We Become the Night
Chapter 2:

The Worst Day of My Life......So Far

Once we’re in front of Browne School, the bus doors open to let us out. I start to get up when I’m suddenly and roughly shoved back into my seat. Patrick, the same kid that has bullied me every day of forever, laughs as he jumps down the stairs to the pavement. Collin comes up right behind him and holds a hand out to help me up. I take his hand and haul myself to my feet. Someone behind Collin snorts and another person scoffs. Obviously, me being shoved is taking too much time for them.

“Forget about that asshole,” he sneers at Patrick’s retreating back as he pulls me to my feet. I just shake my head. I know that the bullying isn’t going to stop anytime soon, regardless of who my brother and best friend are. My arm banged on the back of the driver’s seat as I was pushed, and I know there’s gonna be a bruise there. I sigh.

I exit the bus and see my best friend, Max, in a group of people on the sidewalk waiting to enter the school. I walk across the parking lot slowly towards him. The hangers-on gathered there look at me as though I’m something that got stuck to the bottom of their shoes and they would rather just scrape it on the pavement. No one says or does anything, though. Not one person here would dare do or say anything to me with both Max and Collin here. Even with that level of protection, I still don’t feel welcome here. I look at the faces of the people gathered around Max. I recognize all of the people here; I recognize, if not know, all of the people in the school. There’s Susan Davis, a hopeful that wants to date Max, Jamie Killian, Collin’s girlfriend and possibly the only person besides Max and Collin that doesn’t give me shit on a daily basis, Delilah Ortiz, Max’s girlfriend. Then there’s the kid that quite possibly the one that hates me the most, besides Patrick, of course, Dylan Staine, he’s second behind Collin in track. Last but not least is, Phillip Green, he’s only a few rungs above me on the social ladder, but still treats me like garbage. He thinks that if he picks on me, people will like him better. Unfortunately, he’s not wrong.

“Hey, Cole,” Max says excitedly as he raises his hand for a high five from my brother. My brother slaps his outstretched hand in equal excitement.

“Hey, Cal,” he says to me with the same outstretched hand. I unenthusiastically touch the palm of his hand with the tip of index finger. He looks at me worried. “What’s up, man?” he asks, concerned. I just hang my head and shake it slowly. There is no need to go into everything. My brother speaks up for me, though, and says, “Patrick,” with a sneer so menacingly that he’s almost growling. Max just nods as he understands, and Jamie gives me a quick hug. Max claps a hand on my shoulder. There’s nothing more to say. Patrick isn’t going to quit his crap any time soon. Jamie lets me go and turns to Collin. She gives him a hug and a quick kiss before we hear the first bell.

The three of us and Max’s followers quickly head inside the school, so we aren’t late. I speed walk to my locker to grab the books and things I need for the first few classes. I’m in the process of locating my Chemistry book (somehow the little bugger found its way in the back of my locker and shoved under a pile of papers that I have no idea where they came from). I hear, though I’m not really paying close attention to it, the sound of someone walking towards my locker area. I’m the only one in the hall at the moment since the students and teachers are in the classrooms. It takes me a few seconds to process this information. Since I’m not planning on meeting with someone, though, I just ignore it thinking that it’s someone on their way to class. As I dismiss the sound, I get a nagging feeling in my gut and so, I listen closer and realize that the sound is not of someone hurrying to class, but of someone walking leisurely down the hallway. This strikes me as odd as first bell has already rung, and second bell is going to ring any second. I try to ignore it, but that gnawing feeling in my gut is back.

I should have listened to my gut. All of a sudden, I feel myself shoved inward towards my locker. I throw my arms out to catch myself and my hip ends up hitting the edge of the metal locker. Then pain explodes through my back as the locker door slams into my back.

“Son of a....,” I start to swear as I whip around with my fists raised. I don’t know why I think I can fight whoever it is, but my fight or flight instinct told me to fight. As I see that it’s Patrick that has assaulted me, I lower my arms and the flight part of the instinct runs through me. He stands there with a challenging look on his face, one eyebrow raised with his hands on his hips. His look is daring me to finish my thought or even attack him back. I shrink down a little and step back towards my locker, my face burning a bright red. I can feel the heat rising from my neck to my cheeks. I can’t figure out if it’s embarrassment or fear that has the red spreading.

“Ha! That’s what I thought, loser,” Patrick sneers as he lunges in my direction. I flinch back, just as he’s expecting, and he bursts out laughing. I grumble “Asshole.” low, under my breath as Patrick walks away with what can only be described as a swagger, but it wasn’t low enough. Patrick whirls around with fire in his eyes.

“What did you say, Shrimp?” he barks at me. I think this time, this one time, I’m gonna stand up to him; that I’m going to say something back to him. As my mouth opens to tell him off, I lose my nerve and mumble “Nothing.” barely audible.

Patrick snorts out another laugh and sashays away.

I angrily push my glasses up that have fallen to the end of my nose. I rush to shove my things I don’t need back into my locker, shove the things I do need into my bookbag, and pick up papers and things that fell when I hit the locker. I book it to my first class, which, of course, I’m now late for. The second bell has already rung and my lame attempt to try to sneak into the classroom and into my seat has not gone unnoticed by my teacher, Mr. Smithin.

“Let’s try to make it on time from now on, huh, Mr. Hemming?” he says without looking up from the blackboard that he’s writing on. His back is to the classroom door so, I don’t know how he does it, but he seems to know exactly where everything and everyone is at all times.

I nod slowly as I slink down in my seat next to my lab partner and mumble “Yes, Sir.” I know he hears me even though I’m halfway across the room. My lab partner ignores me, but that’s nothing unusual. Most kids in the school either ignore me or join in on the bullying. Max and Colin are the only two that care about my existence and to some extent, Jamie, but I think she only cares about me because of Collin.

On the long, black lab table at the front of the class, Mr. Smithin has set up a couple Bunsen burners and various jars of different colored powders. Mr. Smithin is finished writing on the blackboard. I look up at the blackboard, but I can’t focus on what the writing says. I replace my attention wavering. Normally, my attention in this class is spot on; I love Mr. Smithin’s class. He’s a great teacher; he’s informative, fun, and gets you laughing while learning. For some reason, I just can’t concentrate today. The day has barely started, and I just want to go home. That gnawing feeling is back. I push down the worry and nagging feelings and try to focus on Mr. Smithin.

I finally tune into what Mr. Smithin is saying. “…use something as simple as Borax…,” he sprinkles a little bit of the white cleaning powder over one of the lit burners, “…the flame will turn green.” The flame sparks up a little and indeed turns green.

“Mr. Hemming, what chemical would I add to make the flames turn pink? It was in your reading from last night.”

My head snaps to look at Mr. Smithin’s face as I hear my name and I stutter out, “I…uh…,” I as I can’t seem to collect my thoughts. “Uh…Strontium Chloride?” I finally spit out, remembering the name of the chemical from the reading I did the night before.

“Are you asking me or telling me?”

“Telling. Strontium Chloride.” I hope, I think to myself.

“Well, class, let’s see if Mr. Hemming is correct.” That doesn’t bode well. Normally, if a student is correct, he’ll just say so. He opens the jar labeled “Strontium Chloride” and takes a small bit out with a small scoop. He sprinkles the salt-like compound over the burner and dark red flames spark up.

“Looks like Mr. Hemming was partially correct. The Strontium Chloride turns the flames red, which admittedly is close to pink. However, we’re looking for which compound turns them pink, not red. Partial points for trying, Mr. Hemming. Ms. Davis, do you know which one it is that will turn our flame pink?”

A girl that sits in the seat right in front of mine perks up and says, “Certainly, Mr. Smithin. The correct answer is Lithium Chloride.” She says this with a not so small amount of derision, putting emphasis on the word Lithium. Mr. Smithin doesn’t say anything, instead he just opens up another jar, this one labeled “Lithium Chloride.” His look as he does this does seem to be slightly annoyed, almost as if he didn’t like the way she answered. He sprinkles a little of the powder on the burner and the flame turns a hot pink color for a fraction of a second before returning to their standard yellow and orange flame.

“Thank you, Ms. Davis. Lithium Chloride is the correct answer.” Susan Davis turns around and makes a face at me. “Of course,” he continues, likely due to the face Susan makes at me, “the pink of the Lithium Chloride is close to the red of Strontium Chloride sometimes, so it seems our Mr. Hemming wasn’t completely wrong.” Her face drops as she hears Mr. Smithin continue and turns back around in her seat.

The rest of the class passes in somewhat of a blur. As the bell rings, I get my things packed back up and stand to leave the room. Before I can exit the class, I hear Mr. Smithin call my name.

“Caleb Hemming, please come up here to my desk.” He says to me with truly little emotion in his voice. I gulp audibly. I think I know what’s coming. I slowly make my way to his desk. By this time, the room has completely emptied of my class and the next class isn’t in yet, so we have the room to ourselves.

“Yes, Mr. Smithin?” I ask meekly. I wait for him to answer. It seems like it’s taking an eternity. While I wait, I try to focus my thoughts. My eyes scan the room but land back on Mr. Smithin. He turns his head slightly away from me to look at a paper on his desk. I notice, not for the first time, the tip of a tattoo or birthmark or scar on his neck. His dress shirt’s collar blocks most of the image, but from what I can see, it looks like claw marks. The mark on his neck has been the subject of much conversation within the school and no one knows what it really is. Everyone is too afraid to ask and anyone that works up the courage to ask is told it’s nothing for them to worry about.

“Mr. Hemming,” Mr. Smithin’s voice snaps me back, “I noticed something going on with you today. Usually, you’re my top student. Is there anything you need to talk about? Anything going on at home?”

I sigh. I don’t really have any excuse as to why I’m off my game today. I answer him the best I can.

“No, Mr. Smithin, there’s nothing really going on, I just don’t feel well today. I’m just really tired since I didn’t sleep well last night. I’m sorry about today in class.”

“There’s no reason to be sorry, Caleb. I just want to make sure you’re doing okay.”

“Thank you, Mr. Smithin. I appreciate it.”

“You’re welcome, Mr. Hemming. If you need someone to talk to, please let me know. Hurry now so you aren’t late to your next class.”

“Okay. Thanks again,” I say as I turn around and leave the room. I head to my next class and barely make into my seat before the bell rings. Ms. Patts, my English teacher, barely glances at me as I drop into my seat. English class passes relatively uneventful. Ms. Patts doesn’t call on me and I don’t raise my hand at all. We’re studying The Scarlet Letter right now and I’ve read it a few times already. I know there’s a quiz on it tomorrow, but that still doesn’t prompt me to pay more attention. The bell signifying the end class rings before I’m aware that the time has passed.

The next period is lunch. I go to my locker and put away everything except my lunch. The way my school works is there are four classes a day, each lasting an hour and a half. In the middle of the classes is lunch. Lunch lasts an hour, and the entire school is let out of classes to eat at the same time. Since our school only has 100 kids, it really isn’t that big of a deal.

I get through lunch without incident from Patrick. Max and Cole sit near me but are talking with Jamie, Delilah, and the other people at the table, so I’m pretty much left to myself. I open my copy of The Scarlet Letter and reread through the last few chapters to get ready for the quiz tomorrow. I don’t mind sitting by myself and reading though. It passes the time. I finish my book about halfway through lunch and still have nothing to do. I stare at a section of the wall and continue to eat mechanically till the bell rings for the end of lunch.

I return to my locker and grab my bookbag and Calculus book for period three and history book (U.S History up to 1945) for period four. Period three bell rings just as I sit in my seat. At least I’m not late for this class, I think. Ms. Gronke, my Calculus teacher, is writing today’s assignment on the board. Today we’re studying Hydrostatic Pressure and Force. She’s drawing a few shapes on the board with various lines and letters on them. I force myself to concentrate since this is one class, I can’t let my mind wander.

Period four is history and my least favorite of any class I have taken. I’ve never understood the point of learning history. I mean, it’s over, it’s done, let’s move on. Mr. Thompson by default is then my least favorite teacher. It’s really not his fault, he’s a great teacher. I just don’t like his class’s subject. He does an excellent job of making it fun to learn though, so I’m at least passing with a solid B in the class. He loves to act out scenes in the class of battles or events we go over. Right now, we’re learning about the Civil War. He shows up to the class in a uniform from the Union Army as well as bringing a few artifacts that have been passed down through his family. He gets the whole class laughing with his reenactment of Lee’s surrender at Appomattox, which I’m quite sure isn’t completely historically factual.