By Chris Lopez-Henriquez

Chapter 1

Scanning the room for differences, he spotted the bright light intrusively entering through the windows of his room. The sun was a long memory of red-orange laid out in the perfect symmetric waves all across the horizon, emphasizing Miles’ first day of school. He stood there at the window while noticing the manicured green field of grass laid out in front of him. To his surprise, the morning fog seemed different than that of his previous home. He had never witnessed both the fog and the sun lingering together. Unaware that moving away from his town would mean there would be drastic changes, he recoiled from the grip of this new adventure. Apprehensive of what was to come, for he is within unknown ground. His attempt to fathom his surroundings had no real significance without a specific aim. So in his frustration, he looked away. He glances at the clock: 7:00 AM. His eyes widened. 

“Oh my God!” Before he steps out of his room, he wrenches his towel from his desk chair and bolts towards the bathroom. He hops in the shower, and there he stood bewildered by the fact he had stood at the window for 30 minutes long, he was convinced the outside world had hypnotized him. Feeling a more frenzied sense of rush, he brushes his teeth at once, inside the shower. Where somehow the showering process was not working well as he had a sheen of perspiration on his forehead. His sense of urgency caused him to bleed through his mouth, for he was brushing too hard. 

“What the F!”

His eyes rolled back in annoyance. The apricot light shined through the bathroom’s blinds, just above his forehead. He sprays water inside his mouth and spits it right out. His mouth, scorching to the touch of mouthwash, rivulets of blood trickled down his chin. The awful taste of blood and mouthwash together overruled its purpose. Staring at the mirror, his eyebrows lowered and knit together, with pursed lips in distaste, tilting the water key to the right, he turned it off. His desire to brush his teeth wore off by the sight, and taste, of blood. He seized the teeth whitening strips and gently placed them right-under his tooth-gum. He felt it on his fingertips, his tongue would dance behind his lips. His curls would sway within the dim-lighted room, his gaze would follow. His hair, like that of an afro, remained unbrushed. It wasn’t bushy, nor bouncy. It wasn’t fluffy, nor crinkly. In retrospect, it was delicate and smooth. Soft and glossy. It had a glow to it, like that of his mother Sarah, who’s a lawyer. His teeth were symmetric to each other. His eyebrows would follow his gesture. Staring at himself in the mirror, he looked for reassurance in his breathing. He spoke out loud, as an attempt to establish a first impression towards others. His voice, not too deep but not too high. A perfect blend between the octaves of his sound. He smiles. His vitality danced through his hazel eyes, their vivacity struck by humor and charm.  

He puts on his clothing: A simple white jacket, Black jeans, and his white nike shoes. He put on his confident silver necklace and took a deep breath, for it was now time for him to embark on a new journey. 

Known as the rich white school in the south of California, Miles began his journey towards Florence High School. Going down the stairs of his new home, he noticed there was still some unpackaging to do. He grabbed his black backpack and twisted the marble door handle. He opened the door and was startled by the mailman dropping a package. 

“Let me guess,  Leonardo High School?”

“Florence High School,” Miles corrected. 

“Oh, well that’s interesting. Are you sure?” he asks in disbelief. 

“Why would I be lying?” he asks with a belligerent smile. Not too pushy, but not too hostile. 

The mailman had a peeved expression on his face. Kneeling to pick up the package, and handing it to Miles, he said, “Good luck. I’m heading there anyway, need a ride?”

Miles stared at the mailman’s back as he got inside his mail-carrier car. He glanced at the clock and noticed he only had ten minutes to arrive at school. He put down the package, closed the door, and declined the offer. Unsure of this neighborhood’s past, he locks all the locks on the door.