Mondays - Chapter 1

Mondays
Chapter 1

I awoke to the sound of my alarm clock, blaring incessantly, tearing me away from sleep. I slammed the snooze button, even when I knew it didn’t do me any good. I fell back to sleep for a few minutes, but only to have the clock ring again as programmed. This time, sleep had left me again.

I tore myself away from the warm sheets and pillows to meet the harsh morning. As usual, I took my shower and dried off, thinking my normal Monday thoughts. This is stupid. Why do we have school today? Why do we have school at all? I always had these sorts of thoughts on Mondays, and this one was no different.

After getting dressed I walked downstairs to the kitchen to scrounge some breakfast. Bagel? Cereal? Toast? I grabbed the quickest meal available to me- a breakfast bar from the cupboard- and ate it while climbing back up the stairs. Andy had just gotten up and dressed, and we passed through the hall silently.

I brushed my teeth and gathered up my things for school, just beginning to worry about the half-dozen assignments that I hadn’t done. It was late in the morning by now, so I didn’t wait for Andy, but got my bike ready once I was packed. It was a cold morning, and the nine-block ride, albeit I had a jacket, numbed my fingers and made me shiver. Upon reaching the school, I harbored a tremendous temptation to turn around and do something useful or fun for the day, but I resisted as usual. After all, it was just another Monday.

I stepped into the gymnasium to face the day that awaited me. A few of my classmates looked as I walked in and greeted me, but most looked apathetic, concealing their own storms of anger. Not that I expected anything more; they were all as mad at the world as I was. Monday did this to people, especially students and teachers. There was something about this godforsaken day that put everybody in bad moods.

Mark, Luke, and John were three of my closest friends. Mark was a Hispanic boy who I had known since first grade. He was very strong and knew enough weak points and body locks to beat the crap out of nearly anyone in a fair fight. Luke, I had known since third or fourth grade, and though obnoxious and a bit short, was fun to be around. John was a huge, burly character who had joined the class just this year, but he immediately fit in with us and was soon a close friend of mine. I hung with them until the bell rung and we shuffled off toward homeroom.

Algebra was our first period subject, but it seemed like stupid placement to me. Most assignments that you forget to do can be done throughout the day, but not for Algebra, and when there was an assignment virtually every day, there were few days where we didn’t have homework. Mrs. Higgins was our teacher, and she was pretty nice, but I still had to go to the library to try to catch up with the math that I didn’t do. I tried to do the work that was assigned, but you always had to have a good calculator, which I didn’t have at home. And the math seemed so repetitive after a while, it was hard not to be sidetracked. I finished the unfinished work and got my late grade as usual. After all, it was just another Monday.

After Algebra, there was History with Mrs. Lancaster. As usual in the class, I sat with everyone else, but read ahead, ignored the teacher’s discussion and did none of the checkpoint questions that everyone else did. So far, I’d been doing this for a month with no consequences. While they were reading about the War of 1812, I was reading about the end of the Depression. I had asked Mrs. Lancaster if she knew, but she just laughed and told me to do my work. She was a character.

While switching back to homeroom Andy bumped into me and said, “You suck. Wait for me next time you jackass.” I did my best to ignore the comment, and set my things on my desk. It was hard to ignore him sometimes, but it was always harder to punish him for it. For example, if I punched him for insulting me or annoying me, he would not logically link the two together and stop doing what caused me to punch him, but defiantly say something along the lines of “I didn’t do anything. You’re just a jerk.” This did nothing for either of us but further infuriated me. But for now it didn’t matter what he said to me. It was time for recess.

The school was small, maybe two hundred kids for the nine grades it offered; Kindergarten through eighth grade. Each of the grades got recess, but this was the last year that I would get the privilege before high school. The upper grades, the fifth, sixth seventh, and eighth grades had their recess right after the lower grades, which was fourth on down.
As for the games, classes usually compete against the others. Eighth versus Seventh; Sixth versus Fifth; and so on. The sport was a variable, and the game pool included kickball, bump, basketball, dodgeball, four-square, wallball, red-ass, and many others. But the eighth and seventh played two-hand-touch football out on the grass field.

I ran out onto the field to face the seventh grade with my team. The odds were stacked against us. They had perhaps a seven-man advantage. Nick, our quarterback was shouting orders at everyone. We were receiving the kickoff. The ball soared into the end zone and Mark kneed it for a touchback. Hike! Nick dumped it to Luke, who made some good running yardage. Hike! An incomplete pass. Hike! A long pass to Mark. Hike! A short dump to me, touchdown. Score, 1-0, us.

I was a surprised at a touchdown so early; we weren’t usually this smooth this early in the game. When you’re in a football game and you’re outnumbered, no yardage marks, and no first downs, it’s hard to get a good start. On top of that, there were no referees, so if they cheated, than oh well.

We kicked off and I managed to tag the recipient before he could make it too far. John and I rushed Peter, the seventh grade quarterback. We had to rush through maybe three times as many blockers, but we pretty consistently made it through and if we didn’t make a sack, then we at least put good pressure on their QB, Peter.

So it was their ball. Hike! John and I sack Peter. Hike! QB run, maybe a ten yard gain. Hike! Incomplete pass. Punt! A quick recovery for us. We didn’t do so well for the next series of plays, and the game continued in such patterns until the score was 2-2, and we had the ball perhaps fifteen yards from the end zone. It was fourth down, too long to give an easy pass, and too short to give a soaring one. I whispered to John, “I’ll be open.” On the hike, I ran straight into the end zone as fast as I humanly could. Still running, I turned to see the ball hurtling toward me. Still running, I felt my foot connect with a leg, and tripped over it. Crashing down, I saw Peter grin and make a grab at the ball.

He missed of course, but my class immediately sprang into action. John, having seen the deliberate tripping laid Peter out on the grass, and the seventh graders tried to come and wrestle us down. They weren’t able to; they couldn’t. While our age and strength may not be much use for two-hand-touch football, any sevie would be sadly outmatched to us when it came to fighting. But it was very hard for seven of us to fend off fifteen of them, even with our advantage of strength.

There wasn’t much else but tackles, but the two classes were in an all-out brawl by the time a teacher came and broke it up. He took the ball and said a little speech about our behavior, and said that the next time it happened, it would be gone for the week. It’s a simple thing to say, right? Not for him. He turned this into a five-minute long ordeal. I didn’t pay much attention, but there was something strange about how he said the speech. It was probably just that his voice kept on squeaking in the middle of it. I didn’t care. He was a pathetic teacher, and I had disliked him ever since I first set foot in the school. The only reason we hadn’t gotten in worse trouble was because he wouldn’t have known how to deal with it. All I gathered was that if it happened again, the football would be taken.

The bell rung and we clamored up the stairs, by the huge map of the world, and into our separate classrooms with plenty of exchanged glares. The day went on, and the next subject we had was Language. I never liked the subject but the work was simple enough and I finished my assignments before the class ended. Shortly after was Lunch. Me, Mark, Luke, and John all sat at the same table and talked about what had happened during the first recess quarrel; who tackled who, who’s fault it was; etc.

Second recess came soon after, and we again walked out on the field to face our opponents. There were no niceties about it. John and I were hit with more fouls than there were people on the field. People who possessed the ball were tackled instead of tagged. Both team threw out the five-alligator rush rule and blitzed on the hike. Basically everyone was cheating and nobody cared.

To make this all worse, the sevie blockers who were constantly fouling John and me kept on coming up to me way after the play and pushing me around. (They left John alone. He’s too intimidating.) I told them to stop but they only laughed at me. Under any normal conditions I would’ve given them a few chances to back off and then slugged the little brats if they didn’t,
but I didn’t want to lose the football for my class. So I did my very best to simply ignore them.

It was nearly the end of the game and we had the ball on fourth down. The score was tied again and we were smack dab in the middle of the field. We knew we could stop them if it was a turnover, so we decided to try to go for it. Nick called Hike and we ran about in all directions. He sent one flying to Luke, but as my head turned to watch, Peter deliberately shoved Luke to the ground and ran up to catch the ball. It wasn’t long before he was tagged, but I was infuriated. When the next sevie shoved me, I grabbed him by his shirt and threw him to the ground.

I knew what would certainly follow. I turned around to find Peter lunging toward me. I swiftly dodged him and tackled the next sevie in my path. I turned again to try to face Peter, but not before feeling his fist connect with my jaw. As I reeled back I saw John and Mark headed toward Peter, He didn’t stand a chance; I didn’t need to worry about him. I ignored the stinging in my mouth and quickly recovered to see the rest of the two grades joining the clamor. To my left, I saw a sevie climbing on Luke’s back. I ran over and gave the kid a square punch to the head. The kid lost his grip and doubled up on the ground, and Luke glanced at me, and that was thanks enough right then. I turned around to see two more sevies confronting me. I fake swung at the first, who ducked, and used the momentum to punch the second, who was caught by surprise. The first then stood up and I kicked him in the stomach. I knew they would get back up, but I couldn’t worry about them. We still had the rest of the sevies to deal with.

I noticed after a while that we were moving more toward the center of the fight, while the sevies were clearly moving towards the outside. Before long, we were surrounded, seven of us versus thirteen of them. One of ours was down, and Peter was on the ground with a bloody nose as well as another sevie. We were outnumbered, but not quite outmatched. Not yet. I was just beginning to worry about how conspicuous the whole ordeal was when my gaze wandered up to where the recess duty teachers usually stood. There was only one of the two there. I squinted, and saw Albeit the one present was looking straight at the fight, his face bore a smug little smile.

Before anymore fighting could happen, I heard the second teacher’s whistle go off loudly and looked to my right to see the football being taken. All of us were sent inside. I don’t remember all of what happened next, but I remember sitting in the hall with Nick and being called into the principal’s office to talk to Mrs. Dameson. I told her the story as accurately as I could, but she left plenty of awkward silences, plenty of idle time.

I took a look at her office. On the wall in front of me there was a USA flag, a large painting behind me, and a bookshelves on either side of me. The first was filled with pictures, awards, and other knick-knacks. The bookshelf closest to me on my left actually had books in it, but most of it was normal schoolbook/teacher’s manual fodder. I had seen nearly all of the books in other classrooms as well. How to Maintain Sanity in the Classroom and A Guide to Education was just a couple. But there was one book that seemed out of place, something I hadn’t seen in any of the other classrooms. It was a big red book with several bookmarks sticking out of the top. I peered close and was able to decipher that it was titled The Definitive Study of Psychology. Go figure, I thought to myself silently.

The interrogation went on, and I noticed that she was distinctly asking just for the factual details. Most of the time, when I got in trouble, it was something more along the lines of “Why did you do this?” “Is this how you want to be remembered?” I counted myself lucky, not having to endure this, and answered the rest of her questions.

As I was dismissed, I was apathetically caught the name of the author of the red book: Conners S. Laneson. I went back out into the hall and passed the time fiddling with the studs on my belt. After a while, I was dismissed and sent back to my current class- Reading. I’d done all my work, and nothing interesting happened. After all, it was just another Monday, right?