A Brand New School

South Torrance High School, one of five in the Torrance United School district, with a student base of over two thousand, it was bigger and more diverse than Maple Grove.

Seated in the passenger side of the parked black SUV, Nick looked at the school.

“This is it sport,” Marty said, nodding.

Still looking at the school, Nick nodded, a knot in his belly.

“You know they filmed the movie American Beauty here,” Marty said.

“Cool, I guess,” he replied, unfastening the seatbelt and climbing out of the Escalade.

“Plus Asha is here too, so at least you’re not all by yourself,” Marty added, as Nick closed the door.

Crossing the lot, Nick navigated his way through the milling throng of students, easily finding the administrative offices.

A jowly woman with thick horn rimmed glasses looked up and smiled up at him, “I’ll be with you in a moment dear,” she said, holding up a finger as she picked up the receiver of the telephone on her desk.

Nick nodded and took a seat, pulling his back pack onto his lap.

After a few moments, the woman called him back up to the desk. He introduced himself and she gave him an orientation map including a layout of the school and the location of his locker assignment, his class schedule, and the welcome to South High School speech.

Exiting the office, Nick used the map to find his locker. Opening it with the combination provided, he placed his pack inside and headed for his first class, which was Math 12, taught by a short thin aging man named Mr. Rockford. A teacher the students called The Rock, as he appeared very short, awfully pale and the complete antithesis of Dwayne ‘The Rock’ Johnson.

The class was already in progress, the slight teacher at the chalkboard at the front of the room.

Nick knocked on the door. Mr. Rockford looked over and beckoned him in.

Opening the door and walking up to the desk at the front of the room, “I’m Nick Tasker, I’m supposed to be in this class,” he said, handing the small man his class list card.

“Right, right you are,” said the teacher, bobbing his head before picking up a thick text book from the desk and handing it to Nick.

“Thanks,” Nick said, taking the book.

Reaching up and putting a hand on Nick’s shoulder, Mr. Rockford cleared his throat, “Everyone, this is Nicholas Tasker, from Minnesota. He’ll be joining us for the balance of the semester,” he said, patting Nick’s shoulder. “You can take a seat there,” he said, pointing to a vacant desk in the fourth row, second from the front. Nick followed the finger and saw the desk.

Walking to the desk, he scanned the faces watching him. He saw the girl TJ whom he had seen at the house the night before seated in the first row near the back. She smiled, he slid into the desk.

“Just in from Brainerd yeah,” joked a male voice from behind him, using an accent similar to the one Frances McDormand employed in the movie Fargo.

“Oh yeah,” commented another male, using the same dialect and stretching out the word yeah.

Nick turned in his chair, half smirk on his face as he looked back to identify the speakers. The first was seated in the back of the third row, appearing as what he imagined was the prototypical California dude complete with shoulder length wavy blonde hair and bronzed tan, small shelled necklace around his throat. He appeared athletic in build. The second speaker was seated at the back of his row, similar in size, short black spiky hair.

The blonde raised his hands out to the side, a challenging gesture.

Nick chuckled and turned back.

The rest of the class was without incident. When the buzzer rang, Nick got up, collecting his books, he left the classroom.

He felt a hand on his arm.

Turning, he saw TJ standing there.

“Hi,” she said, “we met last night, sort of.”

“TJ,” he said, nodding.

“Taja, but everyone calls me TJ on account as no one seems to be able to pronounce my name right,” she said with a grin, tucking a stray strand of loose blonde hair back behind her ear.

“Taja,” he repeated, saying her name correctly.

“Hey, TJ,” called out he blonde student who had made the Brainerd comment earlier.

She smiled at Nick and turned, then looked back to Nick, “That’s Scott Turcott,” she said, shaking her head and departing.

Nick watched her leave. Scott Turcott. He got the impression by the way the girl said the name that is was supposed to mean something, like maybe the kid was a big deal at the school.

Shrugging, he returned to his locker and dropped off his math text before finding his next class. English 12. This teacher was Miss Pennington, an attractive woman in her early thirties, dressed in a mid-length grey skirt, white blouse.

Like Math, Nick went through the uncomfortable process of having to find a place to sit. Scott Turcott was also in this class, though TJ was not.

Letting the teacher direct him to a desk, he settled in.

Miss Pennington approached, book in hand. “I’m not sure about where you were in the curriculum at your old school, but we’re currently focusing on Seamus Heaney’s translation of Beowulf,” she said with a warm smile, setting the copy of the long poem down on Nick’s desk.

He smiled up at her and nodded. “Thanks,” he expressed.

Miss Pennington walked back up to the front of the room. Turning, she was about to address the class, when she pointed to the back of the room, “Scott?” she asked.

“Being Geatish, was Beowulf in fact like a dirty Viking?” Scott asked. “You know, like a rapist and pillager?”

“The Geats were located in what would eventually become southern Sweden, so in essence, Beowulf could be considered an early example of the people who would be considered the early Vikings,” she said.

The remainder of this class was spent dissecting some of the story and analyzing its compositional elements. Nick followed along, keeping to himself. Every once and a while, Scott would make some offhand comment about Vikings, though Nick chose to ignore the verbal jabs, deciding not to personalize it.

At the end of the class, as Nick was filing out, he heard, “Hey newbie.” The voice belonging to Scott.