MYRON: Chapter 1

“Hey.”

It wasn’t a greeting.

The denim-clad freshman swiveled, a sneer plastered onto his normally pasty face, decorated with numerous dirty freckles and pink scars. Cimon Plato Jr., long dubbed Freckles, dropped the kid he was in the middle of pummeling to regard the intruder. His face fell as he made eye contact with the tall male senior he saw before him.

“Oh,” he stammered. There was a silence. “Oh,” he said again, this time in a mumble. The intruder looked at him sideways, but what he said next was not addressed to Freckles.

“Cody,” he said shortly. “Get up.” The small boy Freckles had been trampling struggled to his feet and brushed the hair out of his face. He looked uncertainly at Freckles and glanced warily between him and the taller kid. The intruder cracked a small smile, and Cody took off.

Myron Euphranor, the mighty senior, turned back to Freckles, who was shifting awkwardly in one place. Myron’s face was a mask. “What was your name again?” he asked quietly. “Freckles?”

He said nothing more, and waited for Freckles to scurry out of sight before turning and making his way down the faded, dusty asphalt of Coppercreek High School. Myron stared down at his feet. He watched them move, one in front of the other. He looked back up at the bleak sky, and brushed the dark hair off his forehead. It was too long now. It always was.

He was off school grounds now.

Myron shifted his backpack, stuffing his left hand into his pocket and sliding his right hand impatiently up the strap of his backpack. He needed to hurry. Larry would still be at home right now, he knew, probably pestering his grandmother about something as usual. Might as well pick up the pace. Myron took his hand out of his pocket and gripped both backpack straps. He took a deep breath and and danced in place for a moment, shaking off the stiffness in his legs. Time to run.

And Myron did run, his brown moccasins landing powerfully on the dry grass growing by the road. The Eighteenth Province Patrols would be here any minute, whizzing down the faded trail they called a road, on their routine visit to the councilmen. They would be going too fast to even see Myron, but it wouldn’t matter if they did. No one was allowed out alone after four-eleven (G-time), but he had saved their precious time on several occasions kn the past by taking care of the shady characters at school himself. They respected him. Most people did. Not that he ever did it for them.

Myron closed his eyes and breathed evenly, letting his legs work on their own. His grandmother would be needing him right now - perhaps badly. And Larry would want his Moonshine. 

Too bad, Myron thought. He was already late. He smiled grimly and clenched his jaw. 

Myron pressed forward.