I wasn’t exactly dreading starting school, but I wasn’t looking forward to it either.
If we had stayed in Middleton, I would have been a ninth grader at James K. Polk Jr. High. In junior high school, ninth graders are at the top of the food chain. They’re lords of the realm. They can strut through the halls while puny seventh and eighth graders cower in awe and fear.
Okay, I exaggerate.
In any case, now I was going to enter Gierman High School, (was there anything in this town that wasn’t named after that guy?), and that meant that I was going to be a mere freshman.
Now I would be the one cowering while huge corn-fed seniors the size of Volkswagons rumbled down the halls. No doubt just looking for opportunities to humiliate me in viciously creative ways.
Okay,exaggerating again.
At least I hoped so.
Zach wanted to come with me, but I managed to talk him out of it.
Coping with my first day of high school was going to be stressful enough without having to deal with a ghost tagging along.
Fortunately, Zach was all right with not coming “I reckon I’ll come by later, when y’get settled in.”
I’d just have to deal with that when the time came.
Gierman High seemed to have the same architectural plan as the college. That is: no plan. The cornerstone on the main entrance read “1899” but the gym went up in 1941. One wing had been added in 1965 and the science building had a plaque that read “1977”.
None of the buildings seemed to fit with any of the others around it, but then, that’s Gierman.
I went to the office and got my schedule and a map of the school then sat down and tried to figure out how to find all my classes. I wasn’t too nervous about it; I knew how to navigate a new school.
Lord knows I’ve had enough practice.
I managed to get to my classes more or less on time. My schedule wasn’t too bad. I had first period algebra, which was good. I like my math in the morning when my brain still functions. P.E. came right before lunch, which meant I didn’t have to race to dress and GET to class on time.
The day was going all right. I negotiated the halls without being hassled or stepped on. I was keeping a low profile, making myself a small target. Kids looked up when I came in the classroom, ignored the teachers when they made their, “I’d like you all to welcome, ummm…” (Look at name on schedule), “…Marcus Swartz…”
Everyone would glance in my direction, see I wasn’t especially weird, or ugly, or dangerous-looking, and then go back to their conversations.
Until sixth period English that is.
Things started out okay enough.
Ms. Peel, my new English teacher, made the usual introductions. “I’d like you all to meet Marcus Swartz. Please do what you can to make him feel welcome.”
Everyone looked up briefly and then went on with their lives.
Then she said, “Marcus, there’s an empty seat just across from Jeremy there.” She pointed to a kid about three seats back from the front. He looked normal enough, except for a snarky little grin…
It was like a sign that read: “Smart ass”.
I made my way to the empty seat while Ms. Peel called up a couple kids and talked with them at the front of the room.
“Swartz!” It was the Jeremy kid across the aisle. “Swartz! My man! Welcome to Gierman High School, home of the fighting Chicken Hawks!”
The girl in front of him turned around and spat out, “That’s Black Hawks, Germ.” She rolled her eyes, as if to say, “What can you do?”
I checked her out. She was wearing a heavy grey sweatshirt with the school’s “Blackhawks” logo printed on the front. The name “Steele” was stenciled on the back.
Also, I couldn’t help but notice that she was, well, how to put it…easy on the eyes. I was thinking about how I could get very used to sitting across from her.
Then the Jeremy guy called out, “Swartz!” He was saying my name like it was the punch line to a dirty joke that only he got.
My jerk alarm started going off.
“Swartz, the Peeler has instructed me to help you feel welcome, and I take her orders very seriously. We need to get you set up here at G.H.S., and the first order of business as I see it, is that we get you a girlfriend.”
I really wished this guy didn’t have such a loud voice. “Uh, that’s okay,” I muttered, “don’t put yourself out.”
“No, no bother, not at all. I only wish that LaBlob was here. I see the two of you as a match made in Heaven. Soul mates.”
The girl in front of him turned around. “Give the guy a break, Germ, and shut up.”
“Hey I’m visualizing the whole thing…” he went on, ignoring her. I couldn’t help but notice that more kids were listening in. He saw it too, and began to play to his expanding audience.
“Swartz and Amy LaBlob. Moonlight, candles, soft music, romance…”
I could see what was going on here.
I didn’t know who this “Amy LaBlob” was, but I had a pretty good idea. My guess was she was either morbidly obese, or had a horrific skin condition, or a strong aversion to bathing. Maybe all three.
Seems like every school you go to, you find some poor kid who everybody feels safe to harass. I call kids like that the School’s Official Scapegoat, (S.O.S.). Seems like at every school I’ve ever gone to there would be some poor kid who goes through life like they have a big ‘Kick Me’ sign tattooed on their forehead. Maybe they look funny or act weird; they might even have Downs syndrome or autism. Picking on someone for stuff like that may sound sick, but trust me, I’ve seen it all,
No matter how weak or stupid or maladjusted you are, you can safely inflict any cruelty you want on the S.O.S. and nobody will call you on it.
It’s like being part of a club and anyone can be a member. Except the School’s Official Scapegoat.
Pretty disgusting if you think about it.
Just then Ms. Peel’s voice broke things up. “Amy, you’re late again.”
I didn’t turn around but I heard a voice mumble, “Sorry.”
“Well, Ms. LeBlanc, that’s three tardies so far this semester, so I’ll need to see you after class.”
If there was an answer I didn’t hear it.
I felt a poke in my ribs and turned to see Jeremy grinning. He hissed, “Yo, Swartz! There she is! Your woman!”
Despite my better judgment, I turned around.
Then my jaw dropped and I sat there staring like an idiot.
Amy LeBlanc didn't have any obvious deformities, so I wondered how she got voted the school scapegoat.
She didn’t have any obvious skin diseases, and her weight was anybody’s guess, since she was dressed in several layers of shapeless clothing, topped off by a man’s flannel shirt that looked about three sized too large. Her hair was long and stringy and looked like it hadn’t seen much shampoo lately.
Other than that, she looked pretty normal.
She wouldn’t be making the cheerleading squad any time soon, but she wouldn’t be turning anybody into stone either.
But then, it really wasn’t her I was staring at.
No, I was staring at the ghost, floating in the air just above her.
It was the ghost of a woman, I couldn’t tell her age for certain, but she wasn’t young like a teenager nor was she old like somebody’s grandmother.
The ghost was wearing a light, flower print summer dress, and had long, flowing hair down past her shoulders. I say ‘flowing’ because the ghost’s hair and dress were both moving, as if they were being blown around in some violent, invisible storm.
The ghost was in motion too.
Now, this is hard to describe, but the ghost appeared to be running. I couldn’t really see her feet, but it had that look, as if she was running down some endless hallway with her arms out in front of her. Every now and then, the ghost seemed to stop and look around and desperately race off in another direction.
But the weird part was: the ghost never really moved.
All the time she stayed in the same place, just above and behind the girl Jeremy the Jerk so charmingly called Amy LaBlob.
Up until then I’d have said that I had pretty well gotten used to the idea of being around ghosts. I could honestly say that some of my best friends were ghosts. Hey, truth be told, my only friend was a ghost, but this…this pale figure racing desperately to nowhere…well it gave me the heebie jeebies.
But there was something else that froze that image in my mind in a way that kept me from getting a good night’s sleep for several weeks.
The ghost kept saying something over and over and over. Sometimes looking like it was calling, sometimes even screaming.
I’m not an expert at lip-reading, but I was pretty sure what the ghost was screaming was, “Amy”.
I have no idea how long I was staring, but it was long enough to get the attention of El Jerko.
“Yo! Check this out! It looks like Swartz has got it bad for LaBlob! You better look out there Swartz, you’re showing severe symptoms of pure love!”
I managed to drag my eyes away from the ghost while the girl made her way to her seat in the back of the room.
Fortunately, it was just then that Ms. Peel got the class started.
“All right, if I can have your attention. Thank you. Jeremy, eyes front. Thank you.”
The class finally quieted down. “I trust you all had a good vacation and your brains are well-rested, because I’m going to be putting them to work now. We’ve got a lot to do, but I’m hoping that you’ll find it somewhat fun.”
I thought of that ghost a few feet behind me silently screaming, desperately searching…
Oh yeah, some fun.