Where The Heart Is: Issue #0

– o – o – o – o – o – o – o –

October 7th, 2003 — 9:17 AM

Captain Hill Preparatory Academy

Brockton Bay, New England

The classroom was bustling once again, nothing unusual for a Tuesday morning in Miss Small’s second-grade class. Most of the students were hard at work, little focused frowns on their faces as tiny hands went back and forth over pieces of colorful construction paper with all the tools at their disposal; those tools being the young artist starter kit that was glue sticks, glitter, googly eyes and of course, the always-necessary sixty-four pack of crayons.

Today was a big day after all.

It was Career Day for the students and all the kids had been looking forward to it for as long as their attention spans could remember - which might as well have been forever, really.

Regardless of how long it had actually been since they first got excited for it, they were still excited and the excitement of a child was rarely outdone.

“Okay,” the blonde woman finally spoke, hands clapping together as she said the word. She stood at the front of the classroom surrounded by a small crowd of smiling and giggling children each carrying their own little masterpieces tightly clutched in glue-covered hands. “Let’s get in line, everyone. Take our turns.”

“Okay, Ms. Smalls!” The class chimed back at her in unison, each one of them following the instructions of their teacher. Within a minute, all the circled students had formed a somewhat-orderly line starting from the front of the classroom and stretching halfway to the back wall.

“First in line, come right up!” The second-grade teacher raised a camcorder to her face as she sat on the chair facing the front of the classroom. The student at the front of the line, an olive-skinned boy with large curly hair, ran up and bounced to a stop in front of the blackboard, flashing the teacher a bright smile as he showcased both his art and his missing front tooth.

“Now, introduce yourself and tell us what you want to be when you grow up,” Ms. Smalls instructed, her words a reminder to not just the boy in front of her but the whole class.

“My name’s Kyle and I wanna be a policeman!”

“I’m Anna and I wanna be a… a doctor!”

“I’m G-Gordon. I w-w-wanna be a lawyer.”

Each student went up and said their part in front of the camera, showing off their art and the images of what they would one day hope to be. In almost no time at all, the last student went up, announced they desired to be a T-Rex when they became an adult, and it seemed like that the event was finally over.

“I’m done! I’m done!” A hand went up in the air as high as it could reach, a grinning face right below it as the owner of both kicked his feet happily at his desk. “Miss Smalls! I’m done! Is it my turn?”

Susan Smalls turned around to glance at the excited seven-year old still sitting at his desk, apparently hard at work while everybody else had been in line waiting to present. She wore a slightly confused expression for a moment, actually confused that the boy had been so uncharacteristically silent as he worked.

The moment passed soon enough and Ms. Smalls quickly brushed the thought away and simply nodded at him. “Of course it’s your turn, Greg,” the teacher said with a smile, beaming back at the eager boy. “Now come on up to the front and bring that big smile with you.”

Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

The blond boy swung his legs off to the side and kicked out of his seat, rushing forward in the eager little stumbling gait of a run that was only ever seen in kids his age and younger. As he reached the blackboard, he did a little spin and jumped up in the air, his own construction paper held up above his head with both hands.

“My name’s Greg Benjamin Veder and when I grow up…”

He lowered his hands, thrusting his art in front of the camera and showing off the image of a blond man in a bright blue costume, a crude image of the American flag sticking out from behind his back like a cape.

“I’m gonna be the Homelande-” “Greg!”

– o – o – o – o – o – o – o –

A pair of bright blue eyes snapped open, only to slam shut again with a groan as bright morning sunlight lanced directly into said sensitive peepers.

“Greg!”

“Whaaaaaat?” The word spilled out of his mouth like a long groan as Greg Veder rolled over in bed, pillow clutched over his head to shut out both unwanted sight and sound. Even beneath the pillow, there was more than enough space for the thirteen-year old to catch sight of his bedside alarm clock, the red digital letters making it clear exactly why his mom was yelling at him.

'8:32'

Fuck.

“Greg! Wake up!”

Double fuck.

“I’m already up, mom! Gonna be dressed in a bit!” Despite his words, he wasn’t actually making any moves to get up from bed, the teenager perfectly content to stay warm beneath the covers, head shrouded by the darkness of his pillow crown.

“If I have to come up there… Greg!” Her shout rang through the house and his head, the blond wincing at the audible frustration ringing from just one syllable.

The sound of his door swinging open left him well aware of what was about to happen next, his mom’s footsteps already audible as she ran up the stairs with speed and grace professional athletes would kill for. In a few seconds, he could tell without looking that she was glaring daggers at his back.

His covers were pulled from his bed a half-second later, yanked away with more force than he could hope to resist against. Hands wrapped around his bony unprotected chest, Greg Veder quickly sat upright in his bed as the cold morning air hit his shivering body.

“Moooooom!” He shot a faux-angry glare at the annoyed-looking figure standing in his doorway, both of her arms crossed over her chest in a way that was far more threatening than it had a right to be.

“Don’t Moooom me, you little whiner,” the blond warden at his door shot back, white eyes fading back to blue as she shook her head at her son’s antics. “Get ready so I can take you to school before I have to tell your dad you’re late again. Breakfast is on the table. Hurry up before it gets cold.” With that said, she turned and walked out of the room, the door still wide open behind her as she left.

For a moment, Greg was quiet, the blond doing nothing but sitting on the edge of his bed quietly. Then he sighed, letting himself fall back onto his blanket-less bed as he stared up at the ceiling. The image of a grinning man with his hands on his waist stared back at him, the warm morning sunlight almost making the golden eagles on the hero’s shoulders look more real than anything else on the poster.

Tell Dad you’re late again, huh? The blond rolled his eyes, a scoff leaving his mouth at the action. “Yeah, like he’d care.”

“GREG!”

“I’m coming, Mom!”