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[IC] Horror High - Freshman Year
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<blockquote data-quote="Macv12" data-source="post: 6807560" data-attributes="member: 6801600"><p>[sblock="-- August 19 --"]The morning of a late-summer day in New England. Lush green trees, twittering with anticipation of their autumn transformation, surround a lonely road near central Massachusetts. One car - the only car to travel this road today - sits on the shoulder of a curve in the road. It's a dark blue compact without ornamentation, the kind that wouldn't be out of place anywhere but here; the kind that would be hard to describe for the police. Its driver is a middle-aged man in workman's clothes, greying early, his beard just reaching his collar. He scans the tree line, listens to the birds, and gets out of the car to smoke, passing the hours patiently.</p><p></p><p>After noon, a figure emerges from the woods down the road. Despite the nice weather, she wears a large red waterproof coat and cargo pants, with a small camping bag slung over one shoulder. Her clothes are fairly clean, though her hair and face look to have been out here for a week. She takes a look around and spots the car, then stares at the ground the rest of the way as she walks toward it. The man puts out his cigarette and gets back in the car, driving to meet her. Both are silent as she gets in, and for several minutes of their drive back, him watching the road and her staring out the window.</p><p></p><p><You were later than usual> the man starts in their native Romanian.</p><p></p><p><<span style="color: #ff8c00">I ended up far away.</span>></p><p></p><p><Did you find your way back okay?></p><p></p><p><<span style="color: #ff8c00">Obviously...</span>></p><p></p><p><Excuse me?></p><p></p><p><<span style="color: #ff8c00">Yes, I did.</span>></p><p></p><p>They drive a few more minutes.</p><p></p><p><I have work with your cousin, I probably won't be home this weekend. I need you to tell your mother.></p><p></p><p>No response.</p><p></p><p><We've, uh, got sort of a big project coming up. I may not be home much next month either. You'll need to do some extra things around the house.></p><p></p><p>She rolls her eyes. "Project" and "work" are weasel words he uses to pretend the gun in the glove box isn't part of this "work."</p><p></p><p><And...I can't pick you up next time.></p><p></p><p><<span style="color: #ff8c00">It's fine. I got my permit.</span>></p><p></p><p><You can borrow the car. I don't want you using that thing you've been tinkering with.></p><p></p><p><<span style="color: #ff8c00">It's not <em>tinkering</em>. I know what I'm doing.</span>></p><p></p><p><Don't talk back. Use the car until I can check that bike out. If I trust it, maybe you can drive it to school.></p><p></p><p><<span style="color: #ff8c00">Mom won't let me drive it anyway.</span>></p><p></p><p><You're right. She hates fun.> A moment passes before the girl's stony mask breaks in a smirk. The man leans forward to peak at her face and laughs, partly because he cracked her and partly at how hard she's trying to hide it. <If she starts giving you guff, I'll talk to her. I'm not too old to hold her back while you escape.</p><p></p><p><Hey, you want to see the new school? We can swing by on the way back.></p><p></p><p><<span style="color: #ff8c00">...I just want to take a shower. I have four years to see that place.</span>></p><p></p><p><If you're careful.></p><p></p><p>She shrinks in her seat. <<span style="color: #ff8c00">Yeah, I know...</span>> If she doesn't watch it, she'll either graduate in her 20's or be a dropout. Hard to say which would be worse. At least her first scheduled absence won't be until the second week of class.[/sblock]</p><p>-- First day of school --</p><p></p><p>This school is a lot nicer than the last. Everything is too new and too different and sucks, but, it's nice. Francis is wearing tennis shoes, blue jeans, a black t-shirt, and the green jacket she wears most days. Most of her clothes were bought a few years ago with space to grow into, and don't have much life left in them now. Last year that would put her in the middle of the pack socially, but here she's somewhere in "troublemaker" territory. That works for her. The chatter around her seems even shallower than last year.</p><p></p><p>She arrives at the gym with most of the other students, just alone. A quick scan tells her that picking a seat here follows basically the same rules as before. "Good kids" sit in the front. Good kids who don't want to suck up sit just behind them. Popular kids in the center, spread into their cliques, with their entourage and hangers-on filling the buffer zones between them. In the back are the "bad kids," that is, a different species of popular kid using "badness" as their sales pitch; it's heavy with seniors. The really bad ones are in the back corners, which always seem darker than the rest of the room despite the even lighting. The kids who want to avoid any of those groups sit in the wastes of the middle to front of either far end. Anyone who doesn't rank in these categories goes anywhere they and their friends can fit, with distance to center correlating with how much they care about the appearance of listening.</p><p></p><p>It's always the same. This more or less works for buses, too, and classrooms with free seating, and dances, and cafeterias, after compensating for the lack of teachers to impress; anywhere with a high concentration of teenagers, and probably even adults. Like monkeys in a zoo.</p><p></p><p>And Francis is no different. Except for being not entirely monkey. She sits a few rows up the near side of the bleachers; the only kid who's staked a claim there is engrossed in their big flashing "Do Not Disturb" sign, which suits her just fine.</p><p></p><p>The assembly proper soon starts. Francis scarcely has time to ignore the principal before getting caught off guard by the two cops on stage. She shifts in her spot, looking to one side to avoid facing them head-on. Great. Cops. Because she didn't yet hate <em>everything</em> here, and it would be a shame for them to leave the job unfinished. If "at-risk program" is such a loaded term, why not "proactive detention?" It would be more honest. At least she knows where her afternoons will be spent.</p><p></p><p>She notices that the cop isn't talking anymore, and she's already missed a couple teacher introductions. With a sigh, she tries to wipe away her previous train of thought. Learning names impresses teachers, and she'll need every advantage she can get.</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="Macv12, post: 6807560, member: 6801600"] [sblock="-- August 19 --"]The morning of a late-summer day in New England. Lush green trees, twittering with anticipation of their autumn transformation, surround a lonely road near central Massachusetts. One car - the only car to travel this road today - sits on the shoulder of a curve in the road. It's a dark blue compact without ornamentation, the kind that wouldn't be out of place anywhere but here; the kind that would be hard to describe for the police. Its driver is a middle-aged man in workman's clothes, greying early, his beard just reaching his collar. He scans the tree line, listens to the birds, and gets out of the car to smoke, passing the hours patiently. After noon, a figure emerges from the woods down the road. Despite the nice weather, she wears a large red waterproof coat and cargo pants, with a small camping bag slung over one shoulder. Her clothes are fairly clean, though her hair and face look to have been out here for a week. She takes a look around and spots the car, then stares at the ground the rest of the way as she walks toward it. The man puts out his cigarette and gets back in the car, driving to meet her. Both are silent as she gets in, and for several minutes of their drive back, him watching the road and her staring out the window. <You were later than usual> the man starts in their native Romanian. <[COLOR=#ff8c00]I ended up far away.[/COLOR]> <Did you find your way back okay?> <[COLOR=#ff8c00]Obviously...[/COLOR]> <Excuse me?> <[COLOR=#ff8c00]Yes, I did.[/COLOR]> They drive a few more minutes. <I have work with your cousin, I probably won't be home this weekend. I need you to tell your mother.> No response. <We've, uh, got sort of a big project coming up. I may not be home much next month either. You'll need to do some extra things around the house.> She rolls her eyes. "Project" and "work" are weasel words he uses to pretend the gun in the glove box isn't part of this "work." <And...I can't pick you up next time.> <[COLOR=#ff8c00]It's fine. I got my permit.[/COLOR]> <You can borrow the car. I don't want you using that thing you've been tinkering with.> <[COLOR=#ff8c00]It's not [I]tinkering[/I]. I know what I'm doing.[/COLOR]> <Don't talk back. Use the car until I can check that bike out. If I trust it, maybe you can drive it to school.> <[COLOR=#ff8c00]Mom won't let me drive it anyway.[/COLOR]> <You're right. She hates fun.> A moment passes before the girl's stony mask breaks in a smirk. The man leans forward to peak at her face and laughs, partly because he cracked her and partly at how hard she's trying to hide it. <If she starts giving you guff, I'll talk to her. I'm not too old to hold her back while you escape. <Hey, you want to see the new school? We can swing by on the way back.> <[COLOR=#ff8c00]...I just want to take a shower. I have four years to see that place.[/COLOR]> <If you're careful.> She shrinks in her seat. <[COLOR=#ff8c00]Yeah, I know...[/COLOR]> If she doesn't watch it, she'll either graduate in her 20's or be a dropout. Hard to say which would be worse. At least her first scheduled absence won't be until the second week of class.[/sblock] -- First day of school -- This school is a lot nicer than the last. Everything is too new and too different and sucks, but, it's nice. Francis is wearing tennis shoes, blue jeans, a black t-shirt, and the green jacket she wears most days. Most of her clothes were bought a few years ago with space to grow into, and don't have much life left in them now. Last year that would put her in the middle of the pack socially, but here she's somewhere in "troublemaker" territory. That works for her. The chatter around her seems even shallower than last year. She arrives at the gym with most of the other students, just alone. A quick scan tells her that picking a seat here follows basically the same rules as before. "Good kids" sit in the front. Good kids who don't want to suck up sit just behind them. Popular kids in the center, spread into their cliques, with their entourage and hangers-on filling the buffer zones between them. In the back are the "bad kids," that is, a different species of popular kid using "badness" as their sales pitch; it's heavy with seniors. The really bad ones are in the back corners, which always seem darker than the rest of the room despite the even lighting. The kids who want to avoid any of those groups sit in the wastes of the middle to front of either far end. Anyone who doesn't rank in these categories goes anywhere they and their friends can fit, with distance to center correlating with how much they care about the appearance of listening. It's always the same. This more or less works for buses, too, and classrooms with free seating, and dances, and cafeterias, after compensating for the lack of teachers to impress; anywhere with a high concentration of teenagers, and probably even adults. Like monkeys in a zoo. And Francis is no different. Except for being not entirely monkey. She sits a few rows up the near side of the bleachers; the only kid who's staked a claim there is engrossed in their big flashing "Do Not Disturb" sign, which suits her just fine. The assembly proper soon starts. Francis scarcely has time to ignore the principal before getting caught off guard by the two cops on stage. She shifts in her spot, looking to one side to avoid facing them head-on. Great. Cops. Because she didn't yet hate [I]everything[/I] here, and it would be a shame for them to leave the job unfinished. If "at-risk program" is such a loaded term, why not "proactive detention?" It would be more honest. At least she knows where her afternoons will be spent. She notices that the cop isn't talking anymore, and she's already missed a couple teacher introductions. With a sigh, she tries to wipe away her previous train of thought. Learning names impresses teachers, and she'll need every advantage she can get. [/QUOTE]
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