ANGELA
I slammed on my brakes as soon as the idiot pulled out in front of my car on Elbow Hill Road, the sudden stop in momentum nearly slamming my head into the steering wheel. This fucking street is perfectly named since its curves are pitched at 30o angles, forcing you to ride at "Driving Miss Daisy" speeds down a single lane back road, with nothing resembling a shoulder and a twenty-foot drop into a heavily wooded New England forest on either side. This moron is undoubtedly one of the area's loony residents, whose long driveways always have an obstructed view that somehow entitles them to "right of way" when in truth, it is just because they were dumb enough to buy land here.
The driver makes an obscene gesture as he speeds off at forty-five miles an hour while I swallow my still racing heart back into my chest. Self-righteous asshole. I take a deep breath, once again grateful that I have less than a year left in this small, wholesome, suburban town. As I make my way to the bottom of Elbow Hill, I rolled to a leisurely stop at the sign to survey the damage. My sudden halt had tipped my travel mug, spewing my delicious coffee all over the dash and carpeted interior. I dab a few wet spots with the sleeve of my black hooded zip-up sweater until I hear a honk from the impatient driver that had pulled up behind me.
*Sorry pal, my bad.* I get on my way, glancing at the clock to see if I have enough time to stop at the Dunkin' Donuts down the street before school starts.
*Damn, I don't.* A half-cocked Angela on half a cup of coffee. Let's just say it is going to be an interesting morning at Middlebrook High.
I honestly hate this place and I am not entirely sure why no one else does. People were shocked that when it came time to start shopping for colleges, I specifically looked for places that were as far from Connecticut as I could get without leaving the continental U.S. I would probably feel differently, if it were not for the clique mentality that governs student life both on and off school grounds. I gave it my all to try and "fit in" when we first moved here but to be honest, I was deemed an outcast long before I started telling people how I really felt about them. These days I do not have much of an internal monologue, which helps deter the so-called bullies who would rather ridicule me in private rather than risk public humiliation should they dare to confront me to my face.
Don't let the cutesy brochures and street-wide banners with messages of diversity and inclusion fool you. Around here, you cannot voice an opinion that is unorthodox without running from the lynching mob shortly thereafter. Mostly, people tend to keep their true feelings to themselves, fearing the label of "nonconformist" more than the plague but obviously, I am not one of those people. *Conformity.* It seems unnatural to me but everyone around here clings to it like a security blanket, always trying to fit in with the herd despite all feelings to the contrary. Maybe this is just how things have always been. Maybe that is the only way they can survive here without going insane. Maybe it is easier to stick your head in the sand and leave your bare ass hanging out on full display, but I don't plan on going out like that.
According to my public high school education system, Connecticut is a drumlin because once upon a time, the entire Northern hemisphere was covered by a giant ice cube. For those of you without a degree in geology, an interesting modern day side effect is that this place has more hills and crevices than the founding city planners were capable of navigating. To make a long story short, you need a car to get from point A to point B. Now if we were to go off the lessons learned from watching my fellow students once they came of age, my parents would have just bought me a new car, allowed me to crash it and then replaced it with a newer model car. However, given that my family is not made of money, my mom and dad made me work for a year so that I could build character and buy myself my first "hunk of junk." Bear in mind that I already pay for all my own clothing, any social outings and school field trips with my wages from my waitressing job although that job has fallen to the wayside in lieu of my impending freedom from high school. Now add to that gas and oil changes and you have an idea of how my life differs from the rest of this baby-boomer retirement community. It's not all bad, and in all honesty, I think my old, busted wagon is more meaningful to me than a brand-new Jeep Wrangler would have been. At least I have something to aspire to.
I pulled up to the front parking lot and waited for some ignorant juniors to stop jumping in front of my vehicle, giggling, and laughing about Lord-knows-what. The junior and senior parking lots are relatively small and located right next to the school, which is shaped like a long, brown-red, brick box. I often think of it as a brick casket, but that is probably related to my insatiable desire to leave mixed with remnants of irrational teenage angst. The school is surrounded by a series of uninhabited but privately owned fields though the forest located behind the football field is a borderline national park for horny teenagers that stretches well into the center of town. Beyond the empty lots, the main streets are peppered with residential dwellings consisting of mainly two-story colonial houses with white picket fences and 2.5 kids playing in an acre yard with their rabid labradoodles. All in all, Middlebrook is a relatively quiet place to live in although generation Rx has given this community of mostly older Republican retirees half a dozen board of education meetings that we will not soon forget. In essence, city planners never accounted for the sudden population boom, and we now find ourselves in a remote town with not enough of a downtown but certainly too many youths for the woods to sustain their interest. What else is there to do but drink and look for fun in grandpa's medicine cabinet?
Make no mistake, I am not innocent of these wrongdoings although I limit my recreational drug use to drinking alcohol with friends. While it is not a popular stance, most cliques have come to the same conclusion or choose not to participate at all but there are the occasional pill-popping incidents that grace the morning announcements and unfortunately, meth has been found on school grounds in the past. There might have been a time when incidents of student misconduct would be the subject of public scrutiny but at some point, the faculty and staff silently consented to keeping most of these incidents out of the papers. Granted I have little interest in the political process, but the speed at which certain stories have been put to rest seems to correlate with the amount of money lining their parent's pockets and so, most of these unfortunate situations are quietly handled in-house.
It is a short hop, skip and a jump from the parking lot to the main hallway that stretches past the gymnasium, band room and theater into the heart of the school. In the main section, the halls are lined with lockers, branching out from the massive and centrally placed cafeteria with small auxiliary hallways that lead to the various academic departments. To be honest, the design for the school is quite straight forward but then again, it is hard to fuck up the layout for a giant rectangular box.
"Angela! Wait up, dammit!" Lawrence hollered as he made his way through the crowd to meet me by the main doorway into the school. Technically, Lawry never officially "came out" but then again, he never had to as we have all known he was gay since the fourth grade, including his loving family. Considering he has never been shy about, it is odd that there are still whispers and rumors floating around on the matter but for the most part, he is treated with a quiet sense of resignation. Needless to say, Lawry was one of the only other people I know who decided to leave New England after graduation.
"Hey Lawry, how are you doing babe?" I asked as he finally caught up with me and we veered to make our way down the main hall of the school. Lawry never really did get use to his last growth spurt so given his rather tall and lanky frame, he always seemed like he was about ready to fall over. However, his long strawberry blond hair and porcelain skin made him look more like a misplaced Hanson brother, complete with baby blue eyes.
"You are way too calm, which means you have not heard about Maggie and Steve." Lawry stuttered, his arms waving around in a dramatic display of disbelief. "Seriously, talk to your parents. It is absolutely insane that you are not allowed to have a cell phone."
*Don't get me started, the insanity extends to their social media policy.*
All the hallways in this school are lined with two rows of four-by-one-foot lockers. The school regulation is that you stick to the same locker that you were issued freshmen year. Thankfully for me, my locker is right in the middle of the school, which puts me in the science wing not too far from the cafeteria but still isolated from the main halls. I casually rolled my eyes at Lawry, having accepted that I lost this technological war with my parents many years ago. Once, I even tried being clever and "got lost" coming home because "I don't have a phone" where I could access google maps. The next day, my dad left me in an abandoned field two towns over with nothing but a hard-copy map from the glovebox and some cash for dinner in case I did not make it home in time. It was a battle of wills that lasted damn near a year, but I sorely underestimated them and to be honest, it has been less problematic than I thought it would be.
"You know damn well that isn't going to get me anywhere. The matter is settled so just spill. What happened, is she pregnant?" I would love to say that gossip is beneath me, but I would not have survived in this town for this long if it had not been for the drama that keeps this place running. Considering Maggie's rather tumultuous relationship with Steve, I was not the least bit surprised that they had a rough weekend.
"C'est la vie." Lawry sighed, flexing his fourth year of French as if he was a heavyweight linguist. "But no, nothing so predictable. Rumor has it that Maggie was at the movies with Rob and some friends Saturday night when she saw some couple making out in the corner of the theater."
"What was she doing at the movies with Rob?" I asked as Lawry regained color in his cheeks, momentarily adjusting his ensemble while we picked up the pace. Rob was a fellow senior but also a popular football player who spent most of his high school years making the rounds through the cheerleading squads, both varsity and JV. I always assumed that he never hooked up with Maggie because she had been dating his quarterback for the past two or three years. I am not entirely sure why, but I always figured that not boning another teammate's girl was some formal component in the football code of ethics. Obviously, I gave those boys too much credit.
"Angela, please focus." Lawry snapped and I could not help but smirk. These stories are rarely ever as juicy as he is making it out to be. What am I missing? "So after the movie, Maggie walks past the mystery couple and she realizes that it's actually Steve."
"Oh no!" I exhaled, my voice dripping with sarcasm. "Big fucking reveal, Steve's a cheater. Really? You want me to disrupt the tenuous peace with my parents because a teenage boy couldn't keep his dick in his pants?" As we turned the corner, I made my way to my locker and punched in the combination. Why are high school boys so damn predictable? *See, this is why I don't date.* Although to be fair, I don't date for a great many reasons and chief among them is my innate ability to scare the shit out of teenage boys as well as my profound lack of a filter. I try to shake off my disappointment at the news while I gathered my books and hung up my sweater, but then I realized that Lawry was giving me his best attempt at a dirty look.
*Really?*
"Um, excuse me." Lawry said with a hint of sass. "But I was not even close to being done with that story."
"This has all the hallmarks of a cliché." I muttered while swapping out textbooks from my backpack, trying to remember which ones I will have to lug around on my back before I can restock at lunchtime. "I'm assuming that this discovery ended with a dramatic confrontation, which will likely be whispered throughout the hallways all damn week."
"Quite dramatic as it turns out, Steve was not with someone of the fairer sex." Lawrence said cautiously, suddenly looking around for prying ears as we talked.
*Wait, what?* I admit that I did not see this one coming.
"I'm partially deaf in this ear, can you repeat that?" I asked, clearly dumbfounded by the revelation. "Steve?" Lawry just stood there with a grin stretched clear across his face, nodding as I digested the information.
"You heard me." Lawry muttered, looking over his shoulder while I remove my history textbook and haphazardly threw it into my backpack.
"Oh shit." I said solemnly, suddenly realizing what awful behaviors were likely headed Steve's way. "Please tell me that you're kidding?" I asked.
"Not one bit and yes, his father already knows all about it." Lawrence said softly, obviously trying to keep this portion of the conversation as quiet as possible.
Allow me to elaborate. Steve's father was known to be a hardcore sports fanatic who was convinced that his son was the next Dan Marino. In fact, last season Steve's dad got banned from the local football circuit after he decked a referee for giving Steve a penalty when he was clearly pulling on the face mask of one of the opposing team's members during a tackle. The referee ended up with a loose tooth, bruised jaw line and a bloody lip but they were old golfing buddies, so the whole ordeal was labelled "an unfortunate incident" and a memo was circulated about proper "sportsmanlike behavior" at the games. The man was pathological and was never shy about his feelings regarding homosexuality, having publicly claimed on multiple occasions that all they really need is for the "gay" to be beaten out of them.
"Steve may be an ass," I started to say.
"May be?" Lawry muttered and I suddenly realized the powder keg that had just erupted at Middlebrook High. "No Angela, he's still an ass. That fucker's been in and out of fights ever since Maggie found out about his little secret."
"What a fucking mess." I said, momentarily leaning my head against the cold, metal locker next to mine. *Shit.* Assuming the rumor is true, that son of a bitch will tear Steve's hide. And if it isn't, he'd do the same just to make a point. I am not particularly fond of Steve, but I cannot imagine the state of his homelife right now nor would I wish that experience on my worst enemy. Lawry's family has always been incredibly loving and supportive of all his endeavors while Steve's is decidedly not. Lawry also has a circle of friends who accept him for who he is. I guess we are about to find out if Steve's will do the same.
"Indeed." Lawrence said and I reluctantly shrugged my shoulders. Steve's done his fair share of damage to this group over the years so while he has my sympathies, there is bound to be some distance between us. Maybe I can slip him a note after school to see how he is doing, although he could just as easily tell me to fuck off just for old time's sake.
*Old habits die hard, right?*
"So, who was the other guy?" I asked, curiosity keeping me from getting to my morning classes on time.
"Jason." He muttered, a slight tinge of longing in his voice. Well, that detail is less surprising.
"What's the damage so far?" I asked.
"Mainly rumors and they are predominantly being circulated by Rob." Lawry stated as I rolled my eyes into the back of my head. That behavior was predictable coming from Rob, who routinely offered up random dick measurements in health-related classes as a masculine display of prowess. For the record, his penis measures anywhere from 8 to 14 inches in length depending on whether the teacher is male or female, respectively. Honestly, that fucker has the emotional sensibility of a rock.
"Guess the cat's out of the bag." I muttered under my breath, hoping not to draw too much attention from the eavesdropping snoops as I shut my locker door.
"We'll see. Steve has not officially said anything on the matter and apparently, Jason is enjoying an impromptu three-day weekend." Lawrence smiled deviously and I laughed in spite of the sobering news. Lawry has had a crush on Steve for years, but we all assumed Steve was as straight as they come, your stereotypical hetero-macho-asshole. I guess it makes sense in a way. No one can be that pompous this early in life without a terribly secret to hide. "But my dearest Angie, I have to go fall asleep in class. I'll see you at lunch." The statement seemed to linger in the air as he walked down the hall through the ever-growing crowd.
"Keep me updated." I shouted after him while I switch directions and headed elsewhere.
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Honors Ancient World History with Middlebrook's very own victim of necromancies, the infamous Mr. Lippman. The product of a lucrative stock broking family, this forty-five-year-old teacher has walked the tenuous line separating him from being another name on the national sex offender registry for almost a decade. The only reason he has never been reported is because he is good at picking his targets and while his eyes have lingered on the bosom of many a female student, he only ever beds faculty members and lonely housewives who like to pretend they are nothing more than their daughter's "older sister." Another classic example of the chauvinistic architype, his "one size fits all" approach to education has unfortunately kept him off the board of education's radar so most students have opted to avoid getting into "he said, she said" debates with the administration and simply ignore his flirtatious advances.
"Good morning class. Let us continue our discussion of the city of Babylon." His statement falls on deaf ears as students are still filing into the classroom, roughly ten minutes after the second bell. Without so much as a scolding, he slowly begins circling the room as he announces, "Let's read silently from the book and complete the end-of-the-chapter checkup."
*Quality education from Middlebrook's teacher of the year.*
Quite deliberately, I slammed my textbook onto my desk as he looked down my shirt and started flipping to Chapter 8 when I noticed that he had raised an eyebrow. *We do this every morning, dude.* As he continues past my desk, I ponder whether his old college professors are proud of his academic accomplishments, realizing yet again that this man is paid by the state to watch our breasts heave while we read from a book that was deemed "outdated" fifteen years ago. Incidentally, this will be the extent of his communications for the remaining 40 minutes of class time as he will simply make the rounds to keep us in line before checking in with his favorite flirts. After twenty minutes or so, it becomes painfully obvious that everyone has moved on to non-history-related topics and based on what I could gather, it mainly consisted of talking about Maggie and Steve.
"Angela and Laurie, did you finish already?" Mr. Lippman booms as we shut our textbooks. We were not the only ones to do so but for reasons that still boggle the mind, he likes to pick on my friend Laurie and me. I have never tried to hide my disgust, but I am a straight A student and one of the only minorities at this school, so it is quite rare for me to end up in the hot seat. Laurie on the other hand, has had a tumultuous past and unfortunately, it is damn near impossible to escape the label once you have been identified as a "problem" kid. To some extent, the only reason I am even on Mr. Lippman's shitlist is because I am still friends with Laurie and refused to ostracize her like everyone else did. Laurie's attitude does not help matters but that is part of her charm.
"No, I decided that Babylon was against my religion and I am boycotting it in the name of the Holy Spirit." Laurie basked pointing to the yellowing ceiling panels as she simulated a prayer. I was trying not to laugh as Mr. Lippman silently marched over to our desks.
*Here we go again.*
Laurie Clerkin. Standing in at just over five feet, this short little spitfire from the Philippines was seventeen and perpetually pissed off. Her brown hair had been dyed every single color of the rainbow and her brown eyes have been of a dull luster ever since her father's death last spring. I do love her passion, but she would rather be repeatedly suspended over nothing rather than admit that she has anger management problems and an irrational distaste for authority. She's not dumb, but her grades never recovered from her past missteps and recently, she has been heavily relying on others to get through her coursework with a passing grade.
"Cute." Lippman says as he stands by her side, doing his best to give her an air of authority as he points at the desktop with a straight index finger. Amusingly, the man is not much taller than Laurie so all she really needs to do is stand up and this exchange becomes priceless. "Do we need to have a talk again?"
"Could we?" Laurie asks with a childish grin.
"We're fine." I quickly interject on her behalf. "We finished the chapter, but we wanted to quiz each other before answering the questions." Laurie sits back in her chair, an expression of abject disappointment on her face while I blatantly lie to Mr. Lippman so that he will leave us alone. Despite my obvious charade, Mr. Lippman refused to engage us further and reluctantly, he walked away. Obviously, he is not in the mood to start the week off with another unsolicited trip to the principal's office. Suddenly, I am uncharacteristically, grateful.
"Goddamn it, Angela. I liked my story better." She muttered under her breath, sulking in her chair as she glared at Mr. Lippman across the room. Her eyes widened with a sarcastic display when he inevitably looked back at her.
"I did too." I said, somewhat annoyed with her demeanor. "But I didn't have a full cup of coffee this morning. Can we save the detention for later in the week?" I asked, obviously trying to appeal to her sense of simplicity.
*It's only Monday, Laurie.*
"Oh alright." She moaned, begrudgingly agreeing to be civil for a bit longer as she sat up in her chair and leaned in.
"So, you were saying." I muttered, already depressed by her brief weekend update.
"Yeah, well I guess my mom's meds finally gave out but of course she won't go back in to correct the dosage." She continued. "Stupid bitch."
----------~----------~----------
Two more fun filled periods of education and then lunch. Sadly, this is the highlight of my day because while many of us share the same classes, strict cell phone policies have made it almost impossible for us to exchange stories until lunch. Amazingly, we have all managed to maintain the same lunch period throughout our tenure at Middlebrook High so our lunchtime "catch up" routine has become something of a staple in the cafeteria. We may all rank low on the totem pole of teenage cool, but somehow our little band of underdogs has earned a respectable degree of autonomy amongst the various cliques at this school.
"Have you heard about that new family that just moved into the Haunted Mansion?" O'Neil asked as he straddled a chair and popped a French fry into his mouth. *That's right!* I had forgotten about the new Haunted Mansion owners.
I should probably explain. On the outskirts of town is an old mansion that has seemingly been abandoned for as long as anyone can remember. The funny thing about this story is that no one really remembers who use to live there and the city has been reluctant to tear it down on the grounds that it is one of the original structures from when Middlebrook was initially founded. Personally, I feel like that is just an indication that all our state representatives have a mild hoarding condition, however, I do appreciate the potential beauty of that house. Anyways, Middlebrook is remarkably small and most everyone knows everything about everyone else's life so, the fact that no one seems to know much about the mansion's original owners or why it was abandoned in the first place is quite bizarre. Hence its nickname, the "Haunted Mansion." I know it is not the most original of titles, but it is fitting. It used to be a hang-out point for horny teenagers until the town boarded it up a few years back. The story was that some kids got lost in there and ended up getting trapped for four days, though the details are fuzzy as to how that happened. Reportedly, two were severely injured and one spent some time in a white-collar mental institution for some sort of anxiety disorder. All this of course, took place before my time so I am sure that this story is nothing more than local folklore spread by adults to keep their kids out of trouble. Whatever happened, the story worked. No one goes into the Haunted Mansion.
*No one.*
"Apparently they're richer than Solomon because those renovations got done almost overnight." I said as I took three French fries from Vic's plate. She gives me a nasty look but reluctantly pushes the fries in my direction. Vic just started her fifteenth diet since last winter, so she is fighting her urge to snack while balancing her desire to deprive me of her coveted French fries.
"That doesn't mean that they're rich." O'Neil retorts, scoffing for lack of a better response to the present inquiry. Jacob O'Neil is the only jock in the group, or at least the closest thing to it. He is the official school mascot, our very own Middlebrook Bobcat. I am not quite sure why we don't call him by his first name, but we never have, and he does not seem to mind. But to be honest, he never really "minds" anything. O'Neil is a genuinely good guy who unfortunately gets walked on by just about everybody and while I keep waiting for him to snap, nothing ever seems to bother him. I mean, it must be exhausting being that damn considerate all the time irrespective of how people treat you. But while the rest of the school may not think much of O'Neil, he has always had a strong voice at this table.
"Well, what the fuck does it mean then? That kind of motivation isn't cheap." Vic said.
"Neither were the renovations." Lawry adds. Lawry's mother is the curator of a local art gallery and she had made some comments to us about the extravagance they were lavishing on that place one night while we were all over at his house. Once upon a time, she used to be a professional artist, a real genius with a brush but she put it to the side when she got married to Lawry's dad. I don't think Lawry ever really forgave his dad for making his mom give up her passion for a conventional job, especially after he realized how good she actually was. Lawry's mom has never complained but after seeing some of her old paintings, having her curate that small studio gallery is like giving Monet a paint-by-numbers book.
"Whatever. When do they move in?" O'Neil asked.
"What's with the sudden fascination with the new Haunted owners?" I interject as O'Neil cocked his head towards me. "You seem overly excited about the whole thing. I mean, they just finished all the work on that place. We'll probably know more in a couple of weeks when the owner marches his army of drones here from Babylon."
"Babylon?" Laurie says with a hint of a smile.
"Okay, I guess that was a bit on the nose. How about Bangladesh?" I say while I casually chuck a French fry in her direction. She laughs as O'Neil dives to try and catch it in midair, turning only to unceremoniously pat him on the head. The look of sheer satisfaction on O'Neil's face is priceless.
*Show off.*
"Bangladesh." Vic says as she twirls her curls with her fingertips. "I don't see it. My money says they are from New York." Vic is one of my oldest friends. Her legal name is Vicki Grant, but she hates it with a fiery passion and has insisted that we call her "Vic" since the third grade. Before then, it was "Cki" and yes, the "c" was silent. She would be considered one of the shortest in the group, but her full head of tight dark brown curls gives her enough extra height that it is hard to notice outright.
"Why would you trade New York for fucking Middlebrook?" Laurie gasps.
"Just because they have money doesn't mean that they're smart. For all we know, it's the damn British royal family and they thought that place was a mansion in Manhattan." O'Neil exclaims, nonchalantly putting his arm around Laurie as she rolled her eyes at him.
"That makes no sense." Vic adds as she reaches for a fry to throw at them. In a desperate attempt to keep what remains of my stolen French fry stash, I pull them away when O'Neil reaches to take them. I glare at him while he laughingly retracts his hand and I continued eating.
"Can't we all just get along?" I cry out, clutching my French fries as if they were precious treasures. Laughter ensues when Vic snatches the box from me and proceeds to torpedo us all with French fries. French fry wars are never the answer, though they are quite fun. There is a small series of complaints being uttered by unsuspecting classmates, but we continue to attack each other with rogue French fries all the same. The war is short-lived.
Our budget security guard fakes clearing his throat close enough to our table to signify that our noise level has officially breached the allowable fun factor that can be enjoyed during lunch hours. *Of course.* It is because of the recent school shooting incidents that we even have a hall monitor and obviously, being a few towns away from what happened in Sandy Hook does not help matters. He is relatively non-intrusive and mainly keeps to himself, allowing us to self-police until the noise level ordinance has been breached. Regardless, Vic gives him a short bow as she surrenders the French fries to O'Neil, who shoves a fistful in his mouth and smiles at the guard. The war is over. Peace ensues.
*Theoretically.*
Laurie scoffs at the guard as he makes his way towards the other side of the cafeteria and flips him off, which in this shattered world of school shooting mayhem can get you suspended without question.
*The transition from fun to freaky has officially passed the point of no return.*
"Laurie--" Lawry chides as she slumps back into her chair. This time O'Neil does not try to comfort her but rather chokes down what is left of the French fries in his mouth with a matter-of-fact shrug. Quietly, it seems that we have all reached the same conclusion about Laurie. For whatever reason, she is looking for a fight.
"Whatever. So, what is the deal with Steve, or should I call him, the reluctant butt pirate?" Laurie asks, painfully changing the subject under discussion whilst simultaneously making our stomach's churn. *Is that really necessary?* That poor boy is going to get Hell from all corners of this community, do we really need to add to it? A unified groan, followed by a lot of hand waving and head shaking pretty much ushers Laurie into a forced silence.
"We are not fucking adding any more shit to that poor boy's already muddled pot, Laurie." Lawry mutters in her direction, shaking his head while we all begin to nod in unison. Like it or not, it appears as though we had all simultaneously decided to cut Steve some slack irrespective of our collective histories with the boy. Laurie shoots me a dirty look and I shrugged my shoulders at her.
"Sorry, Laurie. I'm not comfortable joining the peanut gallery on this one." I say and although I meant the correction to be a gentle chide, Laurie scoffs once more as she rolls her eyes at me. In a way, I understand her frustration with this. We all have our own Steve stories, and none of them are positive. Granted in recent years, the boy had been relatively benign, choosing to leave us to our own devices and relinquishing his role as Middlebrook's main bully for more amorous pursuits. At the time, I just assumed that he had substituted one vice for another but now I wonder how far he would be willing to go to keep up the façade of a happy, horny, heterosexual, teenage male.
"What-ever!" Laurie shrugs. "I've heard worse names for Steve."
"Look, he's not my favorite person in the world--" O'Neil started to say before Laurie started shaking her head at him. As the school mascot, O'Neil has had to hang around the football team quite a bit over the years and so he has more Steve stories than the rest of us combined. It should mean something to Laurie that even O'Neil wants to sit this one out. "But just because he's been the world's biggest asshole, doesn't mean that I want to join the crowd in stoning him now that he's buried neck high in shit."
"Kind of makes you wonder why he was such an asshole to begin with." I muttered to O'Neil, who reluctantly dipped into his shoulders and winced.
*Oh, come on! You must at least consider that some of that shit was just for show?*
"Oh no. No, no, no, no. Don't go excusing his past transgressions just because he was obviously going through some shit." Vic complained, shaking her index finger at me and I could not help but laugh at her reaction. Ok, so maybe I am outnumbered with the whole concept of retrospective insight with respect to Steve's past behaviors.
*Fine.* At least we all agree that Steve does not need any grief from us considering what he is going to have to go through with most likely, everyone else. Especially at home.
"As if you have any idea what that boy has had to go through." Lawry said, leaning his head in Vic's direction with a sly look on his face. "There's not exactly a code of ethics manual for navigating the complexities of being gay in a community like ours."
"Touché." Vic said quietly, likely reeling at the idea of conceding her point. "But I still don't think having a rough childhood should be a blanket excuse for not being held accountable for your actions."
"I don't think anyone thinks he should get a free pass for all the bullshit he's dumped on us over the years, but do you really want to hit a guy while he's down?" I asked Vic who glared at me with wide eyes.
"Do I really have to answer that?" Vic said while Lawry gently elbowed her in the ribs. We all laugh as Vic shifts her weight, obviously aware that there is more to this story than what's skin deep. "Ow. Ok, fine. I'll play nice with the fucker."
"So should I be getting on my knees to give him a rim job every time we cross paths?" Laurie mutters, tossing her tray onto the table so that it made a loud clank. The action was loud enough to draw attention from neighboring tables, who glared at Laurie as she sat up in her chair, poised for a fight. Reluctantly, we all settled back in our chairs, quietly deciding to quiet down to avoid another visit from our esteemed hall monitor.
"I think it's safe to say that you're not his type." O'Neil muttered under his breath, though that did not stop Lawry from laughing outright while Laurie threw her hands up in the air. She is not getting what she wanted out of this exchange and it was starting to wear her down.
"God, you're pissy today." Vic states and a momentary lull of silence takes over us while Laurie mumbles something too low for most of us to hear. Vic and her square off until Laurie scoffs at her and starts collecting her things from underneath the table.
"Fuck. Me." Laurie states while she gets up and angrily leaves us all in stunned silence. While we should, no one follows her since we all have a fairly good idea about where she is going, and no one wants to go back down that road again.
"What was that about?" Vic asks shortly after Laurie's out of earshot, and I shake my head in disbelief.
"I'm not sure." I mutter, giving up my share of fries to O'Neil.
----------~----------~----------
Mrs. Doro is quite possibly my favorite teacher, not only because English class has been something of a fun challenge this year, but she also happens to be one of the more relatable instructors on staff. Oddly enough, while she may be mid-forty-something-or-other, she has a natural youth and energy that somehow translates to mutual respect with her students. For some reason, clique barriers have momentary breaks, and they happen frequently enough that everyone just seems to relax their boundaries the moment they walk through the door. It never lasts forever but senior year seems more bearable now that I get to end my school day with a fun class, even if her strict grading policies are legendary.
"Angela, I have a notice here to send you straight to the office." Mrs. Doro says, snapping me out of my plot diagram for yet another Shakespearean play with a conniving, ruthless villain that I enjoyed. "Go on, here's your hall pass."
I would have argued with her, but I would hate to deprive my classmates of their obligatory stare down while I collect my things. The whispers and mummers begin to get louder as I collect my hall pass from Mrs. Doro, who shrugs her shoulders and gently cocks her head to one side, suggesting that she does not really know why I am being called out of class. I smiled as I shut the door behind me, listening to Mrs. Doro inform the class that their little display of public shaming would cost them 10 additional vocabulary terms this week.
*Dumbasses.*
Reluctantly, I make my way to the front entrance of the school where our administrative offices are located. The main office has a small open foyer that serves as the reception area, complete with a desk and a rather friendly receptionist. However, the main chamber extends farther back with a divider that shields the fact that this area extends along the length of the school and contains office space for damn near every faculty and staff member we have on the payroll. To the unsuspecting visitor, the school would appear to have no disciplinary issues at all as students are never addressed in the open office but rather behind closed doors far away from any prospective parent who might be touring the facility. It is simply rare to look into the big glass windows lining the main hallway and see students waiting in the reception area, so it is quite unfortunate that they hired the most upbeat, energetic and talkative receptionist to man the station. Fortunately, not many students have figured out that while she may be unnaturally cheery, Claudia is also unwittingly loose with administrative information.
"Mrs. Bullard, I was called down." I say as I hand her my hall pass, quickly surveying the desktop for something of interest. The newest edition of 'Us Weekly' has been bookmarked and shoved to one side so that she can inspect the pink note I just handed her. She seemed frazzled but she forced a smile and then nervously shot a glance to whoever she saw just behind me.
"I know dear, you're just here a bit earlier than expected. Why don't you sit down and I will see if the principal can see you now." She slowly motions for me to go on as she anxiously wrings her fingers and wrists. While she hunches over to tend to the matter, I must admit that I am somewhat surprised she did not offer some semblance of an explanation for why I was called down. I quietly take my seat among the fake leather chairs scattered in the main office and survey the landscape that was seemingly disrupting Claudia's natural disposition.
Rob and Steve looked like they had just finished fifteen minutes in a caged octagon while Maggie's bloodshot eyes stared off into the void of old magazines that had been painstakingly organized on the farthest side table. None of us addressed the other as we have all battled amongst ourselves for years and ultimately decided it was easier to simply ignore one another till we could go our separate ways. You could say this relationship was arrived at by mutual repulsion though obviously by the look of the bruises on their hands and faces, their brotherhood is only skin deep.
Robert D. Knapp III is about as pompous and arrogant as his name and pedigree would suggest. Make no mistake about it, Rob is a classic chauvinist pig whose ego is only matched by his sense of entitlement. However, daddy's deep pockets and his good looks have pretty much ensured that he has never had to face any consequences for his actions, so the narcissistic behavior is continuously reinforced. I always assumed that he would tuck tail and run if he were ever confronted with a physical assault but the red sores and cuts on his knuckles imply that he was able to hold his own in this fight. The fact that Steve's face still looks relatively human while Rob's looks like half a raccoon leads me to believe that Steve never gave Rob a chance to get the upper hand, which means Rob likely crossed a line and potentially instigated this altercation. Both are holding ice packs in their hands though neither wants to admit that they need it, choosing instead to just glare at one another from opposite sides of the couch with a heartbroken Maggie sitting in between, momentarily breaking her trance to wipe the tears welling up in her eyes. I think I would feel sorry for her if she wasn't so damn cruel to everybody but that is likely due to the fact that she has not eaten anything in public for half a decade.
Maggie's best friend Eva was indiscreetly tapping the window on the office door in a desperate attempt to get her attention. Eva's involvement in all this is less obvious from where I am sitting but it is probably safe to assume that she is the reason this came to a head during school hours and that this love triangle went up in a blaze of flames shortly before I was called into the office. Maggie starts sobbing suddenly but Rob ignores her and uncomfortably shifts his weight while Steve hands her a box of tissues from the nearest side table. Reluctantly, Maggie takes the box from him though the action only seems to make it worse as she sinks back into the couch clutching the box like a shield. Steve seems at a loss for what to do and quickly shoots me a cold-hearted look when he realizes that I am staring at him. I keep my face relatively benign, nodding in his direction as some form of silent acknowledgement though I was somewhat surprised to see his brow soften. He inevitably sat back in his seat, leaning over the armrest as Westrick opens the door to his office.
"Angela Mae Gibbons, come into my office." Mr. Westrick bellows, his voice unnecessarily harsh considering I was the one being pulled out of class without cause. Of course, Westrick and I do not get along but my status as a model student buys me a great deal of latitude at this school and my innate ability to exploit loopholes is largely supported by my equally vocal parents.
I slowly get up to follow Westrick into his office, silently shaking my head as Rob puffs up his chest and scoffs. Once inside Westrick's office, he motions for me to take a seat and then gets right to business, ignoring the fact that I had just walked passed a three-ring circus in his reception area.
"Are you familiar with the long-standing school policy that every new student is assigned a senior escort at random?" Westrick asks as he grabs some miscellaneous paperwork off his desk in a desperate attempt to look important. I had heard of this policy, but it is rather rare that we get new students during the school year. Without waiting for my response, Westrick simply states "Your name came up."
"So, who's the newbie?" I ask, suddenly intrigued why this seemingly simple matter took precedence over the bullshit rotting in his waiting room. Senior Shuffle might have been a rare experience, but it was renowned for being an inconvenient cross-country rite of passage. Seniors often had to spend their day running back and forth across campus trying to escort the often-younger classman around on their first day of school without being late to their own classes. To make things easier, we now just part the seas whenever a senior runs down the hall screaming, "senior shuffle" or we pawn the newb onto someone in their own grade shortly after second period. Claudia could have easily informed me of my duties or better yet, Mrs. Doro could have informed me after dismissal.
"Looks like you're in luck, he's a senior." He said as he glanced down at the papers in front of him. "His family just moved into that estate on the outskirts of town. His name is Simon, Simon Dierfield."