After I begged my ELA teacher to let me leave class early to retrieve my bass clarinet, I hastily started my journey.
From ELA to my locker to my old football locker to my band locker to funnel cake sale to home. Easy enough, right? Leaving early would ensure I wouldn't have time for whatever the debrauchery happening throughout the halls of Salem High School. My semester their had been filled with many unpleasantries: multiple thefts, bullying towards my Geometry teacher via the students, a couple of concussions from a short-lived football career, drug transactions, roundhouse kicks to student's temples via teachers, underage harassment, Hot Doritos breath, lack of trying, etc.
And then there was me, the gangily 5'11, 140 pound, 15 year-old who just wanted to make the Georgia All-State Band for bass clarinet and play Halo 3 on Xbox live. Heck, I'll take honorable mention. But Salem High School wanted to add some Sriracha to those plans. Expired Sriracha.
So as I said earlier, I had to get to my locker. Most people who knew or know me I kept or keep materials on me incase it hitted or hits the fan. Pencils, pens, paper, extra folders, snacks, water, extra reeds, I'm stocked. Do I remember to bring it to class? Let me finish,
I had arrived to my locker which was close in proximity to my last class. Luckily I typically do my homework expeditiously during lunch reluctantly. And I normally eat lunch as I'm walking from the checkout line to the trashcan. As I said, I like to game after school. And the football team isn't the kindest collection of folks sometimes, even when you leave the team after 1.5 months of getting your stuff pushed in. I'm fairly certain I spent most of the time sprawled out on the field, bleeding and crying internally. Just a couple of concussions.
These thoughts circulated in my head like carbon through the carbon cycle, as I found myself scrummigng around my old football locker, which I kept my other-other bag filled with gym-like clothes. Also where my Zune lived sometimes. Well , my Zune wasn't here, nor there, nor anywhere. How am I gotta walk home without listening to NERD's rock-rap album about being an adolescent by these 30 year olds? Tragic.
I filed the complaint to a soggy gym teacher then scoot-scooted before the level-5 roasters came down. I can't even handle level-2 roasters. They're a lot more wittier than you would think, and I get embarrassed as easily as you would think. I left my gym-like bag in the locker room and carried on.
Okay, okay only two more stops. I'm moving right now. I wonder if Mac chewed up my fruit roll-ups from underneath my bed. Dang I was looking forward to that foot-long artificially flavored candy. As I ventured up the stairs, a group of students began crowding around someone. One of my favorite traits was minding my own business, especially when it came to fights. But fights love me. The whole crowd aggressively migrated to my walking path which was outside the terribly constructed circle. As I peaked up, I saw a slight glimmer of one the Offensive Coordinator from the varsity team connecting a roundhouse (I think it's called a roundhouse) to what I saw to be a student's greasy head region. I don't like running in the hallways, but this has to be a good reason. You have never seen a teenager swerve past the gym doors so elegantly. Okay, maybe one more peek...
As I said hey to my old band director who would be fired at the end of the semester for lewd comments made toward students which I could totally believe because he's kind of terrible , actually he is terrible but hilarious when he's not being terribleness, let's keep in mind I got to my band locker after 15 or so minutes from leaving ELA. I am a fast walker with the hip movements and striking the ground with the middle of my foot. Tom Bosworth would be proud.
My bass clarinet was a weird trapezoid complex box thingy versus the traditional style long-a-bus-seat rectangular prism case. Nonetheless (or nevertheless?) it was an awkward carry. And I had promised my mom a funnel cake by Monday. It was Thursday. I could do this nifty manuever where I stuffed my bass clarinet in one arm and pulled out my wallet and pulled out the money with the other; trust me, they called me Juan Suave. Allegedly.
And allegedly I put my wallet back in my pocket. Allegedly.
Any-who-zers as I trekked home my inventory included, a bass clarinet in one hand, backpack with inventory in it (two straps because I'm not a psychopath), and a funnel cake in one hand. Moving as quickly as humanly possible to my house. I thought I was the bee-kneez because I walked to school. Who is anyone to say I ain't? "This guy" I said woefully toward the ground, feigning a smile, and humming "Everyone Nose". Something caught my eye up ahead, traveling north on Underwood Road.
There was a car on fire along the sidewalk off Underwood Road.
A cop stood casually beside it.
A bundle of middle schoolers waved me over, walking down Underwood Road.
I crossed Underwood Road.
They crossed Underwood Road.
They caught up with me.
Asked for some funnel cake under the plastic wrap.
They begin pushing me.
I pulled one piece for the most median looking child of the bunch.
The cop told them to scram.
I nonverbally thanked him.
Or her I don't remember.
I got home.
Gave my mom the funnel cake.
She said thanks.
I said you're welcomed.
She asked where was the change.
I checked my wallet.
I didn't have my wallet.
I told her I left my wallet in my locker.
I went to my room.
I sighed heavily.
I got on Xbox live.
I invited Gorillasmash79 and gtownboi to my party.
Told them about my day.
Gtownboi said "dang"
Gorillasmash79 said "I took your Zune"
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