by Taylor Hyer
Day by Day
Book 1: High School
Taylor Hyer
To Mom, Dad, and Dalton: Thank you for always giving me the most love and support anyone could ask for. You have been my rocks for over two decades. I love you.
To Russell, Tati, and Little Russell: Thank you for coming into my life and completing every piece of me. I love you.
October
RJ
All eyes fell on me as the wooden door of the classroom slammed behind me. Mr. Myers turned from the whiteboard he was writing on and rolled his eyes. This was his usual response as I entered the classroom. I smiled at him, knowing it would make him even more upset, especially since I was never on time.
“Mr. Davis, late again,” Mr. Myers said.
“Sorry, teach,” I replied, “that damn alarm barely works.”
“I suggest you get it fixed, or you can kiss football goodbye,” Mr. Myers smiled slightly. He’d always been a hard-ass, especially to me. I think it was because he didn’t appreciate athletes.
I walked to the back of the room and took a seat at my desk. I set my football under my chair and took out my chemistry textbook along with my notebook. I wrote a little of what was already on the board: The first three lines of elements on the periodic table are… Look at protons, neutrons, electrons… Don’t forget about the rows and columns… Mr. Myers turned his back and continued writing; the entire class was silent as he did this.
I usually only wrote a few words down when I took notes, that way if I ever studied, I’d just look it up later; or in a rare case, I’d remember what someone taught in class that day. I couldn’t write as quickly as certain teachers spoke, and sometimes words would jumble in my head as I tried to write, forcing my notes to confuse me more than they should have.
Mr. Myers was a boring teacher, too. He spoke with a dull, barely audible voice, and he usually only made us take notes. He was always facing the board, back to us, writing notes for us to copy down. He barely explained what he wrote, so we were just expected to understand the periodic table with no clarification of the subject. It felt as if I was practically teaching myself, which resulted in an almost failing grade. Almost failing grades meant almost being ineligible for football. Being ineligible for football was not an option.
Once chemistry was over, I walked down the hall to gym class; my favorite. I was the star wide receiver on our varsity football team, so anything that had to do with sports was my cup of tea. I already had some interest from popular schools like Mississippi State, and Ohio State to play for them once I graduated. My mom said that I couldn’t play unless my grades improved, but I had a feeling my dad would talk her out of that; he was almost in the pros back in the day until he broke his back and couldn’t play again.
“Football isn’t everything,” my mom always said as I arrived home two hours past curfew from practicing with my dad and brothers. My dad couldn’t perform the way he used to when he was a very large offensive lineman, but he was one heck of a coach. He knew what I needed to succeed, and he always made sure I had it.
“Darling, football is all we need,” my dad would tell my mom, usually kissing her on the forehead to make her feel more at ease.
My mom usually let it go. I think it was because we were never seriously hurt from the sport before, and because she saw how happy it made us while we were playing.
“I have to be the best I can be this season and next season, or I won’t make it to a good college,” I say. “If I don’t make it to a good college, I won’t make it to the pros.”
“How about you just pass gym class and we’ll talk?” my mom laughed. She knew gym class would probably be the only class I’d get an easy A.
Parker
I tucked my hands deep inside my sleeves, pointed my head toward the floor, and watched as my new white Converse slowly moved forward. I occasionally looked up, making sure I wouldn’t run into anyone. I wasn’t good at confrontation, and I didn’t want to have to start today. I was the newest kid in school. The mid-quarter junior that no one talked to. I was used to it, though. I had been to three other schools before this one. Two schools during my sophomore year. I was used to changing schools. I didn’t mind it anymore.
I walked to Advanced English, my first class of the day. All hallway communication was successfully avoided. The English teacher did the usual, “Everyone, welcome our new student, Parker, to our school”, and I got the usual, “Your name is Parker and you’re a girl?”
The class went by quickly. The teacher was young, and she had a lot of energy for it being the first class of the day. The students in the class responded well to her. Everyone was participating and answering questions about The Great Gatsby that they were halfway finished reading.
“Parker,” Ms. Anglo said, “have you read the book before?”
“I read it last year in my old school,” I replied softly.
“Perfect,” she replied.
They included me in the discussion after that. I wish I had lied and said I had never read it, but there’d have to be a time I spoke in one of my classes. I just didn’t think it’d be the first day of school.
When English finished, I walked to the one class I probably would never get an A in: PE. I never understood the point of knowing how to play dodgeball, or learning to climb a rock wall, but apparently, it was a requirement at any high school I went to. I knew the school had a strong athletic program, so I figured the PE courses might be more fun to join if everyone was trying.
When I opened the door, I saw a few guys throwing a football toward the back of the gymnasium. Some girls were practicing what looked like a cheer routine. There was a group of boys and girls kicking a soccer ball around, and another group of people doing pushups. I took a deep breath and walked in. It looked like a scene from a movie. Either that, or I was being punked. Ashton Kutcher, come out, come out, wherever you are.
RJ
The gym door slammed loudly, revealing a short blonde girl I had never seen before. She jumped and turned around, looking at the door. She turned back around, shoving her hands into her long, black shirt. She walked toward the locker room with a small gym bag in her hands. Mrs. Pickett stopped her and shook her hand. A new girl. I couldn’t get a good look at her from across the gym, so I waited until she changed and joined the class to introduce myself.
“RJ,” my buddy Duke said, “new girl.”
Duke winked at me and pushed me ever so slightly. He was one of the defensive linemen on the football team, bigger than he should be, which made me move further than I wanted to.
“RJ,” my other friend, Michael shouted from across the gym.
“We know!” Duke shouted back.
New people were always exciting in our school. New girls were even more exciting. We went to a school with about 2000 students. About half of those students were girls, so there were plenty of people to get to know, but it was always nice to find someone new; switch it up a bit.
The new girl walked out of the locker room a few minutes later wearing short blue gym shorts and a plain white t-shirt. She wore black mid-length socks, with bright white Nike sneakers. Her long blonde hair was in a low pony-tail, reaching the center of her back. Once she got closer, I saw that she had blue eyes, and a thick pouty lower lip.
“Class,” Mrs. Pickett announced, gesturing toward the new girl, “this is Parker, a new student here. Let’s make her feel welcome, shall we? Everyone get into your soccer teams from yesterday, and I’ll see where I can put you, Parker.”
We did as we were told. Two people from my team were absent, which meant we needed more. Parker joined our team. What a weird name for a girl; unique. We introduced ourselves. I could tell she was
shy. She was wearing a t-shirt, so she couldn’t stick her hands in her sleeves like before, but I knew she wanted to. She was playing with the hair tie on her left wrist.
“I’m Rayne,” I stuck my hand out, and she met mine. Her hands were ice cold. “Everyone calls me RJ though; for Rayne Jacob.”
“Parker,” she replied, “but you knew that.”
I laughed, “Yes I did. Interesting name.”
“My dad had wishful thinking,” she said, smiling slightly. I let out a laugh, and that made her smile even more. Her teeth were well aligned, looking as if she had braces before, or as if she were blessed with beautiful genes.
“Ever played soccer before?” I asked her.
“My brother plays,” she said, “so I play a little to help him the best I can.”
“How old is your brother?” I asked, trying my best to make her feel comfortable.
“He’s seven,” she said softly, barely making eye contact.
“That’s so young,” I laughed softly.
“My parents aren’t the best planners either,” she laughed. Her laugh was louder this time, making her shoulders move up and down. She had a laugh that travelled across the room. I could tell she was a quiet person, but her laugh could go great depths.
Mrs. Pickett popped the bubble I was in. “Mr. Davis, your team will be playing against Mr. Martin’s team first. Everyone take your positions.”
We jogged to the middle of the gym. We only played five on five because of the size of the gym. I usually played center so I could score goals. “Parker, do you want to play wing or defense?” I asked her.
“Wing, I guess,” she said, seeming unsure of herself.
“You can take left,” I said. “Alex here plays right.”
“Cool, I’m a lefty anyway,” Parker smiled slightly.
“I hear lefties are smarter,” I laughed. She looked away, possibly blushing.
“Okay, kids,” Mrs. Pickett said, blowing her typical gym teacher whistle. “RJ’s team will get the kick-off first, since we have a newbie on the team.”
Now Parker was definitely blushing. I could tell she didn’t like to be the center of attention.
Parker
The gym door slammed behind me, making me jump up. I turned toward it, worried everyone would be looking at me when I turned back around. To my disappointment, they were. I walked toward the locker room to change into my gym clothes. I was stopped by the PE teacher, Mrs. Pickett. She was a tall woman, who looked to be in her late thirties. She had very dark brown eyes, and small wrinkles around her eyes; probably from smiling a lot. She didn’t stop smiling while we spoke, so it made sense.
“We’re happy to have you in class,” Mrs. Pickett said, still smiling.
“Thank you,” I replied, giving her a small smile back.
“Go ahead and change, and then I can introduce you to the class, and we can get started,” Mrs. Pickett said.
I wanted to take my time changing, but I also didn’t want to be late and have even more attention brought on myself. I changed into my shorts and gym t-shirt, not needing to change out of the sports bra I was already wearing before. I changed into mid-calf socks and tied my new sneakers. I quickly wrapped one of my hair ties around my hair, forming a low ponytail.
I took a few deep breaths, praying we weren’t going to do any rock climbing. Come to think of it, I’m not sure had I even seen a rock-climbing wall when I walked in.
I walked out of the locker room where Mrs. Pickett met me. We walked over to the class, now in a large group instead of playing separately. She introduced me, then told us we would be playing soccer. I was put into a group that was missing a few people. No one had really made eye contact with me yet, but one guy actually spoke to me. Great, my first conversation as a new student would be with the most attractive looking boy I had ever seen. I could tell he was the star of some team. When I walked out of the locker room, he was surrounded by big guys; the popular crowd.
He was much taller than me, which wasn’t very hard since I barely reached over five feet tall; but I would’ve guessed he was over six feet tall. He had almond colored skin, and the eyes to match. He was built wider than a soccer player, so I guessed he was a football player. My dad played football in high school before joining the Marines in college, and this guy was built just like him.
He introduced himself to me; Rayne, RJ, Rayne Jacob. What do you say to a guy that probably had everything going for him? Well, you introduce yourself. Again. I introduced myself when he already knew my name. Smooth, P, real smooth.
I could handle playing soccer. I had been helping my brother Jackson since he started the year before. I played when I was younger, but when we started moving around a lot, I stopped. I was tired of entering a school, playing soccer, then leaving before the season was even over. I could’ve been a good player, too; well, that’s what my mom always said, but that was her job, so I didn’t know if it was very valid.
We started with the ball. RJ was clearly a ball hog, rarely passing it unless Mrs. Pickett yelled at him to do so. He scored a few times, which he was very cocky about; throwing his hands or his shirt up, and running around like he had just won the World Cup. I was distracted a little by the clear-cut six-pack he had when he lifted his shirt, but the fact that he was so full of himself turned me off from it.
I could tell that he was only being a nice guy to me to get into my pants. I’d seen the movies, and all the stars of the school would try to prove they were nice guys to the new girl, but then they literally screw them and leave. Maybe I watched too many movies, but it still could have been true. By the way he looked, and the looks he gave girls in the gym when he scored, he was exactly like the typical movie jock/player.
“You were great,” RJ said to me after we were on the sidelines, watching the next two teams play. “You’ve never played before? Just with your brother?”
Great, this is how it begins; the smooth-talking, I thought.
“Thanks,” I said. “I used to play a couple years ago.”
“Why’d you ever stop?” he asked.
I didn’t want to give away too much, but I answered anyway. “We move a lot.”
“Why?” he asked. Next, after the smooth-talking, you get the curiosity; trying to understand who you are, so they can play into it and seduce you.
I gave in again. Why did I keep doing that? “My dad is an active Marine. He gets stationed in a lot of different places, so we just happen to move around a lot,” I said. “It’s been happening for years now. They just can’t keep him in one spot.”
“Hm, I thought that was only something that happened in the movies,” RJ laughed. Great, he watches movies too, I thought.
“Apparently not,” I said, “because it’s been my life for a long time.”
“How many schools have you been to?” he asked.
“This is high school number four,” I said quietly, hoping not to show my frustration.
“Are you a senior?” RJ asked.
“Junior,” I said.
“Four schools and we’re only in the first quarter of junior year?” RJ asked, his eyebrows rising in shock.
“Life of a military brat,” I said, purposely showing my bitterness as I rolled my eyes.
“I’m sorry that you have to deal with that so much,” RJ said softly. Now he moved onto showing his sensitive side; because man, girls sure do love sensitivity. We couldn’t possibly resist a guy that could show his feelings, that was for sure. Gag.
RJ
Four schools in less than three years? I bet that would be a record. I watched her look away every time she had to answer a painful question. She didn’t want to show too much emotion, I could tell; but in the end, she was showing enough to the point where I could understand what she was thinking. It was strange, but I felt like I had known her forever.
Duke came up next to me and whispered in my ear, “you’re trying too hard.”
I turned toward him and gave him a dirty look, “shut up.
”
“They all want to do you anyway,” he said, “so you’re fine. Trying to get to know her won’t help.”
“Wouldn’t hurt,” I winked.
“You are a God,” Duke laughed.
I rolled my eyes and turned back toward Parker. She was watching the soccer game intently. I could see her eyes dart back and forth when the ball moved across the floor. She had one hand on her hip, and the other was resting softly by her side. The hip that had her hand on it was slightly popped to the side, leaving me wondering what was under those shorts. I could see a bit of her spandex sticking out from under them. They were black with white polka dots, and I could see part of the Nike swoosh on them.
I didn’t want to say anything to Parker as she watched so intently. I could see a small smile form whenever a good play happened during the game. My friend Levi had taken the ball into his chest, let it roll down his body, and settled it lightly at his feet, taking a shot in the top right corner of the net. Parker shifted her weight to the other side of her body, and clasped her hands together softly, allowing a full smile to form.
“Yeah, Levi,” I yelled, “atta boy!”
Parker turned toward me. “A friend of yours?” she asked. “That was a nice play in such a small space.”
“Great friend,” I said. “He’s on the football team with me.”
“Football, huh?” she laughed. “I never would have guessed.”
“Well, someone is sarcastic, aren’t they?” I asked.
“I’m sorry,” she laughed again, “I can just tell you’re a football player. It’s obvious.”
“How is that obvious?” I asked, looking down into her dark blue eyes.
“You and some of your friends here look exactly like my dad when he was a football player,” Parker replied.