with the slow rumble of the Sedan.
Once home, Evan quick chatted with his parents, and went up to his bedroom. He flung himself on his bed and listened to Daniel Powter’s “Bad Day”.
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