Catalyst of Dreams

16. Like a Freight Train

I make it to the top of the stairs but I still have more cases to climb. My legs ache and each step takes more strength than the last. I’m exhausted. I should have been home by now but the elevators aren’t working. 

I hear the sound of an exit door bang several floors below. I pause, waiting to hear the sound of familiar steps, but there’s only silence outside of my steady breaths.  

That’s odd.

I shrug my shoulders and continue my escalating journey up another case of stairs. I brace myself and mentally prepare for my mother to be upset at my lateness. It’s the third time this week.

I hear an odd noise ahead. It sounds like a wind coming through the corridor. It’s almost identical to when there’s a monsoon and the wind sweeps through the balcony. 

I take another step and the sound gets louder. I realize it’s not wind that I hear. It’s rushing water and it’s coming like a freight train, straight towards me. 

I panic and I don’t know what to do. I know if I stay here I will drown, so I run. I use the handrail to help me jump each flight of stairs. I know I can’t outrun it.

Where are the exit doors?

I’m in a blind panic. I must be missing them. The sound is deafening. The thought sinks in that I’m not going to make it. I see the shadow of someone ahead of me.

“The flood is coming!” I yell.  “Help! Please!”

I am desperate. The person stops and turns around. It’s Kenta.

Oh, please no.

I’m torn between letting the waters take me or take the help of the person that has turned my life upside down. I don’t move. I can’t. 

I turn around and the water overtakes me.

“AHH!” I jump up from the bed as my alarm goes off.

My heart is pounding as the memories of my dream begin to  seep away. 

I must have been having another nightmare.

I turn off my alarm and I feel the familiar anxiousness pool in my stomach. Today’s the first day of school. The first day of seventh grade.

*          *         *

“Welcome students to homeroom!” says a tall woman with dark complexion and a hairdo that frames her face nicely. “I’m Mrs. Pratt. I teach 8th grade Literature and I will be your homeroom teacher for the formidable future.”

She looks like she just walked out of the salon. She is wearing a white buttoned shirt, tucked into black pant suits. She could work for the president. She picks up a stack of papers and starts the roll call as she reads the name off the top paper. As each student raises their hand, she smiles and greets them and hands them what looks like a schedule.

“Cherry Harrington?”

Cherry happily raises her hand in anticipation. She’s wearing a plaid pink blazer over a white blouse with black skorts. I’m wearing matching white skorts with a blue t-shirt and jean jacket. It was enough to appease mom for first-day outfits. 

 “Jonathan Jacobs?” 

I look over to where the teacher is. She greets the familiar pale-face boy I haven’t seen since I stopped by his apartment. 

Avery?

He looks terribly shy as she tells him what she has told every student so far. He just nods and looks down without looking at her at all. She doesn’t look bothered by his behavior, she is probably used to having shy students.

I must have stared too long because Avery looks up and we make eye contact. I immediately feel embarrassed and look away. I make a resolution to stay clear of him. He obviously doesn’t want to be bothered by me. 

“Briana Lewis?” 

I raise my hand and she walks up to my desk.

“Hello dear,” she says, putting down the sheet where she read my name, “this is your schedule for today. I’ll be able to answer any questions you may have at the last half hour of this class.”

“Thank you,” I say shyly as she moves to the next student.

I look down at my schedule.

7:30: Homeroom, Pod B: Mrs. Pratt

8:00: Period 1: Math: Mr. Harrison

9:00: Period 2: Science: Ms. Bailey

10:00: Period 3: Language Arts: Mrs. Anderson

11:00: Lunch A

11:30: Study Hall

12:00: Period 4: Social Studies: Mr. Barnes

1:00: Period 5: Elective 1: Theatre Arts: Mr. Joiner

2:00: Period 6: Physical Education: Ms. Lane

“Okay students, you are now in the seventh grade,” Mrs. Pratt says, returning to her desk, “Things will be different than you remember your 6th grade year. At Harmony American Middle School, we start to transition students into periods by pods with different teachers starting in 7th grade. Look around at your fellow students, you are all in the same pod, Pod B. You will share all your core classes: Math, Science, Language Arts and Social Studies, including lunch and study hall. Your 5th and 6th period is based on the electives you chose at the end of last year, if you were here. Any questions?”

A girl with short brown hair and a round red face raises her hand.

“Yes?” Mrs. Pratt asks, acknowledging her.

“How are the pods divided?” she asks.

“And what’s your name dear?” Mrs. Pratt asks politely, “For the beginning, go ahead and introduce yourselves until we get familiar with one another.”

“Lizzie,” she says smiling, “I am Lizzie Graham, short for Elizabeth.”

“Hello, Lizzie,” Mrs. Pratt greets her. “Yes, if you prefer a nickname, please let me know as well. And good question. Pods are based off of your last names. There are four pods, A, B, C and D and they are divided by A to F, G to L, M to R, and lastly S to Z. Any other questions?”

“Yes?” Mrs. Pratt nods to Avery.

“I’m John Jacobs,” Avery says quietly, “Short for Jonathan.”

“Hi John!”

“Err… hi,” he says, almost in a whisper. “I got an elective that I didn’t choose.”

She walks over to his desk and looks at his paper.

“Which class, dear?”

“Period 5: Theatre Arts,” he says, “I wanted just Visual Arts.”

“Okay, I will make sure to see if we can change that,” she assures him. “For today though, you will have to adhere to this schedule, okay?”

He nods but he looks disappointed. Mrs. Pratt continues to answer questions until the bell rings for the first period.

“Enjoy your first day students!” she says as we make our way to the door, “See you tomorrow!”

I try to catch up with Cherry but she’s already with some other girls from class. The pretty girls. I decide to just walk on my own to math class when someone grabs my arm.

“Bree!”

“Lilia!”

Bree is wearing her skorts too, a matching white one but with a green tee and black track jacket. 

“Ugh! Of course we aren’t in the same pod!” she says 

“I know! If you adopted me, we would be in the same pod and wouldn’t be alienated by Cherry.” 

I nod over to where Cherry is giggling with two other girls wearing similar blazers and bright-colored skorts in yellow and orange. 

“Oh is she back to pretending we don’t exist?” she says annoyed.

“Welcome to seventh grade,” I say in Mrs. Pratt's cheery voice, mixed with sarcasm.

“What are your electives?” she asks laughing.

“Fifth period, theatre arts and sixth period P.E.,” I say.

“ME TOO!” she screams, jumping up and down.

“YES!” I say, glad we have our last two classes together.

“See you then!” she says, heading in the direction I just came from, “I have language arts first.”

“Math for me!” I say to her as she makes a face. 

She hates math. I laugh as I go towards the math wing on the other side. HAMS, a funny acronym for a school, isn’t very big. We have about 15 students on average for each class. Harmony American Elementary is across the street with a huge playground and the High School is a little down the road where Shailene and Lindsey go. The schools are on the base so we get to meet other military kids that live in the city or on the base. 

I reach a room with Mr. Harrison’s name on a placard to the right of the doorway leading to the classroom. I walk between the rows of desks and choose an empty one towards the back of the classroom. Unlike the sixth grade classrooms, the decor is very minimal. 

Cherry comes in, not too long after and sits towards the front with the girls from earlier. Avery walks in next. I try not to look when he chooses the desk next to mine. There’s several empty desks.

Why would he choose one next to mine?

The rest of the class files in quickly, barely a minute before the bell rings to signal the start of class. Mr. Harrison, a very tall man with gray and white hair comes in holding a leather file case. They match his leather boots and belt that holds up his faded blue jeans. He’s wearing a checkered shirt with a vest. He looks stern.

“Hello class, I’m Mr. Harrison, your math teacher,” he says in a monotone. “We will be going over the basics of algebra and geometry. Let’s go ahead and take roll. Just say 'here' when I call your name… Tyler Gibbs?”

Mr. Harrison continues to call names. I know I’m towards the end of the roster so I patiently wait. 

“Brianna Lewis?”

“Here,” I say as loudly as I can.

“Well, aren’t we lucky?”

I’m a little taken back by the inquisitive look he’s giving me.

“Sir?” I ask politely.

“Well, are you not the same Brianna Lewis who won the 6th grade Math Achievement last year for the highest math average in your grade?”

Oh.

“Um… yes sir,” I say looking down.

“Well should I expect you’ll win this award again?”

“I’ll be leaving at the end of this semester, sir,” I say, still looking down.

“Oh well that’s a shame, isn’t it?” He looks exceptionally disappointed. “Anyone else up for the challenge?” 

He finishes the roll call and I can’t help but be even more upset about moving.

Why even try going for the math award if I’m moving anyways?

*          *          *