It didn’t take long for more kids to file onto the bus. Among the first was Gia, a mousy girl about as tall as Jordan with curly auburn hair. He’d known her longer than most of his friends, having gone to the same elementary school. She was wearing sensible shoes, blue jeans, and a simple white top, which he only noticed because it was what she tended to wear on casual outings. Some said she was cute, with a button nose, her freckles and warm chocolate eyes. He couldn’t say he understood but he’d generally agree anyways. How people looked didn’t matter to him.

She sat behind him, another kid moving out of the way. When all he did was wave at her, she huffed.

“You could say good morning, Jordan,” Gia said.

He shrugged. “I see you every day.”

“You tell Frank good morning!”

“I like Frank.”

She punched him in the shoulder from behind. He laughed before miming pain.

“Jerk.”

“Yeah, yeah. How was your night?”

Her eyes lit up as she began recalling her parents arguing about inane groceries and her little brother stealing another pair of headphones from her. Jordan smiled, half listening, happy to at least let her vent for a little while. He’d known Gia the longest of anyone, so it was mostly things he’d heard before anyways.

“What about you?” Gia said.

He froze. “You know,” he said, trying to think of a way to explain another night alone. “The same.”

“Your mom’s still gone, isn’t she?”

Jordan flinched. “She will be home soon.”

“Jordan, it’s been a week,” she said, reaching out to him.

He ignored her touching his shoulder. Normally he hated people touching him out of the blue. He wasn’t sure why, it set him off. Gia was a rare exception if he knew she was there.

“Don’t worry about it. She always leaves enough food in the freezer and stuff.”

“That sounds awful.”

“I know how to cook. It’s fine,” he said.

“What’d you have to eat this morning?” She asked.

“I’m going to pick up something from school. The chicken biscuits are usually soft.”

“Yeah, but what do you do when you don’t have school?”

“Look,” he said. “It’s fine. That’s just, you know, whatever I want day.”

“Mm.” Gia didn’t seem impressed.

Half out of spite, when Frank got on a few minutes later Jordan called out to him. It was more out of habit, the deaf boy liked being greeted like anyone else. Frank had a very scrawny frame, a thin neck and large nose. Short, cropped black hair paired with light blue eyes and the striped shirt he was wearing did him no favors. He started getting taller a bit earlier than the rest of them, but it mostly seemed to go to his limbs.

“Hello Frank,” Gia spoke clearly, knowing he’d be reading her lips.

Jordan often forgot, rushing words out or swallowing them by keeping his mouth open too wide, as Frank described it. “We’ve been waiting!” That was why he learned sign language. Tried to, at least.

If Frank had to learn two different ways to talk, why shouldn’t he? Though this was probably his third language, counting what he knew of Spanish.

Frank nodded, pantomiming an exaggerated sigh before explaining how he was held up by his older sister using the bathroom.

“You probably just slept in again,” Jordan said.

Frank grinned.

“Any luck finding your dog?”

He shook his head, shrugging.

“Well, she’ll turn up. Pets don’t just vanish.”

“One more idiot to go,” Gia said. “Wonder what stupid thing TJ’s going to talk about today.”

Frank and Jordan replied at the same time. “Sports.”

Jordan liked playing soccer. He was good at it. He gave football a go, playing against eighth graders in a practice game two weeks prior. The coach was impressed enough that he asked Jordan to try out next year for real. He might.

He didn’t much care for talking about it though. Watching it, maybe. Depended on who was playing and how well. There was something inspiring about watching people doing the same thing as you, but better. Gave you something to aim for. He’d rather do it though.

Part of it was that Jordan didn’t like sitting around. It didn’t feel right. Might have been some of his mom bleeding into him, she always kept active. Always kept going. Sometimes he wondered if they were part shark, destined to die if they stopped moving. It was a silly thought, but most things were silly.

Jordan glanced back towards Steph, remembering their earlier conversation. He turned to Gia.

“You’re a girl, right?”

She gave him a blank stare in response.

“Do you know her?” Jordan pointed at the blonde with vibrant green eyes.

“Jordan, are you seriously asking me if I know someone because I’m the same gender? You’re dumb.” Gia tried to look serious before giggling. “Yeah, I know her. Some social butterfly a year ahead of us. Why?” She gasped. “You’re not crushing on someone are you?”

He looked back to the girl. “No.”

“You don’t have to be so blunt about it,” Gia said. “You could hurt someone’s feelings that way.” For some reason she didn’t look upset at his answer.

He shrugged. “She said something about girls having their eye on me.” He explained some of the earlier conversation. “I wanted to know what you thought.”

Gia coughed. “About girls liking you?”

Frank signed something that Jordan didn’t see.

You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

“No!” He lowered his voice. “About Steph. What do you think, what do you know? She was kind of weird.”

Gia thought for a moment. “Dunno. I only know her because she’s everywhere lately. Gets a lot of positive attention for her looks, sure, but a lot of crap too. Rumors about her weight, which is total bull, just look at her! I don’t know.” She looked back for a moment. “She’s pretty though. You could do worse.”

“No thanks,” he said.

Frank prodded him. Looking, his gawky friend signed at him to ask her out.

Jordan grimaced. “No, really. No thanks.”

“What’s up losers!” A bag swung over Jordan and Frank’s head down into the floor near Gia’s feet, making her yelp. TJ slid in with the last batch of kids, taking his spot next to her. “Sorry for the wait!”

He was notably shorter than the rest of them, though he claimed he’d make it up over the summer. His short red hair also got attention, paired with pale white skin. He made an interesting contrast to Jordan in terms of looks. Despite that he was in good shape, playing touch football since fourth grade and baseball every year he could. He was wearing a jersey, but Jordan didn’t care whose.

“Yeah, real cute!” Gia punched him in the arm. “It was nice before a donkey showed up.”

TJ waved her off. “You guys love me.”

“Love to dunk on you,” Jordan said. Frank nodded.

“Ah you guys would be lost without me.”

Gia rolled her eyes. “Maybe at a football game.”

TJ managed to look insulted. “Jordan’s also here, you know. He may act like he’s too cool for it but he’s no stranger to sports.”

“I only play it, I don’t watch it,” Jordan said.

“Yeah, but you’re good at it! That means you understand it,” TJ said.

Gia and Frank gave each other a look. It was the ‘Oh God why are we here’ look. Normally Jordan would be sympathetic to it but this time not so much.

“I don’t need to understand something to be good at it.” He pointed at TJ’s watch. “You know how to set that, but you don’t really understand how it works, right?”

“Sure I do!” TJ proudly held up his wrist. “Tiny gears keep track of what time it is inside and do stuff.”

“No,” Gia said. “God, no. Please shut up.”

“My ma’ says you don’t need to know how something works to be able to use it,” Jordan said. “The same goes for sports.”

“I hate to say it,” Gia said. “But TJ is kind of right. Unlike a watch, you do need to know how the game works to be able to play it. At least to some degree. You’re not on the field flailing around at random, right?”

Frank smacked the back of their seat, getting their attention. He motioned to Jordan and then signed something to the effect of him being lucky.

“Nah, he’s too good at it,” said TJ. “No one is that lucky.”

“Well of course I’m good at football. I’ve been playing soccer since forever! They’re not that different, why do you think it’s called football all over the rest of the world?”

TJ gave him a strange look. “That’s not why it’s called football, moron.”

“Oh yeah, and why is that?”

“It’s because we haven’t shown the rest of the world what real football is!”

Gia didn’t look convinced. “Isn’t the reason because we use the whatever system and they’re metric?”

“Why do they use metric? They should just be like us. Make things simpler.” TJ crossed his arms, nodding.

Jordan shook his head. “That doesn’t work. You can’t make people change. If they want to be wrong, let them.”

Frank then signed something. Jordan wondered if he lost his hearing in the ’84 alien attacks. He never felt right asking, though.

“Frank says soccer is football in the rest of the world because it came first. We didn’t start practicing soccer as a serious sport until, something about dates, one second.” Jordan clapped at Frank, the motion getting his attention. “Slow down man, we don’t need the whole history of the thing. Anyways, Frank says soccer came first, football got made later. ‘Cept here.”

“Frank says this, Frank says that. Yeah, yeah, whatever. You’re still wrong, Jordan.” TJ said.

Soon they arrived and the rush of energy from fresh meetings gave way to the atmosphere of school. It wasn’t anything special. Single floor, no basement, mostly concrete and stone or whatever was cheapest to slap together. It sprawled across what was rumored to be marshland, with a dull yellow and grey paintjob slapped on top. If you’d seen one Junior High, you’d seen most.

Splitting apart, Jordan barely made it before the kitchens closed. Shoving the meager food down as fast as he could, he went back to the hallway. Rejoining his friends as they followed the crowds, they went on their way until convening in home room. There the four quieted, settling into their seats, kids across the class following suit. Jordan pulled out one of his comics, a well-read tome gotten for him on his last birthday.

“The Death of Superman?” Gia peeked from behind him, speaking up. “Sounds morbid.”

“Superhero crap again,” TJ sat to his left. “Come on man. That stuff will rot your brain.”

“What’s wrong with it?” He said.

“Oh, I don’t know. How about how weird his backstory is! He gets sent from the future into the distant past because the sun is about to go supernova, but wouldn’t that mean that the Earth is still doomed?” TJ groaned.

“People still think he was supposed to be an alien,” Gia politely pointed out. “But, you know. The ‘50s. Aliens didn’t seem that nice once we ran into a few.”

Jordan frowned. “Just because the ones we’ve met have been…”

“Unanimously hostile and dangerous?”

“Really, really bad?”

Frank signed something to the right of him, but Jordan couldn’t pay attention enough to see what.

“The universe is big! Maybe there are good aliens out there.” Jordan picked up the comic. “I don’t know if that stuff about his origins being changed is true or not but isn’t it kind of tragic? He knows the fate of the world but dies fighting to protect it anyways.”

“Yeah, sounds like a real great story there, JoJo,” TJ said. “Who wants to read about sad stuff?”

Jordan shrugged. “I do, I guess.” He wasn’t sure how to express it.

“There’s something romantic about it, isn’t there?”

The kids sans Frank jumped. Standing behind the now smug looking boy was Mr. Alden, their history teacher. Frank had been trying to warn them it seemed. Jordan looked from him to his friends, realizing the older man was addressing them.

“I don’t know,” he said. “I never really thought about why I like them. There’s something about it. Like John Henry.”

The teacher nodded. “And the battle of Thermopylae, the last stand of the 300 Spartans.”

Jordan’s eyes widened. “Yeah! Facing overwhelming odds but fighting to the end despite it all. There’s something…” he trailed off. Trying to word it failed. The feelings were there, but not the tongue to say it.

Mr. Alden looked him over, though Jordan couldn’t tell if it was approving or not. “You know ‘The Charge of the Light Brigade’, right?”

“Yeah!” It was to some embarrassment one of the only poems Jordan cared for. He didn’t get poetry, trying to write to a rhythm didn’t make sense. It was something that he could understand people doing but it never clicked. “Honor the charge they made, honor the Light Brigade!”

TJ groaned behind him. Frank picked up a book, tuning the discussion out. Gia was the one who spoke up. “But, forgive me if I’m wrong, isn’t the Charge of the Light Brigade about how their higher ups were wrong? Why would that be inspiring?”

“No,” Jordan said. “It’s about the bravery of the men, gathering together and doing a heroic stand.”

Mr. Alden chuckled. “Miss Narros is correct, mostly. Mr. Arnaz, while the poem was overwhelmingly about the bravery and valor the soldiers presented, the core point was critiquing the reason they died. Do you know why the charge happened at all? What makes it different from the others we’ve talked about?”

He was at a loss, shaking his head. He remembered hearing some things but none of it seemed to stick.

“It was a series of errors and mistakes. Their orders were based on false intel and the person who relayed them embellished the seriousness of what was going on. That only the Light Brigade themselves charged, and not the Heavy Brigade with them, was another tactical blunder. Six hundred men sent to near certain death over a couple of misunderstandings. All for an assault that didn’t need to happen for nothing worth gaining.” Mr. Alden looked out the window of the classroom, a faraway expression in his eye. It reminded him of how his mother could look at times. “A waste of human lives. A tragedy of duty trumping humanity.”

“That is why Lord Alfred was compelled to write what he did,” he continued. “Trying to justify such a travesty, endearing the public to those victims who fell so the few survivors could find some support in life after. Not that many would.”

Jordan stared at the teacher, unsure of how to respond. What did this have to do with what they were talking about? Why did the man feel compelled to talk to them about it?

Mr. Alden shook his head. “Look. You may be kids, but you’re not stupid. Jordan, if you’re interested, look up Rudyard Kipling’s Last of the Light Brigade. It was a follow up to the Charge some forty years later. I think you might find something in it.”

Jordan was quiet but nodded his head all the same.

“Finally,” TJ said. “Teachers do not know how to turn off! We’re haven’t even started class yet!”

“Bell already rung,” Gia said.

“Whatever.”

Silence settled as the day wore on. Jordan put the comic back, no longer interested. Raindrops echoed across the roof and windows, adding a drowsy atmosphere. The teacher’s words, the intent, was smothering. He looked towards the now storming skies. What was so romantic about a tragic story? Why did it appeal to him so much? What was the difference for the Charge of the Light Brigade? A hand tapped him on the shoulder. Turning he saw Frank.

“What’s wrong? Nothing,” he said. “I don’t know. It’ll be fine. What are you looking forward to, Frank?”

The two started talking again, the renewed chatter picking up interest from their friends. Though muted, the conversation began again.