NaNoWrimo, Part 2: At least they're not in Period 1 anymore

Today's word count:  1,573 words
Running total:  3,351 words
Summary:  Kenneth and Chase go places.  They meet with Brian and Dean, although Brian goes unnamed.

Also, there is a toenail clipping collection.
    “Well…”  I chuckle nervously.  “I don’t really know what I’m interested in.  I’ve done a little bit of a lot of different things.  I kind of like a lot of them…”
    He nods absentmindedly, as if he hasn’t even heard me.  “I know how that is.”
    Another conversational lull.  Chase breaks it this time.   “It’s just that—you see, I’m on the Century Station club.  We do a news show in the mornings sometimes.”  He sighs.  “Back in the freshman year, we did them once a week, and people really liked them… but this year, this other girl took over, and she’s just not as good as running it, you know?  We don’t put shows out as much and we can never find interesting stories… and of course, the newspaper is skyrocketing in popularity…”
    I carefully formulate my answer before speaking.  Well, maybe not that carefully.  “I’m sorry to hear that.”
    Yeah, I probably could have come up with better.
    “Ah, it’s all right.  It sucks, but we’ll be all right in the end.  I guess.”
    After that, he returned to his book and I tried to watch the video.  From what I could gather, it was part of a TV show about guys who filmed things that looked kind of cool, then played those things in slow-motion on the basis that slow motion made anything cooler. (Well, it worked for The Matrix, at least).  I had no idea how it dealt with physics at all, but I kept my mouth shut and waited for the bell to ring.  Then, I waited for the bell to ring again.  I wasn’t sure if I could get used to this whole two periods thing, but I told myself I wouldn’t be there long this year.
    The day goes basically as Chase had forecast.  The English teacher decides she likes me.  Even gives me the nickname “Heathcliff,” whatever that means.  BASIC turns out to be a programming language, and the teacher fortunately understands I had just been put in there for simplicity’s sake.  “Regular Computers” is mind-numbingly easy.
    For lunch, I sit with Chase.  He doesn’t seem thrilled when I ask if it’s okay, but he just gestures in a vague “Don’t worry about it” sort of motion.
    “Thanks,” I say, and smile.  Soon, I tell myself.  I think I’m breaking through his shell, and he’ll be friendly soon.
    “Hey, Chase!”
    I turn.  It’s the big guy from this morning.  Chase’s expression suddenly turns sour.  It crosses my mind that this might be the fabled “Dean,” but I don’t say anything.
    “Go away.”
    The big guy walks up and claps a hand on Chase’s shoulder.  The juxtaposition of the two is almost comical.  If Chase was standing, he’d probably be about as tall as the big student, but he’s so lanky.  The big guy has a much stronger build than Chase does; his jaw is pronounced and his shoulders are broad.  I noticed in the morning that he’s not really muscular, just heavier than he should be, although he’s not quite to “fat” yet.
    “Aww, come on, Chase.  I just want to say hi.  You hurt me right here, sometimes.”  The big guy points to the center of his chest.  I almost joke that he should be pointing a little more to the left, if he wants to point to his heart, but realize that he doesn't quite look like the kind of guy to take a joke.  If he’s really Dean, he definitely isn’t.
    “I don’t want to talk to you right now.  This is my sanctuary.  Don’t invade my sanctuary.”
    The big guy sighs and almost turns away, but then sees me.  “Hey!  You’re that new kid!  Kuh… Kin…”
    “Kenneth,” I offer.
    He snaps his fingers and grins.  “Kenneth!  Yeah, nice to see you.”  Slowly, he puts two and two together.  “Hey, why is he allowed in your ‘sanctuary?’” He says the last word with a sense of dripping sarcasm and sits next to Chase.  Chase does his best to ignore this in his response.
    “One.  I have to lead him around today.  Two.  He hasn’t tried to make fun of me for being a nerd or shit.  Three.  He hasn’t tried to summon some Victorian serial killer into me without my permission.”
    “Oh, come on man!  You’re still mad about that?”
    “You could have—killed me or something!”  After a pause, Chase adds, “If ghosts actually exist and you could channel them into people which they don’t and you can’t but still.”
    I have no idea what this conversation is about.
    “But it’s like you said.  Nothing happened.  It’s cool.”
    “No, it’s not.”
    “But—“
    “End of discussion.  Go away.”
    The big kid opens his mouth to say something, but nothing comes out.  He closes it and makes some vague “well okay if that’s what you want” hand gestures, then stands up and finds another table.
    I don’t ask about him and Chase.  I guess that he’s not Chase’s legendary enemy, and I feel bad for him.  He’s obviously a friendly kid, and I don’t think he would do anything to intentionally hurt anyone (even if he is bigger than everyone else).
    And then, Honors Precalculus and Trigonometry.  I introduce and explain myself to the teacher before taking an empty seat.  I look around the room and survey my classmates for this notoriously bad class.  I recognize a few kids from earlier periods whose names I didn’t get, and several girls who I might have seen earlier but I can’t be certain.  They all look the same with their fake tans and flatiron hair.  There’s Chase, of course, already hunched over and trying to brace himself for the class.  There’s also the big guy whose name I still don’t know, although he seems a bit different than he did at lunch.  A lot looser, bringing a lot of unnecessary attention to himself and saying rather disjointed things.  It doesn’t take me too long to realize that he must’ve taken the opportunity at lunch to get high.  Funny, he didn’t strike me as that kind of kid earlier.
    The teacher tries to bring the class to some semblance of focus.  She’s really young; she looks like she’s new to this whole thing.  One kid takes this opportunity to ask if homework is necessary.  Another who is being really obvious about using a cell phone in school chimes in and agrees with him.  Two clone-y looking girls ask why they need to learn this.  The big kid offers a story about how he collected his toenail clippings in the third grade.
    Chase looks about ready to murder himself.  The teacher looks a little bit lost, but does nothing to assert her authority, instead throwing herself in the juvenile arguments.
    I honestly have no idea what to think of the class.  I sneakily stick an ear bud in one ear and put my iPod on shuffle.  I doubt we’ll be getting anything done today.
    “So, we have a new student today!”
    I snap to attention.  I guess that she’s going to try and use me to bring the class to attention.
    “So, um… Kenny?  Why don’t you introduce yourself?”
    I sigh and turn my iPod off and walk to the front of the class.  I stand there awkwardly for a few minutes.
    “Um… hi.  I’m Kenneth White.”
    Mostly silence.  A monotone “Hi, Kenneth,” from the big kid.
    “I like… a lot of things.  Like… um… music!  Yeah, I like music.  I like the Beatles.  I know that’s a little boring, but I can’t help what I like, right?”
    More silence.  No one cares.
    “And… um… my favorite movie is The Matrix… I also really liked Equilibrium…”  Oh God, I sound so boring right now.  I try to finish quickly.  “So it’s nice to meet you.”
    “Yeah, just go back to your corner,” says the kid with the cell phone.  He’s glued to it.  I ignore the comment.  It is probably the weakest insult I have ever heard.  Cell phone kid aside, a few people say “nice to meet you” and a particularly girl claps for me.  Not bad for being the most average kid in the school.
    On my way back to my seat, I nearly trip and fall over Cell Phone Kid’s backpack.  I do succeed, however, in knocking it over and spilling its contents.  The kid glares at me.
    I try to quickly apologize.  “Oh, I’m so sorry!  Really, I am—I just have really bad luck, and—here, I can help you with that—“
    “Go away before your luck rubs off on me, then.  Get your hands off my stuff.”  He glares at me as though I have just committed some mortal sin against his being.
    It crosses my mind briefly that this could be Dean.  He certainly seems as if he feels he is above the rules and he unnecessarily mean.  I try and get a good look at him—average build, blonde hair, not entirely without muscular definition.  He definitely thinks he’s good-looking, I can tell.  And I admit, he’s not that bad.  He’s got that real typical good look to him.  It’s not good for his massive ego, though.
    I return to my seat, and the teacher actually tries to start the lesson.  She only gets about halfway through the concepts before the bell rings, though, and everyone leaves before she can assign homework.
    History comes and goes without incident; the other thing noteworthy about journalism is the confirmation of Dean’s identity.  As I thought, it was the cell phone kid.
    As the last bell rings and I collect my things, Chase