Farhill Academy: Chapter 1

Christian learns of his acceptance to Farhill Academy, a place no one has heard of. As he prepares to leave public school he still has to deal with the usual issues like parents, girls, and bullies.

When I got the acceptance letter from Far Hill Academy For Extraordinary Youth, I knew it was a mistake. After all, there was nothing special about me. I wasn’t an over achiever, my grades were average, and I was so shy I would barely speak, much less act in a way that could be described as extraordinary.

                My parents however thought differently, and were elated that I received such a letter. “Do you even know what this means?” my father asked.

                “No,” I answered, trying to hide in my bowl of cereal.

                “It means you are special.”

                Both he and mother smiled, watching me squirm with embarrassment. After all, I would always be special to them. They were my parents. And I had saved their marriage once, a feat I’m not sure I could do again even if I tried. That miracle had occurred out of desperation, and was no reason to get me accepted into a school that I didn’t even apply to.

                My mother and father both reached for each other’s hands. “We’re so happy and proud of you, Christian. When the school scout came by two weeks ago we had no idea you would get accepted to such a prestigious school.”

                “I’ve never even heard of it til now, mom,” I reasoned, trying to deflate the situation as quickly as possible. There was no way I was going to some uppity private school for rich snotty kids, which it obviously was with its ‘hey look at me’ name. I bet their mascot was a roaring lion puffing its chest out.

                “Well, it’s a very special school, son. Their goal according to Mr. Tran is preparing their students for the real world that comes after you graduate. The classes are small, so you have more student and teacher interaction, and they stick to teaching things that will help you make your way as a an adult.”

                “Mom, I have been living in the real world for a long time now,” I replied just a little too sarcastically.

                “Christian, don’t take that tone with your mother, please.” Dad slid his chair back from the table. “We both agree this is the best school for you. It’s certainly better than the one you go to now.”

                “I like the one I go to now.”

                “How can you? It’s in a drug neighborhood, with gangs and violence. You used to complain about getting picked on and beat up all the time. We even bought you a cellphone so you could call us anytime and bullies took it from you. “

                “Dad, it’s not like that now. That was last year, it’s been better since.”

                “You say that because of Carly.”

                “Oh mom, stop that. I’ve told you before she’s not my girlfriend. I just walked her home, that’s all.”

                “More than once,” she added.

                “She’s our next door neighbor. We are walking in the same direction.”

                “Yeah sure, that’s what your father said when he asked if he could carry my books home for me too.”

                Dad grinned. “Son, look we just want what is best for you. An offer to go to a prestigious school doesn’t occur every day. This is a chance for you to get out of the bad school you are in and give you a better education, without the distractions of drugs and violence, and whatever other horrid things go on there.”

                I had to laugh. No one but my father would use a word like horrid.

                “You’ll get to wear your own uniform,” mother chimed in.

                “Oh no!” I cried. “It’s not that kind of school is it? That’s just going to get me picked on every time I walk home. I won’t be able to walk by the store or the park or anything.”

                “You won’t have to worry about walking. They have a special bus.”

                I held my head in my hands. This was getting worse by the minute. I could almost hear the taunts already among the rest of the neighborhood kids. If things had been steadily getting better, then now they had just taken a serious downturn.

                “Do I have any say in this?” I asked.

                My father had gotten up at this point and was fixing his lunch to take with him for the day. He turned to look at me. “Of course son. If you really don’t want to go, then you don’t have to.” He sighed. “But your mother and I have already paid your tuition, purchased your uniform and books, and already enrolled you.” He turned back to making his lunch. “But if you’d rather go to slum school all your life, then we won’t stop you. We’ll just call Mr. Tran and say you turned down the offer for a real education.”

                I frowned. It always bugs me when parents play the guilt trip, but what was I to do?  If I didn’t do what they wanted it would be thrown in my face every time something bad happened at public school, how I could have went to Far Hill Academy and made friends out of everybody. “Okay, I’ll go,” I sighed in defeat, hoping that the place wasn’t as bad as it sounded.

                My mom clapped her hands in delight. “Great!” she said. “You start next week.”

                “Next week?!” I cried out. “But the school year has already started. Can’t we wait until next semester?”

                “Nope,” dad said, as he headed out the door to work. “The bus will be here Monday morning to pick you up. Your uniform is upstairs. “

                Somehow I got the feeling I had been played…

 

                The uniform was worse than I thought. I found it lying on my bed and instantly I wanted to light a match to it. The pants were dirt brown, the blazer forest green, with a yellow tie that made me instantly think of bumblebees. It looked like a leprechaun Halloween costume from the 1970’s. And there was no way I would wear it anywhere, much less school.

                The complaints to my mother went unheeded. I even showed her the uniform and asked her point blank, “Would you wear this?”

                “Well, no,” she replied, “but I’m not the one going to such an important school. If I was, I would do whatever it takes to be accepted.”

                How in the world I would ever be accepted anywhere in that uniform was beyond me, but I knew I couldn’t argue with mom. She had all the answers all the time. And really I didn’t want answers, I wanted sympathy. Funny, how parents miss that point entirely sometimes.

                I got dressed for school (not in the uniform, thank heavens) and headed out the door for what would be my last day in public school. Fridays were usually a good day, one that signaled the end of the week and the start of the school-free weekend, but this time it wasn’t that. It was a sad, nearly morbid affair. I found it hard to concentrate on my work, and the few students that did speak to me didn’t get much in reply. As awful as public school had been at times, I had a feeling I was going to miss it and its freedoms. Going to a private school was going to be much different.

                I told the one teacher I admired, Mr. English, who of all things taught literature, that I wouldn’t be back. He, unlike my parents, was very sympathetic.

                “I’m sorry you have to switch schools, Christian,” he said. “But hopefully you will take a few things you have learned here with you.”

                I counted off things I learned in my head. Don’t go to the bathroom alone or you’ll get beat up, never linger in the schoolyard or you’ll get beat up, don’t talk to girls or you’ll get beat up…yep, I was going to take things I learned with me.

                As other students got on their buses to go home, I threw my hand up to wave goodbye, thinking maybe someone on one of those buses would miss me. No one waved back of course. Half of the students on those buses didn’t even know I existed. After all, another thing I had learned was not to ride the bus home or you’ll get beat up. So, I started my normal walk home.

                I lived nearly two miles from school, but always enjoyed the walk. Other kids would never walk that far, even to pummel the tar out of somebody. Other kids except Carly. She usually caught up to me when I was about halfway home.

                Carly was a nice girl. She had been my neighbor since we were ten. Then, she had been a plain looking girl with a nappy pony tail, pale skin, and her big sister’s hand-me-down clothes. Five years later, she really hadn’t changed much. She still had her pony tail, her brown hair now not so nappy. Her pale skin was still semi luminous, and well, she still had a sister whom she inherited her clothes from. For this reason she was about three years behind in her fashion sense, which guaranteed her alienation from other girls at school. In essence, I guess she was a bit like me, just not picked on as much.

                She caught up with me just as expected, as I passed Jones Corner Drug Store. “Hey Christian, wait up!” she called out.

                There was no need in speeding up my pace; she could out walk me in a heartbeat. I stopped and waited for her to come up alongside me. “Hey there, Carly,” I mumbled.

                She looked at me curiously. “What’s wrong with you? I don’t see your school’s out smile.”

                “Have you ever?” I asked.

                “No, not really,” she said, a wry smile upon her face.

                We walked for a block in silence before I told her. “I won’t be back to school next week.”

                The smile left her face instantly. “Oh no, what happened?”

                “My parents are sending me to a private school.”

                “What for?”

                “I guess they think the public school system is bad for me. And well, somehow they got me accepted at some prestigious school.”

                “Which one?”

                “Far Hill Academy for Extraordinary Youth.”

                She laughed. “Never heard of it, but sure sounds snobby.”

                “Tell me about it.”

                We turned a corner and came to the entrance of a small park. I glanced around to see if the area was clear of bullies. It seems they always liked hanging out in parks, as if that’s where they got their secret power from. Luckily, the coast was clear.

                “Do you have to live there? I mean, is it like a dorm?”

                “No, I don’t think so. But I do have a stupid uniform I have to wear.”

                She made a face. “Yuk.”

                “You have no idea.”

                We walked down the park path as it wound among a garden that used to be pretty, but was now unkempt with weeds and ugly growth.

                “Well, I will miss you,” she said.

                “I’ll miss it here too,” I agreed.

                “No, I will miss you,” she quietly emphasized.

                We both stopped under a stand of trees. “Uh, Carly…” I began.

                “Yes,” she whispered, and I could see this was going to be hard. It was becoming suddenly obvious to me that her feelings for me were more than just the normal next door neighbor kind. The walks home from school must have carried her to places it hadn’t carried me. If I wasn’t careful the next words I uttered could very well signal the end of our friendship.

                “I really like walking with you Carly. We have been friends a long time.”

                “Yes we have, “she breathed.

                “But, I’m not sure...”

                “Well, well, well, what do we have here?” a voice called out above us.

                We both looked up and discovered that bullies really do grow on trees. Whip Masterson was the last person I would ever want to see, even if he did interrupt an awkward moment. He swung down from the tree branch, and landed perfectly on his feet in front of us.

                “If I didn’t know any better, I would say you two were going to get all kissy,” he sneered.

                “I really like walking with you, Carly”, a voice said from behind us, mocking my earlier words in a sing song voice. I didn’t have to turn to know it was Chet Beebe. Wherever Whip was, Chet wasn’t far behind.

                “This was a private conversation,” Carly replied bravely. Her voice trembled slightly though, so her fear was a dead giveaway to the bullies.

                Whip spit on the ground at our feet. “Shut up. I was talking to Christine.”

                I always hated it when he called me that. “That’s not my name,” I stammered.

                “Christine, Christine,” Chet taunted.

                “I think you should go home, gnarly -carly, “Whip said. “We have business with Christine here.”

                Carly looked at me fearfully, trying to decide what to do. When Chet blew on the back of her neck it made up her mind. She ran.

                I wanted to run too, but I knew they’d catch me. They didn’t care about Carly; they just watched her go. I guess if Whip had any redeeming qualities it was that he didn’t pick on girls too much.

                After she was gone, he sneered at me. “So Christine, what’s this I hear about you going to a different school?”

                “I don’t know what you are talking about.”

                “I heard you tell Mr. English you were going to a private school next week.”

                “Well, uh...”

                He leaned in towards my face, until his nose was nearly touching mine. “Let me tell you something, butt face. Doesn’t matter what school you go to. We’ll find you wherever you go.”

                “Yeah,” Chet added. “There’s a certain order to things around here. There are those who fight, and those who cry. And you will always be a crier.”

                “I’m not a crier.”

                Whip’s hands shot out towards me, shoving me in the chest. I should have been prepared as many times as they did this, but I guess I never learn. Chet had dropped down to all fours behind me, and the force of whip’s shove sent me tripping backwards over his crony. I hit the ground hard, and before I could get up, whip was over me.

                “Since you’re going to a new school, you can take this with you,” he snarled, and threw a punch towards my eye. I turned my head in time and his fist hit the ground instead. This only made him madder. So he started slapping my face back and forth with his open hand. “Crier, crier, crier,” he chanted, and for a moment I thought I was going to cry. Lucky for me though, someone was coming up the path. They stopped their abuse long enough to see who it was. It was an old Asian man hobbling up the park lane with a cane.

                They stopped long enough to let him pass. As the man came abreast of us, he stopped. “What you laying on the ground for, young man?” he asked.

                I looked at the bullies a little fearfully. “I tripped.”

                “Oh well, here,” he said, and handed me his cane. “That will help you get to your feet.”

                I used the cane to help me stand. The bullies were looking a little agitated, as if they wanted to beat the Asian man next. I handed the cane back and the man smiled.

                He looked at his cane, seeming to admire its handiwork. “It’s also good for whopping bullies upside the head,” he said, striking Whip on top of his head.

                “Hey,” Whip yelled. “What the…”

                The man brought the cane down on his head again. “See,” he said. “Pretty efficient, don’t you think?”

                Chet grabbed the old guy’s shoulder, “Hey old dude, cut it out, no one was messing with you.”

                His reward for this statement was a whop on his head too. Several of them in fact. Then the man was turning back to raise the cane at Whip again. Whip put his hands up to block it and got rapped in his knuckles. “Ow!”

                The old guy seemed to be a whirling dervish after that, trading head whopping between the two bullies before they fled. I guess they didn’t like being bullied by old men with canes. It was very nice to see them on the run for a change. I watched them disappear down the park lane, and then turned back to thank my savior. But the old Asian man was gone. I was alone.

 

                The rest of my walk home was uneventful. As I stepped up on my front porch, I glanced next door to see if Carly was around. She wasn’t.

                I didn’t tell mom what happened, or my father when he came in the door from work. We had a quiet dinner together, and no mention was made of the new school I would be going to in just a few days. After dinner, I went up to my room to watch TV, while mom and dad retired to the den to watch their own shows. I lay in bed and thought about my afternoon encounter. It wasn’t that unusual for Whip and Chet to be waiting for me, or anyone for that matter, to bully. They had been quiet lately though as if they had grown tired of the same old victim. I guess it was overhearing my conversation with Mr. English that reminded them they hadn’t picked on me in a while.

                The old Asian guy. I don’t know what his deal was. This dude shows up out of nowhere and sends my enemies packing. I can’t say I didn’t appreciate it, because I did. It’s just I wished he would have hung around so I could have known what his story was. And how did he know I was being bullied. I guess it didn’t take Confucius to tell him that the boy lying on the ground was in trouble. Or perhaps Carly had met him down the lane and said some boys were picking on her friend. Part of me considered the idea of going to the park and seeing if he walked through again, but I knew I wouldn’t. After all what would I say to him, other than thanks?

                I got up out of bed and walked to my window. Looking out I had a direct view of Carly’s house. I had never really been much of a peeping tom, or had any interest in her other than as a schoolmate, so I didn’t know which window was hers. Part of me wanted to ask her why she had run and left me in the park. Another part was glad she did. Even if she was just a friend I didn’t want her to see me get slapped around and called names. I turned from the window and walked over to my closet. I opened the door and looked in. My new school uniform hung there as if trying to taunt me itself. Just a couple more days and you get to wear me. Oh joy.

Author's Note

grammar, punctuation, and format problems always need correction, but also I'm just trying to decide whether this has the spark that could draw readers into a long format tale. Do the characters and scenes develop naturally? Is the dialogue realistic for the target audience (teens, pre-teens, and adults who like YA books)? Thanks for taking the time to read :)

Reviews

[Larry Dyson]

has possibilities for sure.. depends on the tales and devils he encounters.. I guess...