Athens High School Chapter One

Valerie sat at a table eating her lunch, alone as usual. In one hand she held a book, in the other a sandwich.

"CELEBRATE, FELLOW STUDENTS!" Hroda bellowed as he swung open the cafeteria doors dramatically--not that there was anything the teen did that was not dramatic. "For tomorrow, yes tomorrow, is the day we all dread. It is the day that decides for us and our families how we are to spend our days of sweet, teenaged comraderie. Tomorrow those of us who are blessed will rejoice in their luck, their talents, their skill; while those scorned by the higher powers--" here Hroda coughed and not-so-discreetly supplied a name: "--Mrs. Keefe--will find themselves at the mercy of their parents, their coaches, and their own stressed-out personalities. But why fret? Why worry? Why spend the days in agony, uncertain of the days to come? Today, we are free! Tonight, we are untethered by some unfeeling, compassionless paper! 'Eat, drink, and be merry', they say! 'For tomorrow, we all' get graded!"

Val looked up from her book and like most of the other students stared at Hroda. She had never heard anyone talk about report cards quite like that. Mostly it was just a lot of 'Man, I hope that extra credit helped my English grade enough', or 'My parents are gonna kill me when they see my grade in algebra.' She wondered if his antics were because he was confident in his grades or because he was trying to brush off his concern. Either way she figured he must be a theater student.

Hroda held his dramatic "end-pose" for several moments before finally relaxing his posture. Grinning charmingly around the cafeteria at the students' various reactions--mostly laughter and annoyed stares, actually--deciding which table he ought to join today. After all, it would not be fair to sit with the same group of people every day. It was his duty to spread his talent with the rest of the world. Noting a girl sitting by herself, he decided that she was his deserving public of the day and strutted proudly to Valerie's table. "Hroda Neander, thespian, playwright, living classic~ Might I know the name of my new meal-time companion?"

By the time Hroda relaxed his pose, Val had already returned to her book. She didn't look up when he introduced himself, just heald up a finger from the hand that still held Her sandwich as though requesting him to wait a moment. She finished the paragraph she was reading and then closed the book, keeping a finger inside to mark her page, "Sorry, I'm Val." she said, not quite looking him in the eye.

"No need to apologize! We all have our own lives to live," Hroda took the seat right beside Valerie, not pausing once in his speech, "with our own responsibilities and pastimes dictated by our own experiences and values. But that is what makes the world so ecstatically beautiful! So worth living in!"

Val arched an eyebrow, a faint smile touching her lips, "You're very...dramatic." she observed.

"But, of course! Is not every living organism that crawls upon the face of our sun-kissed planet prone to the joys and turmoils of existence? Life is emotion! Life is drama! The only difference is in how one expresses it~" Hroda smirked proudly, feeling quite achieved about making an apparently-reclusive girl smile.

She made a breathy sound that might have been a laugh, "Alright, Shakespere. So what brings you to this particular table?"

Hroda's smirk grew into a grin at Val's maybe-sorta-laugh. "Fate, my dear~ It is my goal, my destiny, my heartfelt, lifelong mission, to share my world. It does, after all, belong to everyone, every thought, every gesture, every smile...and I do not believe I had shared it with you, yet. A crime on my part, truly. Could you find it in your most-generous of hearts to forgive me of my terrible oversight?" The boy punctuated his question with a pout and batting eyelashes.

Was he really this dramatic all the time? Val figured he was flirting, "If you tell me which moron bet you couldn't get a date with the loner goth chick." she said. She still smiled, she really was in a pretty good mood, but it wouldn't be the first time if he was just on some bet.

"'Bet'?" Hroda parroted in very genuine, un-Hroda-like tone. His brow furrowed and a hurt expression flashed across his face before the teen was back to his melodrama: "Dearest Val, I assure you that any 'moron' making such bets is moreso a moron for not taking his own dare. But I fear whilst I am not such a moron, I am also, truly and completely not here to seek your hand in courtship; merely friendship. For this lonesome teenaged heart is far too prone to flights of fancy and songs of pure, unadulterated fantasy to yet bear being held and broken by mortal hands. Perhaps were I more mature, more grounded, I would pursue such a lovely vision as is seated beside me; but today, alas, it would not be worth the pain I'd bring you."

The more he went on, the more convinced she became that someone had put him up to it, but for now it was more entertaining than anything. "Alrigh, I'll play along. So what's up?" what did this guy want to talk about?

"Ah~ What a question~ What a wonder~ What is up, indeed? Rather, where is up? And where is down? If the gargantuan mass of rock and fire and water upon which our feet rest is indeed cloaked in air and cloud, then further suspended in a vast nothingness, spotted with existences that are--on the cosmic scale--few, and--on the human scale--far between. Then our planet, so massively small, spins and turns and flips and dances, threatening to shake us into the unforgiving void at any moment. Gravity is the issue, my dear. It is gravity alone that binds the rock to the fire, the water to the rock, us to the floor and air to it all. Down is where an object pulls another, regardless of whether it is, in fact, 'up' from another object's view. Perhaps, in the depths of coldest space, I could stand upon a pebble, and it could stick to my shoe--held by gravity alone. Am I above the pebble? Is the pebble above me?" Feeling and looking very proud of himself for remembering that much physics, Hroda dropped his voice to a lower register and leaned slightly towards Valerie as if sharing a deep, dark secret: "That thought came to me in Environmental Science, today."

Val found herself staring at him, "Have you ever considered writing?" she asked. She'd been to a few meetings of the writing club on campus, most of the students there were a little more reserved, but he would probably still got in, and his stuff would probably be fun to read.

Hroda blinked at the question before leaning back into his seat with a hum of acknowledgement. "I've a number of thoughts which, with proper care, might spawn a plethora of enigmatic scripts. However, I fear any talents I bear in nurturing such plans into anything comprehendable are severely lacking. Were I to write, my critics may find me a madman incapable of linear thought; or worse! A Shakespearean hack!" He gave a deep sigh and slouched forward to cross his arms on the table. "Do not misunderstand, my dear: I hold no animosity towards the Bard. But while the man was a brilliant and innovative wordsmith, that was, indeed, all he was. His plays never bore any original plot, any untouched psychologies. The stories he wrote where written and read and spoken time and time again long before he set pen to paper. His glory, his fame, was in the diction and syntax alone. The language he used was why patrons flocked to his theatre. Elegant, rare and beautiful, Shakespearean works are not meant to be understood, merely enjoyed--_Keefe! But if you want plot, if you want story, if you want to hear the voice of the theatre and its writers at the peak of inventive fire, it is the Greek works you must read." Leaving his elbows on the table, Hroda laid his chin in his hands and pouted. "But my chance had passed long before my birth. The world has been literate for so long and spread that knowledge so far, that everything has been written, every idea's been used. I could never compare."

She shrugged, "I never said you should try to publish. There is such a thing as writing for fun, there's a club here on campus. Though I'd guess theater is more your thing." She took another bite f her sandwich, knowing now that 28th the way he spoke she had plenty of time before she would have to respond.

"I suppose, for those whom wish to keep their expressions of life privately, that 'writing for fun' is an option. But it seems that I am incapable of feeling complete without sharing my emotive moldings with the people I cherish the most: My beloved audience!" Hroda gestured to indicate the entire cafeteria. "You are indeed quite astute, dear Val. For whilst my written words are frail and vulnerable to the ravages of history, it is my spoken words, my physical gestures and expressive features, that impact upon the present most significantly. It is my gift to the world. My gift to you, my dear~"

"You should go out for a melodrama." Val said with a chuckle, "If you haven't already."

"I've auditioned for every theatrical production performed in this town since I was in second grade~" Hroda puffed up proudly before suddenly deflating. "Nobody's given me a call-back since eighth grade, though. Keefe's the director of the annual high school play, so I get that..." But that did not answer why he never got a call about his audition for last year's independent production of the mystery "You Know the Old Slaying". He was certain he would have made a marvelous Harcourt!

"Really?" Val looked surprised. She shrugged, "Maybe you over do it a bit? Though that is the point of melodrama."

Hroda scoffed--actually scoffed!--and continued to pout. "Mrs. Keefe is a fan of 'understanding Shakespeare' instead of performing it. Did you see 'Romeo and Juliet' a couple years ago? Over-translated and underplayed." He pulled a bag of gummy bears out of his pocket--the first hint of food he's been seen with since lunch started--and popped a couple in his mouth.

Val shook her head, "Never been a fan of Romeo and Juliet." she said, "I prefer Othelo of we're talking trageties, Taming of the Shrew otherwise.," Two plays, as night and day as her mood swings.

There was a definite gleam in Hroda's eyes as he swallowed a handful of gummies. "You study the Bard? I mean, outside of the obvious, mandatory scholastic readings?" For the first time since noticing Valerie's presence, Hroda actually looked at the book that she was reading when he entered the cafeteria, curious what it was--and sort of hoping it was a theatrical classic.

It wasn't. She had been reading Pride and Prejudice for her English class, "I wouldn't really say I study any author, but I read a lot." she admitted.

"You're a senior?" Hroda asked absently, recognizing the book from a few classmates in his extracurriculars. "Ah~!" He looked up from the book to make eye-contact. "A scholarly lady of distinguished literary tastes~ A true connoisseur of word and thought, if your preferences are any indication, oh how glorious it is to bask in the undying glow of a thirsty mind! Tell, tell, what are your innermost thoughts? Philosophers and wisemen have long pondered questions that so many men of daily labor have never once paid mind to, yet would stumble upon the answer in their most mundane of tasks, and it appears that the writers and artists are those to bridge the gap. It is they who speak of the philosopher's plight in simple context and the everyman's discoveries in fantastic vibrancy! So to an avid reader, a mind so pure and hungry, I must ask: What is the nature of man?"

Val blinked at him, "That's a heavy question to ask over lunch in a school yard." she said, "I usually leave questions like that to the philosophers." that, and shhe wasn't sure she felt like a philosophical discussion with a guy she had just met.

Hroda sighed deeply before giving Valerie a wistful smile. "That is wise, in and of itself, I suppose. For whilst philosophers question and marvel at such abstract concepts as 'evil' or 'joy', they may never find a definite, uncontested answer. To devote one's entire existence to such ponderings...must be exhausting. Most certainly endless. Best enjoy the time we have and the air we breathe than wonder where it came from, right? We're far too young to weigh down our mortal lives with such immortal concerns, anyways~"

"If you say so." Val laughed, shaking her head. Hroda was...interesting. She didn't dislike the guy, but he was exhausting to talk to.

Clearly satisfied with the sound of Valerie's laughter, Hroda took the time to munch on a couple more handfuls of gummy bears before shoving the empty bag back into his pocket and continuing his slightly one-sided discussion: "I suppose that is yet another matter of opinion, though~ A bit of additional philosophy, perhaps? I do find it strange, really, how so many people--truly brilliant minds throughout the ages!--have attempted to decipher the very meaning of all creation, yet whilst so many of them have made valid points here and there, so much of it is impossible-to-prove squabbling! They argue more than provide any definitive conclusions, and every argument has its proof, with every proof having been experienced at one point or another by nearly every life. Perhaps there is no agreement to be made? No consensus to reach? Is philosophy--whilst a noble pursuit in theory--a waste of life in truth? No. Of course not. For even if no agreement can be made, even if no consensus can be reached, a life cannot be wasted if spent in passion. They argue with such fervor, they think with such complexity, I could never, in my heart of hearts, find even their most redundant of statements to be a waste of time."

"I suppose it's part of our nature to wonder about things like that." Val supplied, "Why else would the same arguments be repeated from Greece to China?"

"More reason, then, to applaud the philosophers! No matter their thesis, no matter your own opinion, they seek to pursue their own urges, to soothe their own minds; and may very well, in the process, do the same for thousands of others! If it is a part of our basest natures to wonder, but so destructive to ourselves to allow such a nature to consume our lifespans, then the philosophers whom spend their days arguing and theorizing are doing society a great service, shouldering a great burden of humanity..." Seemingly contemplating his own words, Hroda again leaned back into his seat with a thoughtful hum.

"I never thought of it that way." Val admitted before slipping her simple flip phone out of her pocket and flicking it open to check the time and then snapped it shut, "I really should finish eating, we don't have much time left." she pointed out.

"Alas! Our time together has been so mercilessly short." Hroda held a hand to his heart and bore a melodramatically pained look on his face. "Be assured, my dear, I shall seek out thy company again! It has been far too--" The bell rang. "--Er. It'sbeenfartoovaluabletoeverrefuseIwouldasktoaccompanyyoutoyourdestinationbutIfearmytimeisnotmyownatthemoment. Farewell, my dear Val!" With a so-quick-it-was-nearly-clumsy, flourishing bow and wave goodbye, Hroda speed-walked out of the cafeteria, as his next class was on the far side of the campus, his History teacher was a stickler for tardiness, and running would only get him in trouble and waste more time.

She popped the last of her sandwich and laughed silently to herself as she watched him go before pulling her lace gloves back on, gathering her things, and heading for her own class. She sat through the rest of her classes as she always did, quietly at the back of the class, diligently taking notes and not speaking unless spoken to.

The remainder of Hroda's schoolday was relatively uneventful. He attended classes. He was assigned homework. He gave dramatic speeches about the unfairness of said homework. He was threatened with detention for "disturbing the class". He received "mandatory bonus work". He decided that Mr. Duncan was in desperate need of a sense of humor. And finally, when the last bell rang, he set off to BotO Streets of Athens Harbor to run a few last-minute errands before heading to Jace Carter's dojo.



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