Chapter 1

“Javier Lopez,” I hear on the PA system. “Report to the principal’s office immediately.”

The class turns to the back of the classroom. All of them stare at me. What the hell! I haven’t even done anything this week. What do they want me for?

“Jay,” says my math teacher and soccer coach. “There something I don’t know about?”

“You tell me,” I answer him as I get out of my seat and begin walking to the door. “They always rat me out to you first.”

        “Well, get going,” he replies. “Expect to run bleachers today in practice.”

        Great. Not only did the secretary embarrass me by making the announcement over the PA, but now I’m getting punished for I don’t even know what. I leave the classroom and head right to the staircase. I walk downstairs to the first floor passing up teachers asking for hall passes.

        “I’m Javier Lopez,” I say to all of them, and they all let me walk on by.

        When I reach the central office, the secretary leads me down the row of rooms, the vice principals’ offices and the counselors’ offices until we reach the end of the small hallway. The door to the principal’s office is closed, and the secretary knocks before opening it. She pushes the door open and signals for me to walk in. I do and notice a woman sitting in one of the two seats across from the principal. She turns around and smiles at me.

        She has a small bob-styled red haired lady. She wears a black business jacket, and her face is not as caked with makeup as the girls that walk around the school. I step forward, and the secretary closes the door behind me.

        “Have a seat, Jay,” Mr. Kelley, the principal, says. “What trouble have you caused this week?”

        “None that I want to tell you about,” I answer him as I sit down in the chair next to the red-haired woman.

        A strong fragrance from the woman hits me as I sit down. It doesn’t smell bad. She just has too much on. I don’t even know how to describe the fragrance other than sweet and too feminine. The fragrance is a sweet, flower-like smell.

        “I think I’ve been lenient with you this year,” says Mr. Kelley. “But no matter what I do, you end up right back here.”

        “Yep,” I answer him nodding.

        He isn’t amused by my response. I wasn’t trying to be funny. He’s the one that keeps telling me to stop arguing so much. I simply agree with him. Some stupid crap just always happens, and I end up right back here. I think the teachers are just tired of me. Last week I ended up here because I was sitting in English class not doing anything. We were supposed to be working on some research paper. I was sent to the office for “failure to do what I ask” as the teacher put it. She exaggerated.

        She just asked, “Jay, what are you doing?”

        And I said, “Nothing.”

        I think she was more upset that my class laughed then at me not doing what I was supposed to be doing. But in all fairness, I was ahead of the class. I had spent that morning before class in the library working on the research. She was the one who recommended I did that because I was going to be out for one class period because of a soccer game. I was ahead on my research paper, but that wasn’t enough for her. I told Mr. Kelley that. I think he hears equal complaining, from the teachers and from me. But he actually listens to what I say. He understood me that time. He understood that I was ahead and that I felt like I could take it easy in class, but he also told me I should have utilized the class to get even further ahead. He just sent me back to class, and I did as he said. The teacher kept watching me after that, though, waiting for me to do something else wrong. She ended up sending an email to my coach, and he ran me around the track, ten laps. The teachers have started to realize that complaining to the coach was more efficient than sending me to either the counselor’s office or the principal’s. I’ve been to the counselor plenty of times, but I hate her. She just scowled at me every time I was in there. She would just yell at how I was wasting my time getting into trouble and how I had potential but lacked the discipline to utilize it.

        “What did Coach Sandoval say about you coming here,” asks Mr. Kelley.

        “I’m running bleachers today, so thanks for the announcement,” I say. “He called me out in front of the class.”

        “Well you’re not in trouble,” says Mr. Kelley.

        “Yeah, like he’ll believe that,” I say.

        Every time the coach suspects I’ve done something wrong he punishes me during practice. Soccer practice is the way the principal has realized works best to discipline me. The coach always kicks my ass with extra drills, running, and bleachers. A couple of weeks ago, I actually went several days without getting on any of the teachers’ nerves. He suspected I had done something wrong, but he never actually go a complaint from anyone. He made me run an extra mile around the track. I guess it just felt odd to him not having to discipline me.

        “Who’s the team playing tonight?” asks Mr. Kelley.

        “Bears,” I answer. “They suck this year, so it’ll be an easy win.”        

“I’m sure your team will do excellent,” he says.

        “We will,” I say.

        “Sounds like your team won’t really need you playing then,” he continues. Listen, I want to talk about . . .”

        “What are you saying?” I interrupt him. “You’re benching me? I didn’t do crap.”

        I get angry at him and stand up as I speak.

        “Sit down,” he says calmly.

        I listen to him, partly because I’m trying his whole don’t argue idea and partly because he’s the only adult that doesn’t yell at me. I have to give him that much credit. He puts up with a lot of crap from me or because of me and handles it in a relaxed manner. Every teacher just looks for some excuse to gripe at me.

        “It’s not like that,” he continues as I take my seat. “I want to introduce you to Miss . . .”

        “You can just call me Candice,” says the woman sitting next to me.

        I got so worked up about him saying I’m not playing in tonight’s game that I forgot she was sitting next to me. I probably looked childish to her. I actually still don’t really care about her. I have been looking forward to tonight’s game.

        “She’s here,” continues Mr. Kelley. “Because she was interested in meeting you. Well, you and several more of your classmates. She will explain it all when your classmates are all here.”

        “But they only called me,” I say.

        “That’s because I asked to meet you first,” says Mr. Kelley.

        “Why?” I ask.

        “Because I know you’re trouble,” he answers.

        Well, he’s got a point, and now I’m kind of curious to know what this chick wants.

        “Go have a seat on the sofa,” says Mr. Kelley to me.

        He has one long sofa and two armchairs in his office. He probably sits there as he talks to parents about how they failed in raising a human. I listen to him. I walk over and throw myself on the long sofa. It’s comfortable, and I’m tempted to fall asleep.

        “I said sit,” says Mr. Kelley from his desk.

        He knows me well. He continues whispering to Candice, but I’m not interested in what he’s telling her. The only words I hear him say are, “This is why you have to watch him.”

        I hear a knock at the door, and the secretary opens the door. Mr. Kelley and Candice stop their conversation, and the two of them stand up.

        “Come on in,” says Mr. Kelley as he walks from behind his desk.

        He walks over to the door, and Candice walks over to me. Mr. Kelley lets in more students, all of them probably thinking they are in trouble. They all have the nervous eyes and tense walk.

        “No one’s in trouble,” Mr. Kelley assures them. “Someone would like to speak to you all.”

        Eight more students walk in and gather on the couches with Candice and me. I know some of them. Three of them I don’t. I don’t know a short, blonde girl and two of the five guys. I do know that the two guys are baseball players because we share the locker room with the baseball team. The others I know Liam Stafford, Bradden Allen, Eddie Hernandez, Zoey Richards, and Heather Wilson. Bradden and Zoey are both freshmen. Both of them play soccer, and that’s about all I know about them. Eddie and Liam are on the football team. Eddie is cool. Liam, I don’t like. And Heather is a powerlifter and a cheerleader. She a bad bitch. She’s tough, not as pretty as all the other cheerleaders, but she’s not as stuck-up as the other cheerleaders.

        “Alright,” says Candice as Mr. Kelley and the secretary walk out of the office. “Make yourselves comfortable.”

        “Well,” she continues after we all settle down. “I’m Candice, and I represent A.I.T, Association of Innovative Technology.”

        I have no idea what that is, but that sounds like some nerdy shit.

        “You nine have been selected to test a simulator,” she says. “With consent from your parents, of course.”

        “Will this get me out of taking my history test?” asks one of the two baseball guys.

She doesn’t answer him. She just smiles and continues. They want us to try some game simulator, a game that allows the human body to enter a virtual world. It all sounds made up. But I listen to what she has to say. If what she is saying is true, this technology could be revolutionary.

The game we’ll be testing is called the GetOut Game. We will be administered the trial run. She continues talking about all kinds of computer crap, but all I hear is what the purpose of the game is.

“There are ten stages,” says Candice. “The purpose of the game is to make it through all ten stages of the game.”

When she finishes, the small blonde girl says, “Well, it’s better than being in classes.”

And so we all agree to participate. Candice leaves us in the office and joins the principal and secretary. With the principal’s approval, Candice contacts all of our parents and gets verbal consent from each of them. I’m not sure how Candice managed to convince Principal Kelley to allow us to participate. Well, not us, me.

He’s been keeping an extra close eye on me lately. I guess it’s cause it’s my senior year, and I have no plans after graduating. My parents are broke, so college is not an option. Well, it was, but I didn’t tell my parents. Coach Sandoval managed to get some scouts out to watch me play, and I was offered a full soccer scholarship. I didn’t take it. I just told that coach I would think about it. My coach, the counselor, and the principal have all asked me why I didn’t take the offer. I told them I didn’t know. And I didn’t lie to them. I just didn’t know.

While we wait for Candice, the others begin to talk. I choose to ignore them. I’m not the friendliest of people and prefer not making new friends. I’m a bit of an asshole in that way. I just ignore others when they try and talk to me. I’ve always been that way, and sometimes I wonder how I have the friends that I do have.

I listen in on their conversations, though. Heather leads the discussion.

“Well,” says Heather. “I’m Heather. What about all you?”

The two baseball guys I don’t know are Kegan and Liam. Liam is a sophomore. He’s about five feet four inches tall. Keagan’s about his height and is a freshman. The short, blonde girl is Kaite. She’s a junior, and she’s actually in my psychology class. I knew I had seen her from somewhere but not sure where. I only realized that because she said, “I’m in psych class with Jay, so I know him already.”

“Which, by the way,” continues Kaite as she turns to me. “I told Mr. Dean that the one who threw the water bottle wasn’t you. Everyone knows it was Alex.”

“Doesn’t matter,” I say. “I still got punished.”

I remember the incident. It was last week, and I got blamed for hitting another student with a water bottle when it was Alex, my friend, who threw it. Everyone knew it was him, but Mr. Dean didn’t want to hear about it and sent me to the vice principal’s office. I got in-school detention for the rest of the day, which pissed off Coach Sandoval. He got me out of in-school detention for athletics and ran me the entire class period and all through after school practice.

“You always get blamed for shit that isn’t even your fault,” adds Heather. “Teachers just hate you.”

“That’s what I’ve been saying,” I answer her.

The office door opens, and Candice walks in. The process took her about thirty minutes. She comes in and tells us to go back to our classes and get our stuff. We do so, and the secretary gives us all a blue slip of paper to give to our teachers. I read the sheet before walking into math class: The student has been permitted to leave school for the remainder of the day. I walk into math class, and everyone stares at me. I walk over to Coach Sandoval’s desk and hand it to him. He’s not too happy with the office’s decision, but I notice his email pulled up on his computer. He’s been talking to Mr. Kelley. I guess he’s been informed and is pissed I won’t be at tonight’s game.

“Get your things and get going,” he says coldly.

I don’t argue or say a word. He’s pissed, and even an “Okay” will have him running me like a dog the remainder of the soccer season. I walk over to my desk where he’s left my math test I took last class. I glance at the grade, 96, and put it in my backpack. I put all my things up and leave the classroom. My classmates keep looking at me expecting some sort of explanation, but I just walk out and head back to the main office. When I get back, Candice is waiting for us to return. I am the last one to arrive, and the last thing Mr. Kelley says before going back into his office is, “Keep an eye on that one.”

Next Chapter: Chapter 2