Original Stories Fan Fiction ❯ The Divine Image ❯ Chapter 1 ( Chapter 1 )

[ T - Teen: Not suitable for readers under 13 ]

Elwood, Massachusetts is my life. I was born there, I live there, and go to school there. It's a tired, yet thriving little town about an hour's drive from Boston. I suppose you could call it a village, because it was a lot smaller than Boston. Elwood had long ago shunned the big city life that Boston had embraced. Small shops lined the Main Street, and quaint little houses occupied the side streets which were thin and little traveled. And yet it was home, not only to me but to everyone else around me. The real focus of the town is the boarding school, where I attended elementary, middle, and currently high school. Our Lady of Peace Academy it's called, and students from all over the world attend this prestigious school. I made the best of memories at this school so far, memories I will never ever forget. That's what I told my mom when she picked me up for summer vacation after ninth grade. And what a year it was: the school subjects, the new teachers, my first kiss, my first break up, hanging with friends...
They say that high school is the time of your life where you begin to learn who you are, and your limitations and characteristics. It's the time of your life where you understand the world around you: its people, its functions, and what it takes to survive. It's also the time when you discover what becoming an adult really means, and how it changes you for good or for bad. That's what high school is all about. Even at the snootiest boarding school in the middle of a small town. And that's where I go to school now, at Our Lady of Peace Academy, returning as a 9th grader.

"Hey, Mark! Long time no see! How have you been?" Said Brandon Elton obnoxiously, throwing open the dorm room door with a wall-shaking bang. I jumped violently, and my pen jumped across the page upon which I wrote those words. I looked up, my heart skipping, at Brandon. He was wearing this stupid grin, ear to ear style, and he looked as if he hadn't brushed his hair yet today. First day back from summer, I thought with a smile, and he still thinks he's on vacation. He was wearing his favorite red-and-white striped shirt (a present from his aunt) and beat-up brown loafers caked with mud. His blond hair looked as if he had stuck jumper cables in it. It was clear from his messy hair and the flush in his fair face that he had run all the way over here. I smiled, my heart rate returning to normal, and leaped up off my bed. To my classmates, Brandon was my best friend: he walked to every class with me, ate lunch with me, laughed with me, and even shared the same dorm room as me. But to me, he was like a brother, maybe closer. "Best friend" was not the term that described our relationship.

"Good, thanks. You know, Brandon, you didn't need to sprint all the way over here. Plus, you also didn't need to bring your suitcase with you. The doormen would've taken it over here." I replied with a grin, slapping hands with him. His firm hand stung against mine, and I felt my whole hand vibrate. He was slightly taller than me, maybe by about 1/16 of an inch and had a lean slightly muscular build. He still grinned at me sloppily.

"Nah," he said, "I'm super fast and superstrong! Look out Superman!" He flexed his muscles, as if he were showing off for some blond beach babes. I laughed. He laughed too, and then flung himself on his bed. The neatly made bedclothes crumpled under 162 pounds of dead weight. There was a warmth somewhere inside me at seeing him again. After only my parents and Aunt Dorothy for company for three months, it was good to see a familiar face, especially his.
"So," I asked him," how was Lake Erie?"

"Boring." He said lazily, looking up at me with his trademark smile. His blond hair was even messier now. "My dad's speedboat broke down out on the lake, so we had to row all the way back to shore. Oh hey, guess what? I fell in the Lake!"

"You fell in the Lake?! What the hell were you thinking?!" I laughed. He looked at me mischievously, like a little kid caught in the act of wrongdoing.
"Well, I thought I saw this monster trout in the water. He looked like he was about 10 feet long! So, I leaned over the side of the boat to get a better look and I leaned over too far and fell in." He laughed, as if the memory of it was the most hilarious thing he had ever expirienced. I looked at him with a mixture of amusement and affection.

"Pathetic." I said, shaking my head. "Pathetic. Your lake trip was so boring that you decided to go for a swim instead. Why didn't you just bring a magazine along or something?"

"I don't know. I thought the trip would be fun. Turns out it wasn't. Oh well! My mom says next year she's going to take us to Florida instead."
"Florida? Wow, real original. Are you gonna see Mickey Mouse?" I asked tauntingly, teasing Brandon with one of my pillows. He rolled over smirking, and tried to snatch the pillow out of my hand.

"Real mature, Marcus. So," Brandon said sitting up on his bed, "how was Texas?"
"Awful." I said truthfully, sitting down on my bed."We drove 16 hours in my dad's rusty pick-up just to help my Aunt Dorothy pick up cow-pies around her farm. The smell was enough to kill someone! It made the chemistry lab smell like roses! And you should be glad you didn't have to eat her cooking! Her gravy tastes like water!"

"Wow. Rough summer, huh?" Brandon observed, propping his chin up on his hands." So how did you make your trip interesting? Did you dress up in a cowboy hat and do "Cotton-Eyed Joe?"" I burst out laughing, and I had a sudden mental image of me square dancing in a 10-gallon hat.
"No." I said once I'd calmed down. "I imagined my Aunt Dorothy in a cowboy hat doing "Cotton-Eyed Joe."" We both smirked. Brandon heaved his suitcase up on his bed and clicked it open.

"I missed you so much man." Brandon said as he threw his clothes out of the suitcase and onto his bed. "No joke. I wish you could've gone to Lake Erie with me."
"Yeah, so do I." I agreed, coming over to help him. "But my dad said that 'family came first.'" Brandon looked up at me half-serious, half-smiling.
"What, aren't I family?" He asked in a mock-sensitive voice. His question took me aback beyond all reason. He was the last person I would expect to ask something like that, joking or not.
"Well, yeah!" I said startled, looking back at him. "Man, you're the twin brother that I wish I had." And it was the truth. All the time, I wished that Brandon was a part of my family, instead of the Eltons. When he looked back at me, he looked touched. There was a slight silence.
"Awww! Tear!" Brandon said in a mock-emotional voice, running his finger from his eye down his face. I raised my eyebrows at him, and he retaliated by throwing a pair of his underwear from his suitcase into my face. They hit me, clean and white, smack on the nose.
"Gross!" I yelled, throwing them onto the carpet. "Brandon, keep your underwear on, or in your drawer!" He laughed uproariously, and whacked me several times with one of his pillows. I hit them back with one of mine and pretty soon our yells filled the room. A loud knock sounded at the door.
"Quiet!" A voice said. "Some of us are trying to study!" Brandon crossed to the door and stood in front of it, laughing quietly.
"It's the first day back! We haven't even had class yet!" Brandon yelled through the door. There was an impatient sigh from beyond the woodwork.
"Yeah, well, some of us are class role-models!" The voice said and stormed away. The sound of a door slamming across the hall could be heard. I rolled my eyes along with Brandon. The voice belonged to Henry Parker, the class president, and the year's biggest know-it-all. He was pompous, arrogant, and hated everything that had to do with roughhousing. The boys in our year all hated him, and the current challenge (set by our classmate Andrew Sama) was to kick Parker in the shin and run off. Andrew promised that whoever was successful would get 10 bucks. So far, 36 boys have kicked him, and there hasn't been any sign of a $10 bill anywhere. Still, the prospect of kicking Parker was what made it truly enjoyable, money or not. The most memorable incident of this was last April, when our classmate Lawrence Taylor rose up to the challenge. Lawrence was fat, porky, and large, so when he aimed a kick at Parker (when the teachers weren't looking), Parker's yells and cursing filled the hall and every student passing stopped to stare. Parker got detention for swearing. Lawrence didn't get in trouble for anything. It was the best day of our lives, in terms of school. Andrew reckons that Parker still has a limp in his left leg. I was brought out of my memories by Brandon throwing a pack of saltine crackers at my face. They fell into my lap with a crinkle.

"So," said Brandon laying down on his bed and supporting his chin with his hands, "how are you and Elizabeth Taylor doing? Is she the girl of your dreams yet? Have you kissed her? Have you asked her to marry you yet?" I smirked at him, as only a teenage boy could do at his best friend.
"Well," I said, settling back against the wall behind my bed, "in that order: yes, no, and no. Yes, she's the girl of my dreams. No, I have not kissed her. And no, I have not asked her to marry me, and if that's what you think, I suggest you get your mind out of the gutter right now, Brandon Lee Elton." Brandon sprang up into a sitting position.

"Ooh," he said tauntingly, "I'm shivering in my loafers, Marcus Daniel Grayson!" He didn't get another retort in, as I knocked him off his bed by throwing my English textbook at him.

On the first day of school, we never have classes. So, in other words, the day is just spent lazing around and hanging with schoolmates. Questions about summer floated around our dormitory all day, and stories of new beginnings were told often. Classmates examined each other's new haircuts with interest, or chatted excitedly about their new boyfriends or girlfriends. In our dormitory alone, 10 of the boys had gotten dumped by their girlfriends in the past three months. Brandon said that it was probably a curse on our dormitory.

"Where did you hear that?" I asked him in skepticism. Brandon gave me this guilty yet mischievous glance.
"From Raymond Bendockovitz." He replied shiftily. I scoffed loudly, while we lazed around in our living room armchairs."Please! From Raymond Bendockovitz? I've heard more accurate stories from a fairy tale book! Oh sure, it was the truth before it reached his ears. He hears evil, sees evil, and speaks evil 24/7. How could you believe anything he tells you? That guy believes in more superstitions that Halloween trick-or-treaters." I said carelessly as we sat around. We watched Andrew Sama enter the living room and proceed down the hall to his dorm room, which he shared (to his dismay) with Henry Parker. Andrew and I had been friends since we were in eighth grade, but I had still been friends with Brandon longer; since we were in fourth grade. I had grown up with all of my classmates since I was in kindergarten. They were all the same people, they just took on different forms like shapeshifters. But, hey, weren't we all doing that on the outside? Brandon and I raised our hands in a hello to Andrew as he passed, and he returned the wave with one of his own and a smile. Two other boys we were familiar with were Jake Blanchett, a tag-along acquaintance of ours, and Chris Bridge, Jake's long haired cousin from Illinois. We had known Jake and Chris only last year, so they were still quite new to us. However, we were very familiar with Raymond Bendockovitz, and all of his antics. He was in trouble more than Brandon and I combined, and that was saying something.

When he was 10, Raymond shoved a milk straw up our classmate Catherine Coil's nose when she cut in front of him in the lunch line. Catherine had to go to a hospital to get it removed. Raymond got suspended. Not long after that, Raymond got in trouble again for fist-fighting Henry Parker (we supported Raymond). Parker had two black eyes, a broken nose, and a missing tooth. Raymond got suspended again. He also got in trouble for setting off party poppers in the lunchroom, and was responsible for the wrecked carrots. He also, in an apparent fit of rage, threw dozens and dozens of library books out of the third story window of the library. He was also responsible for trespassing on grounds just outside of our campus. He also got busted for holding an illegal party in the cafeteria. Oddly enough, there was no alcohol involved. He got into more fights than the rest of the school put together, had enough detention forms to paper his dorm room, trespassed outside of school so much that he could map out the forbidden areas, and believed in more superstition than a Wiccan. The ironic thing was that he seemed to have run-ins with bad luck a lot. "One of these days", Andrew had said, "Raymond's going to find himself in a juvenile detention center." Brandon, Jake, Chris and I all agreed.

Lost in memories, Brandon and I took a walk about the school grounds. It was a mild September day, and the sun was parading in the sky. Fluffy white clouds sailed all around it, never obscuring it. The grass under our feet was lush and green, unlike the dry parched yellow lawns of the houses nearby. Our sprinkler system was top notch. The many buildings of the school were well-kept sanctions year-round, come hell or high water; and both befell them at least once during the many years that my classmates and I had been here. The giant yet elegant Clocktower loomed over the entire campus, dwarfing the buildings by comparison. It had a white round face lined with jet-black Roman numerals and fancy black antique hands. Everything was majestic about it, from its height and structure to its ticking, which echoed like bass-drum beats across the grounds. It's chimes were loud and booming, and called all to class, curfew, or assemblies. But the chimes never sounded after 8 p.m. That was curfew time, the time in which every student from 4 to 24 years old was required to be in their dormitory building, and being right outside it didn't count. We knew, we tried. And so many others had tried before us, and failed.

There were five academic buildings on the grounds. One was the Holly Wyandotte building, in which the elementary school children had classes. It was located at the far left end of the campus, facing Gambon Way behind the wrought-iron fence. The second was the St. Mary building, in which the middle school children had classes. It sat closest to the dorms than any of the other academic buildings. The third was the Joesph Admonson building, in which we have class. It was about 50 yards from the Holly Wyandotte building, and rather hard to get to when you were running to class. The fourth was the High Street building, in which the college students have class. It was the first building you saw when you entered the campus from the front gates, and it seemed more majestic than the others for some unknown reason. The fifth building was Anderson Hall, and used mainly for elective classes such as foreign languages, fine arts, or computer technology classes. It was situated near the front gates and in front of the High Street building. Academic buildings were forbidden to students who did not have class in them. This was established to keep older students and younger students from fighting. It was also done to keep order, and really wasn't necessary. But no one yet had the courage to rebel. The rest of the buildings included an auditorium looking like a Broadway theater), a library (three stories high), the gym (bigger than all the dorms put together), the infirmary (the biggest building on campus), the administration office (which was forbidden to students without teacher accompanyment), the indoor pool (which was forbidden to students unless they were in gym class or on the swim team), and the cafeteria (where most of the students liked to lurk). All in all, it was a rather big school, and I got lost more than once during all four of my elementary school years. By fifth grade, I pretty much knew my way around the campus. Younger students were given pardon over older students for getting lost or wandering into buildings to which they did not have class. However, the teachers expected us, as high school students, to know the way after spending practically our whole lives there, though they also gave pardon to foreign exchange students who had never attended the school before
.
As we walked, the school seemed to become more and more familiar to us, as if we were seeing it properly for the first time. Technically we were seeing it properly for the first time since June, the start of summer break, but we had been here for practically 11 years, and the school hadn't changed a single bit. It probably wouldn't after we left. Vacation at the school had a system. Those who signed up for vacational term went to school from September to June, getting a week off at Christmas, Thanksgiving, and Easter, as well as all of July and August. Those who signed up for year-round term went to school from September to the following September, getting four weeks off every two months. Those who signed up for seasonal term went to school from either September to March, or April to August, getting the rest of the year off. Most of the students at school took vacational term. Year-round term was mostly reserved for the college students, or the students who slacked off during vacational school and failed several subjects. Seasonal term was mostly for students who attended the Academy from other countries. Brandon, Andrew, Jake, Chris and I all attended vacational school; though all five of us had once taken year-round school when we slacked off in sixth grade. We thought the nightmare was going to last forever, and vowed never ever to let our subjects slip below an 80% again. Everything was ordinary here. And we hated it that way. We were boys, how else would we see it?

We walked to the Gymnasium, at Brandon's request. On the way there, Andrew, Jake, and Chris joined us, followed by a dark-haired, dark-skinned boy that I had never seen before. He looked like he was our age, but he had such a grim face, like he had just come from an execution. I knew so many people at the Academy, but I had never seen him around before. Andrew's sharp green eyes noticed where we were looking.
"Oh, this is Lon Forrest. He's an exchange student from Austria." Andrew said carelessly to Brandon and I. "I met him in Year-Round Term." Andrew took year-round school as punishment for fighting with Raymond Bendockovitz last year. "Be nice, won't you?" He smirked as he said it. Brandon laughed, and I smacked Andrew on the shoulder.

"Please, you idiot, you act like I'm not." I said to Andrew.
"Well, you're not." He replied facetiously.
"I am so!"
"Nuh-uh! Remember last year?"
"You made me do that!"
"No such thing!"
"You are such a liar! You told me that if I hit an eighth-grader with some peas, you wouldn't tell Elizabeth that I liked her!"
"And you believed me?"
"No duh! Has Year-Round Term strained your brain?"
This conversation carried us all the way from the Center Campus to the Upper Campus and into the Gymnasium. There were a few sixth-graders already in there, enjoying their day off by playing volleyball. We ignored them, and they us. We walked around the gym instead, avoiding the sixth-graders' line of fire carefully. None of us wanted to go to the Infirmary on the first day back with a concussion. Despite the ball being soft, when sixth-graders didn't know how to aim, it was like a lead cannonball. The whole walk was spent discussing summer among the six of us. I told everyone about my horrendous trip to Texas. Brandon told about his Lake Erie vacation. Andrew spent the whole summer at school, with his friend Lon, so he gossiped about all the trouble the two of them had caused for Headmistress Macarthy. Jake had gone back to his hometown in Ontario for a three-month vacation with his parents. Chris vacation in the Caribbean with his parents for most of the summer, spending only a week in Illinois before returning to school. After about our sixth walk around the gym, Brandon's short attention span kicked in. He ended up jogging over to the sixth-graders and asking them if he could join them. Slightly intimidated by his height and age, they approved. We had a laugh at this, and sat down on the bleachers to watch them play. Because of his height and 14-year-old strength, the side he played on took the lead in a matter of seconds.

"Good old Brandon Elton." Said Andrew, slouching back against the bleachers and watching Brandon fondly. "Though, he's probably not going to be much help in a game of darts, or rifle shooting."
"He's probably not going to be much help in any kind of game that involves paying attention for more than five minutes." Jake quipped with a laugh, watching Brandon spike the ball like a bullet over the net. " The only advantage you got with him is his height." Chris, Andrew, and I all agreed. Lon just sort of sat there of sat there and watched.
"What sort of game is this?" He asked Andrew. His voice was deep, and he had a very strong Germanic accent, pronouncing 'w' as 'v'. Deep down, I was sort of surprised that he could speak English at all.
"It's volleyball." Andrew explained to him. He still looked puzzled. "Oh, come on, you've never heard of volleyball before?" Lon shook his head. Andrew raised his eyebrows. "How far away is Austria from here anyway?"
"Too far." Lon said. We all turned to watch Brandon score the winning point for his side. His two sixth-grade allies cheered and slapped hands with him. Grinning from ear to ear, Brandon joined us in the bleachers, panting heavily.
"You show-off." Andrew remarked, patting Brandon on the back. "They were all over you, those two boys. Why don't you just join the volleyball team?"
"Sh-shut up." Brandon gasped, fighting for air. Andrew dropped the humorous manner almost at once.
"You alright?" Andrew asked him in concern. We all eyed him in worry. The sixth-graders had noticed that something didn't look right and were coming over.

"No. My--my inhaler would---be nice." Brandon choked, pointing a shaking finger to his Academy blazer, lying two seats away. Andrew scrambled over quickly to get it, and thrust it into Brandon's trembling hand. Brandon took a deep pull on it, and his breathing eased up a bit. Physical sports had always been Brandon's weakness. He just wasn't up for anything that involved physical endurance. He had bad lungs, weak endurrance, and severe asthma. The three together were a bad combination. As long as I had known him, he had never had a really severe attack. The worst attack he had ever had was falling to the floor while playing racquetball in the gym. He luckily had his inhaler with him, so everything was okay. Most of his attacks were like this one: just shortness of breath, and sometimes lightheadedness. But he wasn't sick. How ever his doctor, family members, or teachers phrased it, he wasn't sick.

We all had something wrong with us. Brandon was a severe asthmatic. Andrew had epilepsy (though he had never had a seizure in his life, thanks to his medication). Jake was lactose intolerant. I had a blood sugar disorder, or something along those lines. Lon said that he was bipolar as he watched Brandon using his inhaler. Chris was the lucky one: all he had to deal with was ADHD. Though, now that I think about it, I was pretty lucky too.

We didn't hang around in the gym anymore, for Brandon's sake, so we spent the rest of our day off in the living room, comparing schedules. We had pretty much the same subjects together, save Lon who had several extra ones by himself, and me who got stuck with a few extra as well. I scanned down the stupid thing and saw that I had back-to-back lessons until lunch at eleven-thirty, and again until two-thirty, when I had my Study Hall before the end of the day at three-o'clock. I sighed angrily, and Andrew peered over my shoulder at it.

"Wow." He said to it. "That's the worst first semster I've ever seen, and I failed last year!" After that remark, Brandon swapped schedules with me. I saw that he had lessons back-to-back (save lunch) until noon, after which he had a Study Hall between his last three classes. Lucky, I thought. We both had French, English, History, Algebra, Literature History, Chemistry, and World Cultures together, and lunch; after which I went to Geometry, Computer Literacy, and German before my Study Hall with Ms. Himina, the school witch. All through our elementary years, kids were fond of saying that if she caught you talking in study hall, she'd turn you into a frog and lock you in a dark closet. But now, all of us being within the 14-16 year old range, we naturally denied that we'd ever believed the ridiculous rumor. It sounded so childish to us now... How we'd grown up...

I looked at Brandon, and he looked at me, and there was a mutual, yet unspoken understanding between us. We'd changed over the summer, though we didn't notice at first. On the outside we seemed like childish rascals, but on the inside we were sophisticated, complicated people with a story to tell. And this is our story: Brandon and mine, narrated by me, Mark Greyson. The story of a new year, a year to end all the others, but a beginning for those that followed. This year...would change something in me forever, or rather, make me realize something I had never known about myself: That things come in all shapes and sizes. From clothing to love. Everything had its own course as well. And I was about to follow mine.