Nocturnal

by Ilia Bera

  “Well excuse me for judging a book by its cover. In that case, maybe you’ll come in handy after all.”

  Kane smiled as Brittany continued to write her assignment.

  “I’m going to use that quote too—that’s a good one,” Brittany said with a smile.

  “That Connor guy…” Kane said. “You like him?”

  Brittany looked up at Kane. She thought for a moment. “Can I be honest with you?”

  “Yeah, sure,” Kane said.

  “I like him—yeah. He seemed charming, confident—handsome.”

  Kane looked into Brittany’s eyes as she spoke.

  “But classic Brittany—it turns out he’s just another insensitive asshole—Completely oblivious to the real world around him.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “That Hanna girl. I mean—Sure, maybe I was oblivious to think I had a chance. But he used me.” Brittany laughed awkwardly. “I don’t know why I’m telling you this.”

  Kane smiled at Brittany. “Well if you ask me, you deserve better than Connor. There’s something loose in that kid’s brain.”

  Brittany smiled at Kane. “Thanks,” she said.

  “You knew Hanna before this class, right?”

  “Yeah—we went to the same school.”

  “What do you know about her?” Kane asked.

  Brittany’s expression dropped. “Don’t bother—She’s a psychopath.”

  Kane laughed. “No, no—That’s not what I meant. I’m not interested in Hanna.”

  “Oh,” Brittany said as joy slowly returned to her face.

  “She’s definitely not my type,” Kane said.

  Brittany looked down at her paper and continued to write. “What is your type?” she asked casually.

  Kane smiled while he thought about it. The silence brought Brittany’s attention back up to Kane. She looked at him for a moment, waiting for his answer.

  “Someone who isn’t afraid,” Kane said.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Someone who isn’t afraid of who they are,” Kane said. “Someone who knows who they are, and embraces it. Someone open, who doesn’t hide.”

  “What about you?” Brittany asked.

  “Me?”

  “Do you know who you are? Are you open?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Do you embrace it?”

  “Yeah.”

  “So tell me—who are you?”

  Kane thought for a moment—Brittany rhetoric made a strong point. Kane was guilty of hiding parts of himself, just like anyone else.

  “I guess I’m just a guy who wants to help people,” Kane generalized.

  The lights in the library began to flicker. For a moment, the power went out.

  “That’s getting old fast,” Brittany said as she looked up at the waning lights.

  The power came back on again.

  “Can I borrow a piece of paper?” Kane asked.

  “Three thousand dollars and you can’t afford your own piece of paper?” Brittany asked as she ripped a sheet out from her binder.

  Kane laughed. “It just seems counterintuitive to exchange paper for paper,” Kane joked.

  “In that case, why not just write the assignment out on twenty dollar bills? I’m sure Mr. Fenner would appreciate it.”

  Kane smiled. “Maybe that’s the trick to getting him to loosen up a bit.”

  “Let’s take a picture.”

  “What?”

  “A picture. Let’s take a picture,” Brittany said, pulling out her camera phone. She stood up and walked around the table. She crouched down to one knee and held the camera out with her arm.

  “Why?” Kane asked.

  “Because I like pictures—c’mon.”

  Kane looked towards the lens of the camera.

  “Smile,” Brittany said.

  Kane smiled, and Brittany snapped the photo. She turned the phone around to inspect the photo. Kane was blinking awkwardly. Brittany laughed. “Cute,” she said.

  “That’s a terrible photo,” Kane said. “Let’s take another.”

  “No—that’s against the rules.”

  “The rules?”

  “You can’t retake a photo—then it would be a fake memory. You would make adjustments based off of this picture and suddenly it wouldn’t be genuine. This is the photo—this is the memory.” Brittany admired the awkward picture.

  Kane looked at Brittany with a curious smile.

  Then, she noticed a familiar face walking towards the library’s front door.

  “Andrew?” Brittany called out.

  Andrew turned and looked at Brittany. “Oh—Hey,” he said, pretending he didn’t know that she was there.

  “What are you doing here?”

  “I was just—looking for a book. Couldn’t find it... I’ll see you guys at school,” Andrew said. There was a stagnant disappointment in his voice.

  “You can come sit with us until class,” Brittany said.

  “Oh no—That’s okay. Thanks though,” Andrew said, forcing a smile.

  Awkwardly, he left the library, and continued to wander the streets alone.

  THIRTY-THREE

  FALLING BEHIND

  Connor thought that he could squeeze in a two-hour nap between work and school. He hadn’t gotten any sleep the night before, and work had consumed the very last drop of energy from his body.

  Knock! Knock! Knock!

  His mother, who was knocking at his bedroom door, pulled Connor out of his slumber.

  “Connor!” Charlotte yelled. “Are you okay?” she asked.

  Connor’s eyes opened slowly as he looked towards the door. “Yeah—Why?” he asked.

  “Your alarm’s been going off for half an hour.”

  Connor looked towards his alarm clock, which was in fact going off. It was ten minutes after eight—Connor was missing school. “Shit,” he muttered.

  Connor sprung to his feet and quickly dressed himself. He stuffed his schoolwork into his backpack, and then ran out of his bedroom. Charlotte watched him as he scurried to put his boots on his feet.

  “Be careful on the ice,” Charlotte said. “Don’t fall and hit your head.”

  “I’ll be fine mom.”

  “Don’t stay out too long—you need to start getting more sleep.”

  “I know mom—I know. I’ll be home in a couple of hours.”

  Connor quickly opened the door and ran out, in too much of a rush to even do up his coat.

  “Do up your coat!” Charlotte called out. She watched as her son disappeared down the dark snowy street. “Goodbye to you too…”

  It didn’t seem to matter how hard Connor tried—he just couldn’t get his life organized. It was almost beginning to seem like the harder he tried, the further he would fall behind.

  The snowfall that night was thick and heavy—blinding as it enveloped the town of Snowbrooke.

  Nearly thirty minutes late for class, Connor ran into the university building. He made his way down the hallway, and through the classroom door. All of the heads in the class swiftly turned to him as they looked up from their desks.

  Connor stood in the doorway for a moment, trying to catch his breath from his long sprint.

  “Connor, right?” Wade asked.

  “Yeah—Sorry I’m late…”

  Wade looked down at his watch. “Don’t apologize to me. You have five minutes to finish the quiz.”

  Connor stared at Wade for a moment. “Quiz?” he asked.

  “Pop quiz—Everyone had forty minutes to write it.” Wade held out a quiz for Connor.

  “I—I can explain…” Connor said.

  “Four minutes,” Wade said.

  Connor ran up and grabbed the test from Wade. He quickly sat down at a desk and unzipped his backpack. He began to dig for a pen.

  Around him, people were walking up to Wade and handing in their finished quizzes. For the life of him, Connor couldn’t find his pen.

  He looked around. Andrew beside him was finis
hed his test. “Can I borrow your pen?” Connor asked.

  Andrew handed Connor the pen. Connor flipped the quiz booklet open and quickly scanned the seemingly endless number of questions—all requiring a comprehensive written response.

  “In Book The Second, what is John Barsad and Roger Cly’s motivation to frame Charles Darnay?” the first question of the quiz asked.

  The quiz may as well have been in Mongolian, as Connor hadn’t read the assigned chapters—and had no idea who the aforementioned characters were.

  “One minute,” Wade said, looking directly at Connor.

  Everyone else in the class was finished their test, and waited on Connor. Connor looked back down at his quiz. He scanned through all of the questions to see if there was anything he could answer—so he could at least walk away with something. But to his dismay, there was nothing.

  “Hand in your quiz, Connor,” Wade said.

  Connor looked up at Wade with a look of disappointment—in himself. He stood up and walked up to the front of the class. Behind him, he could hear the whispers of his fellow students, commenting on how screwed he was. Wade took the test from Connor and looked down at it.

  “Mr. Fenner…” Connor said.

  “Stick around after class,” Wade said in his most unimpressed tone of voice.

  Connor sighed and slowly turned around to his desk. His eyes met with Hanna’s in the back corner of the room. “She must think I’m such a loser,” Connor thought to himself. He fell down into his chair—still wearing his snow-covered coat.

  For the rest of the class, he sat zoned out, staring down at his desk—unable to focus.

  The remainder of that class seemed to drag on for an eternity, as Wade droned on about “when to use conditional progressive tense”.

  “Hold on,” Connor’s coach said to him, as Connor was about to board the team bus.

  “What?” Connor asked.

  “Connor—One of your teachers came to me this morning—he said that you’re flunking his class.”

  “Which teacher—which class?” Connor asked.

  “Are you flunking more than one class?” the coach asked.

  “Um,” Connor thought. He was. He was flunking almost every class, except for gym and some of his electives.

  “You know that I can’t let you play until your grades are up above fifty percent, right?”

  “What? What are you talking about?” Connor asked.

  “It’s a provincial regulation. You’re playing on a high school team—a team run by The Education Board.”

  “But—I’m your leading goal-scorer. You can’t win this game tonight without me.”

  “It’s definitely not the ideal situation, but I don’t have a choice.”

  Connor was looking at his coach, watching his whole world crumbling before his eyes.

  “Take the next month and get your grades back on track. There’s still two months before playoffs,” Connor’s coach told him.

  “But—Math? I can’t pass math. I can’t understand a word Mr. Foster says. Biology? I haven’t even gone to a bio class.”

  “I’m sorry Connor—I can’t help you there.”

  “Please...” Connor begged.

  “Sorry, Connor—I can’t let you play.”

  “I can’t let you play.”

  “I can’t let you play.”

  The voice of Connor’s coach echoed over and over in his tired mind.

  THIRTY-FOUR

  DETENTION

  Mr. Knight!” Wade’s voice said firmly, snapping Connor back to reality.

  Startled, Connor looked around. All of the other students were leaving the classroom—class was finished. Connor had dozed off and slipped into a recurring nightmare.

  Near the door, Brittany was carefully putting her fluffy white coat over her tight sweater.

  “Hey,” Andrew said as he walked up to Brittany. “What’d you think of the test?”

  “It was okay—I was expecting worse,” Brittany replied.

  “Yeah, it was okay—not bad at all.”

  Brittany smiled.

  “So, um—Did you hear about the big party on Friday?” Andrew asked.

  “The big party?”

  “These biker kids throw this big party every year out at the big house on Moncton Street—you know the one, with the big purple garage door?”

  “Oh—I think I know the house,” Brittany said.

  “I’m going to head over after class tomorrow. You should come, if you’re free,” Andrew said.

  Brittany was silent for a moment.

  “I mean—everyone should come. I’m just letting you know—you’re the first person I’ve talked to about it. I’m going to pass on the word.”

  “Okay—maybe,” Brittany said, smiling.

  “Cool—cool…” Andrew said. He tried to muster up the courage to ask her out on a date. He opened his mouth, but no words slipped out.

  “Are you okay?” Brittany asked.

  Andrew cleared his throat. “Yeah, sorry—I think I’m coming down with a cold. I should probably take off, and get some rest.”

  “See you later, Andrew.”

  “See you,” Andrew said as he grabbed his bag and left the room swiftly.

  Kane caught up with Brittany at the door.

  “Do you have plans tonight?” Kane asked.

  “Nothing too important,” Brittany replied.

  “Do you want to grab a drink from the bar? We can knock off the homework really quickly.”

  “Are you buying?” Brittany asked.

  “With a little help from the ATM, sure.”

  Brittany smiled, and the two left together.

  Wade waited for Brittany and Kane to leave the classroom before closing the door. Connor rubbed the sleep out of his eyes.

  “What’s your deal?” Wade asked.

  “What do you mean?”

  “You’re always late. You don’t do the homework. You fall asleep during class.”

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Fenner. I’m just tired.”

  “Have you tried drinking coffee? It’s great. Get a few shots of espresso in there, and it’ll kick you right in the ass.”

  “I’ll try that,” Connor said.

  There was a silence in the room.

  “Can I go now?” Connor asked.

  “No—Not until you finish the quiz.”

  “You’re letting me finish the quiz?”

  “I shouldn’t have to remind you—but this is your last chance. If you fail this class, you don’t get another shot at English. Every college requires at least a passing grade in English—even Community College. I don’t do this job because I like to see kids losing the chance to make something of their lives. It upsets me whenever someone fails this class.” Wade walked up to Connor and handed him the quiz. “So go ahead. Just do the quiz.”

  Connor looked down at the quiz and then back up at his teacher. “Mr. Fenner?” he said.

  “What?”

  “I can’t answer any of these questions.”

  “Why not?”

  “I didn’t read the chapters.”

  Wade stared at Connor for a moment. Then, he picked a copy of the book off of his desk and tossed it over to Connor. “Then start reading.”

  Connor looked down at the book. “I haven’t read any of it,” Connor admitted.

  “Well it’s a good thing my wife is making tuna casserole tonight, because I hate tuna casserole.”

  Connor flipped through the book, counting the seemingly endless number of pages. It would take him hours to read all of the material—never mind the quiz.

  Wade started to grade the other students’ quizzes while he patiently waited. Reluctantly, Connor started to read the book. He was a slow reader—having never fully committed to any book before, opting for the condensed Wikipedia pages instead.

  An hour passed...

  Two hours passed...

  Connor finally finished reading the chapters. His eyes were heavy and his mind hurt from t
he record amount of information it had just absorbed.

  Wade, on the other hand, had finished grading all of the quizzes, and had moved on to reading his book.

  The ticking clock on the wall struck midnight.

  “Mr. Fenner—I need to go home,” Connor said.

  “You need to finish that quiz. It’s worth a big chunk of your grade.”

  “Can I come in early tomorrow to do it? I really need to get home.”

  “Just bite your tongue and get it done tonight. You’ll be thankful that you did.”

  Eyelids heavy, Connor looked back down at the test.

  THIRTY FIVE

  TO ALL THE WORLD

  Charlotte looked up at the clock as it ticked passed midnight. Connor was still nowhere to be seen. It wasn’t totally unusual that Connor’s forgetfulness would see him home late—but naturally, given the deadly cold weather and the constant reports of grizzly homicides, Charlotte worried about her only son.

  Charlotte’s multiple sclerosis had been dormant all night, and she had been able to manoeuvre the house by herself.

  Charlotte was rarely up past midnight. Her eyes were becoming heavy, and she was beginning to doze off. Every little sound made her head turn towards the front door.

  Charlotte took a deep breath, and decided to get up and go to bed.

  As she stood up, she suddenly felt a pain in her chest. She placed her hand on the centre of her chest and took a deep breath. She was used to feeling spontaneous pains through her nerves, but this one was different—this didn’t feel like her nerves. It was deep, accompanied by an uncomfortably hot sensation in her spine. It was sharp, almost like a deep pinching.

  She took another deep breath.

  Charlotte began to panic. Her legs began to tremble.

  Suddenly, in case things weren’t bad enough, the snow caused the power to go out. The television turned off, the heaters stopped working and house became completely dark. There was a nerve-racking silence in the still air. Charlotte could hear her heart racing as it battled the constricting pain.

  Charlotte pulled her phone out from her pocket. She tried to dial her son, but she had no service—The weather took the town’s cell receptions down along with the power.

  The chest pains began to intensify, eliciting a wince of pain from the frightened mother. She needed to act fast. Frantically, she grabbed the car keys from the kitchen counter and made her way to the front-hall closet. She quickly threw a coat over her body.