logans story #3

Carson's heavy eyelids slowly slid open. He peered up at the navy blue alarm clock that resided on his nightstand. He obviously had not set the alarm that night seeing as to how he had woken up an hour and a half late. He reasoned that he had already missed breakfast. His grumbling stomach secured that painful thought in his head. Carson rolled out of the bed and slipped on the blue t-shirt and khaki shorts he had put at the foot of his bed the previous evening.
He strolled out of the room and into the amazingly side hallway. It might as well have been a room in its self. Carson got to the stairs and made sure that Ms. Tarokie didn't see or hear him. You were sure to get it if you were caught inside during morning recess. He ended up in the cafeteria. Someone had left a syrupy plate with half a waffle still on it. As he ate it, he could tell that it was mass produced. "Of course it was."Carson thought. "He was in and orphanage.". Well, it wasn't exactly an orphanage. It had orphan boys in it, but it also was home to thirty or so juvenile delinquents. The felons weren't that bad though. The worst reason one of them was in here was arson. Carson had overheard Ms. Tarokie talking about it to this one kids parents. There were a few kids that would get pushed around by those kind of guys on occasion. Carson was lucky enough to be practically invisible to the older guys.
He opened the enormous double doors that divided the warm, toasty inside from the blistering cold, merciless outside. A rush of freezing wind made his teeth feel as though they had just come out of an icebox. Carson sat on a bench not four feet from the door he had just come out of. There was a kid sitting there. He speculated that the overly-skinny, lonesome kid was about fourteen or fifteen. Carson tried to spark up a little conversation by asking for a name. Right as the words exited his lips, the bell rang to go in. Carson was somewhat relieved. He knew that the conversation would have been extremely awkward.
Carson jogged up the stairs with a group of other boys. He ran into his room to get his book for his World Civilizations class that started in five minutes. Carson pulled the blue and yellow book out from under his bed. He found a spare pencil on the floor and headed in the direction of the classroom. This was not his favorite subject. Carson saw no reason how he could "learn from the past", as his teacher had said countless times, when things were changing everyday. The teacher (Mr. Piersoll) seemed like he had got out of prison and the court felt sorry for him, so they gave him this job. Carson had to hand it to him though, the guy knew his history.
When Carson wasn't ten steps from the door, Mr. Piersoll simply pointed to a small table just outside the door. The table held a sign directing him to put the recent textbook and get one of the purple and green books that were next to the sign. Carson thought it a little strange that the new textbooks were torn and beat up. A few of the inside pages were torn and wrinkled as well. Carson took a seat at his designated desk and opened up the book. Every time the class got new books, they were to write their names on the back of the cover and the condition of the book. Before he put his name down, Carson read the names of the previous owners. He went down the list. Hunter Denning-New, Chase Harper-New, Ivy Thurston-Used. The next name down the list made Carson's heart skip a beat. Andrew Mercier-Used. He walked over to Mr. Piersoll. "Was my dad in this class?", Carson asked. "Yes he was. I had him in here when he was just about your age. Wasn't the brightest student. Didn't talk that much either. He always seemed to be in his own little world.", Mr. Piersoll had a mysterious look about him when he replied buy Carson shook it off.