Quote from Snafu Guru on September 7, 2024, 4:13 pm

Mickey glanced back at the couple, though not too overtly, lest they notice they had an audience. He narrowed his eyes and looked closer at the details Sol was pointing out. It's funny; Mickey was used to dismissing the other people in this joint as losers and schmucks.

It turned out he was right. But he didn't exactly know why. Sue him, but the old man thought in simple terms. Best to avoid complications altogether; they were never really good for business.

Unless you were able to spot those complications from a distance, know the shmuck's move while you were two steps ahead. Perception was key but it was rare in his business, as it was in any line of work. Mickey considered himself sharp but not that sharp.

"Ain't that the truth?" He feigned apathy, wanting to see more. "So you're good for couple's therapy. Alright...how about this?" Leaning in, Mickey made his pitch. "Let's just say, for the sake of argument...I had a gat in my jacket pocket. Don't get nervous..." He preemptively warned before the kid could protest. "Just a hypothetical. Let's say...I was gonna rob this place. Right here, right now." Slapping the table, he gave the assignment. "Case the joint. Besides Droopy Dog and his ex, what other characters do I have to worry about?" Gesturing half-heartedly to the stout middle-aged man wiping down the counter, Mickey offered, "Start with him and work your way around. I wanna see if I really know these mooks."

Quote from SigmaMale2099 on September 8, 2024, 1:07 am

Taking one look at the man, in this hypothetical knock-over this guy looked like easy pickings. Didn’t take much care of himself, probably why he’d been still working at a diner in his old age. Nonetheless, he had on a button down pink shirt with brown khakis. A name tag on the right side of his chest.

The fella was growing some strays on the side of his head. What looked like black ink dried up around the side of his head. Wanted to maintain some semblance of youth. There was some concealer covering growing lines along his orange face. Though they weren’t concealed well enough for Sol not to notice.

The employee walks with a hunch. He likes to make himself small so has his arms close to his sides when he walks around the counter. Prefers when no eyes are on him. He’s timid.

“That guy,” Solomon points to. “He wouldn’t cause you trouble, he’s insecure — you say ‘put the money in the bag’ he’ll do it, no talk back.”

Eyes scour before dropping onto a guy placed in the corner of the diner. Behind Mickey. On the surface he looks tough; big and brawny with tattoos all over his arms. A low-hawk on the top of his head. The classic macho man wearing shades inside with his black tank top on. It was almost picturesque, but beyond that surface level appearance was a shell of a man.

If you look closely, those tats were no more than temporary ink. You can tell by how one smudged a little as he rest his arms down against the table. The guy may be massive, but same as the busboy, he had this shyness to him. That non confrontational look in his eye — or what of his eye you could see past those shades. Which was another thing. He’d been insecure. Hoping to present himself as this bad boy on the edge, but you but a gun to noggin that attitude will readjust itself.

Digging into his omelette, Solly smacks his lips. “Bad to the bone’ behind ya is no better — from his tattoos to his muscles, they’re all fake … a softie if you ask me.” A bell chimes as the front door opens behind Sol. Making their way in, a young woman, not much younger than him.

She had this tramp stamp on her lower back and low bob. Her hair was black and darkened with dye, bright red highlights. Some edgy high school girl you’d think was no harm, that is until you look a little closer at her baggy jeans. A rectangular outline and poking out, the end of what seemed to be a switchblade. The analysis end with Sol squinting his eyes as he peers over at her.

“Oh— her, her I know. Met once, she’s loco … actually loco.” He turns over to stare back at Mick. Arm resting back on the head of the seat. “Pull a gun on her, she ain’t wincing. Got a knife in her back pocket — would wanna smack her around a little first.”

Finally, in scavenging for another example he’d find this office Siren. The last chick in the diner was this office siren. Pencil skirt and gray blazer with a tight blouse accentuating her figure. A figure it was. Clicking and clacking at her keyboard. You’d find her to be no trouble huh? One closer examination at her right calf, you’d notice a Medusa tattoo right over her ankle. Commonly associated with women who are survivors of assault. Her? She’d be cautious. Look a little closer at the purse lying by her feet clad in red high heels you will find a handle inconspicuously similar to a revolver's.

“Her? Now she’s packing some heat in her purse, you’d wanna be careful. She was raped, I imagine not that long ago — given she’s willing to pack something like that in a diner. Clearly there’s a lot of unprocessed trauma there, but she’s made a note of the fact that she’s not letting another man take advantage her. Not again.”

Quote from Snafu Guru on September 13, 2024, 11:03 pm

Mickey bit his lip as he nodded along and processed all this information. Hm. Very interesting. Yes.

"I see..." he said, pensive for a moment before he smiled pleasantly at Solly. "Ya mind if I borrow this?" The gangster pointed at the bottle of hot sauce next to his omelet; he didn't wait for an answer, as he grabbed it and got to his feet. "Give me a second. I gotta go powder my nose."

With that cheeky joke, Mickey pivoted on his feet and shortly after, brushed past the Edgy Teenage Girl Who Definitely Shouldn't Be in A Joint Like This, apologizing in his gentlemanly manner with a brisk "Sorry, honey." Soon after, he strode past the Office Siren's table, kicking her purse well and away from the ankle.

"Hey!" Office Siren protested. "What's your problem?!" But he didn't stay to give her an apology, as he was making a bee-line to the counter with such speed, it got the Sad Too Old Bus Boy's attention. "Uh, may I help yAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!"

In a flash, the Edgy Teenage Girl Who Definitely Shouldn't Be in A Joint Like This' knife, deftly pickpocketed moments ago, was in the Sad Too Old Bus Boy's shoulder as Mickey easily slid over the counter and corned him against the half-dead freezer where they kept the Snapple. The attention around Sal's immediately shifted to the antics at the bar, though the regular customers knew better than to stare.

The kitchen doors were kicked open as none other than Sal the Third came running out in dismay and shock. "What hell is goin' on ovah..." He paled like a ghost when he saw Mickey grinning back at him. "Oh no..."

"You don't answer my calls, Sal," Mickey clicked his tongue disapprovingly. "And you never seem to be home. You forced my hand on this one." Out of the corner his eye, he saw the Office Siren try to get up and reach for her purse. "You stay in your seat, honey, or I swear to God, this canary's singing is gonna haunt your dreams." Mickey returned his gaze to the Sad Too Old Bus Boy. "Why don't we give the nice lady a sneak peek of your vocal talents, eh?" He twisted the knife, resulting in a harrowing howl from Sad Too Old Bus Boy.

Suffice to say, the Office Siren backed off.

"L-look, Mick," Sal stuttered and stammered like his mother just caught him with his hand in the cookie jar. "I-I know I'm late and the e-envelopes have been p-pretty light lately, but I swear to you, I'll be good on it."

Mickey shook his head in disbelief, tongue firmly in cheek as he did so. "My God...ya never learn, do ya? Alright?" With his free hand, he uncorked the bottle of hot sauce with his thumb and tilted it down, letting the viscous red liquid seep onto the Sad Too Old Bus Boy's open wound.

"AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"

"Oh, that's beautiful!" Mickey yelled, trying to make himself heard over the Sad Too Old Bus Boy's cries of agony. "Makes for great for musical entertainment! Ya can have him singin' full time!"

Sal the Third said nothing in response, as he was too occupied watching this torture with his mouth agape in horror.

But as usual, Mickey went on talking. "Y'know, at least until ya get the juke box fixed." He paused, considering. "Wait, if you're not spendin' the money you owe me on a new juke box, what the hell are you usin' that moola for?!" Quickly, Mickey glanced at Sal the Third's shoes and answered his own question. "Oh, those are nice. What are they? Jordans?"

"OH GOD, PLEASE!!!" The Sad Too Old Bus Boy screeched, begging for help. "IT BURRRRRRRNS..."

"Alright!" Sal the Third finally conceded. "Alright...I...I'll pay you back."

"And water is wet, pal," Mickey hurried the guy along as he threw aside the hot sauce bottle, finally giving the Too Old Sad Bus Boy a reprieve. "Just get to the point so we can end the theatrics, ok?"

Sal the Third nodded frantically as opened the register and began to rifle through it's contents, obtaining as many 20, 50, and 100 dollar bills he could see. Doing a quick count, he handed it over to Mickey, who quickly did the arithmetic in his head, muttering the numbers by the hundreds, "...7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16..." This went on for a bit before he trailed off, more offended than anything else. "Are you fuckin' kiddin' me, Sal?"

"Wha?" The owner of this place whimpered like a sad puppy.

"You're 300 short! Still, you disrespect me!" Shaking his head in disbelief, he called out to Muscles across the place. "Hey, Stone Cold. Mug this guy for me, will ya?"

And as Junior Nostradamus himself predicted, the mook was too meek for his own good. "Hey, man, look, I'm just mindin' my own business..."

"Ya wanna start singing too?" Mickey warned him as he twisted the knife further, prompting to the Too Old Sad Bus Boy to utter another high note; Muscles only sat there in timid fear. "I thought so. Now sock him in the jaw!"

Muscles hesitantly rose to his feet and approached the bar; Sal the Third made an attempt to run for it but one look from Mickey told him that he'd have a dead employee on his hands if he tried anything. So Sal 3 patiently awaited his fate as he eventually found himself in Muscles' shadow, the hulking gentle giant towering over him.

"It ain't nothin' personal, man," was all the giant said before he socked Sal the Third in the face, sending the owner tumbling to the floor, blood spilling from his mouth as he spat out a tooth. Muscles dug into the guy's pockets, fished out his wallet and tossed it to Mickey.

"Thanks, you're a pal," Mickey casually saluted the shy meathead who avoided all eye contact as he returned to his booth, taking some consolation that he was able to be a man in front of his pals. The gangster opened the wallet and with ease, found $300. "Ah. There ya go." He looked down at Sal the Third, who was still reeling from the singular hit he received from Muscles. "What were your plans with this? Grocery money? Maybe on your way to buy yourself a new Xbox?" Chuckling at his own sharp wit, Mickey realized he still had a sharp knife in the Sad Too Old Busy Boy's shoulder. "You got get yourself patched up, son." He gently patted the man on the cheek before tugging the knife out of the Sad Too Old Bus Boy's shoulder (which resulted one last beleaguered high note from the amateur singer) and pocketed the money, throwing the empty wallet next to the dazed Sal the Third. "Ya want my advice, Sal? Pay your bills on time." The battered man spat out another tooth. "That or get a dental plan. Or a juke box, the fuck do I care..."

With everything right as rain, Mickey Diamond began to whistle "Workin' on the Railroad" as he opened the freezer and picked out two Snapples, carefully surveying his options. Orange, grape, strawberry kiwi...ah, there it was! Half n' half iced tea; his doctor's recommendation, considering diabetes ran in the family. That and an Apple Snapple for the kid, since he was such a good sport for helping him out and all.

Still whistling with the two juice bottles under his arm, Mickey approached the Edgy Teenage Girl Who Definitely Shouldn't Be in A Joint Like This, who'd been awestruck and stunned by the events that had transpired; he placed her now-bloody knife back in her hand. "Thanks, sweetheart. Sorry 'bout the mess. Ya want my advice on how to get those stains out? A brillo pad and Dawn dish soap. Works every time."

He flashed her a cordial smile before finally returning to his booth, standing over Solly as he placed the Apple Snapple before him. "Now ya wanna get outta this place or do I gotta wait for you to finish your balanced breakfast?" Mickey snapped his fingers, signaling Solly to follow close behind, lest he lose his ride out of here. Instinctively, he patted his pocket, pleased to see that it was much heavier than it was when he came into this place.

It felt great. A good day's work always did.

Quote from SigmaMale2099 on September 14, 2024, 12:20 am

Sol sat there, a little frozen. Though it wasn’t fear that turned him into a popsicle stand — rather; admiration. Like some kid who just saw Indiana Jones for the first time and was left in amazement.

Solly couldn’t be too surprised. Much like how he read everyone else in the room, he was able to pick up Mickey’s character all the same. So, what he was left with was confirmation and a revelation. He now without a doubt knew exactly what kind of man Diamond was … and he wanted to be exactly like him.

The bell chimes and they exit the diner, Solomon dragging his jaw behind him. “Holy shit— I mean- Jesus!” enthusiastically shouts Sol as he pulls the hoodie from over his head, rushing to Mick’s side. “The way you just went in there and completely took control— he was practically pissing himself.”

There was something Mickey had that maybe Sol wanted. The same thing that made him initially envy him. Power. Though it was a level of power that transcended money. Something internal that he lacked. Courage. The courage to take his life into his own hand. Be the captain of his ship.

Sol had this idea that maybe if he stuck by this guy, he could gain that. Some dominance over his life. That this shady character could darken his soul until it was nothing more than a shadow and walk down a voyage across a sea of independence.

Taking a gulp of his Snapple, Solly stopped at a crosswalk, the light on green and a fleet of cars passing them by. “What now? Where are we going?” a now hooked Solomon asked.

Quote from Snafu Guru on September 14, 2024, 3:10 pm

"It ain't nothin' special," Mickey waved Solly off, striding into the parking lot as he twisted open his Snapple. "I just followed the script...the one you gave me. Give yourself some credit, kid." He took a swig of the iced tea and made a half-glance at the fun fact on the other side of the cap, muttering, "'There are more chickens than people in the world.' Well, that's fuckin' terrifyin'..."

Flicking the cap into the street, he answered the kid's question. "Well, me...I'm gonna go try to pick up that waitress you read, the one with the marital issues. As for you, you're gonna go home and consider my offer. 'Cause your brains are fine on their own but they ain't shit if they don't got anywhere to go. Stick with me, learn the rules, don't get caught, don't get shot...maybe eventually, ya might actually make somethin' of yourself. Ya got me?"

Knowing Solly fully understood what he was throwing down, Mickey smiled as he flicked out a business card. "Call me when you make up your mind, OK?" He turned to leave but quickly remembered, "Oh yeah..." He dug into his pocket and withdrew a wad of cash. "When I told Sal that he was light 300 bucks, I lied..." Mickey rolled up the cash and pressed it in Solly's hand. "...he was only short 100."

Patting Solly on the back, Mickey made his exit, finally bidding adieu. "Say hello to your ma for me. Actually..." He quickly corrected himself as he turned to face Solly one last time before he ventured back to the parking lot where, much to his delight, the pretty bombshell waitress was still laying into the sad drunk. "...don't. For her sake." Mickey shot him a toothy smirk before running over to the waitress, his voice fading out of Solly's earshot as he began his next production, "Hey, lady, this guy bothering you?"

The world was indeed a stage for the nefarious but suave Mickey Diamond. Every woman was his leading lady.

And every aspiring amateur like ol' Solly boy...was an opportunity.

Quote from ThePlotMurderer on September 14, 2024, 4:26 pm

Global 1 with Mrs. Francine Vespucci

***

"In English, we say 'welcome'. In Latin, we say 'Grata'. In Greek, it's 'Kalosórisma'. In Mandarin Chinese, 'Huānyíng'."

The chalk clicked decisively against the board as she wrote the words out, "In this class, we say Para te."

Mrs. Francine Filomena Fabrizio-Vespucci turned on her heel to regard her latest crop of pupils, "Anyone want to tell me what that means?"

There was a short silence before one of her first row girls...little Black girl in a smart navy blue jumper...raised her hand. Mrs. Vespucci snapped her fingers, "On your feet, then."

The girl blinked, surprised, but rose. She had her hands folded in front of her, like she was prepared to recite on command. Positively Victorian...Mrs. Vespucci wondered if she was an immigrant, maybe from one of those mission schools.

"In this class, if you want to speak, you stand. There's a reason for that, but I'll get to it later. What's your name, young lady?"

"Patience, ma'am."

Mrs. Vespucci nodded, "Are you?"

"I...try to be."

"And what does Para te mean?"

"It's...also Latin," Patience paused, "I think. It means...get ready."

"Close, but no cigar. You can sit."

Patience's eyes widened, but she sat. One of the boys in the back of the room...a pencil-necked mophead who was gonna have to start washing his face right quick if he valued the rest of his life...snickered audibly.

"What was that?"

Always a beautiful thing when all their eyes ended up on the same person. Typically, of course, Mrs. Vespucci liked them to be on her, as imperator of the hour, but that she already had them looking where she pointed was a good sign.

"Stand up."

The boy shrank in his seat, "I, um...I didn't say anything."

"The party told you to reject the evidence of your eyes and ears," Mrs. Vespucci intoned, "George Orwell, 1984. Show of hands, how many of you heard our friend giggling?"

Inevitably, a chorus of hands were raised. Mr. Giggles turned to the boy next to him with a muttered, "Dude, really?" His friend shrugged apologetically.

"Stand up."

Sir Giggles rose.

"Name and serial number."

"Uh...Colin," he blinked, "Is that, like, my social security?"

"Your classmate stood up and she offered an answer. It may not have been exactly correct, but she got on her feet and she spoke. Nobody in my class will ever be laughed at for having the spine to stand up and speak their mind. Is that clear?"

Colin, by now fire engine red, nodded, "Um...yes."

"Unconvincing. Maybe some quiet time in detention will help you with your diction."

"Detention?"

"Here, with me. Minute the last bell rings. Prompt as a soldier and sober as a scribe."

That told him, clear enough. Colin sank into his seat.

"This is a serious class for serious people. You will take each other seriously in this class, or you'll deal with me."

She didn't even bother noting they would take her seriously as well. That went without saying.

"To our Patience's point," she tapped the board with her knuckles, "Para te doesn't mean 'get ready'. That's close, but the more direct Latin translation is...prepare yourselves."

She nodded to impress the notion upon them, "You've got a mean four years ahead of you, and a meaner rest of your lives waiting right past that. Mortgage, rent, the job market, inflation, war in the Middle-East, and all the salt drying out of the Black Sea. There will be people in your lives...even right here, in school...who will want to keep you on your pacifiers. They'll want to drill you for your exams, keep your average just above water, and shuttle you off to college, trade school, or the Gulp 'N Go...whatever fits best, so long as you're out of sight, out of mind.

"I take a different approach. You're gonna learn a lot in this class, whether you like it or not. About this world...about all the things it was, all the things it's become, and the things it may become. You may think it's all dusty history...that none of it matters because it happened a long time ago. But I've been here a long time too...long enough I probably had some of your parents sitting right where you are now..."

She shrugged, "And if you don't think I matter yet, you will quick enough."

***

Elsewhere

***

Mrs. Hayward knocked a quick 'shave and a haircut' out on the frosted glass of the office door, "Er...Vice Principal?"

"Hm?" Theodora looked up from the spreadsheet of the hour (a roster of students with free or reduced meal plans, always a cheery diversion), "Yes, Donna?"

"There's a woman here to see you," Mrs. Hayward was wringing her hands like she expected to be told off, "For, the, er...well, she said she's here to work. As in...she's been hired."

"Oh!" Theodora raised her eyebrows, looking at her watch, "Oh good. Excellent. With all that lunacy with those girls, I'd nearly forgotten..."

"But...Vice Principal, are you saying you did hire someone?" Mrs. Hayward looked as though Theodora had just told her 2 + 2 was green, "But I put together the faculty spreadsheets...and the payroll, and..."

"You didn't do anything wrong, Donna. I'm afraid this hiring process has been a little...sensitive. By necessity."

"Sensitive?"

"That is, Donna, if you would kindly not say anything about this appointment at least for the rest of the day..." she cleared her throat, closing her laptop and putting it aside, "You can send Ms. Chang in, thank you."

"Right, yes, of course," Mrs. Hayward nodded vehemently, gesturing out into the office, "You can come in, ma'am," and then retreated from the doorway, humming to the tune of 'secret agent man' as she did.

-Mrs. Vespucci, Patience, Colin, Dylan, Theodora, and Mrs. Hayward

Quote from SigmaMale2099 on September 14, 2024, 7:46 pm

The enticement of adventure wears off eventually. As the adrenaline winds down, so does Sol and he scampers on home. There his boring an uneventful life proceeds him.

The carrier lifts him up to the fourth floor. It’s this dingy hallway with graffiti on the beige plastered walls. Screams behind them. Music blares of a multitude of varieties.

It wreaks of urine and vomit. A light blinks over his head as he waltzes down the narrow path with his arm trimming across the rusted railing. Looking down was a long way before you reach the tile. The staircase moving in this spiral.

He’s got his earbuds in, listening to ‘you should’ve come over’ by Jeff Buckley. Pipe hanging from his bottom lip. He makes it over to his front door, there his feet are planted on this dirty and worn out mat. A ‘a nuclear family’ it read. What a joke.

Opening the door, Solly is just covered by the black overcast. Blinds shut. Pizza boxes and comics scattered everywhere. It was a lonesome life. With his mom having been gone for bordering on a week now. It was just Sol all alone.

Looking over his shoulder, Solomon noticed an envelope on the ground with a boot mark on it. He bends down, picking it up. Another eviction notice. That’s just fabulous.

Working his way towards his room, he’s greeted with the funk of rotting food which makes him immediately do a double take. Some left over wings that were long expired left on his dresser which he’d toss into a metal garbage can to his right.

Solly’s was like a theme park of items he pulled out of some junkyard. By the window was a soda fountain and popcorn machine. Some theater were going to throw them out, but he picked it up. Fixed it a little. On his dresser were monitors he stole, the ones in the center replaying camera feed. They looked like CCTV footage. The other two at the corners streaming some anime. In place of a ceiling fan was a disco ball he found in a dumpster. In his closet  housed some arcade machines like Pac-man and Donkey Kong. It was the definition of one man’s trash is another man’s treasure.

Plopping onto his bed, Sol lies there with one leg hanging off the mattress and right arm over his face. Suddenly there’s something thudding up against the side of his ankle. After trying to doze off, ignoring it for a while, Solly finally relents.

He lifts himself up and looks down at this little robot mechanism. It had an eye connected to a crane with a claw in-between these two conveyor belts which allowed it to glide across the area with ease.

It held a little soda can in its small hand which Solomon would look to and sigh before accepting it. “Thanks Hephie,” said Benji. The contraptions name was Hephaestus. Yes, after the Greek God. He made for his fourth grade science fair. After a long day of work, Sol remembered how his dad felt it was a pain to go to the kitchen and grab himself a beer. So, he made something that would grab it for him. Looking back on it, his dad was so proud. It sucked a day later Solly had to watch his old man get dragged out in a pair of cuffs.

It wasn’t fair. Big suits get to cheat the game all the time, but when his family does it suddenly it’s a problem? Sol supposed what he really wanted more than anything wasn’t to necessarily feel like he’s powerful. He just wanted to stop feeling like he’s powerless. There’s no power in waiting for shit to happen. There’s no power in hoping some divine intruder impedes on your life and blows all your troubles away.

If Solomon really wanted to change his life, he’d have to be that divine intruder.

Quote from valerious on September 18, 2024, 7:56 pm

Mei Chang adjusted the strap of her shoulder bag as she walked through the halls of George Washington High School. It was much bigger than she had imagined, a maze of hallways that all looked the same under the flickering fluorescent lights that all American schools seemed to have.

She stopped at an intersection of two long hallways and sighed, biting her lip in frustration. Shouldn’t have explored on my own. Her eyes trailed over the walls for signs, but the arrows only pointed in vague directions. Her stomach was twisted in knots. It was never a good look to be late on the first day. Thankfully, she’d chosen to arrive roughly thirty minutes early.

After a few more turns and a near-accidental collision with a particularly scruffy looking child, she found the office tucked behind an unassuming door. Mei hesitated for a moment, brushing back strands of raven colored hair, before pushing it open.

The office was cozy, with bulletin boards covered in memos, photos of smiling students, and notices for upcoming events dotting the walls. A woman behind the front desk glanced up from her computer.

“Hi there, can I help you?” the woman asked, her voice brisk but not unkind.

Mei smiled nervously and stepped forward. “Yes, I’m Mei Chang. I am supposed to be meeting with the Vice Principal. I’m starting as a teaching assistant today.”

The woman looked as though Mei had just sprouted a second head. Her mouth agape like a fish out of water and her eyes wide. She remained silent for a moment before standing.

“Could you wait here for just a moment?”

Before Mei even had a chance to respond, the woman had scurried off. The new TA tilted her head curiously then made her way over to a small row of chairs. As she sat down, she took a deep, steadying breath. Trying to ignore the anxiety bubbly just beneath her skin as she waited.

Quote from ThePlotMurderer on September 18, 2024, 8:54 pm

"Come in, come in!" Theodora rose from her chair, catching the abysmal state of her desk and feeling suddenly like her mother had just turned up for a visit. All very well for the kids to see the towers of manila envelopes, sticky notes, and much-abused stress balls, but the faculty was supposed to see her as an aspirational figure.

"Ms. Chang," she moved around her desk, ruing that she'd quite forgotten to put all the chairs back in their proper places after that fiasco with the three amigas, "Welcome, welcome..." she stopped short before the young woman, saying a third time, "Welcome," and indicating with her eyes that Mrs. Hayward could stop rubbernecking and go back to her crosswords.

The dutiful receptionist, getting the hint, gave Theodora a thumbs' up and closed the connecting door, leaving Theodora and Ms. Chang in relative privacy.

"You'll have to forgive the state of the place," she began, heading back around the desk, and deciding not to be extra cute by noting she'd have to forgive a hell of a lot around here. God help them all, it was standard operating procedure in this building.

"First day of school...one surprise after another. Please," she dragged a chair over to the desk, "Have a seat," and took her own advice.

"How was your commute? You were able to find a parking space, I hope? I'll have a space designated for you before the end of the week...forms, you know, and people are so particular about their space. It always takes a few weeks for everyone to stop squabbling over territory...I was here six years before people stopped looking at me like I'd couped them out of their divinely-mandated square."

She paused, deciding it was probably better if she didn't send her bold new hope running to the hills at the five minute mark.

"But you did find us alright?"

-Theodora and Mrs. Hayward

Quote from valerious on September 21, 2024, 9:26 pm

The moment the vice principal's voice hit Mei's ears her head shot up. She flashed her best 'I am a professional smile and stood. With a swift swipe of the hand, she smoothed out her clothes and then slipped through the door.

"Thank you so much," she said as she lowered herself down into the seat. "I'm really excited to be here."

That was not an understatement. Mei was still bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. She was excited for her first real gig, even if that meant walking into a wolf's den made up of teenagers.

She ran a hand restlessly over her trousers. Flattening out imaginary wrinkles. "The commute wasn't bad at all," she added quickly," but I did get a little lost trying to find my way around the school. I wanted to explore a bit before coming in, and- well, I ended up taking a few wrong turns."

She let out a small, almost self-deprecating laugh as she looked down briefly before lifting her gaze back up.

"And no problems with parking...at least not yet."

After a rather awkward pause, Mei continued. "I tried to find my classroom so I could introduce myself to the teacher I'll be assisting, but it didn't work out. Do you think she'll be upset that I didn't stop by first?"

Quote from ThePlotMurderer on September 22, 2024, 9:26 am

You are an evil woman, Theodora thought, regarding this pleasant, smiling young lady, You are why they invented guillotines.

Theodora had once been young and eager, ready to follow the nearest clipboard-bearing factotum into the depths of hell with a smile on her face and a spring in her step. She'd cut her teeth in Chicago public schools, for God's sake. She was no amateur.

She wasn't so inhuman as to realize the particular circumstances of Ms. Chang's hiring were outside the venue of 'clean dealing', but desperate times called for a little smoke and mirrors. A little razzle-dazzle.

They should stone you in the parking lot, she told herself, You are a dimestore Caligula, and you don't even have a fancy castle to show for it.

"That is to the good, Ms. Chang," Theodora continued, "I was hoping to escort you myself," she rose from her seat, holding the door open as the enterprising young lady could follow her, "You see, I must admit to putting my finger on the scale a little bit...as it were," she cleared her throat, "Your teaching partner, Mrs. Vespucci...she has not been told she will be getting a teacher's assistant."

-Theodora

Quote from valerious on September 25, 2024, 3:16 pm

Mei blinked. What?

She felt a flutter of panic in her chest. No one told Mrs. Vespucci? What sort of minefield was she about to walk into? Oh no.

The pause between Theodora’s words and Mei’s response was just a tick too long. As though the girl were trying to compute the revelation. Then, her lips curled into a bright smile. Perhaps a bit too bright given the circumstances.

“Oh! Um, okay!” she squeaked out in a pitch far higher than intended.

Her hand tightened around the strap of her bag. “No worries! I am sure she and I will get along swimmingly.”

Mei did not feel confident. In fact, this was the least confident she had felt in quite some time. Why exactly would the vice principal not inform a teacher that they were getting an assistant? Surely not because said teacher was a peach.

I wonder if reassignment is possible.

“Better not put it off any longer then, lead the way!”

- Mei

Quote from ThePlotMurderer on September 25, 2024, 6:47 pm

"That's the spirit," said Theodora, because what else was one supposed to say to such heart-rending earnestness?

"Mrs. Vespucci, I may have mentioned in your interview..." she talked as she walked, heading out of the office (Mrs. Hayward had her lips pursed around a Jolly Rancher like she'd got it on prescription), "Is something of a personality. She's been at this school longer than..."

Than this girl had been alive. Or Theodora, for that matter.

"...than anybody. So you might find her a little, er, set in her ways."

Two years ago, Theodora had fought the noble if misguided fight of campaigning for Mrs. Vespucci to finally upgrade to a SMART Board in her classroom and she had responded by writing the complete text of the Magna Carta on her blackboard, end to end, in perfect cursive.

"But for all that, she's one of our finest. Whenever alumni drop by to visit, they always ask about her."

Usually to marvel that she was still alive, but Theodora would concede Mrs. Vespucci produced fewer failures than their average. That wasn't the problem at all. The real issue was having a tenured nonagenarian teaching four classes (including an AP!) out of the same rubric she'd been using since the Reagan administration.

"Here we are..." they drew up outside Room 2o4. She narrowed her eyes, noticing the darkened room beyond the frosted glass pane, "Lights are off. She must be showing the film."

***

THE FILM

***

There was a tiny television set mounted in the upper corner, above the door, supported on a plastic stand that vibrated dangerously whenever someone entered the room. Into this television set, Mrs. Vespucci had, without fail, inserted the same VHS tape every first day of school for 30 years.

This tape played a film, somewhat yellowed, and with dubious audio quality, that nonetheless had produced the desired effect on generations of freshmen.

In the film, a (slightly) younger Mrs. Vespucci sits at her desk in deadly silence. Before her is a shoebox from Florsheim's, which went out of business about the same time the Class of 2018 were teething.

Not once breaking eye contact with her audience, the Mrs. Vespucci of the screen takes the lid off the box and turns it toward the camera as the Mrs. Vespucci of the here-and-now inhales the inevitable shocked exclamations of revulsion from her captive audience...

(This year, it was one of the boys...a curly-haired waif with enviable cheekbones...who screamed the loudest. God bless the steady march of human progress.)

Inside the shoebox is a minefield of oddly-colored, lumpy growths, like some sort of fungal colony.

In a stentorian boom, the Mrs. Vespucci of a bygone era declares, "No gum," after a reasonable pause, "If you chew gum in my room, you'll spit it out here too," like Vanna White, she gestures over her collection, "Those who don't learn from history will...well, you'll learn the rest if you don't already. I'll say again...no gu..."

The door opens and the TV shook on its moorings, as was its wont. The video's spell was broken.

"Apologies for the interruption, Mrs. Vespucci," said Theodora, looking up to regard the TV with a terse smile, "Hit the ground running, I see."

"Not a single piece of gum chewed in my class in 25 years. Propaganda has its uses."

"So it has been said."

"And who is this?" Mrs. Vespucci looked past her to Mei.

"Well," Theodora cleared her throat, "This, Mrs. Vespucci, is Ms. Chang."

Mrs. Vespucci blinked, smiling faintly, "Hello," before looking right back at Theodora, "Vice Principal, I have a lot of material to cover..."

"Oh, I'm on my way out," Theodora continued, "I just wanted to show Ms. Chang the way to her room."

"This is my room," as if Theodora had just gotten concussed.

"It is your room. Both of yours. Ms. Chang is your new teacher's assistant," she looked around the room.

The kids didn't seem particularly impressed by this at large. The perky Black girl who'd been parked in her office this morning waved brightly, which was very polite of her, to be sure.

Mrs. Vespucci, for her part, was looking at Mei like she'd just begun oozing pus.

"Assistant?" she repeated.

-Theodora, Mrs. Vespucci, Micah, and Tami

Quote from SigmaMale2099 on September 26, 2024, 12:40 am

SAINT DUBOIS CHURCH

The church used to have over a hundred people line up for mass. Heads in hand as they devote themselves entirely to something greater than themselves. Those chimes — the word of God. Singing in their ear.

Nowadays? The church corridors look bleak. Cracks in the colorful stain glass, graffiti covering the walls of the cathedral’s walls. Debris covering the grand and cobwebs decorating the ceiling corners.

Solly wasn’t a man of faith, but there was something that resonated deeply with him about religion. Abiding by some commandments—living in accordance of an all knowing all seer. The alternative, eternal damnation. The idea of such an ultimatum felt so easy.

In the front row, his eyes gaze up at the crucified Jesus Christ, arm hanging over his right knee with a cigarette between his fingers. Solomon never got the idea of how that was supposed to be a compliment. ‘Oh your son died on the cross? Let me wear it across my neck.’ What a twisted world they live in.

Rats fasten across the floor. At the very least, they got something out of this dump. This was wear all the gutter trash go. The ones the system decided didn’t matter. They collect like cockroaches to meet.

Solly is shook when he feels two cold hands squeezing his shoulders. A sudden jolt as he’s quick to turn his head, sighing in annoyance as it’s only his knuckle-headed friend. Rick.

Coming to his feet, Sol tosses the cig to the floor, putting it out with the back of his heel. “Fuck you man, seriously,” says Solomon. Rick cackles with a hand on his abdomen and head held back. “Don’t be a little bitch man, by the way … weird ass choice for a meet up location.”

Solomon looked around the complex. He supposed it wasn’t the most usual teen hangout spot, but they’ve spotted in worst dumps. “Whatever, you got the stuff?” Rick takes the bag from his back and holds in both his hands, then replies, “Do you?” with this cocky grin.

A soft scoff from Solly. Though he tries his best, even he can’t stop himself slipping a little grin. Taking his own book bag, he drops it from shoulder onto the wooden booth where he was sitting before. Unzipping it, the contents were some cable wires and what appeared to this unique battery.

Solly may have lost his last car too impound following his last driving fiasco, but if they thought that they could actually keep him from turning these streets into his own personal courtyard then they’d be sadly mistaken.

In a dingy alleyway, Richard and Sol would be throwing back a couple brewskis as they rev the engine of this modified sports car. It black with sleek ends and missed a hood with a couple different large battery held in place beside each other. A sizzling blue flame behind them flippantly activates.

“Come on you stupid piece of shit,” Solomon hums underneath his breath. Rick, smacking his lips, looks to his comrade in concern. “You– think it ain’t working?” he stammers. That wasn’t a possibility Solly was accepting. This thing was ten years in the making.

After a few more stomps to the gas pedal, they can feel this vehicle purr like a cat. A blue hue casted across the dark depths of Lakewoods streets as they pulled out of the alley. “Oh yeah baby! Fuck yes!” Rick enthusiastically chants. “We got ourselves a Batmobile! What do we call her?” Solomon wasn’t much of a car guy, but the idea of mechanized street destroying machine had been a concept they worked on for year. A few names have popped up in that time. “Courtney,” Sol responds.

Rick didn’t really get, but it was fine. He wasn’t meant to. Their conversation is then drowned out as Solomon blasts the radio and playing is Lake of Fire, by Nirvana. To it, they race down the vacant roads as they flood the town with grunge rock and thick smoke.

The interior was nice, decorated with some LED lights at the bottom casting an upwards red shine across their faces. CD’s littered the dashboard — a Kratos bobblehead figure stuck onto the center, waving his head every which way.

For background, Rick and Sol have always been pretty good friends. Even before his dad’s arrest and subsequent death. They bonded over their troubling home lives. Rick was some kid who never really knew his mom or dad, instead living with this older woman who took him in. Sol never asked what their connection was, mainly because Rick never talked about it.

In this town, if you aren’t middle class or up, you got to be tough. Richard was probably the toughest guy that Solly knew. They always got into fights, leaving bloodied and bruise, but you can always guarantee the other guy was looking way worst.

SALEMS LOT

The duo pulls up into this abandoned lot. Patches of grass splitting out between the concrete. Remnants of what was once before covered by the waste of the new world.

Sol turns down the radio before reaching into his coat pocket and retrieving a pack smokes. Grabbing a stick, he places it between his top and bottom lips whilst lighting a match. “So..” Rick breaks the ice before sipping down some beer. “So?” Solly questionably responds. “A little birdie says you’re kicking it with Mickey D now?” It seemed word traveled fast in this town, but Sol knew it was only a matter of time. He just didn’t think time would fly so quickly.

Solomon would leans against the car door, resting his head on his knuckles. “You remember that little incident I had?” Rick said would curiously nod his head, prompting Sol to continue. “The big guy bought my bail … asked me to work for him.”

A long pause is what follows. Rick stares ahead, baffled and eyebrows so high they could touch the ceiling. Eyes nearly bulging out from their sockets. “And you are just telling me this now cause—!?” rhetorically asks Rick. “Because I don’t know man,” Sol is hesitant to respond. “You know what kind of shit that guy gets ups to? Tryna’ end up like your dad?” Smacking his lips, Solly looks out the window off to the side. In his mind, weighing his options. “My hasn’t been home in a minute, Chris is behind bars and rent is due… I need the cash.”

An answer Rick found both unacceptable and offensive. The way he saw it, there was no reason for him to be in the position he’s in. Sure, life dealt him a bad hand, but on top of being some white guy with an influential family background, he was beyond gifted. Unlike himself, who while decently smart, wasn’t seeing many ways out of his own predicament.

“What a load of a BS,” Rick remarks. “You got all these talents, but don’t do nothing with them.” Finally, something in Sol just snaps. He whips around to face Rick, practically foaming at the teeth. “That why I have to do this!” Solomon shouts at the top of his lungs. His curly tresses in a mess. “When people look at me… they see my father’s son… I want to be more than that.” Rick couldn’t get through to him. In exhaustion, he lays his head in his palms. “This is not the way man—” he states only for Sol to immediately chime “This is the ONLY way.”

In Sol’s mind, no matter how good he could read everyone else, he could never understand himself. Maybe there’s some merit to what Rick said, but Solomon couldn’t see it. All Solly knew was that all his life he’d been treated like the scum of the earth and has seen the bottom of humanity. What’s good having gifts if nobody gives you chance? Well someone did; Mickey did.

Pulling up beside them is this red mustang. The driver inside moving his hand in a circular motion, telling them to roll their window down. They oblige. “You two street freaks still wanna test me in that hunk of junk?” says this macho meat head, wearing a letterman jacket with some gelled back hair. “It never is too late to quit.”

“Save the trash talk Dave for someone who gives a shit,” Solly says as he looks between the opposing car and Rick. “You got the cash?” asks Richard as he leans forward across Sol. A phony laugh exits Dave’s lips as he waves a gray bag. “Yeah, but I’m not the one who’s going to need to pay up.” Solly locks eyes with Rick. Sharing a confident smile. Because he knew, that Rick knew, that Dave didn’t know this was a fixed fight.

Both of their engines begin to hum out. Dave feeling his luck, Sol watching as it dwindles out as he immediately leaves the red mustang in his dust. Catching the last few glimpses of Dave’s cocky smirk fading into shock as he tries to catch up. Left with the view of the car’s drivers plate. On it reads “Courtney Love.”

Quote from valerious on September 26, 2024, 11:57 pm

Mei had so so so many questions. If Mrs. Vespucci was ‘one of our finest’ why the hell was she here? It sounded like she was being dropped right on this poor woman’s head. That was not very conductive of a good working relationship. Mei was an invader!

As they walked down the halls, she tried to calm herself. Remain professional. Don’t tell Theodora this was a terrible idea.

All these things she told herself until they came upon the room. Mei peaked in the through the little glass window and had a good enough view of The Film to understand why she was being sacrificed. Mrs. Vespucci was ancient.

If she is that old, I can’t imagine what her teaching methods were like.

Mei, she deduced, was meant to be the winds of change. And if regular old winds didn’t work, she supposed she was supposed to be more akin to a typhoon. Out with the old in with the new, I suppose.

She glanced toward Theodora and followed her in. Offering the students a bright smile and waving back at the young girl with a little wiggle of her fingers.

“Yes, assistant.” She said politely, but firmly. “I am sure we will work great together. I already started developing lessons plans. I’d love to go over them with you after class.”

Quote from ThePlotMurderer on September 27, 2024, 8:54 pm

Mrs. Vespucci drew breath in which, for a woman of her dimensions, was a fairly impressive sight.

Clearly, this was some sort of coup d'etat. The crooked senators had been sharpening their knives for years now...and to think, the kids called her Brutus!

Oh, Kellerman was a tough customer. Vespucci had to give her that. Cold blooded as an iguana, and cunning as any woman who came of age with second wave feminism. She could respect that, sure...but she could play her own hand just as well.

The girl herself was alright...pretty, and nicely made up, like all these younger girls did these days. This went without saying, but in Francine's day, if you walked into a classroom in so much as sheer pantyhose, administration would look at you like Mata Hari. She kept to slacks these days herself, as much for practical purposes as aesthetic. She figured the next man to see her legs would be the mortician, and godspeed to him.

She smiled too...lots of the new generation smiled. Gone were the days when they drilled it into the young ones' heads that you had to be ol' ironsides to get the kids in line. Nowadays, everyone wanted to be their students' 'friends'. She'd yet to see the data on this, but she doubted this bold new strategy was paying dividends. On her money, she doubted her peers in Beijing were playing nice with the kiddos.

Oh...Chang, right. Probably Chinese herself. God help her if she came off as Ku Klux Kathy.

"After class," she smiled thinly, nodded her head, "Well, that's as good place for it as any."

"Very well, then," Kellerman was already breaking stage left, "Have a good lesson," which sounded a lot like 'Good luck', what a sport, "And a good class!" to the students, who were, if nothing else, paying keen attention.

The door closed decisively, and the TV shook again. One day, somebody was going to get a nice surprise...it might even be Vespucci at this rate, and the way things were going, it may not be an accident either.

Now, if she were a real bitch on wheels, Francine would go on as if nothing had happened. Just move on to the next bit of her preamble, as she had last year and the year before, and the decade before that.

But that's what she was expected to do. That old dog Sun Tzu had been taken out of context more times than anybody had ever read that old book, but she could agree enough that you never do what your enemy expects.

Not that this Ms. Chang was an enemy...no, she'd just been sent by them.

"Well..." she mosied around to the opposite end of her desk, gesturing broadly with fanned (if stubby) fingers, "Say hi."

"Hi..." began one of the boys.

"You can save the call and response, Vanderweiss. You'll know when I'm addressing you."

Vanderweiss...Caleb, Francine recalled; she'd had his sister once and wouldn't have her again...not AP material...bowed his head in disgrace. Poor bastard. Oh well.

"Ms. Chang is a surprise, but one thing you'll learn in this class is that the world's full of them, and the people who get by best don't flinch when they hit. We keep moving on here. Ms. Chang, why don't you tell us a little about yourself? A Who, What, Where, When..." she trailed off, "Why?"

-Mrs. Vespucci, Theodora, and Caleb

Quote from valerious on October 1, 2024, 12:44 am

Mei watched the elderly woman’s expression curiously. It was obvious the old bag wasn’t pleased to be dethroned. Even if Mei wasn’t there for her job, the intentions of their superior was clear. She had been here for all of five minutes and could tell that.

Still, Mei hoped they could get along. If Vespucci didn’t want Mei there, the most important thing was that the kids got a proper education. Rickety TVs with disturbing, gum filled videos wasn’t exactly what she called proper, but perhaps her new co-worker could be talked down from that ledge at a later date. She hadn’t seen her teach yet, but it seemed like the two had vastly different teaching styles. Well, styles in general. Vespucci looked like a white version of her grandmother…and that wasn’t really a compliment.

“Ah, well as you heard, my name is Mei Chang and I just graduated from the University of Michigan. I decided I wanted some adventure, so I accepted the open teaching assistant position here,” Mei paused. Raising her brows somewhat politely at Mrs. Vespucci before turning her attention back to the class. Her lips curling in a warm smile. “The advertisement called for some fresh takes on how to teach and I thought I would be perfect for that. I do hope the lot of you will be open to trying a few new things this year.”

Despite her attention being on the kids, they weren’t who she was talking to.

Quote from ThePlotMurderer on October 2, 2024, 8:55 am

Joely's father had treated her to approximately 18.5 "hard conversations" about microaggressions and how she was bound to face more and more of them because They Hate to See a Brainy Black Girl Winning, but none of these seminars were quite as effective at defying the term than whatever the hell was going on here.

The old lady was kinda funny, the way really old people were. Her grandmother had lived to 93 and that had reinforced Joely's opinion that once you made it to 75, you shed all your fucks like a snake sheds its skin. Speaking of skin, the new chick had got all the way under Vespucci's wrinkly casing.

Joely cast her gaze to Patience, sitting to her right. She'd gotten very upright and nervy when Curlicue in the back had gotten mouthy. Joely, who had gotten where she was in no small part due to a good sense of judgment, had decided Patience was cool, but severely in need of a back bone, so she'd have been perfectly willing to swap some words with the gangly white boy who thought he was funny, if Vespucci hadn't decided to embarrass him first.

Patience, for her part, was sitting with her hands folded on the desk, at attention. Joely guessed she must be one of those smart kids...smart with cherries on top, you know. The kind of smart adults like. Joely was the type of smart that developed the persnickety self-awareness adults didn't always like, where you started wondering why, if you were so smart, you needed to put up with all this song and dance.

Joely didn't need to impress anybody, except herself, and her standards were high enough. She didn't know why some people...some girls especially...felt like they had to break their backs so some old guy with an Excel spreadsheet would nod approvingly in just the right way.

Or some boys too, she supposed, looking at her other end, where 'the Famous Caleb' appeared to be fighting the urge to melt into a puddle of shame after Vespucci's half-second rebuke. His face had turned so red it obscured his freckles and clashed horribly with his hair. It was terrifying. No wonder his ancestors had laid waste to so many countries. Lost a bit of punch when you were barely five feet tall and the shape of an apple, though.

She made eye contact with him  for about half a second, long enough to performatively cross her eyes in the general direction of Vespucci. This had the unintended effect of changing his color palette from red to green in double time as he turned away with a retch.

It's beginning to look a lot like Christmas, she thought dourly, turning back to Ms. Chang and telling herself four years of this couldn't possibly be that bad.

***

Bernard had noticeably perked up when the TA said she'd graduated from UMich. Or he was just checking her out. Micah didn't know...he didn't really know Bernard that well at all. Which, presumably, was why his Mom was so determined they become friends. Dr. Fan was a colleague of hers, and every interaction Micah had ever had with him included some obligatory remark about how his son was about the same age as him.

Micah didn't think that was enough basis for a friendship, really, but he wasn't a psychologist, even as much as he sometimes felt like the product of a father-mother psychological experiment.

"My Mom went to UMich," Bernard offered, smiling brightly, "Before you, probably," another healthy pause, "She's way older."

A short silence. The pixie-haired girl a few seats away scoffed audibly into her hand.

Vespucci blinked dolefully, "That'll want an editor."

Bernard shrugged, smirking chummily. At Micah's other side, the chatty Nikki giggled conspiratorially, whispering, "He's got a crush."

Micah looked at her, unable to suppress a smile. Nikki was funny...she'd gotten really interested in him really fast, which was weird, since as far as he knew, he wasn't very interesting.

Compare with Bernard suddenly becoming very interested in Tami, the girl with the purple dreads, who was at this moment smiling in empathetic embarrassment at his attempted flirtation (?) with the TA.

"You think so?" he asked Nikki, 99.9% sure he was whispering, and so ended up being quite surprised when Vespucci spoke, in ranging tones, "Swapping conspiracies, Hendricks?"

She knew his name already? Nikki raised her eyebrows, mouthing 'sorry', which Vespucci was either selectively blind too or had chosen to ignore.

"Uh...no," Micah offered, "Ma'am. I just..."

Improvise. Come on. Everyone else can be a smartass on demand. It can't be that hard.

"I had a question for..." he gestured expressively.

"Ms. Chen," offered Bernard.

"Ms. Chang," Micah concluded.

"Right."

"I bet," Mrs. Vespucci didn't seem particularly convinced, but didn't make any attempt to stop him either, which had to mean something.

Micah readjusted himself in his seat, "What's your favorite time?" he paused, "I mean time period. In history."

Nice save, Quickdraw, he thought derisively, you should join an improv group.

-Joely, Patience, Caleb, Bernard, Micah, Audrey, Tami, Nikki, and Mrs. Vespucci

Quote from valerious on October 4, 2024, 8:47 pm

Mei did her best not to crinkle her nose at the student. She recalled being a teenager in the not-too-distant past (unlike Mrs. Vespucci). Cringe was just part of it, unfortunately, the boy who hadn't seemed to grow into his face just yet didn't seem to realize his lack of swag. That didn't concern her though. One day, years from now, he would look back and groan.

She crossed her arms over her chest and tilted her. Curiously watching as the students interacted. Her dark eyes focusing in on the boy who managed to get her name right. Little mind paid to the other child.

"Ah," She hummed. Head tilting back as she considered his words. "That is a tough question. There are so many interesting points in history. The Song Dynasty is, of course, fascinating. As is the Islamic golden age."

A hand raised to gently tap at her chin. Dragging out the answer a little longer than it needed to be. Predominantly because she didn't want Vespucci to have a chance to finish The Film.

"But what...is...my...favorite." Finally, she looked forward once more. A gentle smile tugging on her lips "I love ancient history and out of all the societies we know of, my favorite would have to be the Sumerians. They gave us the very first known work of literature and have inspired hundreds of films and video games."

Mei paused, just for a beat as she let her words sink in. "You know, why don't we go around the room and share our favorite thing about history. It could be a fact, a person, a period. Anything at all! Far more productive than having you all sit quietly in the dark."

The TA's gaze shifted to the older teacher, that smile still plastered on her lips "Don't you agree, Mrs. Vespucci?"

Quote from ThePlotMurderer on October 5, 2024, 10:43 am

Oh, for Christ's sake, Mrs. Vespucci couldn't help but think at the deployment of this hippie-dippy 'circle talk' strategy.

Mind you, she had no idea if the Sumerians had inspired video games. To her understanding, every video game made in the last 10 years either had you carrying out the Bush administration's foreign policy or eating magic mushrooms, but sure, yes, the Sumerians had inspired video games, super keen, sister. They invented written language, so probably they were responsible for Hotmail too. Who says history is boring?

Oh, but the girl was smart...Vespucci wondered what she was doing in a place like this. Some of these newer hires were well at home in this circus like the jokers they were...that putzing neurotic Schwartz in the math department came first to mind.

This one could have a real future...built on Vespucci's grave or otherwise.

Properly trapped, she cleared her throat and looked out at the kids...at any rate, this was the smarter class. Her 'slower' freshmen were slated for fourth period...right before they went to lunch. If Ms. Chang wanted to sit around and smoke the peace pipe with them, Vespucci would put her foot down for her own good.

Or she could be the aforesaid bitch on wheels. She might be nearing her centennial, but she could still be flexible on demand.

Ahem.

"Just none of you chucklers wax poetic about the Holocaust," she declared preemptively. She knew what people were like, after all. You could have as many high-minded ideas about the Youth of America as you liked, but people were more or less the same everywhere, in every season. Not a good thing or a bad thing, and a lot of real trouble had been started believing one or another of those, but just an immutable fact.

No good ever came of pretending otherwise.

-Mrs. Vespucci

Quote from ThePlotMurderer on October 5, 2024, 2:49 pm

PERIOD 5

***

Honestly, for the most part, high school wasn't that different from eighth grade, except everyone smelled worse and the bell actually worked.

Audrey had suffered the doleful slog of the morning with what she thought was a stiff upper lip and a healthy, forward-thinking attitude. After they'd all been subjected to that weird morality play about the dangers of not paying seniors reasonable pensions in Global, it had been Algebra, which may as well have been naptime, and then back to back 'intro Comp' (which seemed to be a state mandate desperation move to make sure they knew what a paragraph was before they advanced any higher on the ladder) and English with Ms. Aleheri, who was probably the most pleasant teacher they'd yet had, for what that was worth.

"Remember," Aleheri called as they filed out of the room, "Charlotte Temple in your hands by Friday! No e-books! You're eyes will thank me later."

"It's a scam," Audrey said casually as they passed out into the hallway, "They buy the books from the state, so they 'need' us to all buy copies. Doesn't matter if it's been public domain for 2o0 years."

She hadn't gotten much of a chance to talk to Emma yet today. They were in different homerooms by virtue of what Audrey assumed was the spelling of their last names, and the only other class they had together was Global, and she wasn't about to get put into the stockade for having the audacity to be personable.

"What do you think lunch is?" she grimaced as they passed through the big double doors into the cafeteria, differentiated from the prison where her father did outreach work only by the obnoxious armored knight painted on the far wall, which skewed more toward 'fascist' than 'cutesy' as far as Audrey was concerned.

***

"Lunch," Jake announced grandly.

"I've lost my appetite," Brooke replied monotonously.

"Not hungry, Brooke? Not even for some..." Jake ostentatiously retrieved a foil wrapped rectangle from his pocket, "Gum?"

Brooke gave him a look as he erupted into a peal of giggles, "You're so hilarious."

"Nice, man," said Will flatly, snatching the gum from Jake's hand and popping it into his mouth anyway, "Hey, do you think it works..."

"YOU JUST EXPERIENCED BIG 5 GUM!" hollered Gigi Cotswold, running up on them with her phone out.

"Hey, what the..." Will protested, but Gigi had already flashed 'deuces' in his face and run off, offering color commentary to her audience (???) as she went, "We're bringin' out the BIG GUMS at GW High, Class of 2018, REPRESENT, we're chewing it UP..."

There was a short silence before Jake let out a little half-laugh, "Heh. That was funny."

"But it can't work, right," said Will, "The thing she did, with the video? That's not gonna stop people from chewing gum."

"Speak for yourself."

"Most people."

Brooke rolled her eyes, looking back toward Vespucci's room, where they'd all suffered their most recent class together, "What, you're trying to say I'm easily influenced?"

"I'm just saying, you tell most people not to do something, they're more likely to do it," he paused, "And that definitely includes you, come to think of it, so..."

She stuck her tongue at him playfully, picking her pace up.

***

"What you got next?"

Nick grinned, "Freebie, baby. You?"

Taj grimaced, "AP World."

"What, with Big Dog Brutus?"

"Unless she dropped dead over the summer."

"Why would you do that to yourself? You know, you have to sign up for that shit, right?"

"I did sign up for it," Taj pointed out, "So I know. Look, I figure whatever gets my folks off my ass. College credits or whatever, and I sure as hell wasn't getting into AP Calc, so..."

"It's a most challenging course so far!" and here was Dick, springing out of the tiles fully formed, which was clearly going to be the pattern, "But Ms. Turner is a most captivating instructor."

Taj grinned, "That's her thing, little man. You in AP World?"

"What do you think..." Nick began as Dick spoke over him, "Oh, yes! I must admit, I am wary of facing the infamous Brutus!"

Taj looked at Nick, "What, your brother telling you ghost stories?"

"Of a sort."

"He ever tell you about that one Halloween..."

"Okay, that's enough," muttered Nick, flushing.

"Yes, for now," Dick nodded, "It's almost time for the bell,"  he looked at Nick, "What's your next class?"

"Uh..." he shrugged, "I don't have one. Free period."

"I am envious!" he said earnestly, "It's a pity we don't have more classes together."

Nick made a tight, noncommittal noise in the back of his throat at this. Just another of Dicky Boy's innocent little turns of phrase: "A pity we don't have more classes", sounded nice and decent until you thought about it for half a second and it took on its true form: "A pity you're such a remedial dumbass."

"Yeah. Real tragedy," Nick muttered, stalking off down the hall.

***

"My brother is in a brown study."

"Oh, word," muttered Taj, continuing toward Vespucci's room and figuring there was nothing he could do to shake Dick Cole.

Anyway, the kid seemed well meaning. Taj didn't have any brothers or sisters, so maybe he didn't get how badly Jimmy Neutron over here had fucked up Nick's self esteem or whatever. Still...it seemed shitty to resent a guy for being smart.

"Are you very good friends with him? I don't know very much about his friends, and I figure this is the best time to..."

Someone walked between them, practically shoulder-checking him in her haste, "Hey, watch..." Taj began to protest, before catching a flash of blonde hair hanging from under a hood.

The girl from homeroom.

***

"I hope you had fun!" Gracie Greene waved a bangle-encrusted arm as the bell rang through the art studio, "Remember...sketchbooks for next class! It doesn't have to be fancy, but your work deserves better than graph paper."

"Damn straight," Francisco muttered, "Some of it deserves to be rolled up and smoked," he nudged Adam, who rolled his eyes, "It's not my fault that you don't appreciate my artistic vision..."

"I don't know what we're even doing in this school, man. Have a frickin' seizure with a pencil and get a passing grade..."

"It was a landscape!" Adam protested, "Luke, you saw it. It was a landscape."

Luke shrugged with a sheepish smile, "I believe that's what you intended."

"And you know what they say about artistic intent," Aiden chimed in, striding up at Adam's other side.

"Bro! Finally," Adam threw an arm around his twin's shoulders, "Tell these hillbillies about artistic intent."

Aiden smiled pityingly, "It doesn't matter. Sorry, man."

"What? Who says?"

"Hey, I don't make the rules..."

"Yet," Manny joined them as they reached the base of the stairs to head toward the cafeteria, "Hey, babe," he pecked Aiden on the cheek.

"How was Health?" Aiden asked.

"Fine until I realized it's only a matter of months before I get the 'the talk' from Coach Rufus," he shuddered, "You think there'll be a section on gay stuff?"

"There should be."

"I dunno. I'd be willing to trade it, considering the source."

"You dissin' coach now?" asked Francisco. Manny lifted a hand in surrender, "Would you like to hear him tell you where babies come from?"

"He can't even tell where the wide receiver comes from," Cisco snickered.

"Sounds like a diss."

"We can diss him...you can't."

"That's a gross human rights violation," Manny turned to Aiden, "I am being violated."

Aiden slapped him lightly on the collarbone. Adam watched as Manny slipped his fingers through the loops of Aiden's pants, pulling him flush against him.

Francisco met his eyes and shrugged with a supercilious leer that might mean anything, and nothing good.

***

"Hey, ladies," Giselle singsonged, alighting at their usual table in the cafeteria, "Saved you a seat."

"Oh, yes," Stephanie sat with due grace and elegance but also a not-unwarranted bit of smugness, "Eyes on the prize."

The table, you see, was prime real estate, much coveted for its proximity to the attractive windows that looked out onto the courtyard, and its relative nearness to the vending machines, while also being close enough to the bathroom for a quick run but far enough to avoid the various associated odors. They'd coveted the thing all through 9th grade, when it had been occupied by Lucy Newman and her sidekicks.

"Patience pays off," Stephanie chuckled, "Sometimes."

"Yeah, excuse me if I don't cartwheel into the wall from excitement," said Nina dryly, sitting.

"What?" Stephanie prompted, "No fun looking down at the little people anymore?"

Nina looked at her across the table, "That'd be like announcing it was fun breathing."

***

INTRO MUSIC WITH MS. STRAUSS

***

The music room was a tiny thing, relocated to the first floor to accommodate the instructor's handicap.

Ms. Strauss had been confined to her chair for long enough that the so-called limitations of her situation were rarely more than passing thoughts in the back of her mind. On a conscientious level, sure, it was a damnable disservice this school was 70 years old and had one ramp and no elevator, but she could survive. She'd certainly survived worse.

Anyway, there was enough room for all the instruments, and about enough for all the kids, so she couldn't get too upset.

"Sonya!" she greeted her first arrival with a broad smile, "Wonderful to see you."

"Hi, Ms. Strauss," Sonya beamed, clasping Ms. Strauss's wiry hands in hers.

"You've been resting your voice, I hope?" she cocked an eyebrow shrewdly.

"For the most part."

"I like to hear it.  I have grand plans for Chorale Ensemble this year...oh, but I can't get ahead of myself. Do sit where you like, my dear."

It was always easier when she'd worked with the kids before, of course. All the 11th graders took music...but it was a simple course, mostly theory. Still, since Ms. Strauss had begun here, they'd done great work with the music program...the chorale ensemble especially. And Sonya Raditz...well, one mustn't play favorites, but if ever one of her girls was going to go places, it was her, and she was more than happy to help her get there.

***

"Teacher's pet," Lucy said lightly, sitting down.

"Oh, shush," said Sonya, "She's really very nice."

"Is it true the Nazis put her in the wheelchair?"

"She's not that old," Sonya muttered, "Also, just a taste remember..." she jerked her thumb at herself, "Granddaughter of Holocaust survivors."

"Well, I wasn't endorsing the Nazis putting her in the chair."

Sonya rolled her eyes, waving brightly as Iona entered the room, receiving little more than a nod and a curt greeting from Ms. Strauss for her trouble.

"Isn't she in the choir too?" Lucy asked.

Sonya pressed her lips together, "...yep."

***

ETHICS WITH MR. GRIMSLY

***

"I'm just saying," Charlie said, slouching into his desk, "I don't think Spanish people should be allowed to take Spanish."

Rafe smiled pleasantly, "Would you like to say that again? Rai, can we get the ACLU on the line?"

"Yeah, lemme just Google the number..." Rahim performatively took his phone out, "Also, the word is Hispanic."

"Or Latino."

"Okay, you know exactly how I mean it," said Charlie, "Because you, Rafael..."

"Dude, did you just trill the R?"

"You never trill the R," said Rahim, getting into it.

"It's a hard R."

"Don't tempt him."

"I am being persecuted," Charlie pointed, "Tortured for being chill and white at the same time."

"You're just jealous because I am a fluent Spanish speaker, and you are mierda de suerte."

Charlie pouted, "That sounded so hot. Fuck you."

***

"Assigning his own book," Lily whipped it out of her bag as she sat down, "Sounds like a college thing, right?"

"Men," Colette muttered derisively, sitting down beside her, "Did you read it already?"

"I mean...it's a light read."

Colette smirked, twirling a lock of hair around her finger.

"Hey," Sabrina stuck her head in between them, "You girls have good taste, right?"

"That's what my stepmom says," said Lily evenly.

"And you're French, so that's, like, a given..." Sabrina held up the book, turning it to the back, "Do you think Grimsly's hot?"

Colette blinked, "Do you?"

"I have a boyfriend."

"That wasn't an answer."

"I'm just wondering...because there's something about his face, right? And I can't tell if it's a good something or a bad something..."

"I think that's a very existential question," said Lily with vague humor, "You should ask him during class."

-Audrey, Emma, Imani, Jake, Brooke, Will, Gigi, Taj, Nick, Dick, Gracie, Francisco, Adam, Luke, Aiden, Manny, Giselle, Stephanie, Nina, Ms. Strauss, Sonya, Lucy, Iona, Charlie, Rafe, Rahim, Lily, Colette, and Sabrina

Quote from Snafu Guru on October 5, 2024, 8:15 pm

"Whatever it is," Emma glanced ahead at the serving counter in the cafeteria. "It's probably gonna have an aftertaste of ashes."

Indeed, Lunch Lady Cloris was liberally smoking a cigarette as she served the kids their grub. What were those clowns, Kellerman and Teague, going to do to her? Fire her? She'd like to see them try. Any other schmuck would have been an upright citizen and ratted this dump out to the FDA.

But not Lunch Lady Cloris! She was loyal...

...and had the patience of a saint, as evidenced by waiting for this slack-jawed nimrod to make his choice.

Aaron stood there, with his mouth agape, seriously contemplating what he was gonna have for lunch.

Cloris, personally, was quite over it. "For Chrissakes, kid. You either pick up the French bread pizza or the Jamaican beef patty. It ain't rocket science."

"Um..." Aaron was still deeply contemplating his choices, hesitant to commit to either one. "What's, uh...what's in the beef patty?"

Not wanting to dignify that with an answer, Cloris shouted irately back to her ball and chain for the last 19 years, Chef Clive, "Hey, buster! What's in the beef patty?!"

He promptly answered back in his usual dry and irritating manner as he handled and balled up the patties' mystery meat. "Why, eye of newt and toe of frog, my dear! What else could it be?"

"There ya go, honey," Cloris returned her attention to the hungry dope. "That's good protein for ya. Why dontcha pick that up and move right along?"

But still, Aaron contemplated. "Hmmmmmmmm...do you guys have...um...do you have any, like...margherita pizza?"

"Margherita pizza?" Cloris spat in disgust. "What are we, the Ritz Carlton?"

"In another life!" Clive chirped from the kitchen.

"You wish!" Cloris shouted back before yet again returning her attention to Aaron and the quickly amassing line behind him. "Pizza or patty? C'mon, while I'm young."

Aaron squinted in disbelief. "You're young?"

"That's it!" She plopped the patty on his tray and waved him off. "You're served. God help you."

Aaron squinted at his meal as he walked off, muttering to himself, "Why is it so gray..."

Cloris pounded her first on the counter, shouting sardonically to the students, "Following guest!"

Clive sloppily stuffed another patty with the gray mystery meat. "Guest? So we are at the Ritz. My word, we're finally moving up, aren't we, dear?"

"Keep it to yourself, mister..." Cloris muttered as the next guest came right along and the death march of GW High students continued.

***

Her vision was a blur; she could barely think straight, her stomach was in knots. All this as she barreled down the hallway, pushing past student after student in her way in search of the nearest bathroom she could find...

She found it, near collapsing against the door and stumbling into a nearby stall. She didn't even have time to see if anyone else was in the room as she wretched into the toilet, her nausea finally culminating in a sickening denouement.

For a while, she knelt there on the cold tiles, emptying her guts, her coughs and sputters echoing around the room. If she had any consolation whatsoever, it was that she seemed to be alone in here. Her dignity wasn't completely in shambles, at least.

Eventually, her nausea had subsided and the bout was over. With a final flush, she retreated from the toilet and assessed herself in the grimy bathroom mirror. Throughout the ordeal, her hood had come loose and her strawberry blonde hair had fallen upon her shoulders. Big, tired eyes stared back at her, taking note of sickly pallor that still looked green to the gills.

Nadine couldn't keep this up anymore. Not without knowing for sure.

And if she had what she thought she had...Nadine hoped it wasn't the case. That was the last thing she needed on this day from hell. As if that scare at homeroom wasn't enough...

But she couldn't linger on that now. Nadine had to hurry. She ran out of the bathroom as frantically as she ran in.

***

"Welp..." Brent eyed the bulletin board in the hallway anxiously, Dotty right beside him. "There it is."

***

Salmon was shuffling down the hallway after an underwhelming first half to the school day. That was the issue with his schedule; he wouldn't get the real enlightened students until 8th period. For now, it was the ilk who had to take his course by default, as it were. Not a single one with a passion for learning, not a single one who'd make his job easier.

If only he were as demonic as Brutus! She had no mercy in her cold stone heart to give! God damn Salmon for being cursed with the sorry blight that was empathy! But alas, he entered this business to educate the youth instead of torture them! Curse his feeble attempt at living a sainted life!

How was Brutus faring, anyway? If his estimations were correct, she'd be getting her AP class in shortly (of course she'd be blessed with prodigies and geniuses before he'd be!). Perhaps he could just sneak in a peek through the door's window...

That was odd...there was this woman standing beside her. Too old to be a student...dressed in professional attire...Brutus giving her the death stare...

No...it couldn't be...

But it was! A teacher's assistant in Brutus' Rome! Aha! How rich! How rich indeed! The old gargoyle had a babysitter now! And she looked none too pleased about it! Perhaps there was justice in this cruel, cruel world!

Gene, you fool! Act fast, before you're caught staring! You must inform the others!!!

And so, giddy as a schoolgirl and chuckling to himself, the veteran teacher had some pep in his step as he journeyed towards the teachers' lounge with news to spread.

***

"These budget cuts, man..." Algebra teacher Louis Barone shook his head as he casually sipped from his coffee, reclining on the faculty lounge's lone, ratty couch. "...y'know they got rid of Albie over the summer?"

"Albie?" Garret Lamari, one of the school's few foreign language teachers, was pouring his own cup by the counter. "Not Albie!" He stood at a towering 6'8", so he was wary of the lingering "Last Day of Classes" decorations left over from their June party. Little did they know at the time that half of those attendees wouldn't be back here in the fall.

"Yeah, Albie!" His large nose briefly poked over his cup as he took another swig of the overcooked Chock Full O' Nuts. "I inherited all his classes. Algebra 1 is completely my domain. And I can bet you my mortgage that I'm not gonna get extra pay."

"Jesus Christ..." Garrett motioned to sit down beside Louis before the math teacher silently held his hand to stop; God forbid the giant's weight broke the couch and sent them both crashing down. Their health insurance was lousy. And they'd have no couch.

Garrett instead paced across to the other side of the room, lamenting, "Course they're not gonna pay you extra. Nobody's being paid extra because enrollment's in the toilet! I'm tellin' you, this school's on life support."

"Take it this way," Louis tried to offer the glass half-full take on it. "At least you weren't the one that was fired. That means they gotta like you." He paused, reconsidering. "Then again, two months severance pay doesn't sound too bad either." He shot a glance to one of his few remaining colleagues in the Math department, ol' twitchy Schwartz, who Louis regretted to say reminded him of himself in his green years. "Hey, Perce, they give you new textbooks yet? I'm still waitin' for mine. Five years now, I've been askin'..."

-Emma, Aaron, Cloris, Clive, Nadine, Brent, Salmon, Louis, and Garrett

Quote from ABEDFAN on October 5, 2024, 10:11 pm

“Tuna on white with a a bag of classic lays and old reliable Dasani.” Noah said with a sure tone as he swung his child’s play lunch bag towards the girls. A perk of his household independence was that he was also in charge of preparing for school and ensuring he wasn’t poisoned by the public school nutritional program.

___________________________________

Terrance sat near the windows in the cafeteria, he would’ve liked to be anywhere but the school at the moment. Though of course maybe he could use his card and get the entire freshman class something edible?  Make himself into some kind of hero to the common man, but that wasn’t the kind of attention he was seeking. He didn’t want to be a man of the people, he wanted to be above them, and for them to know it.

 

___________________________________

Salem made use his free period, on the field running suicide drills. He had to keep his edge, make sure he was the best of the best. It was the only way he was going to get scouted and accomplish his goals.

___________________________________

Talulah walked through the doorway and managed a small smile and a nod to the wheel-bound teacher.  She had no issue with or fear of the disabled or was the proper term handi-capable now? However for some reason the woman caused an unease in the out of the girl’s stomach. She took a sit in the middle row of chairs, perfectly blended with the rest of the class as was her goal.

 

___________________________________

 

logan sticks in hand was already tapping at the door frame giving a large upward nod and grin at the teacher. “Aren’t you a sight to behold gorgeous?” He said as he drum beat the wheels of her chair, ignoring all personal boundaries before turning to take a seat in the back.

 

___________________________________

 

Duncan attempted to walk through the door to his class, however he was nearly ran into by a boyish looking man in cheap looking ash grey suit. “Um..”

 

The teacher, running late to his own class of course nearly toppled one of his own flock, that was no way to shepherd these impressionable sheep into knowledge, “Oh wow sorry there, I guess I was in a world of my own. Go on, after you. Go find a seat and we shall LAUNCH into the unknown.”

 

___________________________________

Robert Grimsly waited for the boy before making over to his desk and the whiteboard. He wrote out his last name and underlined the first half. GRIMSLY

He turned to the class a large toothy smile on his face, “shall we begin?”

Quote from ThePlotMurderer on October 6, 2024, 1:26 pm

Lunch

***

Audrey wrinkled her nose up at her earnest friend-by-circumstance, looking awkwardly out of the corner of her eye at Emma, who was her friend by something a couple notches above circumstance.

She'd sort of adopted Noah back in elementary school. It had been an accident, really. Audrey had endured her share of bullies over the years and had only shaken them off thanks to some 'persuasion' by charity-minded "big kids", the consequence of which was she saw a hopeless nerd getting his ass handed to him and decided to do something about it.

She hadn't expected Noah to stick with her, much less become her friend, still here after what was going to be five years.

Noah and Emma got along, as far as Audrey could tell, but it wasn't as though they mixed very much before this. Audrey didn't know if that was some failure on her part...she wasn't exactly drowning in good attention.

"Eating tuna at school should be punishable by jailtime," she smiled darkly, "At the very least, solitary confinement."

***

"Well, this has been very fun," Brooke said airily as they entered the cafeteria, "But I'm going to find myself some more suitable company."

"It's crazy that you talk like that," Jake informed her pleasantly.

"Ditto, kiddo," Brooke smiled tightly.

"You're not gonna sit with us?" Will asked, "What, we're too good for you or something?"

"Those are very loaded words you're putting in my mouth," she held up one hand, "It's just that I have a social profile to manage now..."

"Ooooooh..." Jake intoned, "Didya hear that, man? She's got a social profile..."

"I'm diversifying," she shrugged, "Text me when you've learned how to use a fork."

"Yo, they got forks here?" Jake's eyes brightened up as if she'd just announced there was a caviar counter.

"Still sporks, probably," said Will.

"There she is!" Brooke waved at a similarly petite blonde carrying her tray to a table, "You boys behave."

Jake watched her go, "She'll come crawling back."

"Don't hold your breath," said Will casually.

"Seriously. You'd think I was some gross freak..."

"You did rip ass two desks away from her and then looked at her like it was her fault."

"That's human nature! And it wasn't me..." he grimaced sourly, but brightened up in quick enough time, nudging Will in the side, "Lookie-lookie."

"Huh?" but he followed Jake's gaze further up the line, where the sandy-haired blonde from homeroom was waiting.

Jake winked flagrantly, making a series of inexplicable clicking noises in the back of his throat.

"Shut up," said Will, smiling.

***

"Hi, Bridge," Brooke greeted her quarry lightly, "You're not eating that, are you?"

Bridget eyed the tray, "What, you don't think it's kosher?"

"I'm not sure it's meat, and I don't even know what kosher is. Looking for a seat?"

Bridget shrugged by way of answer, "It's stupid to think it, but I feel like I'll be stuck wherever I go for the next four years, so..."

"No, that's not stupid at all. That's pretty much how people are, always marking their territory, like dogs, but without all the stainage..." she paused, "Most of the time."

"Ew."

Brooke's eyes passed over the table by the windows, where Nina Patterson was holding court with her coterie. Even though the room was a featureless rectangle, it seemed your eyes couldn't help but find that table. The gridlines of the tiled floor appeared to converge into its single point, the high afternoon sun breaking through the window above like the prongs of honey-colored light over a saint's head in a painting.

For 10 months of eighth grade, Brooke had known a facsimile of what it must feel like to be it, to be everything, to be the point where all things converge.

To be, at the risk of sounding high-handed, the center of attention.

It was a good feeling.

"Oh, there's a spot," Bridget announced, nodding toward a table, oblivious to Brooke's ponderings, "Just one person."

Brooke followed her gaze and withered inside, "'One' and 'person' are doing a lot of work there."

But it was close to the windows, only a few tables removed from Nina. Irrational as it may be, it felt like the closest you could get to being all-that around here in absence of the real thing.

"Can anybody sit here," Brooke began, striding up to the table, "Or do we have to pay a toll for the privilege?"

Honestly, she was surprised Terrance Smith's family hadn't sent him to St. George Prep. The only thing saving Brooke from St. Mary's was her father's desperate desire to prove to his constituents that he believed in the safety and success of their district's public schools. Probably the Smiths just thought Terrance would burn the old alma mater down as a funny.

They were probably right, but Brooke was sure they were no safer here amongst the poors.

***

"Hi, again!" Faith greeted the familiar, bright-faced boy as she drew up to the table, "Marcus, right?"

He smiled, "Yeah, that's me. And you're..." he pointed, dragging the word out and looking increasingly embarrassed, "Fate?"

"Faith," she corrected with a giggle, "But close enough."

"I always get confused which is which."

"Well, my grandma always said..." she sat down, seemed to remember what she was doing and asked, "Oh, can I sit here?"

Marcus nodded, smiling and Faith obliged, blushing, "Where are my manners?" in a plummy, put on accent.

"But what did she say?" Marcus asked.

"Huh?"

"Your grandma," he prompted, "You were saying..."

"Oh yeah. So she always said the difference between 'faith' and 'fate' is 'fate' is where you're going to end up..." her lips curled in fond memory, her voice going a little faraway despite herself, "...and Faith is how you'll feel when you get there."

"Sweet! Football table."

Marcus looked at the newcomer, "Oh, hey...Zach."

The halfback gave him a thumbs up, "This can be the football table, right? No saved seats?"

Faith blinked, "Oh. Well, if it's the football table, I could..."

"You don't have..." Marcus began as Zach spoke over her, "It's cool. It's not, like, an official football table. That would be crazy."

"Yeah, I guess it would."

"Uh, this is Faith," said Marcus.

"Oh, cool," said Zach, "I didn't think people were really named that outside of, like, cartoons."

"I get that a lot," lied Faith, to be nice.

"So I guess you don't play football. Not that girls can't. I actually think girls should be allowed. I remember, when I was in flag football, there was this one girl on the team, and she could tackle, but then this thing happened, with these priests...oh, wait, there's someone else...hey, Ryan!"

Ryan wasn't holding a lunch tray, and had just been stalking leisurely across the cafeteria with his bag slung over one shoulder. He looked at Zach dubiously, "...what?"

Zach rapped on the tabletop with his knuckles, "Football table."

Ryan cocked an eyebrow and nodded slowly, "Congratulations," and went off on his own.

Marcus frowned, "What's his problem?"

Zach shrugged, "Probably shy."

Faith laughed, disguising it as a cough. Marcus caught her eye and smirked with her.

***

AP World

***

"Something's wrong with that girl," Taj muttered, watching the hoodie-clad figure dash down the hall and out of side.

"There is a strange magnetism to her," Dick commented, "I can't help but feel..."

"What are you looking at?"

"Oh, hey, baby," Taj wrapped an arm around Regina as she came up the hall to them, "Noth..."

"We were remarking upon that mysterious girl's carriage!"

Regina's eyes widened as she turned back to Taj, "Were you now?"

"Yeah, don't pay no attention to him."

"Hey, if you want to go chasing some white girl, that's 100% your business..."

"She was white? I didn't notice. I've blinded myself with tolerance..."

"Oh, but hurry, hurry!" squealed Dick, trotting over to Vespucci's room, "Before the bell sounds!"

"You see that, right?" Taj prompted, "You see how tolerant I am?"

"Yeah, they oughta shortlist you for a Nobel Prize."

At least she wasn't bitching about volleyball. Maybe she'd gotten it out of her system, but Taj knew his girlfriend well enough to know she didn't just let go when she had a problem.

***

"That'll be our new celebrity," Mrs. Vespucci intoned for Ms. Chang's benefit, watching the pint-sized Poindexter run up to the doorway like he'd been wound up for it, "Child prodigy, so I've been led to believe, but between you and me, I don't know how much weight that carries since we invented computers and central air."

So far, Chang had proven a fair match. Three classes, plus a free period in which Vespucci had very pointedly annotated the columns of her Delaney book in determined silence. Vespucci had no delusions the girl would be run out of here by the end of the day, or even the week.

And, anyway, she had determined she would do nothing to make her go. That was coward's business. Let natural forces exert themselves upon her, like a rock in a storm-tossed sea. Let her find out if she was made of bedrock or chalk.

"Greetings!" greeted the 12-year-old alleged prodigy, "Is this the correct room for Advanced Placement World History?"

Vespucci wordlessly indicated the chalkboard, where she had just written 'AP WORLD HISTORY' in block letters.

"Thank you!" he nodded, "I am Dick Cole."

"So you are. Find a seat."

Confidentially, she spoke to Ms. Chang out of the corner of her mouth, "I had his brother freshman and sophomore years. Dumb as a rock. I guess anybody would look like Einstein stacked next to him. Walking, Ashford, there's nothing to hurry for in here."

Taj slowed down, smiling charmingly, "Hey, don't sell yourself short, Mrs. Brutie," at which point he got an eyeful of Ms. Chang for the first time and his smile widened, "Hi."

"Sit down," Regina rolled her eyes, walking past him. Vespucci looked Ms. Chang over.

Well, she's got you beat in the sex appeal department. Call the Washington Post.

***

The Field

***

Nick stepped out onto the turf, filling his lungs with the familiar, cozy stink of sunbaked earth. There was a healthy crowd gathered at the sideline, sitting, standing or leaning around the rusty chain-link fence.

"Howdy, Big Guy," Connie greeted, deliberately drawing out the vowels of her accent. Nick nodded to her in greeting, silently fistbumping Beau in acknowledgement.

"How long's he been going?" he asked, indicating Salem with his chin.

Beau shrugged, "Long enough?"

"You're not gonna join?"

"Coach's gonna break our legs tonight anyway. I'm taking it easy."

"That's the winner's spirit," said Kim lazily, fishing a pack of Marlboro Reds out of her top and punching a cigarette out, "Nic for Nick?"

"Keep those cancer sticks away from my guys, Kimmy," said Beau with a sardonic smile, "And, what, you want his baby bro to smell it on him and keel over? Think of the children, am I right?"

"Ay!" Galo laughed shrilly, but clammed up when Nick gave him a look, walking out onto the field. He could distinctly hear Kim reprimanding Beau as he went: "Dick."

"No, Kim, that's Nick. Dick is the other...ow!"

He broke into an easy run, not pushing it too hard, shedding his hoodie as he went, not even trying to outpace Salem. He didn't even care if he looked like a dipshit even doing this. He had to do something, and running was better than hitting something.

***

Free Period- Elsewhere

***

"There it is," Dotty agreed, folding her arms, "No big deal."

***

Music

***

Ms. Strauss smiled thinly, "Flattery will get you anywhere, Mr. Webber, but it won't extend your visa very long."

"I've been telling him the same thing," Viv strode into the room, nodding at Logan, "Behave, Goldilocks," as she went to sit beside Vashti, who was curling a lock of hair around her finger and appearing to valiantly resist the urge to fall asleep.

"So you're still on for practice tonight?" Viv asked, looking from one of them to the other, "I'm asking again because repetition builds character and reinforces guilt, and I will not reveal which strategy is for which of you...you know that already."

***

"Hey, Kellyann," Xavier nodded at her as they entered the band room, "Good summer? I, uh...forgot to ask before."

Kellyann was friends with Xavier, sure, or at least friendly with him, but she honestly wasn't sure what to do with this new version of him. She kept looking at him and imagining what he'd looked like in the very distant world of three months ago: pudgy and round-faced and, well...

Not like this. The whole thing gave her goosebumps, and not in a good way.

"Oh, it was fine," she said noncommittally, "Went places."

"Places are good. What kind?"

"Camp," she answered, "Theater camp."

"Oh, like where they make you sing and stuff?"

"And stuff, yeah."

"Cool," he nodded, biting his lip pensively, "You're probably wondering about the..."

"I wasn't."

"Because it's not a big deal."

"Right. It isn't."

"Seriously, I just...woke up like this."

Kellyann laughed a short, maybe too harsh laugh, "Sure," which seemed to put Xavier off. He frowned, "Uh. Okay."

"Okay," she repeated as Gretchen barreled past, sinking pointedly into a seat and audibly muttering, "Chauvinist pig," as she did.

"Good talk," and Xavier shuffled over to the nearest empty seat, besides Tallulah, "Hey, do you know what a chauvinist is?"

***

Ethics

***

Charlie let out an audible wet burp noise as Duncan took a nearby desk. Nothing against Dunkaroo personally, except that the whole straightedge thing was so 1986 and was also, let's be real, a massive neon button declaring the practitioner a professional No Fun Guy.

But to each his own. Charlie had to respect a guy with principles, even if they were masturbatory and stupid.

***

He wasn't hotter in person than he was on the book cover, but the jury was still out whether he was hot at all. Lily noticed Sabrina valiantly turning the book over on her desk, as if to obscure any evidence she'd even been looking at Grimsly's portrait.

Personally, Lily didn't think they had any hot teachers. Trainor was probably closest, and he was a walking Dad Joke with too much product in his hair. Maybe that was the upside of having a professor for a father...teaching was just fundamentally unsexy to her forever.

This probably meant Lily was destined to marry a moron, but there were worse things.

A general, if not perfectly respectful, hush descended on the room. DJ and Dom, a few rows to the back, finished whatever tedious, heavily accented argument they were having in pidgin dialect, Dom audibly trailing off with, "...lei patz..." as he did.

***

Faculty Room

***

Percy had, gerbil-like, been eating his lunch in a quick, efficient silence. At Louis's prompting, he lifted his head with a start, a ramen noodle dangling loosely from his mouth.

"N-no," he shook his head, "No, no new books. It's a very, er, unfortunate situation."

Really, teaching so far wasn't everything he'd imagined, high in his ivory tower at the community college. He'd only had two classes so far this morning...one Geometry and then half of the freshmen for Intro to Technology...and he'd received a fairly dismal reception both times.

Perhaps the students simply sensed his newness. Barone and Lamari were old men, and hard, and surely could command respect through the weight of years.

He only needed to stick it out for a while.

"...how old are you?" he thought aloud, speaking in a faraway, dreamlike voice.

"That is a dangerous question, Percy," the door opened, admitting none other than Ms. Olivia Lucas, the Physics teacher, and Mr. Lamari's ex-wife. She wrinkled her nose up with a coy smile, looking over her shoulder at the two women entering on her heels: Ms. Turner (Calculus) and Ms. Pat Kirby (Algebra 2 and Trig).

"And I've got Bruce in Gen. Calc..." Hilda was saying, counting off on her fingers as if midway through a list.'

"God, you're gonna need patience for that one..." Pat's throaty, cigarette-seasoned laugh barked through the room, "I hear his sister started today. That'll be a fun experience in a couple of years. What about Mari Mendoza? You know, I was pushing her for AP..."

"No dice," Hilda shrugged, "I don't want to micromanage, but it's a shame. She's a real star..."

"See, that's your problem, Hil..." Pat wagged a finger in her face, "You get too invested. I always say, you can lead a horse to water..."

"But you can't get him to drink," Hilda and Liv joined in with her.

"Oh, and speaking of horses..." Pat snickered, coming up to Lamari and squeezing his ovoid face in her hand, "Hey, Gary," she winked, going on to the microwave.

***

Elsewhere

***

"Okay, next up on '80s rewind, we've got 'The Way it Is', by Bruce Hornsby and the Range. Those of us who've been around a while remember when Brucie was in the Grateful Dead. What was even going on with those guys in the '90s? Anyway, 'The Way it Is'..."

"Ugh," Lois Solomon switched off the radio with a grimace, "No fuckin' thank you."

Her space had been taken...no surprise. It had been a few days since she'd been around, and the neighborhood was only getting fuller.

It took an extra few minutes to find a vacant spot two blocks off from the building, and just barely kissing a fire hydrant's rusty pecker. Let them give her a ticket, then, the bastards. As if she hadn't given this shithole town enough off her back.

Lois checked her phone as she cut the engine...a list of automated reminders for bill payments, late fees, etc. etc. One 'been thinking about you' from a bricklayer in Lake Charles she had sworn on her mother she'd never speak to again.

Nothing from home.

Collecting her bag from the trunk...a big wheeled suitcase with an old-fashioned tweed lining, a relic of a classier lifestyle...she plodded her way into the lobby, grimacing at the stinking puddle in the corner...human or canine in origin,  but distinctly mammalian at least.

Sometimes, you had to laugh to keep from crying, so she giggled, starting the arduous process of hauling her shit up the stairs.

Great place to get murdered, she thought on the second floor landing, great place to get raped, on the third, great place for both on the fourth, and just like that, she was home.

She couldn't shake the feeling of disgust that settled in her chest whenever she walked along this foul, fetid hallway. Not just the sight and the smell...just the bare fact that they were here at all. That they'd landed here and promptly had their wings clipped.

That she'd landed here, taking everything she had left with her.

The wheels of her suitcase bumped and ground against the uneven floor. The place was quiet...it was working hours, of course, if anybody in this building had a real job. She had no idea...call her prejudiced, but she had a strange aversion to getting to know her neighbors.

The key stuck in the lock, as it was wont to do. Sighing aggrievedly, Lois pressed her brow against the scratched paint of the door.

"Oh, Mother of God..." she sighed, "You're really having fun with me, huh?" she jimmied the key around some more, "You hussy."

She would not knock. She would not do that. He may be sleeping. He may be hard at work. He may be doing something productive. She would not need his help.

She would get into her own home herself.

The key wouldn't turn.

Over her head, a lightbulb flickered with a sound like a rheumatic breath.

-Audrey, Brooke, Jake, Will, Bridget, Faith, Marcus, Zach, Ryan, Taj, Dick, Regina, Mrs. Vespucci, Nick, Connie, Beau, Kim, Galo, Dotty, Ms. Strauss, Viv, Vashti, Xavier, Kellyann, Gretchen, Charlie, Lily, Sabrina, DJ, Dom, Percy, Olivia, Hilda, Pat, and Lois

Quote from Snafu Guru on October 7, 2024, 2:27 pm

Erin briskly sat down besides Nina, Giselle, and Stephanie with a resounding sigh, already exasperated with what the school had thrown at her so far. "Home sweet home," she sat beside her friends at their usual table, throwing her French bread pizza onto the table. "I have to start packing my own lunch. I don't even think the cheese is cooked." She glanced at Nina, curious. "Can't your dad sue the school for, like, malpractice or child endangerment or something like that?"

***

"Yep." Brent was solemn as the grave, a deathly silence overtaking the two of them. "Jesus Christ, this is so stupid..."

And to the outside observer, it probably was, considering what they were staring at was a flier for the school's choral ensemble, decorated with tacky clipart of teenagers singing and snapping their fingers, headlined in bold print, "IS THERE A SONG IN YOUR HEART?" and in tinier print right below it reading, "Sign-ups next week."

"Y'know what?" Brent threw his hands in the air and got ready to walk away. "Forget I told you anything. I was just being an idiot. Don't worry about it."

***

Louis muttered something about "the friggin' sewing circle has arrived" once the ladies entered the faculty lounge. Fortunately for him, Garrett was the butt of the joke and the first of line of defense, as usual.

"Aw, cut it out, will ya?!" The Spanish teacher wrestled himself free from Pat's demonic claws (well, really, she let go). "That's an HR offense, y'know! I could get ya written up for, uh..."

The Algebra teacher gave his friend a hand, imitating the motion of a flag being thrown on an NFL field from afar. "Illegal touching!"

"Yeah!" Garrett tacked onto that, unnecessarily. "And you know how I feel about being touched! I'm a sensitive guy!" A bit too late, he realized that none other than Oliva was accompanying Pat and Hilda; quickly, he tried to regain his composure. "Hello, Olivia." He idled there awkwardly for a bit. "How are you?"

Louis quite visibly tried to shield his gaze from what was transpiring; it was like watching his kid repeatedly swing and miss in Little League Tee Ball. But at least then, he could tell himself that there was no way his kid could strike out. Garrett...well...he was used to getting struck out, so maybe it wouldn't hurt the big guy too bad.

***

"Lemme take one o' those," Laurence sidled himself beside Kim. "Beau ain't gonna mind 'cause accordin' to him, we ain't gonn' punt much at all this season. Ain't that right, Beau Burns?" He looked towards their supposed savior at quarterback, barely hiding his contempt for the egomaniac.

***

It didn't take long for Nadine to find the nurse's office; unfortunately, finding it wasn't the real problem.

The door was locked and the lights were off. "C'mon..." She tugged at the door futilely. "C'mon, c'mon, c'mon..."

"Ain't no gettin' in there, missy..."

Nadine let out a small scream as she turned on her heel to find a decrepit janitor right behind her, mopping the floors in a very unfashionable red and green sweater. "Wha..." She eventually regained her nerves. "What do you mean?"

"I mean there ain't gettin' in 'cause there ain't no nurse to see," the janitor spoke dryly as he continued to make his rounds with the mop. "She quit yesterday."

"What?!" Nadine couldn't hide her shock, which was bordering on anger given the day she had so far.

"Somethin' about pay..." He sighed mournfully. "I dunno what her problem was. Twenty years now, ol' Freddy's been moppin' these floors for pennies. Ol'Freddy's never said a bad word. Nope, he has not..."

"Can you let me in, at least?" Nadine stepped forward, pleading, "I really need to get in to...to..." She stopped herself, not wanting to say too much to this guy of all people. "I just need to see if I have a fever. Please."

"Sorry, sweetie," Freddy answered dryly, eyes intent on the dirty brown water in his bucket, overdue for a refill. "I ain't got the nurse's keys. She forgot to hand 'em in with her letter of ree-zeg-nation. I ain't gonna get a new key until tomorrow, at least." He looked up, suggesting, "Maybe you just need to get a drink o'..." But Freddy trailed off. The girl had vanished.

"Huh." What an odd girl. And the kids dared to call him crazy.

Oh well. What could you do?

-Erin, Brent, Louis, Garrett, Laurence, Nadine, and Freddy

Quote from ThePlotMurderer on October 8, 2024, 4:55 pm

Lunch

***

"He doesn't do class action," said Nina, "Somebody would have to fall down the stairs or get their hand stuck in a pencil sharpener."

"That one's not the school's fault, though," said Stephanie.

"It is if the lawyer's good enough," Nina pointed out, "You're never getting into Yale Law with that attitude, Steph."

Stephanie rolled her eyes, looking at Erin, "I've been fasting."

Giselle frowned exagerratedly, "Why? Rapture coming?"

"Volleyball," Stephanie shrugged, "The season opener's tomorrow, McCrory's AWOL, and Regina's on her period," she paused, looking at the congealed pizza sauce with a grimace, "Symbolically."

"That's why you should've joined cheer instead," said Giselle, "It's much more relaxing."
Stephanie smirked, "I don't like being stepped on."

"Well, never count it out until you've tried," said Nina casually, prompting a snicker from Giselle and a scowl from Steph who, not to be outclassed, fixed her eyes on her, "Have you? Tried?" she let this sit for half a second before leaning forward, "Come on, you can't keep us in suspense forever."

"Oh my God, Steph, sing a new song..."

"You and Tyler. What happened? If you can't tell us, who can you tell?"

***

"You're really not gonna say anything?"

Tyler looked across the table at Ash, absentmindedly turning the cap on his Gatorade clockwise to loosen it and then counterclockwise to close it again, "You've got mystery meat in your teeth."

Ash lifted a hand to the spot, found nothing, and scowled, "You're making me act like a 12-year-old girl..."

"No, bud, give yourself the credit..."

"...and I don't appreciate it."

"You guys still on Patterson?"

Ashwin eyed Keith as he sat down beside him, "I'm not on anything. I'm trying to see if he was."

"Say that a little louder," said Tyler, "I wanna see if that rumor about her laser vision has anything to it."

Keith laughed in an unseemly manner, ripping open his bag of Pirate's Booty like he was uncorking a grenade, "Hey, talking about rumors, is it true she wears a strap?"

"Real classy, Keith."

"Just askin'."

"You see, this is why you guys are never gonna get laid..." Tyler twisted the Gatorade cap off, "You're talking like sex is some magical thing on another planet somewhere that you're never gonna get to yourself, so you have to swamp campfire stories about dildo-wearing aliens from Mars..." he set the cap down decisively, "That's virgin behavior."

Ash and Keith looked at each other, smirking slyly before Ash prompted, "...so that was a yes?"

Tyler flicked the cap at him.

***

Free Period

***

"Don't you dare!" Dotty protested, whirling on her heel and grabbing Brent by the arm, "No, no, triple no, Mr. Bigowski, you are not walking away from this!"

One of the perks of being inundated with siblings was that you developed a horrible case of 'resting mom voice'. And, okay, maybe that wasn't a perk insofar as 'stimulating date night conversation', but it did put the fear of god into people, and as far as she was considered, that was far more important for building trust in a relationship.

"This is your dream, remember? And you don't walk away from dreams. You go after them until you get there or until someone else beats you to it, but you sure as heck don't give up when there's nothing stopping you," she nodded decisively, as if to reaffirm this point to herself, "And there is nothing stopping you. So there."

***

The Field

***

Beau rolled his eyes at the punter's bitching, but didn't stop Kim from handing Lawrence a cigarette.

"I don't even know why you're complaining, DuPont. The offense is gonna kick ass. It'll kick so much ass that we won't need you to do your little can-can gig. It's the system working as designed."

After a short, half-guilty pause, he smugly added, "We win, you take it easy and share the credit. That's your family crest or something, isn't it?"

***

Teacher's Lounge

***

"Oh, Gary..." Pat clicked her tongue expressively, "There is no HR."

Liv looked wryly at Garret out of the corner of her eye before answering, in what appeared to be a send-off of his own tight, stiff tone, "I am smashing, thank you."

"Well, at least somebody is," said Pat, crossing to the Keurig, "Sorry! Sorry! Long day..."

"And it's only half done," Hilda sank onto the couch, fishing her quinoa salad out of her bag and tearing into it with gusto, "But I don't know. I always like the first day of school. Things still feel possible."

"Things are always possible," Sammy Keats declared airily, striding into the room and tipping an imaginary hat, "Ladies. Gentlemen..."

"Jesus, Sam," said Patty, "They haven't fired you yet?"

"Survived yet another purge, believe it or not."

"They didn't get Tattle-Tale either. I walked past his room on the way down and he was sitting in the corner reading The Wall Street Journal and eating one of those nasty casserole things."

"You know, it's bad karma to joke about the 'purge'," Hilda pointed out, "The way things are, it could be any one of us next."

"Not me," Liv said lightly, putting her Smart Ones lasagna in the microwave, "I've been a good girl."

-Nina, Stephanie, Giselle, Ash, Tyler, Keith, Beau, Kim, Pat, Liv, Hilda, and Sammy

Quote from Snafu Guru on October 9, 2024, 1:41 pm

"Her therapist," Erin snarked as she took a knife and fork to her pizza (strategically, to see which parts were good to eat and which weren't). "You'd have to be crazy to..." She glanced at Tyler, again taking notice of his tacky earring. "I mean, really, Nina? Him?"

***

"My dream?" Brent turned back to face Dotty, his expression resigned and tired. "When I was a kid, I dreamed of being a knight. Then a pirate. Then a cowboy. But I grew out of those because that's what you do when you're kid--you go through phases." He gestured disparagingly at the poster. "And I'm way too old to be going through another phase, not to mention one where I convince myself I'm the next Josh Groban or something." Shaking his head, he looked sincerely towards Dotty, embarrassed to be experiencing so much anguish over something as trivial as this. "I have to grow up, Dotty. I owe it to myself--to my family."

His family...a whole other can of worms that went back for years of unpacked baggage. Baggage he wasn't even sure he entirely shared with Dotty or if he was even ready to do so, to begin with.

***

Laurence stared Beau down with vehemence as accepted Kim's cigarette, his bruised ego showing easily now. "So yoah a comedian now, Beau Burns? That it? That yoah backup plan, once you realize this ol' 'Big Man on Campus' act o' yoahs ain't gon' play well when yoah baggin' groceries at the A & P?"

***

Garrett audibly scoffed at Liv's declaration of innocence, vividly remembering the drawn out nature of their divorce hearings, not to mention the custody battle ensued shortly thereafter.

Louis, not wanting to watch Garrett get eviscerated in front of a live audience (because God help him, he was a sympathetic guy), loudly cleared his throat and got to his feet. "I dunno how great we should be feelin' that we're still here." He placed his empty mug by the lounge's sink and leaned against the counter. "If you threw me off the Titanic while it was going under, I wouldn't be mad. I'd thank you for the head start."

"But it's the principle, Louis!" Garrett insisted emphatically. "Some of the teachers here worked their asses off for this school for years and they're thrown aside like used toilet paper! It isn't right, I'm tellin' ya!" He wagged his finger to his colleagues, insisting, "Well, I'm not gonna stand for it. I'm not gonna just sit around, waiting to get wiped off!"

"What are we gonna do? Complain? Go on strike?" Louis scoffed at the idea. "I liked Albie but I'm not set on avenging him; not while I got three kids to put through school and a mortgage to pay off. I'd love the severance pay, believe me, but my wife would kill me if I didn't have the job security." He shook his head mournfully. "Look on the bright side: we're probably not gettin' replaced anytime soon. They don't have the money for new water fountains, let alone new people."

Suddenly, none other than the seasoned US History teacher, Gene Salmon charged into the room, exclaiming with the excitement of a child, "Oh, my dear colleagues and friends! Do I have news for you!"

***

Nadine had circled out of the hallway into the school's courtyard; she hadn't been in this school long, but she knew there was a window to the nurse's office there. Maybe she could get in through there.

Or you get caught and expelled on your first day. That'll be a fun one to tell Mom and Dad.

The thought of her parents only made her sicker, so she tried to block out that thought out as well. Being outdoors seemed to rejuvenate her at least, the summer breeze providing a stark contrast to the school's stuffy interior. Surveying the area, Nadine quickly spotted where the nurse's office was and ran over to the window.

She didn't have time to celebrate when she found out almost immediately that it was locked. "Damn it!" Nadine tried to force it open but it was to no avail. She quickly looked around for her options, fearing that if she tried to break it open, she'd only bring more attention to herself. Eventually, though, Nadine looked up, to see a smaller, rectangular window, left slightly ajar. That was her way in.

Quickly, Nadine did a double-take to make sure she wasn't being watched before she stepped onto the window sill, then the air conditioning unit, before reaching towards the top window, pushing it open to give her as much room as possible.

It was gonna be tight squeeze, either way. Nadine tried to heave herself up once, then twice, then a third time, taking all her strength to do so. If she hadn't just puked her insides out, she probably would have an easier time of it.

She crossed the threshold on her fourth try, falling through on the other side and landing on an empty desk (probably cleared out as recently as yesterday, if the creepy janitor's story was right) with a painful thud! Nadine had made it, but her quest was far from over.

Frantically, she scampered to her feet and searched the office, relieved to see that the nurse didn't take everything with her. Looking through desk drawers, file cabinets, and storage bins, Nadine desperately scoured the room, knowing deep down in her heart that they had to be here somewhere. It was a public school, after all. There was no way the office didn't have...

There! A box wedged in the corner, behind the door. Nadine knelt down beside it and looked it over with equal parts relief and nervous anticipation. A plastic bin filled with exactly what she was looking for.

Pregnancy tests.

-Erin, Brent, Laurence, Garrett, Louis, Salmon, and Nadine

Quote from ThePlotMurderer on October 9, 2024, 4:48 pm

Free Period

***

"That's not how it works!" Dotty protested, "You can't go through your life saying you're gonna be just one thing and treating everything else that you ever get interested in as a phase! Who says? Who wrote it down somewhere that singing isn't your thing? Nobody, because nobody wrote your life down!"

She paused, "Except God, if you believe in that, and, sorry, Brent, but I don't think God cares if you join the chorus!"

***

The Field

***

"That is demeaning to service workers," said Kim to Lawrence's A&P crack, "Kiss my ass."

"Yeah, man," said Galo in mock-seriousness, "My uncle works the deli counter down there and he could smoke you 1v1. Don't play."

"See, that's what I'm talking about," Beau turned on Lawrence, "You act like you've been there, Larry. Like you kick, stretched, and kicked your way to MVP and you're just waiting for us to catch up. But the fact is, buddy boy, you ain't shit. I mean, if I'm putting on an act, what the hell is this thing you're doing? Make a Wish Day at the rec center circus?"

***

Faculty Lounge

***

"Strike," Sammy pointed, "I like that. You know, I think we, the people have lost our taste for good old fashioned organized resistance. I went down to Lower Manhattan when that Occupy thing was happening, and nobody even passed me acid. I'm not sure what says about where we are as a country, but it can't be anything go..."

"Oh, did the temperature just drop?" Pat asked, "That'll explain it. Hi, Gene."

"Is it bad news?" asked Percy, "Because, not to be superstitious, but I've been getting ominous portents all day."

"That's not superstitious," said Patty, "The kids put hexes on the ones they don't like."

"What news, Gene?" asked Liv diplomatically, "Are you okay? You look...happy," pronounced like it was, indeed, an ominous portent, which it may as well be for its rarity.

***

Lunch

***

Nina fixed Erin with a stare. She liked her people well enough for what they were...that is, they had their uses, and were pleasant enough to be around most of the time, but they all had little catches built into them. Stephanie was ambitious; Giselle was shallow; and Erin...

Well, Erin was smart.

Obviously, all of these things were positive...even being shallow wasn't necessarily a harmful trait. With the tidelines rising everywhere, it only made sense that we should all aspire to be a little less deep, to compensate.

But there were limits.

"See, that's the thing, Erin..." she began pointedly.

***

Nina's End of Summer Bash

2 DAYS AGO

***

Nina watched him cross the threshold, sort of hesitating on the toes of his right foot before he did, like he thought iron spikes were going to drop down from the doorway and impale him for his hubris.

Nice idea, but it would totally clash with the whole 'modernist war memorial' aesthetic her mother had so studiously striven for.

No sooner had Tyler entered the bedroom, he was greeted by a furry, yapping projectile launching itself from the foot of the bed to him.

"That's just Sage," Nina explained as Tyler flinched against the doorframe, "She's mostly hot air."

"Right," Tyler said stiffly, his shoulders taut and rigid...not a very convincing dismissal; she could practically see his heart causing seismic tremors under that silly henley of his.

Fine. She wasn't sure she really wanted some suave sculpture of deportment.

Sage gave Tyler's jeans a few more excitable paw-pats. Nina kept watching to see if he would shoo the Pomeranian off, but he just stood there, looking around the room.

Nina supposed it was nice, but nothing special. But maybe he hadn't been in a lot of girls' rooms before.

"I prefer their earlier work," she commented, following his gaze to the 1D poster opposite the dresser.

"Huh? Oh, I wasn't looking, I..." he finally stepped around Sage, which was probably best for him since she'd gotten her Hump Face on and that only ended just the way you expect, "You're not gonna check on Giselle?"

"It's not Giselle's party," Nina said with a faint smile, walking across the room, her heels padding lightly into and out of the plush violet rug as she went.

"But it is yours," Tyler followed her, hands in his jeans' pockets, "Bored?"

"Of my parties? Never," she paused, "Of my guests..."

"Ouch," he laughed shortly, "Secret's safe with me."

"Oh, it's not a secret," she smiled, "You can run down and tell them right now. Or even open the window," she gestured to it, "Shout it so the neighbors can hear."

"Ah, I would, but Charlie's lighting up by your pool, and that stuff travels."

"Ugh," she grimaced, "See? That's why you have to be careful."

"Careful..."

"You can't give people anything," she sat down on the foot of the bed, moving a stuffed Rainbow Flash out of the way and patting its spot for Tyler, "They love to take advantage."

Tyler eyed the spot, cocking an eyebrow dubiously, "You invited me in."

"You've been making eyes at me all night," she pushed her hair over her shoulder, "Or did I imagine that?"

To his credit, he didn't blush or shift around like a spaz, but he did let out a short, embarrassed laugh, "Eh...I thought I was subtler than that."

"You probably were. I've been drooled over by worse."

"Oh yeah?"

"Real mouthbreathers."

"I mostly breathe through my nose," said Tyler, "My orthodontist told me."

"Orthodontist?"

"I, uh...had braces. When I was a kid. They told me not to breathe through my mouth, if I could help it. Bad for the teeth."

"Huh..." she nodded slowly, "You learn something new every day."

"I guess you do," and he sat beside her on the bed, "Full disclosure: I didn't think you noticed me."

"There's not a lot I don't notice."

"Oh yeah?"

She nodded, "You do that thing, when you're playing basketball, where you toss your hair whenever you make a pass. Like..." she tossed her hair, flashing a 100-watt smile as she did, "That."

"Well, if you noticed all that, you'll know I almost got us to the playoffs last season."

"It's all anyone talks about. It's not as big a deal to notice," her smile tightened, "What's with the piercing?"

"What, this?" he, honest to god, fingered the thing, like he didn't know what else to do about it, "Split-second decision."

"Really? I thought you might've had it on an image board somewhere."

"What, like one of those Pinterest things?"

"There's nothing in it."

"Huh?"

"Your piercing," she clarified, "You're not wearing an earring or anything."

"Nah," he shook his head, "Haven't got any yet."

"It being such a split-second decision and all."

He shrugged, "You got any ideas?"

"I'm made of ideas," she eyed the piercing, tracing the contours of his ears with her eyes, "And theories."

"What, like a detective?"

"Or a scientist. You know, women can be whatever they want to be, even if most of us still can't reach higher than the Malibu Dream House."

"Okay, Barbie..." he shrugged, "What's your theory?"

She looked him over: the whole length and breadth of him, from his fresh off the rack motorcycle boots to the silly undone button on that Henley, the sweep of soft brown hair over his brow, his eyes so brilliantly blue they almost seemed to be glowing in the limited light.

"I think you want something to happen to you," she said finally.

There was a short pause before Tyler let out a strained, self-conscious laugh, "Uh...okay. Congratulations. That's...right on the money."

"I think," she emphasized, "You want something to happen to you and you think little things like getting an ear piercing will help them happen."

Tyler shifted on the bed. There were only a few inches between them now.

"...have they?"

"Wh-what?" Tyler breathed raspily.

"Have they started happening?"

A muscle was working in Tyler's throat. When he spoke, his voice came out hoarse, "...you tell me."

***

"...I don't have a therapist," Nina finished with as polite a smile as she could manage.

-Nina, Tyler, Dotty, Beau, Kim, Galo, Sammy, Patty, Percy, and Liv

Quote from Snafu Guru on October 9, 2024, 5:54 pm

"Well, that's great for Him!" Brent replied back in urgent but lowered tones, as if to remind her that his teammates could be roaming the halls as they speak. "But I don't live with God! I live with Big Mike Bigkowski, the guy who's been pushing me to go pro since I was playing Pee Wee. The thing is with 'dreams' is they end pretty quickly when you have a guy trying to wake you up every other minute." He took a moment to slow down, not wanting his emotions to get the best of him. "I just...I don't want to deal with that. He'd make a scene if he found out and my mom...she's dealing with a lot, as is. I don't want to stir any trouble."

***

Laurence scowled back at Beau as he lit his cigarette and took a drag; he hated looking at this cocky son of a bitch. Fucker thought he was Joe Montana and conned the whole school into going along with him. Meanwhile, they hadn't made the playoffs in any of the three seasons the Lancers' so-called Messiah graced the field with his presence.

"You wanna know what I'm doin', Beau Burns?" He finally answered, keeping his cool despite constantly being under fire. "I'm gettin' ready. Somebody's gotta be when you stink it up out there. So next time you talk yoah shit, remember who's sittin' behind you on the bench." Laurence smirked as he returned the cig to his lips. "Who knows? Coach Roofy might have you doin' my can-can act come October. So watch yoahself, MVP."

It was true; due to the coaching genius of their very own Coach Rufus, Laurence was QB2. He remembered getting called into his office to be informed of the final decision, where he was told he was really good at his tryout but not the best. No, that was Beau. But as a consolation prize, Rufus opened the door for Laurence to try out for punter, presumably because no one else would bother going for it. The only reason Laurence even accepted the offer was because even though he knew he should have been QB, he wanted a starting spot on the team, because maybe, eventually, that fat idiot would see sense.

Well...a few years later and Laurence was still waiting.

***

"Oh, I am, Olivia," Salmon assured her as he laid down his binders and papers on the lounge's coffee table. "Overjoyed, in fact. I have found today that the universe, while often cruel and calculating, does in fact have a sense of humor!" He let out a wry laugh and turned to address all the teachers in the room as if he were delivering a sermon on the mount. "Indeed! For the cosmos have played a crafty prank on none other than the humorless Brutus herself! Ha ha!"

Louis cocked his eyebrow, curious. "Vespucci? What, did she croak in class?" He considered if maybe the joke was in poor taste but then he quickly remembered that just about everybody in this room had a grievance with the old bat, big or small, so maybe nobody would have minded.

Garrett certainly didn't. "I hope not. Knowing this place, they'll probably have one of us teach her classes with no extra pay to boot."

"Oh, she's alive, I assure you," Salmon continued. "But she is far from happy. It would appear that Teague and Kellerman have given the woman...a babysitter! Ha! Can you believe it?!"

***

Erin feigned a smile at Nina's little remark, unimpressed with her answer. "Right. Of course." She liked hanging out with Nina and company, mainly because she felt they were in the minority of people in this school who were worth calling friends.

Or maybe "allies" was a better word. It was better to have these people on your side than not, and all that aside, Erin felt like she was in similar company in terms of intelligence, charisma, looks...

But even in the same circles, Erin sometimes wondered if Nina thought she was better than her closest friends, knowing fully well that she valued respect over friendship any day. And sometimes, Erin wasn't so ready to blindly pay respect. That just wasn't her style.

"You wouldn't be crazy," she added coyly, raising the first piece of half-cooked, now fully-cut French bread pizza to her lips. "Having that dork wrapped around your finger, well...it's all got to be part of your master plan, no? Can we be in the know for that orrrrrr..." Erin looked at Nina expectantly as she chewed on her pizza, curious to see how Nina would respond.

-Brent, Laurence, Salmon, Louis, Garrett, and Erin