Taking a quick look around to see if any of the other tables had an eye for weird movements and sounds, I tried to see if there was anything inside the cube. Feeling along the smooth exterior, I knew that it had no openings-at least not from the outside. There were no crevices that signalled an opening, a keypad for a code or a button. It could have been fingerprint sensitive, but that would mean that it was pointless to keep the cube around until I found out who had a fingerprint that matched the one programmed to hide whatever was inside. If it could be activated from a computer system, there were too many around the world to find the right one in a life-time with no leads.

I frowned, and I could feel my face heating up with anger.

Why am I getting annoyed?

Maybe it was just a cube, part of some elaborate fatherly experiment. Maybe an advanced piece of Lego for futuristic kids. And if my father really had made it, it couldn't just be some cube. My dad was more interesting than that. His ideas usually went out-either to expensive bids, government force, or a bang. I wasn't stupid, I knew what he did for a living. And maybe this time, he'd hidden something meant for him, and him alone.

What if it is fingerprint sensitive, to him?

Then that would pose problems, seeing as I moved thousands and thousands of kilometres-miles-away. And he thought that I thought he was an asshole and wouldn't want to see him again. Impossible. But if something valuable was inside, like a keycode, or a chip with new ideas for weaponry, then it made sense to send it far away from where my father lived.

Now that the possibility of a costly item existed inside that cube from fantasizing, I couldn't stop thinking about the contents. I just felt as though opening it was the most important thing to me.

It: Find a way to open me. You know you can.

Me: I have no idea what I'm doing.

It: You just need to think this through.

Me: Why can't this be easy?

It: Think outside the square.

Me: You're a cube.

It: You are undeniably stupid if you have never heard of that saying. It goes back many years. I cannot even fathom that you are the one trying to open this cube.

My lonely imagination was getting the better of me, giving the cube so many chances to mock me. Just in case, I felt very carefully around it, just in case my fingers hadn't picked up any slight bumps. I was getting pissed.

Me: I give up.

It: You are weak.

I put it on the cafeteria table, taking bite after bite and sip after sip of apple and chocolate milk, trying to distract myself. Keeping my hands busy stopped me from the undeniable urge to find out what was inside the cube. I multitasked for a few minutes, waiting for Julia to come back with Rowan.

"What are you doing?" asked a faintly familiar voice.

"Eating," I said, turning to face the sallow-skinned Dominic Daines.

"You look like you're trying to choke yourself by overeating," he responded.

I kept a face devoid of emotion. I really didn't feel like talking to anyone, hoping he'd get the hint.

Dominic made it worse, sitting opposite of me without asking my opinion. He tried to make small talk.

"How're you liking it here? Bet you wish you hadn't taken Photography."

"Yep. It's crap. She's crap."

He nodded. "A bit, yeah."

Finishing my apple, I threw it into a great-smelling bin a metre or so away.

"How do they make bins so amazing?" Dominic said.

I was about to reply with something either stupid or rude, when Julia walked in, jumping and smiling happily, with Rowan in tow.

"Found him. It's really crowded in C2," she said cheerily.

Rowan's face lit up upon seeing me. "Hey, man."

Both sat on either side of me, leaving Dominic alone and intimidated on the other side.

"Hi, Dominic. Could you leave us alone for a bit, dude?" asked Rowan politely, though, if Dominic had stayed, he probably would have gone to darker measures to get him away.

"Yeah. Sure." Dominic Daines got up and sat at another table hurriedly.

"So, what's up?" Rowan said eventually.

"Nothing. It's pretty quiet here."

"Julia told me you sort of went blind and started yelling at no one. You okay?"

"I'm fantastic. Thanks, Julia, for sharing that," I said, casting a shadowed glance.

"Why don't you just go to the secretary?! Or the nurse?! And go home?!" she exclaimed.

"There's nothing wrong with me. I can stay here," I muttered, but any thoughts of sitting alone with the secretary really made me uncomfortable.

"Eddie, if you're on the verge of blacking out and hearing things, see someone, because there probably is something up with you. Dipshit," Julia replied.

"Maybe you're right, but it's gone now. Why do you even care? You don't know me."

"We don't want you to die or something," growled Rowan. "Who cares if we don't know you?"

"You're a person, too. It sounds too serious to keep you walking around like you're normal when you're sick," Julia agreed with Rowan.

"I'll go if I start going crazy again. Now leave me alone," I snapped.

They didn't move a muscle. The bell rang, and I tried to sling my bag over my shoulders without hitting Rowan in the face, even though I wanted so badly to do so. I couldn't do it to Julia.

"Are you completely sure?" Rowan said, in a last-ditch effort.

"Completely. Bye."

"See you in fifth," Julia called over the slight pandemonium that I merged myself into as I left quiet Cafeteria 1.

Side-stepping into a bathroom, I locked myself in the cubicle, the extreme desire to hold the cube forcing me to stay alone so no one thought I was a weird guy. For the twentieth time or so, I felt around the cube, even more carefully than before. Before letting the frustration spill out, I checked for the presence or sound of any other kids before ferociously slamming the cube against the cubicle door.

This is stupid. It's probably a kid's toy, for God's sake.

A soft, drawling voice whispered to my subconscious.

I am so much more than what you think. I will prove I am not something to be cast aside.

When I opened my eyes, tightly shut from anger, I couldn't see. Darkness washed over me, and the screaming began again.

Cast this aside, boy.

***

Third and fourth period passed in a blur. American History, probably not something I should've taken since I'm a clueless Australian, and English II, not the most exciting English class. Apart from saying 'crikey' or 'g'day mate', nothing fun came my way. Individual History would probably be the highlight of my already wasted day, since my family records were non-existent.

I'm Argentinian on my father's side, and full-on Australian on my mother's. During the seventies, my grandparents emigrated to Australia, my dad born a few years later. My mum's family went back generations, to the late 1800s. Eventually my parents met at high school, hated each other for a few years, fell in love after eons of barbed wire aimed at the other and had me. My Australian side had a colourful history, but it was nothing of interest to me, because Mum told me everything about her history instead of fantasy when I was younger. My father's family's records were blank, but it was what I wanted to find out about.

I had Individual History in R102, a larger-than-life room.

"It's to fit an entire year level at one time, specifically for IH classes," said Julia, guiding me to the classroom. "Basically every sophomore just sits on the floor and tries to find out anything by borrowing books or using laptops. Their pick. No phones, unfortunately, which is pathetic."

Sitting against the back wall with Julia to support my hunchback, I opened my bag and took out my laptop.

"Put it away. Mrs Lennex gives us a speech before each lesson. Also, having electronics out without permission cancels one of the only wifi sources in this town," she said, closing it down and helping me stuff it back inside as Mrs Lennex walked into the classroom. A thin aisle, created by people unsure of where to sit, made it hard for the woman to manoeuvre herself to the front of the room.

Mrs Lennex was a short woman in her thirties with a long face, small eyes and lengthy brown hair, tied into a spotless bun. Wearing a black business suit and high heels, she looked very professional, but was probably one of those people with no actual knowledge of how the real world works and adapts around them.

"Is she a teacher?" I asked.

"Sort of. She's the principal."

"I want everyone's attention for just a minute or so," Mrs Lennex shouted over the turmoil of talking sophomores, who immediately quieted down.

"Yeah, I think she got everyone's attention," Julia murmured, grinning.

"Julia Azumi. Don't speak when I'm trying to," Mrs Lennex called loudly, before lowering her voice a bit. "As you all should know, considering most of you have never been in this room before, this is your first Individual History class. We start this class in sophomore year, and it hasn't been around for long at Laurel High. Our goal is to immerse our students in their family history so they are proud of their heritage. I understand that some of you will have difficulties finding family records, but we can utilise substitute tasks for you. Either way, our system is very sophisticated and most of this sophomore class will not have too many issues with finding records. You can ask any of the teachers present or myself any questions if you feel the need to, and there is a selection of files with references in this room that you can look through. Our goal this year is to track each individual's history back to 1801, so take out your resources and get looking."

A quiet hum of the voices of other sophomores thrummed through R102. Other kids began to crowd around the books supplied and the filing cabinets.

"Can I look off your laptop? I don't have my own," said Julia.

"You can use it by yourself. I've practically got my mother's family history memorised," I replied, handing her the computer even though I wanted so badly to try and find Argentinean records. "There isn't a password for my laptop. I'll just look through files."

Pushing against the wall to get myself to stand up, I milled around in front of the filing cabinets, where the original surge of students had died down. The beige cabinets were in alphabetical order, each getting their own letter. Opening a drawer marked 'W', I searched through it until I came across my father's name. Edward Weston. Same as mine.

Pulling out the file, I realised it was easily the thinnest one among the rest of the clearly marked folders. Looking inside, I saw his birth certificate, dated May 17th, 1975 and a copy of a faint marriage paper.

"I don't think I can make a report on my father's side of the family with this. It doesn't even tell me the name of his parents," I complained, showing it to Julia, who was looking through old Japanese records on my laptop.

She put the computer down, sifting through the files. "They haven't said anything about his accomplishments."

Reading carefully through each page and flicking to the next, she whispered, deathly silent, "Oh. There's something else here. Look."

A copy of a certificate was photocopied onto the back of one of the marriage papers. I tugged it from her hands and looked at it closely. Were the finally recognising his weaponry designs by giving him a mighty slip of paper? "What the hell is this? I can't read it, it's too small."

"A death certificate," she said softly. "Dated to the 2nd of June 2015. It says here that he died three months ago."

I snorted with laughter. "That's not his. Maybe I can't read it because it's so old. Must be a different Eddie Weston."

"Yeah. Must be a mistake," Julia muttered. "You should take notes on it and put it back. Leave the fake death certificate out of it."

"I'll ask Mrs Lennex about the files, too. I just don't think this is good enough."

Dumping the file in its previous place and feeling unnerved, I walked up to the principal. Dominic was also standing there, talking to her.

"...Can't find anything on my family, see... Our records get destroyed... Argentinean family tradition... might not be so easy for me."

Mrs Lennex smiled. "That's alright. If you find it so impossible to find information on your family, we'll report this to the Town Hall to have your records modified. Until then, you can try looking up a celebrity and their family history."

She waved him away harmlessly, but the look on her face was triumphantly creepy, as she wrote down something on a notepad. Seeing Dominic's face, it was obvious he wasn't going to do anything in Individual History for the rest of the year.

"It really is pointless," he laughed, shrugging and sitting down with Imogen, Drew and Mercy.

"Hi, Mrs Lennex," I mumbled, looking down at the floor.

"Who're you?" she retorted.

"Eddie Weston. I'm the new kid. From Australia."

"Of course! Edward Weston." Her fake, cheerful voice and cherub smile did not match her disinterested eyes. "I hope you're enjoying Laurel High. Now, what do you want?"

"I just wanted to say th-that the f-f-file on my Dad's d-dismal," I stuttered, trying to regain my wise-guy voice. "There just isn't enough there to make a report on it."

"What about your mother's file?"

"I already know everything in that file. I just need hardcore written-out evidence to support it and everything."

"Well, if you can't find many useful things about your father, focus the report on your mother. Now, return the file and sit," she barked, and I did, nodding quietly at her advice.

Why not update his files like you promised Dominic Daines?

Before returning the file, I took out the 'death certificate' and folded it into a small square, stuffing it into the pocket of my jeans. I was going to chuck it out the moment I found a bin. It wasn't real, so it didn't deserve to be in the already-dismal stack of documents.

"Look! I have a great-great-great-uncle who fought in World War Two! That's cool-oh. He was tried for treason and executed," said Julia, clicking past the file on her relative.

I watched her searching and exclaiming loudly and unnecessarily at every birth or death certificate she found. I couldn't take my eyes off her face, watching each time she made a different expression, each one as interesting as the other.

"Cool! I had a great-great-great-grandmother who was a major part of trade in 1928."

"Gross. This dude killed himself."

"I have a distant cousin living in Michigan!"

I wrote what I could remember about my mother's Aussie side of the family down into a notebook, while Julia put her notes onto my computer. Actually doing schoolwork about yourself for half an hour wasn't so bad.

By the time the bell rang, everyone was so absorbed in their ancestry that no one made a move. Except for Drew Bates, who left five minutes before and didn't come back.

"I'll save the notes and turn off your laptop. Thanks for letting me use it," Julia said.

"No problem," I said, completely happy to let her keep it if she wanted my computer.

Mrs Lennex stopped strolling around the students to see what they were working on, returning to the front of the enormous classroom. "The wifi has been deactivated. Pack away your electronics and get to your second lunch break. Also, just try to remember that a report like this can't be done overnight, so dedicate yourself to it for your entire sophomore year. Enjoy the rest of your day."

Sophomores swarmed out of the only entrance to the IH room, ready to eat more food, me and Julia included.

Beforelong, my first American school day was over.