This is Marenford High

This is part two to Everything's Illegal in Marenford. Read that story first to understand this one!

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“Get off the grass, Henry!” Ms. Grant yelled, glaring at a boy sitting down in the grass.

Henry glared back at her and got up, walking away from the angry teacher.

I pursed my lips, sitting down at a lunch table and letting my purple backpack slip off my shoulder. It was lunch time at Marenford High. The sun stood high in the sky, and I could still picture yesterday’s sunrise. It was a hot day, so I was glad I wore a t-shirt and jean shorts. I hated sweating.

“Yo,” a voice said behind me. 

I turned and saw Sam, smiling, her backpack on one shoulder. “How was English?”

I shrugged, pulling a loose, curly hair out of my face. “Boring. I think Ms. Grant’s a witch.”

Sam laughed, rounding the table to sit in front of me. “Of course she’s a witch. I bet she rides a broom at night.”

“And scares little kids who won’t go to sleep,” I added with a grin.

Sam was wearing red flannel with her favorite pair of jeans that had faint doodles on them that she drew whenever she got bored in class. She was wearing a faded orange beanie I’d gotten for Christmas. We had matching ones.

Sam pulled a plastic bag out of her backpack revealing a ham sandwich. I pulled out my chicken quesadillas. 

“So,” I said, picking at the tortilla and lowering my voice. “Are we still on for… tomorrow?”

Sam nodded, her eyes darting around, looking for cameras. “Yeah. We’ll have to be careful though. Ethan said the Government’s been cracking down on escapees.”

I raised my eyebrows. “Escapees?”

“Yeah,” she said, taking a bite out of her sandwich. Her dark freckles glittered in the sunlight. “Turns out, people try to escape all the time. The Government just keeps a secret.”

My eyes widened. So we wouldn’t be the first ones to try to leave. For what seemed like the billionth time, I wondered if this was a good idea. Surely it wouldn’t be easy to escape this city, right? There had to be some sort of catch.

Sam let out an exasperated sigh. “I really need to get out of this place.” 

I nodded, looking behind me as Ms. Grant yelled at another kid for sitting on the grass. He had fluffy brown hair and was wearing a t-shirt with a band on it that I didn’t recognize.

“What are you looking at?” Sam asked, cocking her head.

I shook my head. “Nothing. How can you wear a beanie when it’s so hot out?”

Sam raised her finger, like she was saying something important. “Sometimes, you have to sacrifice comfort for fashion, Jasmine.”

“Sure… But your forehead’s looking a little shiny.”

Sam grabbed her phone in a panic, turning the camera on. “Is it really?”

I laughed.

“You know,” Sam started, putting her phone down. “I heard there’s a new student in Marenford High. He transferred here from Clearwater.”

I raised my eyebrows. “Really? We never get new students transferred here.”

Sam nodded. “Yeah. Well, I shouldn’t say transferred. Rumor has it he got kicked out of three schools and Marenford High is the only one that would accept him.”

I snorted. “He must have a terrible Worth Score.”

Sam’s face tensed up. I regretted my words. She had a terrible Worth Score. Even though she pretended not to care, I knew that it embarrassed her.

“Not that I care about Worth Score-”

She held up a hand. “It’s fine. Don’t worry about it.”

The bell rang, signaling we had to get back to class. Sam stuffed her uneaten ham sandwich back in her bag.

“Wanna come over after school?” I asked, standing up and dusting imaginary crumbs off my shorts.

Sam shook her head. “Can’t. I have band practice.”

I rolled my eyes. “You’re only in band ‘cause Ethan is.”

Sam put her hands on her hips. “No, I’m not. I like playing the trumpet. Or is it the trombone?”

I chuckled.

“Ladies, that was the bell,” a familiar voice said from behind us. 

I groaned internally. Ms. Grant.

“Later,” I said to Sam, flashing her a smile from behind my shoulder.

She held up a peace sign and we walked away in opposite directions.

I walked through the hallway of the East Wing of Marenford High. My second-to-last class was math. I hated math. It never made sense to me. When I was in eighth grade, I’d always skip math class. It was easy, all you had to do was leave from the back door when no one was looking. But then the Government implemented a hefty Worth Score deduction if you skipped classes in school, so I stopped out of fear.

Now, however, the idea of skipping was seeming more and more attractive. I walked past dozens of students chatting, but my eyes were on the back door which was practically calling my name. Jasmine, Jasmine, Jasmine.

But before I could even consider that option, Ms. Grant was standing in front of the door, her arms crossed and nose upturned. I narrowed my eyes. Missed opportunity.

I walked into math class, choosing my usual seat which was in the back but still close enough to see the board without straining my eyes. The room was chilly compared to outside, and I covered my arms with my hands, trying to warm up. 

“You cold, Jas?” a girl said. “I can give you my sweater.”

I looked to my side to see Cassie. She was the only girl I talked to in math class. Well, the only person in general for that matter. The rest of them were goofballs.

Her dark hair was even darker, probably from the sun. She was wearing a white sweater and a blue skirt. 

“Thanks, but I’ll acclimate,” I assured her.

Cassie shrugged, adjusting her glasses. “Alright.”

The classroom was dimly lit and only had two small windows that showed the outside world. The walls were a bright blue and the floor was linoleum. At the front of the class was Ms. Hazel, organizing her papers. She was a sweet lady on her fifth divorce. Yes, fifth. The only reason she didn’t lose her job on account of her terrible Worth Score was because there weren’t enough teachers at Marenford High. 

I liked Ms. Hazel, but she was obviously stressed all the time and talked way too fast for me to take proper notes. Her black hair was always frazzled and tied in a knot at the top of her head.

“Okay class,” she said, clasping her hands together. Her left eye was twitching. “Today we’re going to go over common numerals.”

A boy groaned next to me loud enough for the whole class to hear. Ms. Hazel pretended not to hear, her eye twitching more rapidly now. Poor lady.

I turned my head to see who the guy was. I raised my eyebrows. It was the boy with the band t-shirt that Ms. Grant yelled at during lunch.

I glared at him, hoping it was causing physical damage. 

He gave me a funny look. “What?” he whispered.

I only rolled my eyes and turned my attention back to my notes, wishing Ms. Hazel would talk slower. She filled the green chalkboard with a sea of numbers and letters that I didn’t understand. I wondered how anyone could keep track.

“Is it true that she’s been married five times?”

I turned my head to see the boy talking to me again.

“Everyone knows she has” I said, my voice low.

“Wow,” the boy breathed. “That’s crazy.”

I narrowed my eyes at him. “Are you playing with me?” I whispered. “Literally everyone in Marenford High knows she’s been married five times.”

He shrugged. “This is my first day.”

“Oh.”

So this was the new student. The one from Clearwater. The one who’d gotten kicked out of… what was it, three schools?

“I can’t believe someone would get married five times,” he said again, shaking his head. 

Not that I was an avid Ms. Hazel fan, but I didn’t like how he was talking about her.

“You can’t judge her, you don’t know her life,” I whispered.

“Well, there’s obviously something wrong in the head with her. I mean, look at her hair,” he said, suppressing a snort.

“You should just stop talking,” I hissed.

“Ms. Jasmine and Mr. Noah.”

I looked up to see Ms. Hazel staring at the both of us. “Would you like to share your conversation with all of us?”

I shook my head, my cheeks hot. “No, Ms. Hazel.”

“No, Ms. Hazel,” the boy echoed. 

“Then I would suggest you two stay silent for the remainder of the class,” she said, turning again to the chalkboard.

I narrowed my eyes at Noah. I ripped off a piece of paper from my empty math notebook and wrote, “Haven’t you been kicked out of three schools?”

I passed it to the boy, and he took it with a quizzical look on his face.

When he read it, he glared at me, scrunched it into a ball, and threw it at the back of Ms. Hazel’s head. 

I gasped. There's no way he just did that.