Death Trap High
24 Dec 2021Today’s prompt: “The first summer you fell in love” [I’m ignoring the time of year since I think it makes more sense for the story I want to tell.]
The boy transferred to your school after the first frost last fall. At Miss Mayweather’s School for Survivalists, nicknamed Death Trap High by all the students who go there, there’s no scene where a student transferring to a new school is introduced to their class. Those scenes in popular fiction baffle you. Introducing a new student would actually be contrary to your Snare Detection 101 teacher Ms. Runyon’s whole ethos. On the first day of class, she gave a speech. “Class,” she said, “I will not forbid you from getting to know your classmates. I will not forbid you from seeking out companionship among your peers. Just be advised that if you do so, it’s a little like naming a pig. You and your classmates are all grist for the mill, fodder for the cannons. You may survive. Not everyone in this room will.”
Humans are creatures of habit, so you and your fellow students tended to sit in the same chairs each day. Humans are social creatures, so you made, if not friends, at least acquaintances, despite Ms. Runyon’s admonition. The guy who normally sits to your right is named Jael. You started getting to know him when you became lab partners and started studying together. But you became friends because of his ridiculous impression of what Richard Graves, your textbook author, must sound like. “I’m a pretty big deal,” he would say, dropping his voice a register. “I have like, two snares named after me. Maybe you’ve heard of them? The Graves’ Bait Stick Snare? The Graves’ Motion Triggered Snare? I’m pretty much a genius of traps. That’s why I name all my traps after myself.”
Of course, Jael has been out for a few days with a fractured tibia. Jael was always kind of shit at spotting pit traps. So the seat next to you was open when the new boy joined your class. You noticed someone sliding into the seat and you looked up, expecting to see Jael on crutches, and instead, there was this perfect boy with sandy blond hair and cheekbones like they’d been sharpened with Survival Gear teacher Mr. Wedderley’s prize whetstone. He was tall and slim, with a runner’s build and a mouth that quirked up into a little smile that made you want to die.
He must have noticed you staring at him gobsmacked, because he turned to you. “Hi,” he said. “I’m Cairn. What’s your name?”
You stammered through your name so badly he must think you have a speech impediment.
“Nice to meet you,” he said, and then faced forward as Ms. Runyon launched into the day’s lecture, which you barely heard a word of.
For the next several days, you could barely tear your eyes away from Cairn. Which proved to be a problem in Ms. Runyon’s Snare Detection Lab that Thursday. Basically, you and your lab partner pair up and walk through a patch of woods that Ms. Runyon has filled with booby traps, while she follows several paces behind. If you detect and disarm five snares, you pass the lab and get to leave the woods. If you accidentally trigger a trap, you fail, and you have to stay in the trap while your lab partner goes on without you. If you’re lucky and you’re still alive when they come back for you, Ms. Runyon will let you out of the trap and give you your F. Anyway, if you hadn’t been distracted by Cairn’s ice-blue eyes and magnificent cheekbones, you probably would have noticed that deadfall. You’re not one of the lucky ones who just gets an F.