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[IC] Horror High - Freshman Year
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<blockquote data-quote="pathfinderq1" data-source="post: 6862708" data-attributes="member: 48394"><p><strong>Day 1: After School (Part 1)</strong></p><p></p><p>[sblock= Taylor and the Coach]</p><p>“Hey Taylor, could you step into my office for a minute? And close the door…”</p><p></p><p>Right up until that moment, Taylor had been feeling pretty good about his afternoon. He had last class period free two days a week, which meant he could get into the weight room and lift before the rest of his now-former teammates started streaming in to get ready for football practice. He had taken things pretty easy today- it was still August and boiling hot in the weight room, but they really did have a much better setup than he had at home, plenty of machines where he didn’t need a spotter. He missed the camaraderie that came with being on the team too, but somehow he didn’t WANT to hang around with the guys, not when he had to spend the season sidelined due to new state athletic guidelines on concussions. He felt embarrassed, somehow- like he didn’t deserve their company, if he couldn’t pull his weight on the field.</p><p></p><p>So he had done his workout, grabbed his bag, and headed for the door. Sure he was still dressed in cargo shorts and a much-abused tee shirt, and absolutely drenched in sweat- but he could be out to his car before Drew and the others showed up, and he could shower at home… He had almost made it to the door when Coach Sullivan flagged him down. “Sure thing Coach,” he replied reflexively, as he stepped into the office and dropped his heavy backpack on the floor. He swept the door shut and stood next to it, though he kept his gaze on the floor.</p><p></p><p>“I’d ask you to have a seat, but I don’t think these chairs could take it,” Coach Sullivan said amiably. “Looks like you aren’t letting that concussion hysteria s.. stuff get in the way of your workouts. Good for you. Shame you can’t play for us this year, that attitude would be a good example for some of the younger guys.” </p><p></p><p>Taylor shook his head and sputtered, started to speak- but the coach cut him off with a wave. “Now I know there’s nothing you can do about the rules. I just wanted to let you know- we still feel, and we want you to feel, that you’re still a part of this team. You were one of our captains last year. If you want to come and work out with the team, you can- no on-field stuff, I know, but you can run or lift with us if you want. And I’ll still talk with the coaches, wherever you end up applying for college. I was thinking about offering you the team manager job- but we both know that is more of a thinking-type job; you’re more physical, more hands on. I talked it over with Drew and the co-captains- you’re cleared to wear your jersey for pep rallies and stuff, and we would really like to see you in the stands when we play. AND, we’ve got Drew’s dad back as our Strength and Conditioning coach this year- he offered to help you maximize your workouts, and he said he has a new formula for protein drinks this year, really good stuff; he ‘s going to make some up for you as well. So what do you say, son- still part of this team?” His smile was so wide Taylor thought the coach’s head might split in half.</p><p></p><p>He gave a smile of his own, then looked back down at the floor. “Yeah. I DO want to be part of the team- just feels weird, like I’m not doing my part.” What he didn’t say was just how much he hated those protein drinks last year- he had ended up giving them to his sister, mostly, since she seemed to like them. “I’ll stop by tomorrow before practice and talk to Mr. Turner, I mean Coach Turner, about my workouts, talk to some of the guys.” Then he picked up his backpack and turned to the door. “But for now I’ve got to get going. Thanks, Coach. I mean it.”</p><p></p><p>“That’s the spirit, kid. I mean, Go Marauders, right?” Coach Sullivan leaned across his desk, looking out towards the hallway as Taylor opened the door. “Hey if you see Bobby Campbell out there, tell him to come on in. I’ve got to talk to him too. See you tomorrow, right?”</p><p></p><p>Taylor ducked his head and stepped out into the hall, shouldering his heavy backpack. “Sure thing, Coach. Tomorrow.” He didn’t manage to force much enthusiasm into his words, but the coach didn’t seem to notice. All the positive energy he had felt after his workout was gone now, and Taylor felt the sweat he had worked up dried to a cold, sticky crust despite the heat that suffused the whole gym. This was the sort of thing he had wanted, right? To still be part of the team… So why did it feel so wrong? So, what was the word they had discussed in English class this morning- so <em>foreboding</em>, that was it, like some kind of disaster was just waiting to happen. He shook his head again, and headed for the door to the parking lot.</p><p>[/sblock]</p><p></p><p>[sblock= Cleaning up a mess]</p><p>></p><p>Eddie Torres was the Head Custodian this year, promoted in the first wave of shake-ups after Ms. Jameson took over as Principal. He wasn’t the senior Custodian- that was Bob Stone; everybody joked that he had been here since the school was built, or even that he had helped build it. But Bob wasn’t much of a leader- heck, he barely said a word, though no one could fault his work ethic. Still, Eddie knew he was a better choice as chief- but right now he would rather be just another Indian. For that matter, he would rather be visiting his relatives down in Jersey- and he hated Jersey, almost as much as he hated his relatives. He stepped back to the corner by the freight elevator and picked up the wall phone- no way he was going to get a cell signal down here… He dialed Jameson’s office, and she picked up on the first ring, like she had been waiting- that wasn’t good either. “<span style="color: #ADD8E6">Yeah, it’s Eddie. I’m down in Lower East, Access hallway 2, by the kitchen storage. We got something down here you probably need to see. Nothing dangerous, nobody hurt, but well, come on down. I’m taking steps already.</span>” </p><p></p><p>He heard a muttered curse on the other end of the phone. “<span style="color: #FFD700">I’m on my way,</span>” Principal Jameson growled, then she hung up. In his mind, Eddie could see a storm cloud forming over her head, complete with stabbing bolts of lightning. With a few choice words of his own, he walked back down towards the scene and pulled out his phone- he couldn’t get a signal, but he could take a few pictures, you know, for posterity (or really, just to make sure that he was covered- just in case). Behind him, he could he a clatter coming down the hall. Sure enough, there was Bob Stone, shuffling along like he always did- and pushing the bright red mop bucket they used for special problem messes… Eddie crouched down, and took a few good shots of the whole scene- then, moving carefully to avoid stepping in the oozing red stuff that spattered across the floors (and some of the walls), he took a few shots of some of the more recognizable spots. For the most part, it looked like random splashes- and still very fresh, still bright and wet- but here and there in the mess were a few less-random markings. They looked almost like letters or something, but not in any alphabet he recognized- maybe more like some sort of symbols, like a hellish version of that Mah-Jongg game his grandmother played. Luckily there was no body, no sign of somebody actually hurt- but there was a LOT of blood. Satisfied with the shots, Eddie leaned up against the wall and watched Bob work.</p><p></p><p>Principal Jameson took about five minutes getting to the scene- Eddie could hear her heels snapping on the linoleum tile of the service hallway- she must have used the West stairs instead of one of the elevators. He stepped back to the corner and watched her make her way down the hall- there was no storm cloud over her head, but she sure did look angry. As soon as she was close, Eddie started talking- he didn’t want her to take his head off before he could explain his thoughts here. </p><p>”<span style="color: #ADD8E6">Bob’s just cleaning it up right now- nobody saw it, I think. Not a lot of kids down here anyway- pool’s still closed, theater programs haven’t started yet, and kitchen space is off-limits. Especially this time of day… And I think it is still fresh, still oozing.</span>”</p><p></p><p>Principal Jameson glared up at him- she wasn’t very tall, but she had some serious Force of Personality, Eddie had to admit. “<span style="color: #FFD700">Even so, you were told to report this sort of thing, right away,</span>” she snapped, each word carefully and coldly enunciated. She pushed past him and stepped up to the intersection, surveying the scene.</p><p></p><p>Eddie trailed along behind her, looking over her shoulder. “<span style="color: #ADD8E6">I will, I mean I called you as quick as I could- I even took a couple of quick snaps with my phone so I could report it accurately- but I wanted to get it cleaned up first. No sense wasting time reporting it, and leaving it there where somebody could see it in the meantime, right? I figured if we could get Bob to clean it up fast, well… Nobody saw it, and you know what that means: No witnesses, no report, no paperwork, no evidence. That means it never happened, right? I thought that was how you wanted things. I mean, it isn’t like Bob is going to spread rumors to the kids.</span>” He made a swift dusting motion with his hands, and offered a confident smile. </p><p>“<span style="color: #FFD700">Let me see those pictures, the ones you took,</span>” she growled, holding out her hand impatiently. “<span style="color: #FFD700">You can send them to me later, for my files, but I want to see them- to see if this is like anything in Wright’s files, or some of the older stuff, before the uh, renovations.</span>” When he handed his phone over, she peered at the screen, examining each image carefully before flicking to the next.</p><p></p><p> “<span style="color: #ADD8E6">You mean, before this place burned down, right?</span>” he said with a chuckle, which died as she turned the screen back so he could see it.</p><p></p><p>“<span style="color: #FFD700">Is that a footprint, there at the far side of the splatter?</span>” she asked coldly, pointing at the oddly-shaped splotch. Eddie looked, turning his head instead of asking her to turn the phone.</p><p></p><p>“<span style="color: #ADD8E6">Could be. If so, it is gone now- Bob started at that end, and he’s almost done.</span>” He shook his head. “<span style="color: #ADD8E6">Maybe it wasn’t though- could’ve been just a smear.</span>” Jameson shook her head, and handed the phone back. </p><p></p><p>“<span style="color: #FFD700">While I appreciate the thought, my concern here is not to have things happen, and then sweep them under the rug. Jefferson Wright tried that approach, and it worked for, what, almost six years. But not everyone made it through those years- and now he is up at McLean, in a coma, basically a vegetable. So that approach doesn’t work.</span>” She moved closer, and stared up into Eddie’s eyes- he dropped his own gaze almost immediately as she kept talking. “<span style="color: #FFD700">What I want, and what I want my staff to help me with is to put a stop to this foolishness. Full Stop, once and for all. For the good of this school, for this town, and for these kids.</span>” She took another step closer, and slid one well-manicured fingernail up under his chin, in a way that was not quite threatening. “<span style="color: #FFD700">I want these kids to graduate, and go to good schools- to survive to graduate. I want them to pick out a nice tux or a fancy dress to go to the prom, not to the funeral of yet another classmate. Do you understand me, Eddie?</span>” She stepped back, but kept him locked in place with the force of her stare- almost unconsciously she reached up and rubbed one hand under her own chin and across her throat, like she was playing with the high-necked collar of her shirt.</p><p></p><p>“<span style="color: #ADD8E6">Of course, of course,</span>” he finally managed to stammer. She reached out and patted him on the shoulder, a motion almost startling in its gentleness. Then she turned and started back down the hallway towards the stairs. </p><p></p><p>“<span style="color: #FFD700">Just remember to send me those pictures, when you can,</span>” she called back over her shoulder as she strode away. “<span style="color: #FFD700">I still have quite a bit of work to do, first day of school and all. I’ll see you tomorrow Eddie. And you too, Bob.</span>”</p><p></p><p>Eddie sagged back against the wall and took a deep calming breath. “<span style="color: #ADD8E6">Looks like we dodged a bullet, eh Bob? Good job there, my man.</span>” Bob plopped the mop back into the red bucket and looked over the now-clean section of hallway. And with a faint smile and a wave, he started rolling the bucket away again.</p><p> [/sblock]</p><p></p><p>[sblock= Tasha goes home for the day]</p><p>>Tasha stumbled out the front door of the school and down the steps, more than half-blinded by the spikes of pain radiating from the back of her head. It had started as a subtle tingle in World History class- that familiar prickling feeling that she got when Something Was Wrong. Normally it would have faded away after a minute or two, leaving her nervous and jumpy for a while. Instead it had slowly but steadily gotten worse. By lunchtime she could hardly eat, and the afternoon had been nonstop torture. She had tried some of the breathing exercises and meditation that Dr. Caldwell had taught her- which had helped just enough for her to get through the day. But when the dismissal bell finally rang, Tasha had been barely able to shuffle to her locker to pack up her backpack for the trip home.</p><p></p><p>There was a thick clot of students on the sidewalk- some milling as they waited for a school bus or their parents to pick them up, others simply catching up with friends that they hadn’t seen during the school day. A few teachers were trying to keep the scrum of students in some kind of order, but Tasha ignored almost everything in her haste to get away from the school. She wasn’t quite running- between the pain in her head and the weight of her backpack, she couldn’t run, not really. As it turned out, that was a good thing. She slipped through one clot of older kids with a bit more force than she would normally have dared, drawing a handful of startled and angry comments that she didn’t even really hear- and then she stumbled off the curb, right in front of a massive silver SUV. There was the shrill blare of a horn, and Tasha, finally shocked out of her daze, found herself staring at the front grill, which seemed almost as tall as she was. She blinked groggily and stumbled back up onto the curb- at least she managed a half-hearted wave at the massive metal behemoth. One of the supervising teachers looked her way, but there were other horns clamoring for attention, and altogether too much chaos for her misstep to draw more of a response.</p><p></p><p>Just being outside of the school itself seemed to help- the spikes of pain in her head had already faded a bit, at least enough for her to think for a minute. She turned around and looked back at the front doors- it sure didn’t look like the Fifth Circle of Hell; it just looked like many other schools she had seen over the years. With a sigh, she turned away again, and stepped off the curb- carefully this time, making her way across the street with a few other students. The park that surrounded Claypit Pond looked almost inviting- there was a screen of trees along the eastern edge, but the rest of it had only a waist high hedge and an ornamental fence; both barriers were pierced at regular intervals to allow access to the walking trail that looped around the pond. Tasha trailed along with some of the other students, headed along the trail, around to Concord Ave.</p><p> </p><p>Most of the others headed off to the right, the shorter route out to the bus stop on Concord- Tasha and a few stragglers made their way around to the left, towards the trees and the promise of shade against the hot late-summer sun. Those trees sheltered the eastern curve of the pond in a broad double row- that part of the park even had a few benches, set in the shade looking out over the flat glittering surface of the pond. Tasha managed to make it as far as the first bench- she half-slumped, half-flopped down, dropping her heavy backpack at her feet. She took one long, deep breath and tried to get her thoughts together.</p><p></p><p>She had survived the day, at least- it certainly hadn’t been easy, or pretty, but she had made it. The jury was still out on whether she would have any kind of social future- with some luck and some effort, her missteps today could be overcome. She even had a thick sheaf of flyers from the Activities Fair this afternoon- no sports teams or athletic clubs, obviously, but there were some pretty interesting groups she could think about joining. A few other students ambled by on the path as Tasha tried to regroup- some individuals, and a few small groups; none of them seemed to even notice her sitting on the bench- at least none of them were staring…</p><p></p><p>She had been thinking about catching the 72 bus, or maybe even walking down Concord- the Fresh Pond shopping plaza wasn’t too far. But after the day she had had so far, she just didn’t feel up to it- especially if she had to tote that backpack. Home it was, she decided, pushing herself back to her feet- she had taken the bus to school this morning, but the way the routes worked it was much easier to walk home; she had no wish to be stuck on one of the rattling yellow wrecks in this heat.</p><p></p><p>It took about twenty minutes for her to get home- across Concord Ave and then through the tangled mess of suburban streets. She finally got back to the triple-decker that she and her mom had rented a floor of, and trooped up the front steps, really straining under the weight of her pack. There was a thick sheaf of mail in the box- not doubt most of it was spam, but it DID mean that her mom wasn’t home yet, which wasn’t a surprise. Tasha managed to get the door open, and immediately dropped her backpack on the floor. She extended her arms and rolled her shoulders, then finally stripped the soft brace off her left wrist. </p><p></p><p>”<span style="color: #00FF00">Hey Mom, guess what? I didn’t get kicked out of school today!</span>” she called to the empty apartment. ‘No promises about tomorrow though,’ she added silently. “<span style="color: #00FF00">I even picked up some flyers for a couple of clubs to try out. They have a great theater program, and a stage production club- I could help with costumes and set design, draw stuff for them to use on stage…</span>” Leaving her bag on the floor and the pile of mail on the hall table, she made her way back into the kitchen- she hadn’t been able to eat lunch, but now that her headache had faded, she was ravenous.</p><p>[/sblock]</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="pathfinderq1, post: 6862708, member: 48394"] [b]Day 1: After School (Part 1)[/b] [sblock= Taylor and the Coach] “Hey Taylor, could you step into my office for a minute? And close the door…” Right up until that moment, Taylor had been feeling pretty good about his afternoon. He had last class period free two days a week, which meant he could get into the weight room and lift before the rest of his now-former teammates started streaming in to get ready for football practice. He had taken things pretty easy today- it was still August and boiling hot in the weight room, but they really did have a much better setup than he had at home, plenty of machines where he didn’t need a spotter. He missed the camaraderie that came with being on the team too, but somehow he didn’t WANT to hang around with the guys, not when he had to spend the season sidelined due to new state athletic guidelines on concussions. He felt embarrassed, somehow- like he didn’t deserve their company, if he couldn’t pull his weight on the field. So he had done his workout, grabbed his bag, and headed for the door. Sure he was still dressed in cargo shorts and a much-abused tee shirt, and absolutely drenched in sweat- but he could be out to his car before Drew and the others showed up, and he could shower at home… He had almost made it to the door when Coach Sullivan flagged him down. “Sure thing Coach,” he replied reflexively, as he stepped into the office and dropped his heavy backpack on the floor. He swept the door shut and stood next to it, though he kept his gaze on the floor. “I’d ask you to have a seat, but I don’t think these chairs could take it,” Coach Sullivan said amiably. “Looks like you aren’t letting that concussion hysteria s.. stuff get in the way of your workouts. Good for you. Shame you can’t play for us this year, that attitude would be a good example for some of the younger guys.” Taylor shook his head and sputtered, started to speak- but the coach cut him off with a wave. “Now I know there’s nothing you can do about the rules. I just wanted to let you know- we still feel, and we want you to feel, that you’re still a part of this team. You were one of our captains last year. If you want to come and work out with the team, you can- no on-field stuff, I know, but you can run or lift with us if you want. And I’ll still talk with the coaches, wherever you end up applying for college. I was thinking about offering you the team manager job- but we both know that is more of a thinking-type job; you’re more physical, more hands on. I talked it over with Drew and the co-captains- you’re cleared to wear your jersey for pep rallies and stuff, and we would really like to see you in the stands when we play. AND, we’ve got Drew’s dad back as our Strength and Conditioning coach this year- he offered to help you maximize your workouts, and he said he has a new formula for protein drinks this year, really good stuff; he ‘s going to make some up for you as well. So what do you say, son- still part of this team?” His smile was so wide Taylor thought the coach’s head might split in half. He gave a smile of his own, then looked back down at the floor. “Yeah. I DO want to be part of the team- just feels weird, like I’m not doing my part.” What he didn’t say was just how much he hated those protein drinks last year- he had ended up giving them to his sister, mostly, since she seemed to like them. “I’ll stop by tomorrow before practice and talk to Mr. Turner, I mean Coach Turner, about my workouts, talk to some of the guys.” Then he picked up his backpack and turned to the door. “But for now I’ve got to get going. Thanks, Coach. I mean it.” “That’s the spirit, kid. I mean, Go Marauders, right?” Coach Sullivan leaned across his desk, looking out towards the hallway as Taylor opened the door. “Hey if you see Bobby Campbell out there, tell him to come on in. I’ve got to talk to him too. See you tomorrow, right?” Taylor ducked his head and stepped out into the hall, shouldering his heavy backpack. “Sure thing, Coach. Tomorrow.” He didn’t manage to force much enthusiasm into his words, but the coach didn’t seem to notice. All the positive energy he had felt after his workout was gone now, and Taylor felt the sweat he had worked up dried to a cold, sticky crust despite the heat that suffused the whole gym. This was the sort of thing he had wanted, right? To still be part of the team… So why did it feel so wrong? So, what was the word they had discussed in English class this morning- so [I]foreboding[/I], that was it, like some kind of disaster was just waiting to happen. He shook his head again, and headed for the door to the parking lot. [/sblock] [sblock= Cleaning up a mess] > Eddie Torres was the Head Custodian this year, promoted in the first wave of shake-ups after Ms. Jameson took over as Principal. He wasn’t the senior Custodian- that was Bob Stone; everybody joked that he had been here since the school was built, or even that he had helped build it. But Bob wasn’t much of a leader- heck, he barely said a word, though no one could fault his work ethic. Still, Eddie knew he was a better choice as chief- but right now he would rather be just another Indian. For that matter, he would rather be visiting his relatives down in Jersey- and he hated Jersey, almost as much as he hated his relatives. He stepped back to the corner by the freight elevator and picked up the wall phone- no way he was going to get a cell signal down here… He dialed Jameson’s office, and she picked up on the first ring, like she had been waiting- that wasn’t good either. “[COLOR=#ADD8E6]Yeah, it’s Eddie. I’m down in Lower East, Access hallway 2, by the kitchen storage. We got something down here you probably need to see. Nothing dangerous, nobody hurt, but well, come on down. I’m taking steps already.[/COLOR]” He heard a muttered curse on the other end of the phone. “[COLOR=#FFD700]I’m on my way,[/COLOR]” Principal Jameson growled, then she hung up. In his mind, Eddie could see a storm cloud forming over her head, complete with stabbing bolts of lightning. With a few choice words of his own, he walked back down towards the scene and pulled out his phone- he couldn’t get a signal, but he could take a few pictures, you know, for posterity (or really, just to make sure that he was covered- just in case). Behind him, he could he a clatter coming down the hall. Sure enough, there was Bob Stone, shuffling along like he always did- and pushing the bright red mop bucket they used for special problem messes… Eddie crouched down, and took a few good shots of the whole scene- then, moving carefully to avoid stepping in the oozing red stuff that spattered across the floors (and some of the walls), he took a few shots of some of the more recognizable spots. For the most part, it looked like random splashes- and still very fresh, still bright and wet- but here and there in the mess were a few less-random markings. They looked almost like letters or something, but not in any alphabet he recognized- maybe more like some sort of symbols, like a hellish version of that Mah-Jongg game his grandmother played. Luckily there was no body, no sign of somebody actually hurt- but there was a LOT of blood. Satisfied with the shots, Eddie leaned up against the wall and watched Bob work. Principal Jameson took about five minutes getting to the scene- Eddie could hear her heels snapping on the linoleum tile of the service hallway- she must have used the West stairs instead of one of the elevators. He stepped back to the corner and watched her make her way down the hall- there was no storm cloud over her head, but she sure did look angry. As soon as she was close, Eddie started talking- he didn’t want her to take his head off before he could explain his thoughts here. ”[COLOR=#ADD8E6]Bob’s just cleaning it up right now- nobody saw it, I think. Not a lot of kids down here anyway- pool’s still closed, theater programs haven’t started yet, and kitchen space is off-limits. Especially this time of day… And I think it is still fresh, still oozing.[/COLOR]” Principal Jameson glared up at him- she wasn’t very tall, but she had some serious Force of Personality, Eddie had to admit. “[COLOR=#FFD700]Even so, you were told to report this sort of thing, right away,[/COLOR]” she snapped, each word carefully and coldly enunciated. She pushed past him and stepped up to the intersection, surveying the scene. Eddie trailed along behind her, looking over her shoulder. “[COLOR=#ADD8E6]I will, I mean I called you as quick as I could- I even took a couple of quick snaps with my phone so I could report it accurately- but I wanted to get it cleaned up first. No sense wasting time reporting it, and leaving it there where somebody could see it in the meantime, right? I figured if we could get Bob to clean it up fast, well… Nobody saw it, and you know what that means: No witnesses, no report, no paperwork, no evidence. That means it never happened, right? I thought that was how you wanted things. I mean, it isn’t like Bob is going to spread rumors to the kids.[/COLOR]” He made a swift dusting motion with his hands, and offered a confident smile. “[COLOR=#FFD700]Let me see those pictures, the ones you took,[/COLOR]” she growled, holding out her hand impatiently. “[COLOR=#FFD700]You can send them to me later, for my files, but I want to see them- to see if this is like anything in Wright’s files, or some of the older stuff, before the uh, renovations.[/COLOR]” When he handed his phone over, she peered at the screen, examining each image carefully before flicking to the next. “[COLOR=#ADD8E6]You mean, before this place burned down, right?[/COLOR]” he said with a chuckle, which died as she turned the screen back so he could see it. “[COLOR=#FFD700]Is that a footprint, there at the far side of the splatter?[/COLOR]” she asked coldly, pointing at the oddly-shaped splotch. Eddie looked, turning his head instead of asking her to turn the phone. “[COLOR=#ADD8E6]Could be. If so, it is gone now- Bob started at that end, and he’s almost done.[/COLOR]” He shook his head. “[COLOR=#ADD8E6]Maybe it wasn’t though- could’ve been just a smear.[/COLOR]” Jameson shook her head, and handed the phone back. “[COLOR=#FFD700]While I appreciate the thought, my concern here is not to have things happen, and then sweep them under the rug. Jefferson Wright tried that approach, and it worked for, what, almost six years. But not everyone made it through those years- and now he is up at McLean, in a coma, basically a vegetable. So that approach doesn’t work.[/COLOR]” She moved closer, and stared up into Eddie’s eyes- he dropped his own gaze almost immediately as she kept talking. “[COLOR=#FFD700]What I want, and what I want my staff to help me with is to put a stop to this foolishness. Full Stop, once and for all. For the good of this school, for this town, and for these kids.[/COLOR]” She took another step closer, and slid one well-manicured fingernail up under his chin, in a way that was not quite threatening. “[COLOR=#FFD700]I want these kids to graduate, and go to good schools- to survive to graduate. I want them to pick out a nice tux or a fancy dress to go to the prom, not to the funeral of yet another classmate. Do you understand me, Eddie?[/COLOR]” She stepped back, but kept him locked in place with the force of her stare- almost unconsciously she reached up and rubbed one hand under her own chin and across her throat, like she was playing with the high-necked collar of her shirt. “[COLOR=#ADD8E6]Of course, of course,[/COLOR]” he finally managed to stammer. She reached out and patted him on the shoulder, a motion almost startling in its gentleness. Then she turned and started back down the hallway towards the stairs. “[COLOR=#FFD700]Just remember to send me those pictures, when you can,[/COLOR]” she called back over her shoulder as she strode away. “[COLOR=#FFD700]I still have quite a bit of work to do, first day of school and all. I’ll see you tomorrow Eddie. And you too, Bob.[/COLOR]” Eddie sagged back against the wall and took a deep calming breath. “[COLOR=#ADD8E6]Looks like we dodged a bullet, eh Bob? Good job there, my man.[/COLOR]” Bob plopped the mop back into the red bucket and looked over the now-clean section of hallway. And with a faint smile and a wave, he started rolling the bucket away again. [/sblock] [sblock= Tasha goes home for the day] >Tasha stumbled out the front door of the school and down the steps, more than half-blinded by the spikes of pain radiating from the back of her head. It had started as a subtle tingle in World History class- that familiar prickling feeling that she got when Something Was Wrong. Normally it would have faded away after a minute or two, leaving her nervous and jumpy for a while. Instead it had slowly but steadily gotten worse. By lunchtime she could hardly eat, and the afternoon had been nonstop torture. She had tried some of the breathing exercises and meditation that Dr. Caldwell had taught her- which had helped just enough for her to get through the day. But when the dismissal bell finally rang, Tasha had been barely able to shuffle to her locker to pack up her backpack for the trip home. There was a thick clot of students on the sidewalk- some milling as they waited for a school bus or their parents to pick them up, others simply catching up with friends that they hadn’t seen during the school day. A few teachers were trying to keep the scrum of students in some kind of order, but Tasha ignored almost everything in her haste to get away from the school. She wasn’t quite running- between the pain in her head and the weight of her backpack, she couldn’t run, not really. As it turned out, that was a good thing. She slipped through one clot of older kids with a bit more force than she would normally have dared, drawing a handful of startled and angry comments that she didn’t even really hear- and then she stumbled off the curb, right in front of a massive silver SUV. There was the shrill blare of a horn, and Tasha, finally shocked out of her daze, found herself staring at the front grill, which seemed almost as tall as she was. She blinked groggily and stumbled back up onto the curb- at least she managed a half-hearted wave at the massive metal behemoth. One of the supervising teachers looked her way, but there were other horns clamoring for attention, and altogether too much chaos for her misstep to draw more of a response. Just being outside of the school itself seemed to help- the spikes of pain in her head had already faded a bit, at least enough for her to think for a minute. She turned around and looked back at the front doors- it sure didn’t look like the Fifth Circle of Hell; it just looked like many other schools she had seen over the years. With a sigh, she turned away again, and stepped off the curb- carefully this time, making her way across the street with a few other students. The park that surrounded Claypit Pond looked almost inviting- there was a screen of trees along the eastern edge, but the rest of it had only a waist high hedge and an ornamental fence; both barriers were pierced at regular intervals to allow access to the walking trail that looped around the pond. Tasha trailed along with some of the other students, headed along the trail, around to Concord Ave. Most of the others headed off to the right, the shorter route out to the bus stop on Concord- Tasha and a few stragglers made their way around to the left, towards the trees and the promise of shade against the hot late-summer sun. Those trees sheltered the eastern curve of the pond in a broad double row- that part of the park even had a few benches, set in the shade looking out over the flat glittering surface of the pond. Tasha managed to make it as far as the first bench- she half-slumped, half-flopped down, dropping her heavy backpack at her feet. She took one long, deep breath and tried to get her thoughts together. She had survived the day, at least- it certainly hadn’t been easy, or pretty, but she had made it. The jury was still out on whether she would have any kind of social future- with some luck and some effort, her missteps today could be overcome. She even had a thick sheaf of flyers from the Activities Fair this afternoon- no sports teams or athletic clubs, obviously, but there were some pretty interesting groups she could think about joining. A few other students ambled by on the path as Tasha tried to regroup- some individuals, and a few small groups; none of them seemed to even notice her sitting on the bench- at least none of them were staring… She had been thinking about catching the 72 bus, or maybe even walking down Concord- the Fresh Pond shopping plaza wasn’t too far. But after the day she had had so far, she just didn’t feel up to it- especially if she had to tote that backpack. Home it was, she decided, pushing herself back to her feet- she had taken the bus to school this morning, but the way the routes worked it was much easier to walk home; she had no wish to be stuck on one of the rattling yellow wrecks in this heat. It took about twenty minutes for her to get home- across Concord Ave and then through the tangled mess of suburban streets. She finally got back to the triple-decker that she and her mom had rented a floor of, and trooped up the front steps, really straining under the weight of her pack. There was a thick sheaf of mail in the box- not doubt most of it was spam, but it DID mean that her mom wasn’t home yet, which wasn’t a surprise. Tasha managed to get the door open, and immediately dropped her backpack on the floor. She extended her arms and rolled her shoulders, then finally stripped the soft brace off her left wrist. ”[COLOR=#00FF00]Hey Mom, guess what? I didn’t get kicked out of school today![/COLOR]” she called to the empty apartment. ‘No promises about tomorrow though,’ she added silently. “[COLOR=#00FF00]I even picked up some flyers for a couple of clubs to try out. They have a great theater program, and a stage production club- I could help with costumes and set design, draw stuff for them to use on stage…[/COLOR]” Leaving her bag on the floor and the pile of mail on the hall table, she made her way back into the kitchen- she hadn’t been able to eat lunch, but now that her headache had faded, she was ravenous. [/sblock] [/QUOTE]
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[IC] Horror High - Freshman Year
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