BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!
Annoyed, I grab my phone and turn off the alarm. Then I hop out of bed and enter my bathroom to brush my teeth and put on deodorant.
I grab my pack from the desk and sling it around one shoulder, quickly pulling on a new pair of pants and a shirt. I head downstairs and pour myself a bowl of cereal with milk.
Still eating my breakfast, I open the fridge and grab the lunch that Mom had prepared the day before, and stuff it into my bag.
I tie my shoes, then finish up the last bites and zip through the door. I run down the driveway and wait for the bus to arrive. When it does, I jump aboard and am relieved to find the back of the bus empty.
I sit down and try to make myself as invisible as possible. A few stops later, a group of three girls gets on and starts towards the back. When they see that it is occupied, the blonde one says,
"Gosh, another bad and naughty boy has taken our bench." They are all very pretty, but I don't have the guts to say so.
"There's plenty of room," I say, scooting over to the very edge of one side.
"That's very kind and thoughtful of you," the brunette girl says. In my opinion, she is the prettiest of them all. She sits down, and so do the rest of them, the blonde looking rather annoyed, with the brunette closest to me. I scoot a little further towards the edge, even though there is no extra room. She smiles at me, and I try to smile back, failing miserably, but she doesn't seem to care.
I put my headphones on as an excuse to avoid further conversation.
"Any classes you're taking?" the girl who had smiled at me says to the one who had made the fuss. "Additional ones, I mean," she continues.
"Oh, well, I'm just taking the mandatory ones," the other girl replies.
"That's boring," the first girl responds. "I'm taking Computer Science and Operational Technology."
The same one as me.
I had taken COT the year before as well, and the whole year had been mostly nothing but textbooks. I hope this year will be different.
The girls chat about different subjects the whole way to school.
"All right, everybody off," says the bus driver gruffly. I let the three girls go ahead of me, then I follow. I am close to being the last one off the bus, and I jump to the ground, drawing a bit of attention to myself as I do. I'm trying not to make it look cool and professional.
Some of the students look my way, including some of the girls.
"Great," I mutter under my breath so no one can hear. I walk up the stairs and head to my first class (COT), intending to be one of the first students there, so I can get a good spot.
Most of the desks are empty. Good. I walk to one near a window in the middle row, setting down my bag as I sit down. I look at my phone. It's 8:55 AM. Students trickle in as the clock turns to nine. This class is fuller than I realized it would be. All the desks are occupied except the one directly to my right.
"Alright, class, is everyone here?" says the teacher as he walks in, making it sound like he is talking to a room full of children; his tone is a little condescending. "If you are not here, don't say anything," he says. "Ahh, I see one is missing. This classroom is supposed to be completely full, but I see there is still one desk open."
"Oh my gosh, so sorry I'm late!" the smiling brunette from the bus says.
"Very well," he says. "Try harder next time. There is a desk open right there." He gestures to the only open desk, as if she can't see it,
Wow.
"Yes, I see it," she replies with a little roll of her eyes, walking over to the open desk next to me and sitting down. As she puts her bag on her desk, she glances at me for a brief moment and smiles. I smile back. She gets out a notebook, sets it on her desk, and pulls out a pencil. Then she drops it, and I can't tell if it is on purpose or by accident.
The pencil rolls to my foot, and I pick it up.
"Thank you," she says as I hand it to her.
"No problem," I say in return. And for that split second when I handed it to her, and by accident, our fingers just brushed each other. A tingling feeling like an electric current sparked through my hand.
Whoa. Does this always happen when you accidentally touch a pretty girl? I turn back to what I am doing, getting my notes and a pencil.
"Alright," begins the teacher again. "How many of you are new to this class?" I see the girl next to me put up her hand. I look around to see if there are any other people that I don't recognize.
Just her. I cringe a bit.
"Very well. Who would like to help Natasha catch up from last year?" A long pause. I can tell she is a little hurt and/or frustrated. I raise my hand.
"I will."
"Thank you, Macky, for saving the day," says Jim, our teacher. She looks at me, clearly relieved.
"Thanks."
"Yeah, no problem," I say again.
"Are you sure, though?"
"Yeah, I'll catch up—" the teacher interrupts our exchange.
"Macky, for the rest of this week and the whole of next, you will be assisting Natasha and helping her review a summary of last year's class," he says, waving a forty-page booklet. "After that, you can catch up. Everyone knows how good you are at that." He walks over and drops it on my desk. "If you want, you can move to the library so there are fewer distractions." I look at Natasha to see what she wants to do. She nods.
"It'll be easier to concentrate."
"Cool," I say. We get up and begin walking to the library, which is on the other side of the building.
As we are just heading out, a little kid bumps into me and runs off. But before I can see who it is, they have already turned the corner.
"Rude," I mutter and keep walking.
"Sorry?" Natasha says.
"Oh, no, not you. Someone—" I trail off. "Never mind." She looks slightly perplexed, but doesn't press me on the matter.
Trying to make conversation as we walk, I ask, "So what made you choose COT?"
"I dunno," she says. "I guess it's a different thing to do at school, maybe?"
"Like, besides drama, dance, and everything?" I ask.
"I've actually been homeschooled up until this year in grade ten, and I am taking dance at a class in town. It's way better than the one in school, by the way."
Grade ten. So she is sixteen, the same age as me.
"I'll bet it is," I say—bad choice of words. My dad always tells me that girls can talk forever if given the chance, and when talking to one, don't say anything that might shut down the conversation. I take my dad's wise words into account. "So where is it?" That sounded better.
"Oh, umm.." she starts, not really expecting me to be interested. "Maples Academy of Dance. It's near my neighborhood in Garden City."
"Really? I'm from there as well," I say.
"I have dance practice right after school almost every day," she says just before we arrive. I find a table, and we walk over to it.
"So you're sixteen, right?" I ask as we sit down.
"No, actually, I'm fifteen."
I just nod and open the review guide. I start by teaching her the different types of currents, voltages, and fundamental circuits. Natasha seems very interested, and she pays a lot of attention.
We study together for an hour. And when the first period is close to over, we head back to our class. I give the papers back to Mr. Hutson. He looks over the beginner's quiz that Natasha had completed and a copy of the notes she took.
"Excellent," he says. "It may not take two weeks after all, considering how good you are at teaching." I know I'm his favorite student, but I don't try to brag.
"I learn from the best."
The next classes are average. I can't pass notes or talk to Natasha because all the teachers are very strict. Additionally, I want to make sure I concentrate, but that doesn't stop me from looking at her from time to time. And every time I do, it feels as though electricity or something sparks between us.
After science and math, it is twelve o'clock. The bell rings, time for lunch. Everyone gathers their school supplies and races out of the room. I head off to the cafeteria with Natasha from math class. We enter, and the familiar sounds, sights, and smells of school lunch fill my senses. I walk up to the counter and get a plastic tray, then hand one to Natasha.
"Thanks," she says. We get our food, and I choose a table in the far-right corner of the court.
"Hey Nat!" one of Natasha's friends calls. "What are you doing?!"
Nat shouts over the noise, "I'm making a new friend. What does it look like?"
I sit down first and, with my foot, push the chair across from me out from under the table.
"So do most people call you Nat?" I ask, and she smiles in appreciation, then sits down.
"Yeah, almost everyone calls me that."
"So, Nat, what other things interest you? Besides dance and school subjects?"
"Well, I like to watch TV, umm, make new friends, have parties." I open my lunch and pull out a sandwich.
"I like to watch TV and have parties too, but I'm a little shy when it comes to new friends." I take a bite of smoked turkey and provolone sandwiched between two slices of rye bread.
"Speaking of TV," says Nat, "Did you hear? The coronavirus is getting a lot worse and deadly close to Winnipeg." And as if on cue, an announcement sounded on the loudspeakers overhead.
"The mayor of Winnipeg has officially decided to keep her town on lockdown after confirming that all the citizens are safely accounted for inside of Winnipeg and all the suspected carriers are quarantined. Make sure to let your family and friends know what is going on. That's all." Nat looks at me again, but this time with a look of fear and shock on her face.
"Oh, my god," she says. The rest of the cafeteria is in a similar state of incredulity. "How am I going to go to college or see my other friends? I won't be able to live my life the way I had planned. What's going to happen if I have to stay here for the rest of my life?!" She continues in a state of panic, picturing her future.
I reach my right hand across the table and hold hers. Another huge tingle shoots through my hand and down my arm like a soft bolt of lightning.
Holding her hand seemed to help. She looks into my eyes.
"It's going to be ok," I say.
"You think so?" she asks.
"I know so."
We finish our lunch, mostly talking about stuff other than the apocalyptic virus, mainly to distract Nat so she wouldn't worry so much.
It is one-thirty when we enter Language Arts, and after that, social studies. One hour later, the bell rings. Relieved to finally go home—and probably cry for the rest of the day—the class scrambles to leave. I stand up and head for the open doorway.
"Hey," Nat says, catching up to me.
"What's up?" I ask. She takes my hand in hers and pulls a pen out of her back pocket.
"Here's my number," she says, and writes it on my palm.
"Cool, thanks," I say. I watch her leave ahead of me, then I head out too. I see Mom pull up to the curb as Nat enters her car.
"How did it go, honey?" asks Mom as I enter the front passenger seat.
"It was okay."
"That's good. Did you make any new friends?"
I don't want Mom getting into my personal life too much, and that I know from experience, gets very annoying. Like the time I started going through puberty, just horrible. So, I changed the subject.
"The coronavirus has reached Winnipeg. We're on lockdown now." I look at the mirrored reflection of Mom's face above the dashboard. She looks very concerned, even for something like this. She doesn't speak, so I stay quiet the rest of the drive, not wanting to make Mom any more upset than she should.
When we get home, Mom rushes inside, and Dad is already there. I follow and see her crying in his arms. I hate it when Mom cries because it makes me want to cry too.
"I heard," Dad says in a soft and comforting tone. "We'll be ok. We'll sort everything out, and we will make it through." He continues. And as if to make the mood lighter, we smell the delicious aroma of spaghetti sauce coming from the kitchen. Mom looks up at Dad, and they walk into the kitchen, her still in his arms.
I go upstairs, and as I walk down the hall to my room, I remember the number written on my hand. Plopping down on my bed, I whip out my phone, open the messaging app, and type in Nat's number. I tap on the corresponding contact.
"Hey," I type. A few minutes later, Nat responds with a
"Hey, what's up?"
I type, "Just about to do some homework, u?"
"At dance."
"Oh, that's right."
"I'm having pizza for dinner, wbu?"
"Spaghetti and, my mom is a little shaken up from the news."
"About the coronavirus?"
"Yep," I type.
"Ok, well, I'll see you around. I have to get started with warmups and stuff."
"K, C U." I exit the message app, open the news app, and start browsing the local headlines. One in particular catches my eye:
"Winnipeg's infected have increased to a scary two hundred people." A few sentences later, "however, all two hundred people are safely in quarantine; hopefully, we can keep the rest of the population from getting infected." Man, I hope I don't get infected. I finish up my homework and head downstairs to see if dinner is ready.
When I enter the kitchen, I see Mom, standing with her arms wrapped around Dad's neck, both kissing like the world is about to end. Maybe it is.
"Ahem," I clear my throat loud enough to get their attention, leaning on the counter. "Is dinner almost ready?" I ask. They part a few inches.
"Yes, honey, it will be ready in a few minutes."
"Cool." Without Mom or Dad volunteering me, I walk over to the dish cabinet and get out three plates and set the table for us. Two minutes later, Mom brings a plate with a big loaf of garlic bread and two pots to the table, one with noodles and the other with spaghetti sauce. Our table isn't very big, but not too small for four people and a gourmet meal either.
"Will you say grace?" Mom asks as we sat down. I think about saying the literal word "grace," but decided not to be a smart ass.
"Thank you, God, for this meal and an okay time at high school, bless this food, amen." Mom smiles at me from across the table, her and Dad sitting very close together. Dad says to Mom,
"You go first, sweety."
"Thank you, John," she says.
She and Dad have been deeply in love ever since they got married. And unlike most marriages that may dwindle over time, both mom and dad have only grown more and more in love. Mom gives herself a big scoop of noodles, then puts sauce on them. I'm next, and then Dad asks,
"Well, champ, how is your first day as a sophomore?"
"Good, I guess, besides the fact about that horrible news earlier."
"Yeah, it's too bad," he says.
The rest of the dinner is quite tasty and enjoyable. Most of the conversations we have that night are about old memories. It seems like we are trying to hang on before the world is gone. There is lots of laughter, and some tears.
I go to my room feeling very light. As if nothing is wrong and everything is going to be okay. But deep down, I know that it is just the beginning of the end.
Right before I fall asleep, I check my phone to see if Nat is online. She is, and I send her a quick text.
"Hi." A few seconds later.
"Hi," she responds.
"How was dance?" I type.
"It was good, I'm about to fall asleep, though it's hard to keep my eyes open." I see the three dots that mean she is still typing. Then she sends, "I really need to sleep now, have a good night."
"Ok, good night. C Ya tomorrow." I add a smiley face emoji at the end.
I set my phone down on the nightstand, then close my eyes and let sleep take me.