Focus - Logicality

I've always been a morning person. I've never been the type of guy to roll back over in bed and promise myself the type of five more minutes that turns into ten and then twenty and then thirty, but I find that I don't want to get out of bed today. I'm perfectly awake and well-rested, but I have an acutely unpleasant feeling in my gut about the day that lies before me. I hate all feelings, but gut feelings are fifth in my mental list of the top five worst unavoidable feelings along with Loss, Love/Attachment, Grief, and Friendship respectively from first to fourth.

I take a deep breath and heave myself out of bed. Within five minutes, I'm at the table with my dad eating a bowl of cereal. I don't particularly feel like eating--I've always found the process disturbing and inefficient, as well as unnecessary, but today, as it has for the last few weeks, it's worse, and it feels like there's more to it. Almost as if I don't feel I deserve to eat and I'd be better off if I didn't--but that's absurd. I value my health and eating gives the body essential energy and nutrients, so I want to just suck it up and deal with it, but I can't bring myself to. Like I have every day for the past few weeks, I quickly down the contents of my water glass and pick at my cereal for a few minutes before dumping the contents of my bowl, still full, down the sink.

My dad's state of mind appears to be troubled, but I can't tell for sure. We always eat in silence anyway. It's not that we don't enjoy each others' company, and he would converse with me if I wanted him to, but neither of us sees the point of the hollow words and meaningless conversation known as small talk. Neither of us are conversationalists, which makes the discussion of minor, trivial subjects, and I hate emotions of any kind, type or ilk, which prohibits the discussion of almost anything else.

I've washed out my bowl and I'm about to grab my backpack and head out to my car when my dad stops me. "Logan?" He calls. I look at him questioningly. "I won't be around forever. You should try to make some friends."

"I don't need friends," I inform him for the umpteenth time.

"I know, I know." He smiles wearily. "But have you ever thought that maybe there's more to it than your standard analysis of Friendship-leads-to-Attachment-leads-to-Loss-leads-to-Grief-leads-to--"

"I get it, dad," I sigh. "I have explored other methods of thought, and they all appear to be incorrect and inefficient."

"Will you consider it again for me? At least try?"

"I will, dad." I lie, forcing a smile. We say our goodbyes and I head out to my car, but his pleasantries seem slightly forced. Of course, I know exactly why. He can always tell when I'm lying. One time I asked him how, and he said it's the only time I ever attempt to smile. He also said not to worry; I got it from him.

When I pull into my usual spot in the back of the school parking lot, a small group of kids appears to be waiting there. Probably just another gang meeting up to vandalize some poor kid's car before class. But when I get out, they start walking towards me slowly. Coincidental, I tell myself. Merely coincidental. But is it a coincidence that Remus is leading the group and people are gawking from all corners of the lot? I think not.

"What do you want, Remus?" I sigh.

"Same thing as yesterday, homo," he spits. I've given up on deciphering the reason for which a gay bully would use a shortened version of the word homosexual as an insult. He's wearing his usual abnormal black-and-green attire and his brown hair still has a dyed streak of white.

"I still don't know why you'd think I, of all people, would carry weed. Don't you have any up in that crack-pipe of a mind?" I adjust my glasses and pick up my school bag, then lock my car doors and make a beeline around Remus's mob, heading for the main doors. Remus dismisses his lackeys and follows me.

"Don't fuck with me, Sanders," he snarls. "You know what I'm after. Don't make me start punching." Remus can punch all he wants, because pain doesn't scare me, and neither does he. He sticks out a foot and trips me, but I catch myself and walk faster. He tries again, but I speed up and cut through crowds in an attempt to lose him. It doesn't work; I can't seem to shake him. That's when fists fly. His fists, not mine.

Thankfully, I predict the outburst and dodge easily. "Are you done yet?" I ask calmly. "Because I need to take a test during my first-period study hall."

He doesn't seem to like that. I continue dodging fists and walking calmly until I've gone to my locker and made my way to my physics classroom with five minutes to spare before the bell rings. He only manages to hit me twice. Once in the groin--it hurts, but I'll live--and once in the jaw. This also hurts, but the pain doesn't bother me that much. Neither does the large bruise blossoming on the right side of my jaw. Once I step inside the door, he flips me off and walks away.

"Logan Sanders," Ms. Lavia greets me. "The new student, correct? You're here during your study hall for the midterm."

"Affirmative," I nod.

"What happened to your jaw, Logan?"

"Remus happened," I sigh.

"Do you want me to report it?" She sounds concerned.

"Unnecessary. It would cause a hassle. Besides, I am not frightened by physical threats to my person."

"If you say so. I'll trust your judgment." She leads me into a small, enclosed room attached to the classroom. "You have until the end of the bell, 60 minutes, finish the 50-question test. It should take about 55 minutes; it's all multiple choice except for two short answer questions and one optional bonus question. This is my free period, so you may to come to me with any questions or clarifications."

I finish it in 35 minutes, then wait for another 14 while she grades it and grades it again. Then two more times. I doubt she usually grades each paper with such intensity--it would be quite inefficient--but for better or worse, she appears to be disheveled by my score.

"This is extremely irregular," she informs me. "You didn't use any electronic devices during the test, did you? No cheating?"

"No devices. No cheating. Why?"

"In six years of teaching, you're the first student to get full credit on this test including the bonus points. Assuming you didn't cheat, that means you got 103%." She asks me a few randomly selected questions from the test and I answer them all with no hesitation. "Wow. No wonder you're in my Astronomy class, Logan--you might have a serious gift."

"Thank you. Will Astronomy be challenging?" I ask calmly.

She purses her lips. "For you? I doubt it. You possess the necessary skill level, but it may be hard for you to catch up since you missed the whole first semester. I have a pupil who would likely be more than willing to catch you up on what you've missed."

"Like a tutor of sorts?" I adjust my glasses. "Because if so, it seems unnecessary. I've studied astronomy independently for years."

"I wouldn't call it a tutor, but it depends on how you think about it. You could always quit the lessons or ask him to skip ahead if you already know the content. Knowing him, he wouldn't mind. Does that sound like something you'd be interested in?"

I'm still skeptical, but I guess it couldn't hurt. I guess I can always quit. "I don't see why not."

"You are in my third-period Physics and sixth-period Astronomy classes, correct?" She asks. I nod an affirmative. "In that case, you two are in the same Astronomy class," she informs me.

"Would I know him?" I ask hopefully.

"Considering that it's your fourth day here? You might recognize his face or name, but not much more." That seems to be factually sound, but the bell rings before I can observe this aloud. "I'll see you in third and sixth," Ms. Lavia smiles.

I nod mutely before heading off to my next class. Whatever the day has in store, I think I'm ready to face it.