The Others--Chapter 1

When Jack stepped outside, the heat nearly smothered him. He plucked his shirt away from his torso, only to find it clinging to his skin again seconds later. Not only was it above ninety degrees for the twelfth day in a row that June, but the sky was thick and dark with storm clouds, promising rain yet again. He’d underestimated the weather. Of course, everyone who lived in Onslow did. Summer in Indiana was the same every year, but somehow they maintained optimism that one day, it wouldn’t be so bad. Unfortunately, it was always just as bad as they hoped it wouldn’t be.

Jack eyed the sky warily as he shut the thin metal door behind him and trotted down the steps of the trailer. He hoped the rain would hold out until he got to school, but somehow he knew it wouldn’t. Something about the day was setting him on edge. It didn’t feel quite right. Things never felt quite right to him lately, but today was worse than usual. The wall of gray above almost seemed like a living thing, breathing and swelling larger by the second. He wondered if today would be the day his frail home would be sucked up by a tornado, or fried by lightning, or pummeled to a pulp by golf ball-sized hail. He wondered whether he truly cared.

For just a second, he lingered on the yellowed lawn and looked at the window of the room where his father was, passed out on the filthy floor in a drunken stupor. The man had dragged in from the bar at three in the morning, and Jack had gone through great pains to make sure that he wouldn’t choke on his vomit during the night. He’d been thanked with a sharp jab to the ribs. Absentmindedly he pressed against the tender spot. The ache reminded him that he didn’t care what happened to the ugly metal box, or anything—or anyone—inside of it. He turned away and set off down the road to school.

Because Jack hadn’t quite yet finished repairing the old Ford he’d rescued from the junkyard in the fall, he still had to walk to school in the sultry mornings, and back again in the even sultrier afternoons. It took nearly fifteen minutes to make the trek to James P. Onslow High School every day. In the winter it was a bitter journey, and in the summer, a sweltering one. Luckily though, there were only twenty-one days left in the year, and soon he would never have to bother with it again. He looked forward to graduating immensely; he had a plan, and it all began with leaving this dead end town far behind.

He pushed on through the sticky heat and down the long stretch of asphalt that was Naylor Drive while the sky grew darker by the second. The roads of Onslow were well-known to him, and he fell into a familiar beat as he walked. He passed the same houses and the same faces that he did every day, waving slightly at a few people here and there when they drove past him, their vehicles stirring up pleasant breezes. Mostly, he reveled in the heavy peace of the morning. It was a quiet walk, and it gave him the chance to think about nothing in particular.

But soon enough, he passed into the nicer part of town and found himself walking on sidewalk instead of street, surrounded by homes rather than fields of dead grass. The houses were lovely here, grand and beautiful. For a second he felt a twinge of envy at the good fortune of the other citizens of the town. The sensitive spot on his torso throbbed. As far as he knew, none of his classmates lived in frail trailers in highly tornado-prone areas, or had useless drunks for fathers. But he quashed the jealousy as quickly as it had come over him. It would do him no good to want for things he could not have, he knew.

The sound of the warning bell pealed through the air just as Jack could see the long red brick building up ahead. As if instinctually, upon sighting the school something inside him grinded to a halt and his feet began to drag. Going to class always seemed like such a good idea, but upon arrival he never wanted anything more than to turn around and walk right back home. Though he was certainly present every day, it was a rare occasion when Jack was on time for his first class, and today was no exception. Today, however, did carry an exceptional reluctance in the air.

He could see the frenzy of students swarming like bees around the cars in the parking lot, buzzing with conversation, hurrying into the building as the bell rang, and he figured that since he was already late, he may as well not rush himself now. Only when the first raindrop fell did he speed his gait, but only slightly. But quicker than he walked, the raindrops multiplied until together they constituted a downpour. By the time he reached the front door of James P. Onslow, he was both tardy for class and absolutely soaked. At least, he thought, I won’t smell like sweat.

Jack pulled open one of the heavy double doors and slipped into the cool, stale air. It fell shut with a quiet whoosh of air. The harsh fluorescence of the school contrasted with the dimness of the day outside, and for a moment he saw a smear of colors and patterns as his eyes adjusted He gave himself a little shake to rid his hair of some of the water droplets and dragged the neck of his shirt across his face. He wasn’t dry, exactly, but he was good enough. He didn't bother stopping to get a tardy pass at the front desk; there was a kind of unspoken agreement between himself and his teachers. He would likely never be on time, but he would always be there. Without looking up, he strode past the receptionist’s desk and down the long hallway past the foyer of the school and winded through the deserted halls to his first class, the sense of unease clinging to him like the dampness of the morning’s rain.

Author's Note: I feel like I'm having trouble with pacing. I know that this is an introductory chapter, but I wonder if there should be more action than there is, or if it should be moving faster. Let me know what you think!