(Hello, everyone. This is the first section, chapter 0. If you are going to read it, I would appreciate if you noted specific parts that could be fixed. On a more important note, I would like you to bear through this and the first chapter if you like me, because I swear it gets more interesting. Overall, help me edit it, don't be mean, and know that I'm not a big fan of this novel either.)
The hallway was full of students. I could hear the whispers that they spat out of their mouths, as if they were inaudible. They were loud and clear to me. They all were talking about something or someone, most likely someone. What else is there to talk about? Oh, not in a good way though. People weren’t nice, I had decided.
I passed by an old friend. I raised my hand to say hello, a rarity of social interaction, but she pretended not to see me. She most likely knew that I was there but chose to ignore me. I did admit to myself that I was paranoid, but I just wanted to get to my next class.
My teacher for the class was simple, boring, and horrifyingly droning. Her voice never seemed to take a break as its monotonous tone carried on and on. But I sat there, taking notes, not even knowing why. I listened to what she was saying. I thought the teacher was a good person, so I outwardly paid attention. No matter how exciting a teacher was, I had to decide if I liked him or her first, and only then did I know how to behave in the class. The most redeeming moment of being a student for me was pretending to ignore a teacher I disliked for months but never letting my grades falter. Oh, the bitter smile that came with every test. It was a way to entertain myself in a world where very little else did, but I could only blame myself.
I was pretty sure that there was something wrong with me. It was winter, so naturally I was depressed. During the Summer it felt as if day was always waiting behind the dark, ready to pounce on the world. In the Winter, I felt the opposite. The darkness always lingered, always threatening. I could feel it then as I sat in the class. It wasn't evil or anything, just depressing.
I knew that it was some sort of condition, but I thought it gave me character. I vaguely enjoyed when I discovered small allergies or quirks with my body. It made me feel unique, because nothing seemed to satisfy me about being just another student.
But hey, I didn’t care.
The bell rang loudly, liberating the students for four short minutes, for me only really telling me that I had to stand up and walk. The hallways were a limbo; never really a place to be, just a place to use in order to arrive somewhere else. Before I passed into my next classroom, I suddenly felt a blast of urgency in my head. It forced me to rush into the classroom where I was headed and pull out a pen and paper. I pushed my backpack on the floor and began drawing. When my pencil hit the paper, I knew that I was going to draw one of the wings from the school. It just felt like I should, so I did. I often got inspirations for what to draw, but they would normally fizzle out. I was surprised while continued drawing, wondering why I felt like I had to do it. It felt good, though, as if I was relieving some sort of unknown stress.
Obviously I did not approve of Mr. Hoover, considering my decision to spend the class drawing. He didn’t approve of me first, so I had my reasons. I liked it best when teachers simply stared disapprovingly when you doodled rather than saying something. As if I cared, as if their glances punished me. Ha.
The map that my doodle had become was quite good for my standards. I was a horrible drawer, and this consisted of straight, neat lines. I was proud of my box. But now I had to make rooms for the wing that I had drawn. This drawing was going to be detailed, I determined; nothing I ever made was detailed or even nice. The coolest thing that I’d made in my life was a science project on the discovery of DNA in the shape of a double helix.
I added doors, windows, and lockers. I couldn’t believe how neat everything was, even after I stopped using the ruler that I realized I had needed at first. Mr. Hoover was looking over my shoulder as he lectured us about the Middle Ages.
“Enjoying yourself, Jared?” He thought he was so clever, catching me in the act.
“Yes, very much so,” I answered, not looking up as I made a small dial on a locker.
“Please pay attention.” Well, of course I was paying attention. These teachers were awfully dumb for their ever-increasing degrees. I continued to draw, and he did not interrupt me again. The kids around me giggled, but, unlike me, they were intimidated by Mr. Hoover. I wish they’d come up and rebel with me. I was pretty sure a class filled with people like me could make a teacher explode.
I had to stop myself from drawing that. I was pretty sure that Mr. Hoover could get me in trouble for portraying him as steaming bobble head. But then again maybe not…
“Dude, you better stop being a wise ass. Mr. Hoover looks pissed.” I could see that. He threw glances over at me as frequently as he blinked. The kid who had spoken to me obviously didn’t care much about school, but even he paid attention.
“I think I know what I’m doing.” My eyes didn’t leave my work, now elaborate. When the bell rang, I awoke from the trance that I was in. As I shoved my map of the smallest wing into my binder, I caught a glance of how amazing it was. It was completely accurate, down to the ugly blotch-pattern on the hard metal floors. How did I do this in one period? And I still remembered everything Mr. Hoover said, even more clearly than usual, actually.
I knew that day wasn’t right.
