Chapter One
15 years later...
Skander Malvado sat at the wobbly cafe table outside of “Aunt Edda’s Bakery”, stacking creamer cups into a tower and jabbing toothpicks on the top and sides. A white stream trickled onto the table from the crude miniature fountain. The girl at the next table, a blond that he recognized from school, glanced at the river of cream on the ground and followed it to the tip of Skandar’s black combat boots before quickly averting her gaze. Skander rolled his eyes and let the tiniest of smiles flash across his face. She looked at her watch and gathered her things together. He heard the bells from a block away, signaling the start of school. She could make it if she ran.
Skander watched for a few minutes, then knocked over the tower of creamer and got up without paying, leaving a half eaten sandwich and ten empty creamers in a puddle of white. The waitress scrambled to her feet, but didn't object to him skipping out on the check. She mopped up the mess and hurried to get out of his way, almost tripping over the chair as he stalked past.
He strode down the cobblestone on main street at a casual pace. They were the kind of stone that were made to look old, but were clearly very new with their perfectly rounded edges and shining finish. that’s the way most of the town was. He walked past mailboxes, houses, lawns, all glinting in the sun, showing off their brand new price tags. He often thought how strange it was for a street. a house, a town, to be the same age or younger than he was. When the town rebuilt after the storm, they had tried to replicate the old styles, but with all new materials and modern finishes, it looked more like a disneyland version rather than a restoration.
Fifteen years. It was as if every inch he grew, another brick was added. They had grown up together, he and Shadow Lakes. He could almost match his breath to the swaying of the freshly planted trees. The tops of which were barely taller than he was. That, and the fact that his mother was probably the most powerful person in town, it wasn’t surprising he felt above it all.
By the time he reached the school, the courtyard was empty and all of the hallways quiet. The principal was talking to a janitor as he rounded the corner to his first period class. Mr. Hardy was poised at the sound of footsteps, and got halfway through the word “hallpass” before seeing who it was. He quickly turned back toward the janitor and away from any possible eye contact. Skander never even slowed his step.
There was a brief moment of recognition when he opened the door to Miss farrow’s class, but not more than a second or two before she resumed her speech and the rest of the class turned its gaze back to the front of the room.
At his desk in the back right corner, he pulled out a pocket knife, and continued with the work of carving away an intricate pattern into the wood. All the other desks were those new metal ones, he wasn't even sure where they had found a wooden desk or why it was here, it was probably the only thing in the school, besides the teachers, that was older than he was. He welcomed the distraction though, it had been the only thing keeping him sane for the past few months. In fact, he wasn't sure what he would do once there was no room left for carving. He tried not to think about it.
Most students would be thrilled to not have to worry about tests or grades, but they didn't realize how incredibly boring it was.
Skander looked up from his work for a moment, brushing the saw dust and flecks away. Miss Farrow was giving a lesson about some war, or president, or country. Once he had perfected the art of “tuning out”, it was hard to tune back in again even if he wanted to. anyway, there was a map on the wall that she was gesturing to. No one payed any attention to him as he whittled away at his masterpiece, not even when the entire class got up to do a demonstration. Everyone knew he was just there for show. He had participated some when he was younger, but it didn't take long to learn that it didn't make a difference. For a while he read books while everyone else engaged in the lesson, but now even that didn't interest him.
He focused in on the design. Long, slender vines twisted around the desk, forming a frame at the edge, and circling in towards the center. The design showed off different shades of brown, as the lighter layers of wood were uncovered.
He pressed the tip of the knife into the center and maneuvered it around on the outline he had made. The first cuts were always the hardest. You couldn't just jab it in, you had to use small, quick movements. It had to be little by little, and precise, in order to get the smooth curves and edges. It took a long time to get to that final image from the first slice. It could be a tedious process. Luckily though, time was something he had to spare, and he enjoyed watching the pictures unfold slowly. Some of the designs were planned, others he just made up as he went along. He could remember the days he was feeling anxious or moody, and those that seemed to flow by with a more tolerable air. He recognized his own moods in the lines of his work, jagged and forced, or smooth and effortless. The middle of the desk showed an outline of a bird with long splayed feathers. This was one of the designs he had planned, labored over even. He had mixed emotions about starting it. There was a sense of satisfaction and anticipation, but also disappointment, as he knew it signaled the beginning of the end.
A few strands of black hair fell over his eyes as he bent over the carving. He wondered if he should cut it. It was annoying to keep pushing it out of his face. He hated when things got in his way. He was just starting on the bird when he felt someone approaching.
Miss Farrow slid a paper onto the corner of his desk, careful not to disturb his work. He glanced at it for a moment. A completely blank test paper except for his name and a large red letter A. He blew another strand of hair out of his face and watched as the paper picked up the draft and fell to the floor.
Back to work. He had almost finished the beak when the door swung open and made him look up again inspite of himself.
Author's log: This is less than half of what I wanted to have posted today! I had this grand plan of writing all day yesterday, but then Miles cut his hand on a piece of glass and I had to keep him home from school while I took him to the doctor (he's fine by the way). I got some good writing in this morning, but man was it a scramble! It serves me right for procrastinating. I'm glad I was at least able to have something though. Here's hoping I can learn from my mistakes and be a little more conscientious of my deadline for next week! Chapter one continued next time where you will find out who comes through the door...dun dun DUN! If I get ambitious I may do a mid-week post to get myself back on track, but Friday is the hard deadline. Have a great weekend everyone. What do you think of Skander?
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