Chapter one: Forrest

Fact One: The last record that Led Zeppelin put out before they broke up was packaged in a brown paper bag

If there’s one thing I hate in this world, it’s got to be Monday mornings. And it’s not because that’s when school starts up for the week again, which I’m sure is the reason for most teenagers. I hate Monday mornings because that means I have to wait an entire day until Tuesday. That means I have to wait a whole day for anything good to happen. No new albums ever come out on Mondays. No new singles or EPs either. Tuesdays are the day when artists release new music, and by Monday I’m too excited to wait any longer. Wednesdays would be horrible, if not for the new music I had gotten to buy on Tuesday. Thursdays are second worst, because by then I’ve listened to the music and I’m excited for the next Tuesday. By Friday I’ve forgotten about it, because I’m too excited about the weekend. But Monday morning is when I remember that the next day is Tuesday.

So when I heard my mom calling, “Forrest!” just as I was waking up on Monday morning, it was no wonder I was a little less than pleased to be awake. And when I’m displeased, I’m clumsy. By clumsy, I mean more clumsy than usual. I not so much got out of bed as fell out then somehow I managed to untangle my headphones from my blankets, and then placed them around my neck. Checking the time proved to be a bad idea, as it was ten minutes to when my bus arrived. I grabbed all the pens on my floor within easy reach and shoved them into my backpack, along with a few notebooks and various important-looking papers. Remembering that my shoes were downstairs, I slid down the banister into the chaos of my family’s morning rush.

My family is the definition of insane. And I don’t necessarily mean insane like they’re mental (though some of them definitely are). I mean they are so unbelievably disorganized and topsy-turvy; with so many of us, it’s definitely comparable to a zoo. I was the only boy out of a grand total of eleven kids. That’s ten sisters: McKenzie, Madison, Amanda, Eliza, Lindsey, Sarah, Kayla, Ella, Brooke, and Olivia. There are ten of us living in one house, and yes, it was worse when McKenzie, who’s 23, and Madison, who’s 21, still lived at home. Being a sixteen-year-old male in a sea of females is no picnic – especially when one of those said females is my mom and pregnant; and my only male ally is my dad who barely ever emerges except when the smell of dinner wafts into his room and he crawls out to scarf down some food and maybe, if I’m lucky, I’ll get to catch a glimpse of his face. That’s the kind of household I have to deal with.

I managed to stop myself from falling over once I reached the bottom of the banister by drifting on my socks into the wall, (which by some miracle actually worked,) and then ran into the kitchen. The usual hysteria filled the room as my sisters scrambled to get everything together before they had to run for the bus. Eliza, Amanda, and Ella were in charge of the assembly line for making everyone’s lunches and I could see that Kayla, Brooke, and I were going to have our hands full on clean up duty when we got home from school. Ignoring that thought for the moment, I found my shoes by the garage door buried under some high heels and quickly shoved them on while girls ran around me and jumped over me.

“Forrest, catch!” Eliza called from across the kitchen before I looked up to see a peanut-butter and jelly heading straight for my face.

“Touchdown!” she and Amanda cheered as I managed to catch the sandwich just in time. I bowed and spotting my half-filled lunchbox on one of the chairs at our kitchen table. After returning to standing I quickly shoved it with the sandwich in my backpack. I was finally ready to go and with a minute to spare. Just as I was heading out the door though, my mom entered the room and gave me a strange look.

“Forrest,” she said slowly.

“What?” I asked, pulling open the door.

“Pants.” I looked down in confusion. In all my rushing, I’d forgotten to pull pants on over my boxers. Not even bothering to close the front door, I began taking the stairs two at a time.

“You might also want a clean shirt!” Sarah yelled up the stairs after me. I ran into my room and frantically tried to find pants. Pants, pants, pants, I thought, shoving through CDs, mix tapes, and various records. Finally I managed to find a pair that didn’t have too many wrinkles in them and yanked them on, struggling to get them over my shoes. At the same time I was desperately trying to pull my pants up all the way, I had my shirt halfway off and was shuffling through my t-shirts. When my pants were mostly on and a relatively clean shirt had been found, I bounded down the stairs and out the front door, snagging my backpack as I tripped over the threshold.

My sisters were running down the street ahead of me to the bus waiting on the street corner, as the people from my street slowly filed on. I began running – as much as someone can run while pulling pants on and trying not to drop a backpack – toward the bus. My sisters had finally reached it and were boarding. I was still about three houses away when the bus driver started to close the doors.

Calls of “Forrest!” rang out from the bus as I raced toward it. Mixed in with the chants of encouragement, there were cries of protest at the bus driver, Dave, who was now pulling away from the curb.

“Wait!” I laughed, barely avoiding not tripping. I had reached the back of the bus and Dave, done with his joke, stopped. I was panting as I climbed the stairs onto the bus to a loud cheer from everyone on the bus.

“That was only thirty seconds slower than your best time,” Dave said with a smile from under his white mustache, before showing me the stopwatch.

“I’ll do better tomorrow, just wait,” I said after I had caught my breath. He laughed and put the stopwatch away then pulled the door shut with a loud squeak.

“Well done, Forrest!”

“Put on your shirt, weirdo!”

“No, keep it off!” I laughed at the mixed shouts and walked to the back of the bus, high-fiving all the hands that stuck out into the aisle. I collapsed into the seat across from Brandon, who raised an eyebrow at the shirt bunched up around my neck.

“What’s the reason this time?” he asked, though I knew he already had a few ideas.

“I was up late listening to The Shirts CD I bought last week,” I said, yanking my own shirt down over my stomach.

“Again,” he corrected. “You chose The New Pornographers?” Brandon gestured to my shirt and smiled slightly.

“I didn’t even notice. It’s probably not an appropriate shirt for school, huh?” I grinned as Brandon shook his head.

“Mrs. Kitman is going to kill you one of these days.”

“Hopefully when that day comes, I’ll have done something so shocking she’ll have a heart attack and end up in the hospital.” Brandon grinned at my smirk and eyebrow raise that accompanied my statement, before he went back to doing his homework for his math class he hadn’t done the night before.

Three blocks and two stop signs later, the bus pulled up in front of Abesville High behind the only other two buses that transported students to school. Abesville High had a grand total of 173 students, grades nine through twelve. Most of the students were from Abesville, though some were from the next town over, Pine Grove. I lived on the north side of Abesville with about fifty percent of the student body. The rest of the Abesville students either lived on the south side or out in the boonies on farms where the houses were about a mile apart on each side.

I followed the flow of people off the bus, saying my thanks to Dave. I stepped off the bus, tripped over the curb, and was sent sprawling onto the wet grass. There were a few giggles, and Lindsey and a few of her friends snickered as the climbed off the bus after me. Brandon continued walking ahead of me, not realizing I had fallen. Eliza stepped off the bus and stopped to help me to my feet, shaking her head as she did so.

“And you were doing so well at not tripping, too,” she said a little dejectedly as I grabbed her hand and got to my feet.

“Nah, I tripped on my way out the front door.” I brushed grass from my pants and groaned a little at the new grass stains. “These were one of the only pair I had left without grass stains or holes,” I sighed.

“Maybe it would help if you actually tied your shoes for once.” Eliza pointed with a finger at my shoes, her bangles all clanging together as they slid up and down her arm.

“That would require remembering to do so. Which you and I both know will never happen.” I glanced down at my shoes as Eliza heaved a big sigh. My never-tied shoelaces were torn and shredded, nearly down to nothing. At one point they might’ve been white, but dirt and grime had dyed them a dark gray, so it was anyone’s guess what color they had been originally.

“See you at home, Forrest,” she said, already walking away and shaking her head, sure I was a lost cause; which I probably was.

I pulled my backpack from the ground and hurried to catch up to Brandon, who still hadn’t noticed I wasn’t walking beside him. He was busy texting his girlfriend, even though I knew she was probably standing right inside the school. I was just about to tell him so while entering through the main door, when I was ambushed by a black-haired girl carrying a flute case and wearing neon blue jeans, a hot pink shirt, black-framed square glasses, and about a million hair clips and piercings.

After the initial shock wore off, I turned to look up at Brandon and said, “You can stop texting her. I found your girlfriend.”

“Nice to see you too, Forrest,” she said, sitting up and rolling her eyes. “There’s another point for me.”

“That doesn’t count, Rach. I vote you cheated,” I replied, watching as Brandon helped her to her feet.

“It’s Rachelle! And it’s not my fault you’re completely oblivious.”

“Hey, I see this morning is off to a good start,” Brandon said and held out his hand to pull me to standing. “Rachelle didn’t cheat. By the rules, that was a valid point.”

“You’re just taking her side because she’s your girlfriend.”

“You can’t prove that,” Rachelle said and stared at me, daring me to argue.

“I call for a new judge!” I yelled, startling a few people who were walking past. “The current judge is biased and blinded by love.”

“Oh shut up. You’re just sore because I got you first and school hasn’t even started.” Rachelle rolled her eyes again and turned to walk down the hall.

Rach, or Rachelle Anne Matthews, had been my best friend since before I could remember. She had always been around, just a permanent fixture in my life. We would argue a lot, but we were there for each other when the other needed a little balancing. Brandon, who had moved to Abesville in sixth grade, was my other best friend. Thanks to alphabetical order, he had been placed next to Rachelle, and since I was always yelling at her across the classroom or visiting her desk, and vise-versa, Brandon got to know us real quick. A year later, when cooties didn’t exist anymore, Rachelle realized Brandon was a very good looking boy (at least that’s what she told me,) despite his reserved demeanor. After Rachelle had noticed this, she had asked him to be her boyfriend and they had been together since. It was sometimes irritating, the way they never left the other’s side and how no matter what we were doing, somehow they’d leave me and go off to… I didn’t want to think about my best friends doing that.

“Fine, let’s say that point does count. I’m still up… what’s the score again?” I asked, turning to look at Brandon.

“For this month the score is Forrest: 29 points, with one penalty, and Rachelle: 24 points, with two penalties,” he said as he read the score off his phone.

“Hah!” I shouted, turning to look triumphantly at Rachelle. She glared and folded her arms. “I’m winning!”

“Oh, whoop-dee-freaking-do, a whole five point lead,” she replied, sarcasm dripping from her words. “Don’t forget to invite me to your victory party.”

“Oh don’t worry, I won’t. I’ll make sure you get the guest of honor seat at the losers’ table.” I grinned and dodged a punch she threw at my arm by tripping and falling on my face.

I’m not sure when Rachelle and I had started our game. It had begun with one simple rule: Whoever could get the other to the ground the most, won. Over the years it had developed into a much more sophisticated competition with rules to prevent injuries and maximize points. Brandon had been deemed the official score keeper and judge of the whole thing. He had a calendar handing on his wall with every point I and Rachelle had ever gotten. Each month the total would be reset and the winner deemed. Since we had started keeping track, I’d gotten seven wins and four losses.

Once I had gotten to my feet and started down the hallway again, Rachelle looked back and whispered, “Incoming.”

I turned to see a group of girls heading straight in my direction and quickly calculated how close I was to the nearest bathroom and how fast I could run to it. Too late, I thought as the group closed in.

“Hey Forrest,” the girl leading the group said, blushing profusely. Judging by the fact that I didn’t actually know her and had never seen her in any of my classes, I guessed she was a senior.

“Hello,” I said slowly, shooting a glance at Rachelle and Brandon.

“I just wanted to say thanks for Saturday. I had a really good time.” Synchronized giggling from her friends began before they were all shushed by some mysterious person. I racked my brain for what I had done on Saturday. I looked at Rachelle who mouthed the words, “Football game. You talked to her,” and raised my eyebrows before half-smiling in thanks. This girl was thanking me for talking to her? I didn’t even remember her name.

“It was nice talking to you, too…” One quick glance out of the corner of my eye back at Rachelle and her excellent word-mouthing gave me the answer; “Mallory.”

“I was also wondering,” she paused before one of her friends gave her an encouraging nod, “If you’re not busy this Friday, if you’d like to maybe go out and get some ice cream or something.” Now I really wished I had just ran, close bathroom or not.

“I already made plans to go out on Friday, but maybe we’ll run into each other,” I said quickly, hoping I would in fact, not run into this Mallory on Friday. She looked sad for a moment before I smiled at her and then the blush returned.

“That sounds great,” she said happily. A bit too happily to be casual. “I’ll see you around then.” Before I could do anything to stop her, she stepped forward and kissed me on the check, brushing her hand against my chest, then ran off.

“I hate when that happens,” I said after Mallory and her friends were out of earshot. Rachelle pulled out a wet wipe from her backpack so I could get the lip gloss off my cheek.

“She’s definitely one of more bold admires,” Rachelle agreed, glaring down the hall.

“At least she’s not like that one girl,” Brandon said, “Allison.” I shuddered and Rachelle’s aura immediately turned pitch black. Allison had been a freshman who had kissed me every day of my sophomore year before one day, she moved suddenly. I didn’t know what had happened to her, but when the lovey-dovey texts, kisses, and deathly amounts of perfume stopped, I didn’t ask questions. Just so long as she was out of my life.

“Let’s not talk about her,” Rachelle and I said at the same time. Brandon smiled and pulled Rachelle over to him by one of her belt loops, wrapping his arms around her waist just as the bell rang. Obviously he didn’t mind this condition. I made a disgusted face as Rachelle wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled his face down to kiss him. Not that I found kissing repulsive. But when you have to see your two best friends make out nearly every day, it becomes old and fast.

“Well, I’ll be going to first period now,” I said just to make myself feel as though they might’ve been listening. I left them and headed off down the hallway. I plugged my headphones into my iPod, slipped them over my ears, and hit shuffle. Immediately my head was so filled with a Blink-182 song, I didn’t get to think about my friends kissing each other or random girls stalking me.

“Forrest Evergreen, you know iPods aren’t allowed to be in use during school hours!”

I looked up, recognizing the only squawk loud enough to break through my music barrier and nearly soundproof headphones, but still hoping in vain that maybe it wouldn’t be who I knew it was. In front of me stood the much-too-serious assistant principal of Abesville High, Mrs. Kitman (yes, Mrs.). It was a wonder to me how the woman had ever managed to snag herself a husband. Whoever he was, he was either blind and deaf, or completely mental. If he wasn’t, I felt bad for him. He had to stare at her nose all day. It was long, big, and crooked. Every time I saw Mrs. Kitman, I instantly thought of a giant, angry bird, her nose was so similar to a beak.

“I know,” I replied, sliding my headphones off my ears to rest around my neck.

“They why,” she snarled, “do you have it out and why are you blasting that disruptive music from those monstrous headphones?” “It’s not disruptive,” I said, glaring at her.

“That’s not what I asked, Forrest!” Mrs. Kitman, despite my glare, stood her ground with her hands on her hips. Then she noticed my shirt and gasped. “What is that vulgar shirt?” she cried, her voice going up several octaves. I couldn’t think of a response, as by this time her beak of a nose had started twitching erratically. I don’t know about anyone else, but in my opinion, having Mrs. Kitman’s nose twitch in my face is very distracting.

“It’s The New-”

“I’m taking you down to the principal’s office this instant,” she shrieked, cutting me off and grabbed my wrist to yank me behind her into the front office. She placed me into a chair just outside the principal, Dr. Payton’s office and stormed inside. After a muffled discussion, Mrs. Kitman came out and shooed me inside, hurrying off to terrorize some more students.

“Have a seat, Forrest,” Dr. Payton said, gesturing to one of the chairs across from his large desk. I collapsed into the nearest chair and dropped my backpack on the floor next to me. He studied me a moment in silence. The only sound was of his chair creaking as he leaned casually back in it. I looked around his office, trying to occupy myself by noticing things that had changed since Friday when I’d last been in here.

“Did you do something new with the arrangement of your plaques?” I asked, finally realizing what was different.

“Forrest, do you know why you’re in my office this time?”

“I think I liked the old arrangement better.”

“Forrest.” Dr. Payton gazed hard at me to gage my reaction. I sighed and decided I might as well get this over with.

“Is it because of my shirt?” I gestured to the shirt in question.

“The New Pornographers,” he read aloud, raising his eyebrows. “Do you know why your shirt is considered inappropriate?”

“They’re much better than the old ones,” I joked, knowing he wouldn’t get it. His eyebrows shot up on his forehead.

“Forrest, should I be concerned?”

“They’re a band,” I said quickly. No need to get myself into more trouble.

“Just like ‘The Bastard Fairies’ or ‘The Butthole Surfers’? Forrest, you get dress-coded almost once a week either for what your shirt says or holes in your pants. As much as I find you to be a good student, enjoyable as a person even, I don’t like seeing you in here so often. I’d rather not see you in here at all.”

“Those are good bands.” I was barely containing my smile at the memory of Mrs. Kitman’s reaction to those shirts. Dr. Payton sighed heavily at my response and shook his head.

“What do you want me to do, Forrest? I can’t keep giving you punishment if it doesn’t do anything.”

“You could just forgive me for enjoying music and only owning shirts with band names on them?” I suggested.

“You’ll have detention after school,” he said finally. “Now get out of my office. And please, try to stay out of it for the rest of the week.”

“Yes sir,” I said, saluting him with two fingers. I had figured I’d get stuck with something like detention, but knew my mom was not going to be pleased I would be late coming home tonight. Again. I stood up and gathering my backpack from the floor, walked out of his office. I got a slip from the office aide excusing my tardy to first period and began heading for class.