Alternate Beginnings [Worm AU]

Taylor takes a different tack in dealing with the bullies very early on in story canon. This ends her up in an unusual situation. What she gets out of it is up to her ... and Madison.

Index
Introduction (below)
Part One - Meetings
Part Two - Pranking Gladly
Part Three - Food Run
Part Four - Endgame
Epilogues

 

Alternate Beginnings
Introduction

[Author’s Note 1: This story is based off a conversation I had with a friend, placing Taylor into the plot for a particular teen movie. See if you can guess what it is.]
[Author's Note 2: This story is set in the Wormverse, which is owned by Wildbow. Thanks for letting me use it.]
[Author's Note 3: I will follow canon as closely as I can. If I find something that canon does not cover, then I will make stuff up. If canon then refutes me, then I will revise. Do not bother me with fanon; corrections require citations.]
[Author's Note 4: I welcome criticism of my works, but if you tell me that something is wrong, I also expect an explanation of what is wrong, and a suggestion of how to fix it. Note that I do not promise to follow any given suggestion.]
[Author’s Note 5: First paragraph is directly from Worm: Gestation 1.1.]


The door swung open, and I glared up at the three girls. Madison, Sophia and Emma. Where Madison was cute, a late bloomer, Sophia and Emma were the types of girls that fit the ‘prom queen’ image. Sophia was dark skinned, with a slender, athletic build she’d developed as a runner on the school track team. Red-headed Emma, by contrast, had all the curves the guys wanted. She was good looking enough to get occasional jobs as a amateur model for the catalogs that the local department stores and malls put out. The three of them were laughing like it was the funniest thing in the world, but the sounds of their amusement barely registered with me. My attention was on the faint roar of blood pumping in my ears and an urgent, ominous crackling ‘sound’ that wouldn’t get any quieter or less persistent if I covered my ears with my hands. I could feel dribbles running down my arms and back, still chilled from the refrigerated vending machines.

I climbed to my feet and stood there, shaking with anger. Anger at myself, for having spoken up when all I had to do was keep silent. Anger at Sophia and Madison, for pouring juice and soda over me. Anger at Emma, for holding the door shut while they did it. Anger, even, at the idiots who had designed and built these toilet cubicles so that the doors opened outward instead of inward, like they usually do. If they hadn’t, Emma would never have been able to trap me so easily.

Frustration welled up inside of me. There was a buzzing at the edge of my senses, and I forced that part of me down. I didn't want that happening, not now. Not when I was so close to becoming a superhero.

Instead, I expressed my feelings verbally.

"What the fuck?" I screamed. "What did I ever do to you? Why the fuck do you keep doing this?"

Sophia laughed in my face. Madison giggled. Emma just smiled that same cruel, taunting smile, the one she used whenever she knew she had scored on me. I knew that smile all too well.

"What's the matter, Taylor?" asked Emma. "Have a little spill?"

I shook with rage, unable to speak. The buzzing was louder; I exerted my will, forced it down.

"Wow, you're all sticky," tittered Madison. "You're so clumsy, spilling your drink over yourself like that."

At my sides, unbidden, my hands curled into fists.

"Maybe you should go home and clean up," suggested Sophia. "And stay there. Forever."

She shared a high-five with Emma and they turned to go; Madison was a second behind them.

I watched them opening the door, leaving, walking away after leaving my life in ruins. Again.

No, I told myself. You don't get to walk away scot-free this easily. Not this time.

The buzzing in my ears was a roar; with an effort of iron will, I forced it down. I didn't need it to do what I wanted to do.

Madison was just about to walk out when I lunged forward, grabbed her shoulder with one hand and her hair with the other. She wore it shoulder-length; I got a good grip and yanked her back into the bathroom.

She yelped as I did so, but the door slammed shut, cutting off access to the corridor. I didn't have much time and I knew it; any moment now, Emma and Sophia would be back in here to defend Madison. So I turned and shoved her; she tried to keep her feet, but the slippery juice that had spilled out of the stall worked against her, and she skidded and fell. I used the respite this gave me to flip the lock on the bathroom door; barely half a second later, the door rattled and a weight hit the other side of it. I hoped whoever it was got a bruised shoulder out of it.

Madison was on her feet by the time I turned to face her. Behind me, the door rattled; I paid it no attention at all. Nor to the raised voices from outside.

"What the fuck is wrong with you, Hebert?" snapped Madison. "Fucking seriously? You could've hurt me, doing that.”

I raised my eyebrows slightly. "I really, really don't care," I told her bluntly. I took a step toward her.

Her eyes widened slightly. "K-keep away from me," she said. "Let me out of here, you fucking psycho."

I had to laugh. It came out harsh and brittle, like broken glass. “Me, a fucking psycho. After what you and Emma and Sophia have been doing to me for the last eighteen fucking months. That’s fucking rich.”

She took a deep breath, tried to edge around me. I moved to block her, got closer.

“You realise that if you touch me, Sophia’s gonna fuck you up good,” she said, trying to sound more confident than she looked.

“No matter what I say or do, she’s gonna fuck me up anyway,” I pointed out. “So I might as well fucking earn it for once.”

“Get out of my way!” she screamed, and launched herself at me.

I let her come, swinging a wild punch that glanced off of her cheekbone and rocked her head back. Her own blow hit me in the sternum. Neither of us was an experienced brawler; I couldn’t remember ever having been in a serious fist-fight before. I had reach on her, and a bubbling anger. She had desperation, and maybe a little weight advantage; she was shorter than me, but I was skinnier.

We came together bruisingly, then we went over, our feet going out from under us on the slippery tiles. My glasses came loose with the impact, skittering away into one of the cubicles. It didn’t matter; I didn’t need to see her that clearly.

Her hair came loose as we rolled over and over, the sky-blue pins scattering over the tiles. She was at a disadvantage; her strapless top and denim skirt not affording her anywhere near as much protection as my jeans and hoodie. I had a disadvantage of my own; the buzzing pressure behind my eyes was desperate to be realeased, to add to the conflict. I couldn’t let that happen. I held it back, and it cost me a little in speed and reaction.

But when it came down to it, I had been running and exercising since February, ever since Sophia had incited some boys to chase me. I was fitter than I had ever been before. Madison wasn’t the sporting type; she much preferred to watch sports, preferably those with hunky guys in them. So while it was evenly matched at first, and she got a couple of good hits in, she tired quickly. I was just starting to get the upper hand when the lock clicked and the door opened.

“What,” said a stern voice, “is the meaning of this?”

I paused, straddling Madison, in the process of drawing my fist back to slug her again, and looked up at the door. Mrs Knott stood there, with the janitor beside her. At least, I guessed it was Mrs Knott, from the voice.

Now they can get him in just a few minutes, was my first thought.

Madison tried to throw me off her; I held her down, instinctively.

“Taylor Hebert!” snapped Mrs Knott. “I had thought better of you than this! Let her up immediately! What do you think you’re doing?”

“Her and her bitch friends poured fucking juice and soda all over me!” I yelled. “What does it look like I’m fucking doing?”

“Get off her, now,” she ordered, stepping into the bathroom. I complied, rolling off and coming to my feet. I wasn’t much the worse for wear; I had already had juice and soda all over me, in my hair and everywhere. Madison hadn’t. She did now. From what I could see of her, she looked even more of a fright than I did. The split lip didn’t help.

“Is this true?” she asked, looking down at Madison as she scrambled to her feet and backed away from me.

“Of course it isn’t true,” Madison denied. “Taylor just grabbed me and beat me up for no reason.”

“Fucking bullshit,” I retorted, stung beyond reason. “You stood in that cubicle, and Sophia stood in that cubicle, and Emma held the door shut, and you poured it all over me.” I pointed into the cubicle, and at my own clothes. “Look, Mrs Knott. Look at me. They’ve been doing this shit to me for the last eighteen months. Just see it for once. Please.”

Mrs Knott looked at me, and I thought I saw a sympathetic expression cross her face. “Where are your glasses?” she asked, more softly.

“I don’t know,” I said honestly. “They came off.”

She nodded, and turned to the janitor. “Find them for me, please, Carl,” she said. She turned to the door. “Emma, Sophia,” she added. “Come in here a moment, please.”

The door opened, and I saw one red blur and one dark blur enter. Emma and Sophia, I guessed.

“Did you two pour juice and soda on Taylor?” she asked them directly.

I could have told her what they would say.

“No, Mrs Knott,” they said in perfect unison.

“Taylor says that you two and Madison did,” said Mrs Knott. “And Madison’s presence in this bathroom does tend to bear out her story.”

At tthis moment, I felt my glasses being pushed into my hand. I murmured my thanks to the janitor and put them on.

“Oh, that was Madison’s idea,” said Emma to Mrs Knott’s face. “We didn’t want anything to do with it, so we left.”

To my side, I saw Madison’s eyes go wide, her jaw drop in a gasp of disbelief.

“No, that’s not true,” I said. “They were all three there. Emma was holding the door shut.”

“Did you see her?” asked Mrs Knott.

“No, but she was there when I came out,” I protested.

She sighed. “Well, I’m going to need all four of you to come along to the office with me,” she said. “We need to sort this out, one way or the other.”

<><>​

The principal looked unfavourably upon me. “I do not hold with students fighting in this school,” she intoned, as if pronouncing a judgement from on high.

“How about bullying?” I challenged her. “Pouring juice and soda on someone while they’re trapped in a toilet stall? Do you hold with that?”

She gave me a sharp look. “Impertinence will get you nowhere, Ms Hebert,” she said disapprovingly.

“Nothing’s gotten me anywhere,” I said bitterly.

“And what is that supposed to mean?” she asked.

“I mean, I was locked in my own locker, with all that filth, and nothing happened. Before that, I was bullied by those bitches –“

“Kindly moderate your language, Ms Hebert,” she interrupted me.

“Fine, by those young ladies,” I corrected myself, “for a year, and nothing was done, ever. And now you have them red-handed, and you seem determined to let them off on this account, too.”

Sitting beside me, my father squeezed my hand. I squeezed back.

“That’s not true,” the principal stated. “You cannot state as an absolute fact that Ms Barnes was there when it happened, and Ms Barnes backs up Ms Hess’s statement that she wasn’t there, either. But Ms Clements was there, and she will be punished.”

“What the hell is this?” I asked. “I saw Sophia there, pouring the stuff over me. I saw Emma outside the stall, before she and Sophia left. But because they say they weren’t there, they get away with it?”

“Not at all,” said Alan Barnes, Emma’s father. “By your own admission, when you were having juice and soda poured on you, you could not have had a clear view of whoever was doing it.”

“Bullshit!” I shouted. “They were there! Why can’t anyone just accept what I’m telling them?”

The principal glared at me. “I won’t warn you again, Ms Hebert,” she snapped. “Now, we can only deal with the facts that we can prove. Fact one: you had juice and soda poured over you.”

I could prove that, all right. It had dried in my hair and clothes. In the hour it took for Dad to come from work, and boh Mr Barnes and Madison’s father to arrive as well, and a woman to arrive to support Sophia – not her mother, I presumed, as she looked nothing like her – I had not been able to have a shower or even wash my face.

“Fact two,” she went on. “Madison was still in the bathroom when Mrs Knott arrived. Fact three: you were fighting with Madison, which I deplore. And fact four: ever since that incident, you have been unruly and argumentative, using language most inappropriate for a young lady.”

“That’s because no-one wants to listen to my side of things,” I protested. “Emma and Sophia were in it just as much as Madison was!”

The principal shrugged slightly. “They say not,” she said, and that was that.

<><>​

“You okay, kiddo?” my father asked gently as he drove me home.

I muttered something, and he tilted his head.

“Sorry,” he said. “What was that?”

“Fucking pissed off,” I said more loudly. “Emma and the others have been doing that shit to me since my first fucking day of high school, and even now, no-one’s taking my side on it. It sucks.”

“I’m taking your side on it,” he corrected me. “And I’m not happy, myself. I thought Alan was my friend. To think that Emma’s been doing that to you, and he’s not even trying to find out the truth …”

“Thanks, Dad.” I heaved a sigh. “I still can’t believe that I got detention out of it. I’m the victim, and I got detention.”

He nodded sympathetically. “Well, at least Madison got detention as well,” he said.

“Yeah, that’s the other part that pisses me off,” I grumped. “Madison’s only getting detention. How is that fair?”

He shrugged. “As she said, she’s only going by what she can prove.”

I shook my head. “It’s like she’s bending over backward to protect Emma and Sophia. But why? What did I ever do to deserve this? Did I offend her in a past life or something?”

“I have no idea, kiddo,” Dad said, ruffling my hair gently. “I have no idea.” He lifted his hand away, feeling the stickiness. “But I’d suggest you shampoo when you get home. And I’ll put your clothes in cold water with stain remover. If we can get to it before it sets …”

I tuned him out. Detention. All Saturday. Cooped up in the libarary with Madison.

This was gonna suck.


End of Introduction

 

Alternate Beginnings

Part One – Meetings


I sat on the cold concrete steps next to my Dad. Despite the fact that I was wearing a coat, the breeze cut through me, and I shivered.

"Seriously?" I groused. "Seven o'clock? What's that about?"

Dad put his arm around my shoulders and squeezed. "It's about power," he confided. "Bureaucracy. Force the other guy out of his comfort zone, make him do something he doesn't want to do, and the next time he'll think twice about going against you."

I leaned into him. "Learned that with the Dockworkers' Association, huh?" I asked.

He pulled back the hood of my jacket and ruffled my hair fondly. "No, kiddo," he said with a grin. "Much earlier than that, as it happens."

Before I could ask more questions, another car pulled up next to Dad's beat-up sedan. I thought I recognised it, and when the passenger door opened, I knew I had been right. Madison got out, moving just a little painfully. I had a few bruises and contusions myself, but not, I suspected, as many as her.

She went around to the driver's side door and leaned in the window. I thought for a moment that she was kissing her dad goodbye, but the door opened and he got out. Together they approached the steps where we sat; there was plenty of room for them to go around us, but they came straight to us.

I tensed, but Dad shook his head slightly. He took his arm from my shoulders and stood up; a moment later, I stood up as well.

"Hebert," said Madison's father; his voice was curt but not unfriendly.

"Clements," replied Dad, in almost exactly the same tone of voice.

"Your girl going to cause trouble?" asked Madison's father, in the same sort of tone as if he were saying, Is it going to rain today?

Dad shook his head. "Not so long as yours doesn't start any." Probably not, but you never can tell.

He looked at his daughter. "Madison?"

Silently, she shook her head. She had makeup to cover some of the damage, such as the bruise from where my first punch got her, but she still had a beauty of a black eye and a split lower lip; I had a little bruising around my left eye, and my nose was slightly swollen, but I figured I had gotten the best of it.

Dad looked at me questioningly. I shrugged. "She doesn't pour drinks on my head, I don't kick her ass," I offered.

At that, Madison looked down and away, her father nodded tightly and Dad expelled the faintest breath from his nostrils, as if he were trying not to chuckle.

"Well, that's good enough for me," Dad said. I could tell that he was working to keep a smile off his face.

“Me too, I guess,” said Madison’s father. He squeezed his daughter’s shoulder once, then turned and walked away. Got in his car, backed out of the parking bay, and drove away. He beeped the horn once, in farewell. Madison waved, a little forlornly, I thought.

Good, I thought fiercely. See what it feels like.

I sat back down on the steps. Dad sat beside me. Madison moved over to the far side of the steps and sat down herself, huddling into her coat.

“Wow,” said Dad, keeping his voice down. “Did you do all that to her?”

I nodded. “She had it coming,” I murmured. “Wish it’d been Emma, though.”

He shrugged uncomfortably. “If it had been Emma, chances are I’d have Alan on the phone right now, threatening a lawsuit. You know how he gets when Emma’s threatened.”

I nodded. “Yeah, I know. Just wish I’d had one good chance to wipe that smile off her face.”

He nodded fractionally. “From what you told me last night, I can’t disagree with you. But I’m going to have more words with that Blackwell woman. I can’t understand why she’s working so hard to let Emma and Sophia off.”

I sighed. “Popular bullies get all the breaks. I’ve found that out the hard way.”

He bumped my shoulder with his. “As a responsible adult, I shouldn’t be saying this. As your father, I’ll just say that I’m proud that you stood up to them. You didn’t get everything you wanted, but you got to wale on her a bit, and you got her put in detention. I think they might be more careful about messing with you in future.”

I bumped him back. “Well, I can only hope.” My voice was optimistic. My thoughts weren’t.

Another car pulled up then, one that I didn’t recognise. The driver got out at the same time as the passenger did. Dad and I both stared.

The driver was a big black guy, somewhere over six feet in height. He moved like an athlete or a boxer or something; light on his feet. But with all that, he couldn’t have been more than eighteen. He was also kind of good looking, with muscles that were obvious even under his sweatshirt.

I could do detention with him all day, was my first involuntary thought.

The passenger was a girl, maybe a year younger than me. I thought I vaguely recognised her. She had skin the same colour as the driver – his sister, maybe? – and looks that were cute now but had the potential to be stunning later. Her hair was straight, with one bleached lock that had been dyed purple. She wore a huge jacket that was all fluffy around the collar; it fell to her mid-thighs. Below that, she wore lime-green tights.

He had a few words with her; she gave him the finger. I nearly giggled. He took her by the arm and marched her over toward where we sat.

Dad and I got to our feet as he approached. Dad was taller than him, but not by much; this was obvious, even when he was standing a few steps lower than us.

“Excuse me, sir,” he said, in a rich baritone that sounded like dark chocolate tastes. “Are you the teacher in charge here?”

Dad shook his head with a half smile. “Sorry, no. Just keeping my daughter company till it’s time to go in.” He put out his hand. “Danny Hebert. This is Taylor.”

The guy shook Dad’s hand. “Brian Laborn. This is my sister, Aisha.” He nodded to the sulky-looking teen. “Would I be able to ask you a big favour?”

Dad raised an eyebrow. “Depends on the favour.”

Brian nodded. “That’s fair. Well, Aisha here has a habit of ducking out of anything she doesn’t want to do. Could I ask you to keep an eye on her, and if she leaves, give me a call? I’ve got my number here somewhere.”

Dad shook his head. “Sorry, I don’t carry a mobile,” he said. “But I can pass on word to whoever shows up, if you want.”

Brian tilted his head slightly. “I guess that’s good enough,” he said. “Here.” He passed over a scrap of paper with a number written on it. “I’ve got to get going, but if you can keep an eye on her, that would help me out a lot.”

Dad accepted it, read it, and tucked it away. I kind of wished that I’d had a look at it. I wasn’t the type to ring boys out of the blue – or even at all – but Brian looked like a nice guy.

Okay, so he was a nice hunky guy.

Brian turned to Aisha. “You duck out of this, it’s video game privileges for a week,” he said severely.

She mumbled something back that sounded vaguely like ‘go die in a fire’. He shrugged, nodded to Dad and I, and then took the steps two at a time down to ground level. I watched him cross the parking lot and get in the car. He started the engine, backed on out, and then drove out of the parking lot.

I looked at Aisha, and she looked at me. Then she looked at Madison, and back to me. I saw the look come over her face, of mingled disbelief and glee.

"Holy shit," she said, a grin spreading across her face. "Have you two been fighting? Is that why you're in detention?"

I nodded and shrugged and half-grinned in return. "Sort of," I admitted. "She's here because she and her friends dumped juice and soda all over me in the bathrooms. And I'm here because I beat the shit out of her for doing it."

Aisha cackled out loud - literally cackled. I blushed. “High five, sister!” she crowed, holding up her hand.

I could not recall ever having high-fived someone before in my life. I did it now; it felt kind of cool. Madison, I saw out of the corner of my eye, glared at us both.

Dad cleared his throat and nudged me with his shoulder. I glanced up at him. "Well, I did."

"And you also swore, repeatedly, in front of the teachers," he reminded me.

"Do you blame me?" I asked bluntly.

He hesitated, then shook his head. "I felt like swearing a couple of times there, myself.". Then he put on a stern look. "Which doesn't mean that I condone it, young lady."

Aisha watched the byplay between us, eyes bright. From being sulky and resentful, she seemed to have transitioned to being alert and interested. I offered her my hand. "Taylor Hebert. You're Aisha?"

She nodded, and shook my hand. She had a surprisingly strong grip. "Yeah. Nice to meet someone else who doesn't take any shit from bitches."

I was saved from an awkward reply by the next arrivals in the parking lot.

Three cars pulled up, one after the other. Two of them, I wasn’t really sure about; the third, I was fairly certain, belonged to Mr Gladly.

Mr Gladly, who urged his students to call him ‘Mr G’. Mr Gladly, who strove to be the ‘popular teacher’. I was sure that he carefully did not see the actions of some of his more popular students, especially the girls, when it came to bullying me. After all, I wasn’t popular. I wasn’t anyone.

And if he didn’t notice what was going on, he didn’t have to do anything about it, and risk becoming the uncool teacher who actually enforced the rules.

However, he was also the least senior member of the faculty, and so it had fallen to him to while away his Saturday in overseeing our all-day detention. I hoped he’d brought a good book.

On second thought, I hoped he’d brought a crappy book.

I had brought a good book. Several, in fact. If the others would just leave me alone, I could spend the day reading, and count it as not a total loss.

I didn’t know which way it would go, yet. Aisha seemed to be fairly cool, if just a little over the top; I was reasonably sure she wasn’t going to give me any grief. However, Madison was popular enough in her own petite, cute way. If she could bend the last two arrivals to her ends, this could turn out to be not such a great day after all.

I watched as they got out of their respective cars. Two fathers, two sons. Mom didn’t see fit to come along in either case, I saw.

They converged with Mr Gladly – I refused on principle to call him Mr G – and then the fathers went back to their cars, and Mr Gladly approached the steps with the boys in tow.

I thought I recognised them. Jason was half Korean or something; his dad ran a convenience store downtown. He had a red and green bandanna tied around his left bicep. I frowned; I knew exactly what that meant. He was an ABB recruit.

Eddie I had met in passing a couple of times, outside of school. His dad was a dock-worker, and my dad had found him work a few times. But the shaved head was new. I knew what that meant, too. Empire Eighty-Eight. Joy.

So not only were we going to be stuck in detention all day, we were going to be stuck in detention with two guys who were undoubtedly there for more or less the same reason that Madison and I were there, and who were unlikely to leave their issues at the door.

What moron had decreed that these two gang members should serve their detention at the same time, in the same room? I had an idea that I knew; Principal Blackwell was quite good at entirely missing the point of student interactions.

Well, I told myself, at least there’s one silver lining. Madison won’t be able to goad both of them into picking on me at once.

<><>​

Jason and Eddie were giving each other wary looks as they followed Mr Gladly to the steps. Dad and I were still standing, so Dad took a few steps down to meet the teacher as he came up.

“Gladly,” he greeted the younger man, bluntly.

“Danny, how are you?” replied the teacher, all smiling and good humour.

Dad held up a finger. “Can we have a word, for just one moment?” he asked, tilting his head to the other end of the steps, away from where Madison sat.

Mr Gladly frowned, not sure what the situation was, then shrugged and followed him.

Jason and Eddie were left behind, still bristling and glowering at each other, but it seemed to me that they were doing it more for form’s sake than for any particular deep loyalty to their respective gangs.

“Jason, Eddie, how you doing?” I asked them. I could have cared less about the answer, but it prevented what would otherwise have threatened to be a very awkward moment.

Jason shrugged; Eddie went to do the same, visibly changed his mind, and said, “Eh. Fuckin’ detention. Am I right?”

I nodded. “Can’t say you’re wrong,” I agreed, slightly surprising myself. I would never have started a conversation with a boy I hardly knew, before yesterday. But pulling Madison back into that bathroom and laying some well-deserved punishment on her had given me a much-needed dose of self-esteem and self-confidence.

Off to the side, I could just hear my Dad speaking in a low tone to Mr Gladly.

“ – and a half fucking years, Gladly. She was bullied that long. Then the locker thing. You put your hands on your fucking hearts and promised to keep an eye on her. And now, you’ve finally caught one of the bullies because she stood up for herself – “

“ – she started a fight in the school,” Mr Gladly protested.

“ – and caught one of the bullies. And got in fucking trouble for doing by herself what all of you have fucking failed to do over the last eighteen months. So she’s doing detention. I’m not fighting that. But you’d better keep a damn close eye on it. If she comes home and says she was bullied when all you have to do is keep your eye on five fucking kids, then I will be having words with you. And one more thing. You haven’t earned the right to use my first name. For you, it’s ‘Mr Hebert’. Got it?”

“I don’t much like your tone –“ Mr Gladly’s tone was defensive.

Dad seemed to be looming over Mr Gladly. I thought he might hit him. “Right now, I don’t much care.” His finger shook in Mr Gladly’s face. “Do. Your. Fucking. Job.”

Abruptly, he turned and strode back toward where I stood with Aisha, with Jason and Eddie a couple of steps lower down.

“I’ll be back this afternoon, okay, kiddo?” he said with a smile.

“Sure thing, Dad,” I said with a return smile. He gave me a brief hug, nodded to Aisha, then took the steps down to the parking lot two at a time, much like Aisha’s brother had done. I suspected he was hurrying to ensure that he didn’t come back and say something else to Mr Gladly.

He turned and waved as he got into the car; I waved back. The battered old sedan started with an asthmatic cough, and rattled out of the parking lot. I watched it go.

When I turned around, Mr Gladly had the front door of the school open. Everyone else was filing in; Mr Gladly was looking at me with an unreadable gaze. “If you’d like to join us, Ms Hebert?”

I nodded. “Certainly, Mr Gladly.” I picked up my bag and followed them in. The door swung shut behind us.

<><>​

The fluorescent lights in the library flickered into life as Mr Gladly swiped his hand down the bank of switches. Indistinct, gloomy caverns became brightly lit aisles, filled with book spines.

Some study desks had been set up near the front of the library; I didn’t know whether this was on purpose, or if it had been random chance. Mr Gladly directed us to sit there. I sat at one end; Aisha plunked herself next to me, and promptly put her trainers up on the desk. Eddie gave her a glare; she didn’t seem to notice. He and Madison went and sat at the far end of the desks. Jason shrugged and sat in between.

Mr Gladly fussed around at the librarian’s desk, opening drawers, finally managing to produce a laminated document. He looked up, and saw the soles of Aisha’s shoes.

“Ms Laborn, kindly put your feet on the floor,” he snapped.

Aisha popped gum. I hadn’t even known she had gum.

“And get rid of that gum!” he added.

Slowly, insolently, she reached into her mouth, pulled out a wad of pink gum, and placed it neatly in the middle of the sole of one of her shoes. Then she started to put her feet on the floor –

“Wait!” Gladly’s shout stopped her.

She paused, shoes hovering above the floor. “What, put my feet on the floor, or not put my feet on the floor?”

“You can’t put your foot on the floor! You’ve got bubblegum on it! Take the bubblegum off your foot and put it in the bin!”

“But I was saving it for later,” she protested.

“On your shoe?” he asked, incredulous.

“I got clean shoes,” she told him smugly.

“Just – take it off, all right?” he snarled, sounding aggravated. I could feel a grin creeping across my cheeks. Aisha seemed to have a knack for irritating people.

She shrugged. “Okay, no skin off my nose.”

What he didn’t see, and I did, was that she was surreptitiously unwrapping another piece of gum under the desk. She bent her leg, pulled off the piece of gum stuck on her foot, and palmed it, while popping the fresh bit into her mouth. With every evidence of enjoyment, she began chewing on it.

That got a reaction.

Mr Gladly’s jaw dropped. Madison and Eddie, just as taken in by her stunt as Gladly was, nearly fell off their chairs in surprise. I suspected that Jason had also picked up on her sleight of hand; he barely reacted. I shared a grin across Aisha with him.

“Oh god!” choked the teacher, coming to his feet. “Ms Laborn! Spit that gum out right now! Give it to me!”

He could have chosen his words better. She spat it into her hand … and threw the piece that she’d peeled off of her shoe. Her aim was very good, or very lucky. The wad of freshly-chewed gum caught him more or less between the eyes.

<><>​

Absolute, dead silence fell.

Silence broken only by the sounds of five teenagers trying desperately not to burst out laughing. And by the sounds, or so I presumed, of blood vessels popping in Mr Gladly’s temples.

Reaching up, he explored where the wad of gum had impacted, then wrenched it off. With a convulsive effort, he hurled it straight down into the trash can that sat behind the librarian’s desk. The metallic clang echoed throughout the library.

“Miss Laborn!” he shouted. His voice also echoed, somewhat more loudly.

“Shh!” Aisha’s entire attitude was cheeky. Her finger was across her lips.

He came storming up to her, and swiped her shoes off the desk. Her feet hit the floor with a thud. “Don’t you ‘shh’ me, you little …”

I cleared my throat. “Uh, Mr Gladly?”

Fuming, he jerked around to glare at me. “Don’t you get in on this, Ms Hebert!”

My voice was mild. “I just wanted to point out that you might want to lower your voice a little. We are in the library, after all, and we’re sitting right here. You don’t have to shout.”

His glare intensified, switching from Aisha to me.

Unexpectedly, Jason raised his hand slightly. “She’s right, sir.” He pointed at the very prominent SILENCE sign on the wall. “Let’s have some respect, sir.” Amazingly, he even managed some reproach in his voice.

“Yeah,” Aisha chimed in. “Library. Like they said.” She threw horns with both her hands at once – the fresh gum concealed in one hand – and added, “Respec’, mon,” in what was supposed to be a corny Jamaican accent.

Mr Gladly looked from one to the other of us, obviously fuming. And then Eddie spoke up from where he sat near Madison. “What she said.” He indicated me. “We can hear you good. You don’t have to shout.”

And wonder of wonders, even Madison chimed in with an “Uh huh.”

Was she joining in because she’d had a change of heart, or because everyone else was going that way? I didn’t know, and I didn’t really care. They supported us, and that was what mattered.

Gladly gave us all a general glare, quite removed from the laid-back, unflappable ‘Mr G’ persona that he liked to project. He drew a deep breath, then turned to Aisha.

“You’ve just earned yourself another Saturday detention, young lady,” he promised her, lowering his tone of voice.

“Eh, whatevs,” she said, disinterested. She unzipped her jacket, and it fell open to reveal what she was wearing underneath.

Which was not, to be honest, all that much. I blinked; Jason frankly stared.

She had on a strapless top which I would have hesitated to wear as underwear, doing its best to cover an endowment that was somewhat more prominent than mine. Her ripped denim shorts were scandalously short. And the entire remainder of her ensemble consisted of the lime-green tights, and the trainers.

Mr Gladly’s eyes bulged, and his face reddened all over again. I began to wonder about his blood pressure.

“Miss Laborn!” he snapped. “Cover yourself!”

Aisha rolled her eyes, and popped her gum. Gladly didn’t even register it, this time around. He was waiting for a response from her, and she wasn’t giving him one.

“I said,” he told her, “cover yourself!”

“I heard you the first time,” she said absently, digging through one of the capacious pockets of her jacket.

“That’s an order!” he insisted.

She looked up at him. “I don’t take orders from my brother, much less you. Which he will kick your ass if you so much as lay a hand on me. The school doesn’t have a uniform, and I’m covered up. So bite me.” She pulled her hand out of her pocket, and gave him the finger with it.

It was around about now that I began to realise the truth about Aisha Laborn. She had a problem with authority figures. All authority figures.

“That’s another detention!” he shouted.

All five of us – we couldn’t have planned it this well – said “Shhh!” simultaneously, with our fingers to our lips. Aisha used the finger she’d just shown him.

Mr Gladly glared at Aisha, then at the rest of us, then stomped back to his desk. He retrieved the laminated document.

“’This detention will run from seven in the morning until five in the afternoon,’” he read out loud. He lowered the document, and looked at us all. “However, due to the disruption that some of you are intent on causing, this will run later.”

I raised my hand. “Sir?” I interjected. “That’s not fair. I was here before you were.”

“And so?” he asked.

“And you made me wait. On the steps. In the cold wind. If you’d gotten here earlier, we could have been inside and started on time.”

Madison raised her hand. “Me too, sir.”

Aisha popped her gum. “Yeah, me too. Gonna give yourself detention for being late?”

Gladly had apparently decided to ignore her. But he couldn’t ignore the rest of us. Maybe he didn’t want another face-to-face chat with Dad.

“ … fine,” he gritted. “Seven until five. But don’t push it.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Aisha interjected cheekily.

He continued to ignore her. “’No electronic entertainment devices may be used. Library computers may not be used. Phones may not be used.’”

Madison jerked upright in her seat, and even the two boys looked unhappy. “What?” she interrupted him.

He raised his eyes to regard her sternly. “Miss Clements, please limit your outbursts.”

“But … no phones?” she wailed. “What am I supposed to do?”

He shrugged elaborately. “Read a book,” he suggested. “Do some study. It’s not my problem. I really do not care.”

“But –“ she began.

“But nothing,” he cut her off. “I hear one electronic beep, one ringtone, one ping, I see one earbud, one bluetooth earpiece, one piece of electronics that should not be there, and it’s confiscated till Monday.”

His tone was firm; Madison subsided, looking stricken.

I didn’t own a phone; I never had. But I couldn’t help but feel just the slightest bit sorry for her, then.

“Are we perfectly understood on this?” asked Mr Gladly.

No-one spoke.

“I said, does everyone understand about this?” he pressed.

There was a general mumble of agreement, and he nodded, satisfied that he’d cowed us.

“Good,” he said. “Now, I’m just going to be down the hall, in my office, with the door open. I hear one strange noise, I will be coming back in here, and you don’t want that.”

Without further ado, he exited the room, hooking the door open as he went. There were some flies in the room; one rode out on his back.

Madison and Eddie were conversing in low tones, while Aisha and Jason commiserated with each other over how much of a douche Mr Gladly was.

I got up and tiptoed over to the door, and peered out. It was all an act; I knew exactly where Gladly had gone. He was heading for the teachers’ lounge.

All four had fallen silent, watching me. I turned to them.

“It’s all good,” I said in a normal tone of voice. “He kept going. He’s probably heading to get a cup of coffee.”

Aisha stretched, and cracked her knuckles, as she grinned wickedly.

“Excellent.”


End of Part One

 

Alternate Beginnings

Part Two - Pranking Gladly


Aisha was the first out of the library. Jason followed her; I followed Jason. Eddie pulled himself out of his chair to follow me, and Madison trailed along behind.

“Where are we going?” asked Madison in an undertone.

“Dunno,” Eddie grunted.

“What’s she doing?” she wanted to know next.

“I have no idea,” I whispered back over my shoulder. “Jason, what’s Aisha up to?”

“Fucked if I know,” he replied with a grin, “but I wanna find out.”

Up ahead, Aisha made an indistinct comment about ‘elephants on fucking parade’ before she came to a halt right in front of a door.

Gladly’s door.

“Right,” she grinned. “Time to get to fucking work.”

<><>​

He had left his office door unlocked, which was his first mistake. But then, I would not have put it past Aisha to be able to pick locks, too. She eased the door open and slipped into the office; we crowded in after her.

“Okay,” she decided, hands on hips. I wasn’t quite sure when she had assumed command of our group, but no-one was objecting, not even Eddie, our resident skinhead. He was, in fact, staring around at the interior of the office. I couldn’t blame him; I was a little shell-shocked, myself. We were breaking into a teacher’s office, to commit some type of mayhem or other. This was a first, in my life.

But not, apparently, in Aisha’s.

“Jason, Eddie, you do shop, right?” Aisha went on.

“Sure,” Jason agreed. Eddie glared at her, and said nothing.

Aisha sighed and rolled her eyes. “Madison, could you ask your boy-toy if he does shop, and if he’s any good at it?”

“He’s not my –“

Aisha made an impatient gesture. “Ask him already!”

Madison looked at Eddie. “Uh, Aisha wants to know –“

“I heard her,” growled Eddie. “Yeah, I do shop. And I’m better at it than any fucking slanteye.”

Jason bristled, and I put a hand on his arm. He turned to me. “Did you hear what he –“

“I heard,” I cut him off. “But you know what? Not the time. We’re in a teacher’s office. If you want to fight, fight, but take it elsewhere.” I glared at Eddie. “That goes for both of you.”

Eddie looked at the floor and mumbled something which sounded vaguely like “Fine, okay.”

“Well fucking said,” Aisha praised me. “Now, I can see two things we can do –“

“We can staple all his papers to his desk,” Madison offered brightly, brandishing a large and dangerous-looking stapler.

Aisha shook her head, but in a kindly fashion. “Nice idea, and we might do that later, but right now? We want him to think that whatever happens is an accident. Or at least sort of possibly accidental. All his papers getting stapled to his desk? Not an accident.”

“So what did you have in mind?” asked Jason.

Aisha grinned. “I thought you’d never ask.”

<><>​

Madison stood back while Jason and Eddie examined the bottom of Gladly's office chair. It was upside down on his desk, having taken both Jason and Eddie to get it there. Each of them pointedly ignored the other, but willingly followed Madison's instructions. It was a half-assed kind of teamwork at best, but teamwork it was.

In the meantime, Aisha and I were looking at his oversized personalised coffee mug, the metal type with a flip-open plastic top.

"Take a switchblade," she explained cheerfully, "and work it around under the rim. You do it right, the next time he goes to drink from it, the top comes off."

"And he wears the lot," I filled in. "That's mean." I paused. "But where are we going to get a switchblade from?"

“I dunno,” she commented. “Jason, loan me your blade?”

Jason glanced at her, dug in his pocket, and produced a switchblade, which he slapped into her palm. Aisha popped her gum.

“Okay, smartass,” I retorted, “so where are they gonna get the tools to take the base off that chair?”

From one of the larger pockets of her oversized coat, Aisha withdrew a flat black plastic case that rattled as she dropped it on the desk. "I got no fuckin' idea. You tell me."

<><>​

The miniature tool kit lay open on the desk. Jason held the base of the chair while Eddie unfastened the screws that held it on, the two of them pointedly ignoring one another. If they had something to say, they said it through Madison.

Aisha held the coffee cup while I worked at wriggling the switchblade tip under the rim of the top. As she had stated, it was only glue that held it there, so once we broke that all the way around, the top would come off at the slightest provocation.

"So wait," I said, changing my angle of attack. "You knew we were going to be doing this."

"Not really, no. Gum?"

I accepted the wrapped cube of bubble gum and stowed it in my pocket. "Thanks. So why the toolkit?"

She shrugged. "I figured I'd get the chance to do something if I kept my eyes open, so ..." She popped gum. "And I was right."

"So you just brought along a set." I waved the switchblade. “You couldn’t have known someone would have one of these.”

“Eh.” She shrugged. “A screwdriver’ll do the job too.” She gave me a flashing grin. "I used to be a Girl Scout, y'know? Always prepared and all that shit."

I raised an eyebrow as I stared at her, in her microscopic tube-top, the ripped denim shorts, the lurid lime-green tights. "You? In the Girl Scouts?"

She shrugged. "Hey. My dad made me go. He said it'd give me structure and discipline in my life."

"And did it?" I figured I knew the answer to that one already.

She popped gum. "Turns out that structure and discipline and me don't get along so well."

"I'd never have guessed."

She grinned at me, then turned to Madison. "How they doing with that?"

"Just about finished, Eddie says."

"Excellent."

Just as she said that, I managed to wriggle the switchblade that last little bit, and the top popped off of the mug. "And we're done here," I added.

"Sweet. So here's what we're gonna do ..."

<><>​

I knew when Mr Gladly was on the way back, of course. But I couldn't just let the others know I had bug control powers. So I monitored his progress and when I figured we still had just enough time to finish what we were doing, I raised my head.

"I think I just heard something, guys," I warned them.

"Okay," Aisha decided. "That'll have to be good enough. Madison, get 'em to put the chair back together. Taylor, you about done there?"

I looked back down at where I was scraping the remnants of glue off the metal rim of the cup. "Just about."

"Good. Put it together and get rid of the crap. Make sure nothing's out of place."

I nodded, putting the plastic top back on the cup. It still fitted snugly, but any sort of real force would make it pop off. A folded piece of paper from his desktop printer served to hold the scraps of glue and plastic I had scraped off of the mug.

As Jason and Eddie gingerly set the chair down, I swept the evidence of their work on to the paper as well, then folded it up tightly. Madison looked at the paper, then at the printer, then at the laptop which lay folded on the desk.

"Shit," she complained. "How much time do we have?"

"Not enough, I don't think," I advised her. Any trickery with a computer took a little time to set up, and he was already on the way back.

"Yeah, time to go," Aisha agreed.

One by one, we slipped out of the office. I went last, closing the door carefully behind me. Even with my knowledge of his movements, we cut it close; I ducked into the library just a few seconds before he walked around the corner.

<><>​

We were well engaged in innocuous activities by the time Mr Gladly looked in at the door. Aisha had her trainers propped up on the desk again, I was browsing the shelves for a good book to read, Madison was chatting with Eddie, and Jason was cleaning his nails.

Gladly's eyes narrowed at the sight of Aisha's shoes.

"Miss Laborn -" he began warningly.

She ignored him and popped gum.

He must have recalled how this particular encounter went, the last time he tried to exert his authority over us. So he paused for a long moment, then said lamely, "That's another detention."

She gave him the finger without even looking.

"Careful," he warned. "I can keep giving you detention."

She popped gum. "And I can keep not caring," she retorted. "You gimme detention, you gotta show up too. I can do this all day."

"If detention doesn't get your attention, then maybe suspension or expulsion will," he fired back.

Her shrug communicated supreme indifference. "Cool. I could do with a holiday."

She still hadn't looked at him. The rest of us were covertly watching the both of them.

Perhaps aware of his audience, he withdrew, leaving the library door open behind him.

Putting the book back on the shelf, with the folded paper inside it, I went back to the desks.

"Holy shit," Jason breathed reverently. He was about to say something more, but Aisha held up a finger.

"Wait," she told us quietly. "I wanna hear this."

Nothing seemed to happen for the longest time. I was, of course, aware of Gladly's movements. It was difficult to not let this on, but I managed somehow.

From what my power was telling me, he had a large paper cup of coffee, which he poured into the metal mug. Then he stirred in milk and sugar, at my best guess, before popping the top back down.

There was a large sandwich of some sort - the flies were attracted to the smell of meat and condiments - that he unwrapped from a paper packet.

He sat down in his office chair, picked up the coffee in one hand and the sandwich in the other. Sipping from the coffee, he took a bite from the sandwich, chewing rapidly. He seemed to be talking to himself angrily, probably about Aisha's blatant disrespect; I couldn't quite make out words with my bugs.

He too another sip and another bite, slowly beginning to relax.

And then he leaned back.

At first nothing untoward happened, but then he took another drink from his cup, and at this angle, the top failed to stay on.

Hot coffee - thankfully not hot enough to scald, but plenty hot enough to be uncomfortable - poured over his chin and chest and stomach. This caused him to rear back with his feet still on the floor, trying vainly to escape the flood of hot liquid.

<><>​

Aisha's toolkit had included a miniature file. Eddie and Jason had, between them, filed down the threads of the screws so that they only just barely held the base of the chair in place. The folded paper that I had stashed in the book held, as well as scraps of glue and plastic, the tiny pieces of metal that had been filed off of the screws.

<><>​

Mr Gladly's convulsive action sealed his fate. The grip of the screws was already pushed to the breaking point by the fact that he was leaning back; now they pulled free altogether, the base of the chair springing back to the horizontal. This only exacerbated his backward plunge.

What we heard was something along the lines of "NyeaarrrrggghFUCK!", interspersed with a loud crash and clatter.

Aisha leaped to her feet. “Fucking yes!” she exulted, clasping both hands over her head and doing a little victory dance. I held my hand up; she high-fived me, then slapped Jason’s hand on the rebound. Jason leaned back and high-fived Madison, who passed it on to Eddie.

“He’s coming!” I warned in an undertone; by the time Mr Gladly stormed in through the library doors, we were all seated demurely at our desks. Aisha even had her feet on the floor.

Mr Gladly was … a mess. His grey jacket and white shirt – no tie for Mr G, he was too cool for that – were stained with coffee and what looked like chilli sauce. His hair was disarranged, bits and pieces of sandwich adorned his clothing, and a piece of lettuce was stuck to his forehead.

He was also livid.

“Who did this?” he screamed, holding out a shaking hand, upon which the loosened top of the coffee cup, as well as two of the filed-down screws, were resting.

“Did what, sir?” Jason asked innocently. “You appear to have had a bit of an accident. Are you all right?”

The mild words, far from calming him down, seemed only to stoke his blood pressure. I almost expected to see steam leaking from his ears at any moment.

“You!” he hissed, pointing at Aisha. “You fucking did this, you little bitch!”

Aisha popped gum. “Did what?” she asked blankly.

Mr Gladly stomped right up to her desk. “You sabotaged my chair and my coffee cup!” he screamed at her. “I know you did it! It had to be you!”

“Uh, sir,” offered Jason. “She’s been in my sight the whole time.”

“So it was the two of you!” shouted Gladly, his face still a worrying shade of purple.

“Uh, no, they’ve both been in my sight the whole time,” I spoke up. “They didn’t do anything out of my sight.”

“And Taylor hasn’t gone out of my sight,” added Eddie.

“And Eddie’s been with me the whole time,” Madison concluded.

Aisha grinned. “Yeah,” she confirmed. “So unless you want to say that Captain Nazi over there’s willing to work with me and Jason, you might wanna think that one through again.”

“Yeah, sometimes things just break,” Jason pointed out.

“Shit happens,” Aisha observed, and popped gum. “The world’s an imperfect place.”

“If any of you can tell me who did this,” Gladly grated, meaning the first person who rats out Aisha Laborn, “you’re let off detention as of right now.”

A long silence fell. A long, thoughtful silence.

Madison raised her hand.

I felt, rather than saw, Aisha stiffen beside me. Is she going to turn us in?

“Yes, Miss Clements?” responded Mr Gladly. “Do you have something to say?”

“Aisha had no more part in what happened to your chair and your cup than I did,” she told him, absolutely truthfully and totally misleadingly. “If you punish her for it, you have to punish me too.”

I raised my hand. “Me too,” I agreed.

Jason nodded. “And me.”

Eddie stuck his hand up briefly. “Me too,” he grunted.

Gladly glared at each of us in turn; we gazed innocently back.

“Okay,” he growled. “But one more incident – one more – and you’re all on detention for the rest of the fucking year! Even if I have to cash in all my vacation days to make it happen!”

Turning, he stomped out of the library.

We all burst out laughing.

I laughed so hard that I fell out of my chair, and rolled on the floor.

Eddie fell over backward, chair and all, and lay there, kicking his heels in the air as he held his sides and laughed.

Aisha and Jason clung together, each too weak from mirth to stay upright, but deriving support from each other.

Madison was leaning against her desk, her face red with hilarity. She was trying to keep it in, but the squeaks emitting from her throat sounded like a mouse on steroids.

We laughed, and laughed, and laughed. I doubled over as I lay on the floor, laughing so hard my stomach hurt. I could hear Aisha not just laughing but cackling, as she had done on the steps outside, and that made me burst out into a fresh wave of laughter.

“Oh god,” managed Madison. “Did you see … the lettuce …”

“On his forehead, yeah,” I gasped. “I was gonna say … but how do you tell someone about something like that?”

“Oh fuck, that’s gotta be the funniest thing I’ve ever pulled off,” Aisha giggled, having slid down from her chair to lean against the desk.

“You fucking rock at the pranks, Aisha,” Jason told her with a chuckle.

“I know pranks,” Madison told her with an air of solemnity that broke a moment later when she burst out giggling, “and that was a fucking awesome one.”

“I will never, in all my life, pull off anything half as good as that one,” Eddie agreed, still red in the face from laughing so hard.

“So where’s he gotten to?” asked Aisha. “Back in his office?”

“Hardly,” I snorted. “He’ll have gone to wash his shirt, or at least soak it a bit.” My bugs told me, of course, exactly where he was. He’d gone down to the locker room; his shirt was in a basin with hot water, and he was getting ready for a shower.

I was never so glad that my bugs couldn’t get me a clear image.

Aisha grinned at me. “So you figure he should be a while?”

I shrugged. “Probably.”

Her grin widened. And she said that one word again, the word which spelled trouble every time she uttered it.

“Excellent.”


End of Part Two

 

Alternate Beginnings

Part Three: Food Run


Before she could say any more, however, the library door opened.

We all turned to look; I was more than a little surprised, because my bugs still had Gladly showering in the locker room.

And then we all understood, as the janitor pushed his trolley in through the door.

To my surprise, Jason raised his hand in greeting. “Hey, Carl,” he called out.

“Hey, Jase,” the janitor replied. “How's your dad?” To my recollection, this was the first time I had ever heard the man speak. To my shame, I hadn't even known his name until now, despite the fact that it was embroidered on to his shirt.

Aisha looked at Jason with a mixture of confusion and respect, and asked, “You know the janitor?”

Jason shrugged. “Hey, it's a thing.”

Carl looked us over, and grinned a knowing grin. “You kids might not know me, but I know you. I know more about you than you might think I do. And I bet that not one in ten of you even knows my name.” He jingled keys at his waist. “I go everywhere. I see everything. I hear your conversations. I know who's talking about whom behind their backs.” He paused for effect. “Everything.”

“Damn,” Aisha commented. “That's some cool shit, right there.”

Carl gave her a mock bow. “Why, thank you kindly, little lady.”

“Carl,” I spoke up, surprising myself, “do you happen to know what's going on with Mr Gladly?”

Carl's grin turned wolfish. “Yeah. Seems that some little tearaways sabotaged his chair, and he wore his lunch. Let me tell you, he's so pissed about that, he's likely to invent whole new forms of punishment for anyone he finds screwing around today.”

“You, uh, spoke to him?” asked Jason.

Carl chuckled. “He spoke, I listened. 'Carl,' he told me, 'you go keep an eye on those little shitheads. Don't tell 'em I told you to.'”

Aisha tilted her head to one side. “And yet you just told us.”

The janitor shrugged. “Since when does someone like Gladly give me orders?”

Aisha's grin spread across her face. “So, if we asked real polite, would you help us out? Do us a solid?”

Carl looked innocently at the ceiling. “Mayybe,” he conceded.

“Well, it's like this,” Aisha went on. “None of us really brought a proper lunch.”

“I brought -” began Jason; I elbowed him in the ribs. He shut up.

Aisha ignored the interruption. “So we were wondering if you could maybe help us get into the cafeteria, so we could stock up on food to last us the rest of the day.” She put on the most mournful set of puppy-dog eyes I'd ever seen. “After all, you don't want us starving in here, do you?”

Carl looked at each of us in turn, then burst out laughing. “You kids,” he told us. “You know what you remind me of?”

There was silence for a moment. “Uh, no,” I ventured. “What?”

“Me,” he declared. “At your age.”

Aisha looked hopeful. “So does that mean -?”

“I'll help you get there,” he stated. “But you don't damage anything, and you don't make a mess. And you're on your own, getting back. You get caught, I don't know nothin'. I never saw you.”

“Deal,” declared Aisha, and they shook hands on it.

<><>​

And that was how we found ourselves following Carl along the deserted hallways of Winslow High School. No-one was talking much; everyone was more or less expecting Mr Gladly to spring out from behind the nearest corner, I suspect.

I knew he wouldn't; he had taken his time with the shower, and now he was drying himself off. Him telling Carl to keep an eye on us indicated that maybe he meant to take his time, to get his cool back before confronting us once more.

I wondered what his reaction had been when he saw the piece of lettuce stuck to his forehead. It must have been priceless.

<><>​

He fumed as he scrubbed himself down in the shower. A total lack of respect, that's what that was. I put myself out for those kids, every hour of every day, and what do I get? That sort of treatment. I talk to them, try to relate on their level, listen to their problems, and they turn around and stab me right in the back.

Turning off the shower, he reached for the towel and began to dry himself. Well, that's it. No more Mr Nice Guy. I try to be popular, and that's what I get. Well, from here on in, they get Mr Gladly, not Mr G.

And if they can't handle that, then tough.

<><>​

Carl unlocked the door to the cafeteria and stood aside. “Pull it shut, and it'll lock,” he advised us. “Don't leave anything of yours inside, 'cause once you shut that door, you ain't gettin' back in.”

Jason nodded. “Cool, thanks, Carl.”

“Not a problem, Jase,” the janitor replied. “Say hi to your dad for me. Maybe get him to give me a discount or something.”

“I can't promise anything,” Jason told him, “but I can try.”

Carl nodded to him. “Most I can ask for, I guess." He paused, and pulled me aside.

"Look, kid," he told me in an undertone, "I'm sorry for what happened to you in January."

I shuddered; the memory of that event would be with me till I died. "Did ... did you know?"

He shook his head. "I was in the basement, working on the furnace. Came as soon as I heard. I've tried to talk to the principal about it, but she doesn't want to know."

I nodded. "Yeah, story of my life." I looked at him. "Thanks."

"Sure, kid." A pause. "You sure did a number on the other girl." His eyes flicked to Madison for a split second. "You know she was one of them."

My eyebrows raised slightly; I had suspected, but not known for sure. "Thanks."

"No problem." He raised his voice, addressing all of us. "See you around.”

“Not that you saw us at all,” Aisha grinned.

“Saw who?” Carl responded. “Must be hearing voices. There's no-one around here.” Turning, he strolled off down the hallway, whistling off-key.

"What was that about?" Jason asked me curiously.

"Tell you later," I advised him. "Let's get something to eat."

We slipped into the cafeteria; large, almost cavernous, it was only dimly lit. Letting the door click shut – it was only locked from the outside – Aisha found the bank of light switches, and hit them all.

One after the other, the lights came on, illuminating the rows and rows of tables, the serving counters … and the fridges.

I wasn't particularly hungry; nor was anyone else, I suspected. But it was the prospect of thumbing our noses at Mr Gladly one more time, plus the opportunity for free food, that propelled us toward the serving counters. Eddie vaulted the counter, located the bolt holding the little door open, and let us all into the back area.

“Right,” Aisha told us. “Grab what you need. Don't take too long. Gladly's not going to piss about forever.”

We located a container of sturdy plastic bags, and started stuffing them with food. I grabbed a loaf of bread, a tub of butter, several plastic knives, and sandwich toppings of all sorts. Aisha lifted a small leg of ham and a complete cooked chicken; I saw Eddie and Madison conferring over what they would take, even as Jason took some sliced meat and another loaf of bread.

My bugs told me that Gladly had finished his shower, and dressed, and was finally starting to saunter back toward the library.

“Uh, guys,” I ventured. “We might want to make a move along. Gladly's bound to be finished by now.”

Aisha nodded to me. “Okay, guys,” she told everyone. “Finish it up. We gotta go.”

We trooped back through the server door. Jason had found a container of boiled eggs, and was eating one; when I glanced his way, he tossed me one. I caught it and ate it; it was delicious.

Eddie re-locked the server door, and vaulted the counter once more. We trotted toward the door outside, and Aisha swiped the lights off before we headed outside.

“No-one's left anything inside?” she asked.

No-one had.

“Good.” She pulled the door shut. The tongue clicked into place; we weren't getting back inside. “Right, let's go.”

<><>​

I kept tabs on Gladly as we trotted along the corridors. I figured we could just about make it back in time, unless he started running.

But then Madison started falling behind. “Hurry up!” I hissed at her.

“I can't go any faster,” she hissed back. “I'm not as athletic as you guys!”

Just up ahead was a shortcut; if we could duck across the main corridor before Gladly turned into it, we could be back at the library in moments, and home free. But Madison was slowing us down.

I stopped Aisha with a gesture, and peered carefully around the corner. I didn't really need to look, and indeed, I pulled back before Gladly turned the corner, but only just.

“Gladly,” I explained in a whisper. “He's coming this way.”

“Back!” Aisha told everyone. “Back!”

We backtracked down the corridor, Madison labouring to keep up.

“Okay,” I whispered, once we were out of sight. “If we duck around this way, get behind him, go up to the second floor, and back down through the northern stairwell to the library.”

Eddie shook his head in negation. “No, Madison'll never make it. Look, if we cut through the gym, we'll make it easy.”

“No,” I protested. “My way's safer -”

“You just want Madison to get caught,” he snapped.

I shook my head. “No, I don't!”

But even Jason was eyeing me in speculation.

“Guys,” I began again. “Yeah, I don't like Madison all that much. But I wouldn't do that to her.”

“Screw it,” Eddie stated. “We'll go my way.” He started off, with Madison alongside him. Aisha and Jason looked torn, but inclined to go with Eddie. I didn't want to split us up, and let some of us get caught.

“Okay, fine,” I muttered. “Let's go.”

We nearly ran into Gladly twice more before we reached the gym. On the second occasion, I was sure he'd heard something. He turned and began to move toward our position.

“We need to hurry!” I hissed.

We quickened our pace; Madison did her best to keep up. Eddie took her bag of food, which helped, but not all that much.

And then we reached the gymnasium doors.

Which were locked.

<><>
​

He'd been on his way back to the library when he heard a scuffing, as of sandshoes on vinyl flooring, and had seen what he thought might have been a head popping back out of view.

Those little shits, he thought. They're out of the fucking library.

His first instinct was to go straight to the library, and catch them when they returned, but then his sense of the dramatic overrode that idea. They might be vandalising stuff, or even stealing, he told himself. It's my duty to catch them in the act. And so he started trying to find them.

It was harder than he'd first thought; he knew every corridor in the school, but then, so did they. And they seemed to be able to stay out of his line of sight by the veriest of margins; no matter how quickly he hurried, they were always that little bit ahead of him.

But he was catching up now; he knew it. Just a little bit farther.

<><>​

“Nice going, jag-off!” Jason snapped at Eddie.

“Hey, didn't see you arguing!” Eddie snapped back.

“We should've listened to you, Taylor,” Aisha told me. “Sorry.”

I shrugged. “It's okay. Except that I think Gladly heard us. He's nearly here.”

“Oh shit,” Jason muttered. “We're dead.”

Aisha shook her head. “No,” she told us. “Just me. I'm already detentioned up to the eyeballs. One more won't hurt.” She began to hand her bag of food to me.

Madison stepped over to her. “No,” she said softly. “This is my fault. I'll take it.”

We stared at her.

“What the fuck?” blurted Aisha. “You?”

Madison nodded. “Yeah. Me.” She nodded at Eddie. “Don't let him eat my food, okay?”

And then, before anyone could stop her, she was walking briskly back up the corridor, toward where my bugs were tracking the teacher.

“Mr Gladly?” she called out. “Mr Gladly?”

<><>​

And then, to his utter astonishment, he heard his name being called. He even recognised the voice.

“Madison?” he asked. “Madison Clements?”

It was indeed Madison; just as he said her name, she turned the corner ahead of him, looking thoroughly woebegone. “Oh, Mr Gladly!” she greeted him with relief. “I'm so happy to see you!”

“Madison!” he told her sternly. “What are you doing out of the library?”

“I'm so sorry, Mr Gladly,” she apologised. “I wanted to go to the bathroom, and you weren't in your office, so I started looking for you, and then I thought someone was following me, and I got so scared, and I'm so glad that it's just you ...”

To his surprise, and not a little discomfort, she spontaneously hugged him.

“Well, it's just me, but you really should have waited,” he told her, taking her by the shoulders and moving her away from him. If anyone saw a teacher and student embracing, no matter how innocently, there would be hell to pay.

“I know, I know, but I really, really need to go,” she whimpered. “Can you take me up there now?”

He took a deep breath. “Okay, fine,” he agreed. “But you are going to have to do an extra detention for being out of the library without permission.”

She nodded soberly. “I know, but I really, really need to go,” she reminded him.

“Okay, come on.”

They turned and headed off down the corridor. Behind them, unseen by Mr Gladly, the other four students crept out of the side corridor and headed back toward the library.

<><>​

We were all back in the library when Mr Gladly arrived back with Madison. The bags of food were stashed in the audio/visual room, and so when he ran a suspicious eye over the group of us, we were all able to successfully project the appearance of innocence.

“Miss Clements,” he announced, “chose to leave the library without permission. She will be kept back next Saturday as well, as an example of what not to do.” He glared at the rest of us. “If any of you think that you can get away with doing it as well, think again. The next transgression will net the offender five detentions.”

“Five detentions, sir?” asked Aisha. “Isn't that a bit steep? I mean, what if I want to stretch my legs?”

Gladly leaned over her desk. “For you, Ms Laborn, it will be ten detentions. Just one foot outside that door, and that's you done for two and a half months.” Pausing for effect, he looked at the rest of us. “Mess with the bull, you get the horns.”

“So does that mean you're horny and full of bullshit, sir?” I asked, before I could stop myself.

There was a moment of utter, total silence. Gladly's face went red, and he stomped out of the library without another word.

The laughter broke out almost before the door finished closing; Aisha slapped me on the back so hard, she nearly knocked the wind out of me. Jason and Eddie both high-fived me, and even Madison gave me a nod of acknowledgement.

“Oh god, oh god,” gasped Aisha, crawling back on to her seat from where she'd fallen on the floor. “Horny and full of bullshit. I am so going to have to tell Brian that one.”

“So Madison,” Jason asked, still chuckling, “how did you get away with just one detention, after all the threats he made?”

Madison looked smug. “The power of cute,” she informed us. “All I had to do was bat my eyes and look sad, and he was putty in my hands.”

“Well, you saved our asses,” Aisha told her. “We would have been in detention for the fuckin' year if he'd caught us.” She gave the petite girl a high-five.

“Screw that,” Madison retorted, returning it. “I'm hungry. Let's eat.”


End of Part Three

 

Alternate Beginnings

Part Four – Endgame


Mr Gladly paced the halls of Winslow High School, muttering to himself. He was angry; very angry. His every effort to engender some respect from the little shits in detention had come up short. Worse, they had scored on him with a double prank; the chair and the cup. And there was the sneaking feeling that Madison Clements had not actually been alone, that she had offered herself as a sacrifice, to play on his softer side, so that the others could escape back to the library.

But it was too late now; they were back there. He couldn't prove a thing.

And now he was so angry that he could not think, could not concentrate. He wanted to retrieve that mood of cool calculation, of smooth superiority. He wanted to feel in charge of himself again.

Rounding a corner, he almost collided with Carl, who was mopping at a stain on the floor.

“Hey, careful there,” the janitor advised him, with an easy familiarity. Normally, Gladly would have been irritated at that, but at the moment, he had far too much on his plate to worry about one school janitor.

“Sorry,” he said brusquely, and pushed past.

“You know what you look like?” asked Carl to his back. “You look like a man with far too much on his mind.”

Gladly turned on him. “And what the hell do you think I can do about that?” he demanded. “I've got five little shits in the library who've defied my authority at every turn. They've assaulted me, mocked me, and damaged my property. I want to do something about them, but I can't figure out what.”

“Well, the first thing you need to do, my man, is to relax just a bit,” Carl advised. He put his mop back in the bucket, and the bucket on his trolley.

“And how do I do that?”

Carl grinned. He took Gladly by the elbow. “The janitor knows all. Come with me.”

<><>​

We sat in a circle on the floor of the library, with our backs up against chairs, desks and walls. I buttered bread, using the bread packet as a makeshift table. The butter was soft enough to spread with the plastic knives I had grabbed, so I slathered it on; after all, it wasn't my butter.

Aisha borrowed Jason's switchblade again, to cut slices off of the ham. I was a little dubious about the cleanliness of such a thing, but she dribbled water over it (from a bottle that Madison had grabbed) and wiped it on her handkerchief. Any germs that were left, she declared, had to take their chances.

My sandwich had ham, cold beef, chicken and relish on it. I had also won rock-paper-scissors for one of the drumsticks. Madison and Eddie had also grabbed half a dozen bottles of soda; I took the Dr Pepper. It wasn't tea, but it was fizzy and sweet and cold.

Aisha bit into her sandwich – I think she had beef, ham, honey and avocado on it – and chewed with an expression of bliss on her face. I took a bite from mine, and washed it down with Dr Pepper; it was definitely worth it.

“So what did you do to get put in detention?” I asked her, curiosity overcoming my natural reticence.

She swallowed the bite of her sandwich and grinned at me. “You remember the cafeteria had that fire last week?”

I frowned; the school had had to be evacuated for two hours, and stuff had gone missing from my backpack. “Yeah.”

She pointed her thumb at herself. “That was me. I was around back, sneaking a smoke, and someone came past, so I flipped it.”

Eddie chewed and swallowed a bite of apple. “How did that start a fire?”

“The pile of dirty teatowels sort of helped,” Aisha admitted. “That caught fire about five minutes after I left, and apparently it set fire to something else, and so on.”

“Oh wow,” marvelled Madison. “And they found out it was you?”

Aisha wrinkled her nose. “Someone snitched.”

“Why aren't you expelled?” asked Jason.

“Because Blackwell can't quite line up all her ducks. The witness sorta-kinda thinks it was me. So I'm getting detention on the off-chance that it really was me. Which it was.”

I shook my head. “Wow. I wish it worked like that with me.”

Aisha, Jason and Eddie turned to look at me. Madison was suddenly very busy with her sandwich.

“How do you mean?” asked Jason.

“I mean,” I replied, voice starting to get a little heated, “that I can complain and complain and complain about being bullied. I can get shut in my fucking locker for a fucking hour. I can catch people red-handed pouring drinks over my head in the fucking toilet stall, and all Blackwell says is, 'Oh, if you can't prove it, it didn't happen.'”

Jason stared at me. “That's fucked. So no-one got punished for the locker thing?”

I shook my head, tears starting to run down my cheeks from all the bottled-up frustrations. “You'd fucking think so, wouldn't you? But no, Emma fucking Barnes and Sophia fucking Hess, and Madison the-power-of-cute, I-know-fucking-pranks Clements, all they have to do is back each other up, and it's like I'm talking to the fucking wind!”

I was so agitated that I was on my feet by now, my sandwich forgotten at my feet. My last words came out in a scream, and I grabbed the chair next to the desk that I had been leaning against, and picked it up. Madison looked up, openly fearful, and cringed away from me. I threw the chair; it passed some feet over her head, over the desk she was leaning against, and clattered to the floor.

Everyone stopped and looked around, expecting Mr Gladly to appear and demand to know what we were doing. I had been so caught up in my emotions that I had neglected to check on him.

But he wasn't nearby. He wasn't even in his office.

My bugs moved through the school building, finding Carl's little trolley, but neither Carl nor Gladly.

Eventually, I found them on the roof, sitting up there in the shade of an air conditioner vent, smoking.

That's funny, I didn't know he was a smoker.

At that moment, Aisha got up and put her arm around my shoulders; she had to stand on tiptoe to do it, but she managed.

"Hey," she told me soothingly. "It's all right. Let it all out." She gestured to Madison. "You want to go a few more rounds with her, I'll help stand guard."

Putting Gladly out of my mind, I looked at Madison; there was nothing I wanted to do more than smash my fist into that hated face again, to grab that long silky hair and pull it out by the roots ...

I must have taken a step toward her, because she squeaked in fear and shrank away from me.

"You know, she did take the fall for us with Gladly," commented Eddie.

"And she didn't turn in Aisha when she had the chance," Jason added.

And with that, the red clouds of anger cleared from my brain.

"Yeah," I conceded wearily. "She did all that." I slumped down to the floor again. "Who's got the apple juice?"

We didn't have any cups, but someone had liberated a huge half-gallon bottle of apple juice. I took it, opened it, and drank straight from the neck. Then I got up and picked up my still-open Dr Pepper.

Madison looked up as I walked over to her. I had to give her credit; she didn't flinch as I poured a small measure from the soda bottle over her head. Then I put down the Dr Pepper and used both hands to tilt the large bottle and pour a little apple juice on to her as well.

Aisha clapped and cheered as I walked back and sat down, leaving Madison with soda and juice soaking into her hair and dribbling down her face.

"We're not even yet," I warned her. "But that'll do for now."

She nodded wanly. "I know you probably won't believe me," she whispered, "but I'm really sorry for what I've done to you. What I helped do to you."

“Yeah,” Aisha jeered. “Because you got caught.”

I shook my head. Sorry or not, there was something I needed to ask her. “What I want to know, Madison, is this.” I took another drink from the Dr Pepper. “What the fuck? I mean, seriously, what the fuck is it all about? Why are they doing this? Why are you helping them?”

Madison pulled out a handkerchief and wiped the worst of the juice and soda off her face. “I don't know why they're doing it,” she confessed. “Honestly, I don't. And I don't even think they're on the same page.”

“What do you mean, not on the same page?” I asked.

She dabbed at a stain on her top. It wasn't going to come out like that, and we both knew it. “Because Emma talks about you like you could be part of the group, once we toughen you up a bit.” She considered that. “She hasn't talked like that for a while though.”

I had to know, like probing a sore tooth with one's tongue. “And Sophia?”

“When I've talked to Sophia, she's basically decided that you're too weak to be part of the group, and if you try to step up, you have to be kept down in your place.”

That made sense, except for the 'toughen me up' bit. But Madison probably didn't know any more than that. “Okay, fine. Emma wants to toughen me up, and Sophia wants to keep me down. I got it. But what do you want? Why are you doing this? What do you get out of it?”

She took a deep breath, staring at me. “Taylor … have you ever been popular?”

I clenched my fists, starting to my knees. “What the fuck sort of question is that?”

“No, no,” she said hastily, holding up her hands between us. “I didn't mean it as an insult. I meant it as a question. Just that. Have you ever done anything that made you popular?”

I had to stop and think about that. “I … uh … not really, I guess.”

Her voice was bitter. “You're lucky.”

I stared. “How do you figure that?”

“Because once you do something that makes you really popular, once you see people turning their heads and going out of their way to greet you, you're hooked. It's like a drug. You want more of it.” She gestured down at herself. “I do the 'cute' thing. I'm petite, so I play on it. I make everyone want to pick me up and hug me. And I hang around Emma and Sophia.”

“Wait.” My voice was heavy with suspicion. “You're helping torment me because you want to be popular?”

“I'm sorry!” she burst out. “It's the only way. I'm not as pretty as Emma or as athletic as Sophia. And with those two, being the 'cute' one isn't enough. You have to present something that will make them let you hang around them.”

She shuddered. “Competition's fierce. You can't imagine the jockeying that takes place when we're walking down the corridor. Push in front of someone who's a little bit more popular, and the next thing you know, all your social media sites are full of speculation about you kissing Sparky or something.”

I shuddered. So did Madison.

“Who's Sparky?” asked Aisha, with interest.

“Living proof that you don't need a working brain to be in high school,” Madison told her. “But anyway, I have to show them that I'm up to the task. So I think of pranks. Pranks to play on other girls, pranks to play on people who haven't shown Emma enough respect recently …” She paused.

“And pranks to play on me,” I added flatly.

She sighed. “Yes.”

I clenched a fist and showed it to her. “Well, you know what you'll get if you ever pull a prank on me again.”

She nodded rapidly. “I'm done with it. Done with them. They threw me to the wolves. Fuck 'em.”

“I got a question,” Aisha piped up.

Madison looked over at her. “What?”

Aisha's voice was challenging. “You still gonna be like this, come Monday? Gonna be turning over that new leaf? Or soon as you see 'em, will you go straight back to 'em, like my mom used to go back to her boyfriend when he hit her?”

There was particular venom in Aisha's voice. Madison was silent, her head down.

I addressed Aisha. “Bad times, huh?”

She shook her head. “The worst. That sonovabitch would take it out on Mom whenever the drugs went dry, an' soon as they had more, she'd be right alongside him, toking up like normal.” She took a deep shuddering breath. “One day he tried to … tried to … “

I put my arm around her and held her close. “It's okay. You don't have to say.”

“I gotta say it to someone. Bastard tried to molest me. I was eleven. I texted my brother to come help me, and I fought him off.” She buried her head in my chest, her voice muffled. “Too damn close. Brian came in the door just in time. Beat the living fuck out of him. He was fifteen.”

“Wow, holy shit,” breathed Eddie. “Your brother beat the shit out of your mom's boyfriend? No way.”

I nodded. “Yes way. I've seen him. I could believe it.”

Aisha lifted her head away from me and looked at Eddie. “Better believe it, bucko. He could kick your ass, and any four of your buddies at the same time.” She looked back at me. “Well, I know what the worst moment in your life is, and I just told you mine.”

Second worse, I thought, but did not say. It was close enough.

Aisha was still talking. “You there. Tall, dark and Asian. What's the worst moment of your life?”

Jason started. “Me?”

Aisha nodded. “Yeah, you.”

I took another bite of my sandwich, Aisha leaning up against me, as Jason considered.

“I guess … it would have to be the time Pa caught me stealing from the till.”

“You stole from your old man?” Eddie asked. “That's all kinds of fucked up.”

Jason nodded. “I know, I know. There was a girl -”

“Hah!” exclaimed Aisha, making me jump. “I knew it! There's always a girl!”

Jason coloured. “She was pretty and sweet, and she just wanted me to buy her something. Then she wanted more, and more. And I ran through my allowance, and promised her more … “ He trailed off. “And then I heard that the ABB was paying. So I joined up. But they didn't pay as much as I'd heard, so I found myself behind again. I knew Pa kept a reserve of cash. I was gonna make it up with my next pay, honest I was. But Pa caught me.” He paused, remembering. “The worst bit wasn't being caught, or the strapping he gave me. It was seeing the betrayal in his eyes.”

“Wow,” commented Madison quietly. “What did you do?”

“Broke it off with her,” Jason replied. “She called me all sorts of names when she realised I wasn't going to be giving her any more things. Told me I wasn't really a man. I found out later that she was sponging off of three different guys.”

“Shit,” Aisha commented. “That's rough.” She looked at Eddie. “You there. What's your worst?”

The burly shaven-headed boy lowered his eyes. “Dad's a dock-worker. You know that, Taylor; I've seen you around a few times.”

I nodded. “Yeah.”

“There's Dad and Mom and Cyndi, my sister. She's eighteen. Money's tight. We don't have a business to fall back on, like Jason there. When there's no work, there's no work. Cyndi had to drop out of college. We did our best to cut costs, but sooner or later there was no money for power or phone. And then I started getting feelers from the local Empire recruiters. I turned 'em down. Didn't want to be mixed in the gangs.” He looked up at us. “And then one day, we had some cash. Not much, but it covered the bills. I didn't know where it came from. Dad and Mom were close-mouthed about it; Mom was crying, and Dad was mad about something, I didn't know what.”

He drew a shuddering breath. “And then times got tight, and money turned up again mysteriously. I couldn't figure out where it was coming from. And then … “

He paused for a long moment. “And then, I caught Cyndi sneaking back into the house, wearing tight, revealing clothes. She was crying. She had a big wad of money in her purse.” His voice broke. “My sister had been going out, offering herself to strangers, so we wouldn't lose the house.”

Jason put a hand on his shoulder. “Shit, man. That's rough.”

Eddie's voice was almost angry. “And the worst bit was when I realised that if I'd joined the Empire back when they first approached me, she'd never have had to do that. So I told her she was never doing it again, and I went and joined up the next day. Stood guard on a few robberies, and now I'm getting enough to keep us from going under.” He raised his chin defiantly. “Say what you like, but I'll take working for the Empire Eighty-Eight over letting my sister go out and … “ He shook his head. “Not ever again.”

“Wow, shit,” Aisha marvelled, looking at him. “That's … I don't even know how to describe that.”

“Doing the wrong thing for the right reasons,” I supplied.

She nodded. “Yeah. Exactly.”

I looked at Eddie. “How's your sister doing?”

He shrugged. “She still cries occasionally. But she's got a temp job now. Nothing fancy, but it brings a little money in.”

I nodded. “Good.”

“So wait,” Jason put in. “All that bullshit racist talk, that's just you keeping in practice?”

Eddie nodded warily. “Yeah. I don't come out with a few words like 'nigger' or 'spic' or 'slanteye' in casual conversation, my boys start to wonder about my dedication to the cause.”

“And that's why you picked that fight with me,” Jason added.

“More or less, yeah,” agreed Eddie.

Jason shook his head. “Well, shit.”

This was a lot to think about. Silence fell while we went back to our respective meals.

<><>​

Gladly leaned back against the air-conditioning duct, stretching his legs out in front of him. The cheap folding chair creaked but held.

“Oh man,” he breathed, feeling the gentle breeze blowing against his face. “I've never known you could come out on the roof like this.”

Carl took a hit on the joint, holding the smoke in, and passed it to him. Gradually he let it out. “It's like I told you, man,” he commented genially. “The janitor knows all.”

Gladly inhaled the acrid smoke, feeling it spread through his system, coiling tendrils of well-being in his brain. “This is good shit,” he coughed. “Better than I ever smoked in college. Where do you get it from?”

Carl took the joint back. “That kid, Sparky? His old man's got connections to the Merchants. They're more into hard drugs these days, but there's always a market for good ganja.”

Gladly closed his eyes, feeling the gentle breeze caressing his face with sylvan fingers. He thought he should write that down; it was a good turn of phrase. But even as he completed the thought, it had slipped from his mind. Not that he cared. He didn't care about very much at the moment.

He seemed to recall being very angry, earlier. He wasn't sure what he'd been angry about.

“Being angry's a waste of energy,” he told Carl solemnly. “It doesn't help. People don't care. I don't care. Nobody cares.”

Carl eyed him critically. This week's lot had been fairly powerful; he'd have to commend Sparky's dad on the quality. But it had gone to town on Gladly. The man was wasted.

“You, my man, are wasted,” he told Gladly.

Gladly waved his arms in a vague attempt to embrace the sky. “I love the world,” he told Carl, and started to snore.

Teachers, Carl told himself, could not handle their weed.

He took another hit. Why not? It wasn't going to smoke itself.

<><>​

“Okay,” Madison announced. “Challenge.”

She had soaked a handkerchief in water and washed her face, and scrubbed the dried juice and soda from her hair. Aisha had produced a brush from one of the capacious pockets of her jacket, and Madison had returned her hair to its normal appearance. I felt vaguely envious.

“What challenge?” asked Aisha.

Madison pondered. “Who would you make out with, if you had the chance?”

Aisha grinned wickedly. “Student or teacher?”

“Student.”

Aisha considered. “Eddie,” she announced.

“What, me?” blurted Eddie.

Aisha paused. 'Well … actually, does it have to be someone at Winslow? Because my bro's got this buddy, curly dark hair, all emo and big dark eyes.”

“So what's his name?” I asked, despite myself.

Aisha grinned at us. “Alec.”

I nodded. “Nice one. Madison, your turn.”

Madison thought about it. “Jason.”

“Huh?” asked Jason. “Are you just saying that because Aisha said Eddie?”

Madison shook her head. “I'm saying that if I spent more time with you, I could seriously get to like you.” She grinned. “And I won't sponge money off of you, either.”

“Oh,” Jason muttered. “Wow.”

Madison nodded. “Okay, Taylor. Your turn.”

I rubbed my chin. “If we're going for people outside Winslow, then … Aisha's brother Brian.”

Aisha's eyes opened wide. “What, really?”

I nodded. “Seriously, he's all kinds of hunky.”

Aisha made amazingly realistic gagging noises. “Ew, I'm not gonna think that way about my brother.” She turned to Eddie. “You're up, stud-muffin.”

He hesitated for the longest time. “You'll laugh.”

“No, we won't,” promised Aisha. I could see she had her fingers crossed behind her back.

Eddie took a deep breath. “Sophia Hess.”

Aisha and I spoke at the same time. “No, you don't.”

Eddie turned to me. “Look, I know she bullies you, but this isn't a real thing, right? I think she's hot, and I'd make out with her if she'd let me.”

“Quite apart from the fact that your white-supremacist boys would string you up by the nuts for just thinking about going near a woman of her 'polluted' bloodline,” Jason pronounced solemnly, making air-quotes with his fingers.

“And also quite apart from the fact that she would string you up by the nuts if you tried to come on to her,” Madison added.

They both looked at me. I shrugged.

“I was just going to say that she's a bitch, and everyone knows it,” I confessed.

“Well, that too,” agreed Madison. “Jason. Lucky last. Who would you snog, given the chance?”

Jason looked thoughtful. “Taylor.”

I felt my jaw drop, and my face heat up. I'd never actually had any guy pick me over any other girl before; at least, not a guy who was actually good-looking. “Me?” I squeaked.

Jason nodded firmly. “I like tall women. And skinny ones.”

“So the one who took all your money … ?” asked Aisha.

“A bit tall, a bit skinny,” confessed Jason.

“Case closed,” Aisha grinned.

To hide my confusion, I took a drink of apple juice – there was still plenty left – and immediately asked, “What should we do now?”

<><>​

Carl finished the joint and carefully stowed the butt away in a zip-lock bag. He looked at the peacefully snoring Gladly; the man obviously needed his rest.

“Whereas I need to get back to work,” he mumbled to himself. Pulling himself to his feet, he headed for the roof access. There was still a lot of mop to floor. Or floor to mop. It didn't matter.

When he was stoned, the work always went by really fast.

<><>​

“This is a bad idea.”

Madison shushed Eddie, as Aisha worked at the door to Gladly's office. He'd had the foresight to lock it this time. Unfortunately, he hadn't had the foresight to frisk Aisha Laborn.

She was working away at the lock with what looked like two pieces of bent wire to me; I was expecting the door to pop open at any moment. But Hollywood's expectations were spoiling me; two minutes had gone by without any result.

Aisha sighed in aggravation and put the pieces of wire – lockpicks? - away. Then she pulled out what looked like an ordinary blank house key, a pair of pliers and a small hammer. She slid the key into the lock, gripped it with the pliers, and applied torque to it. Then she tapped the head of the key rapidly with the hammer.

This was somewhat noisier than the pieces of wire, and I could see why she'd been reluctant to use it. And it didn't seem to be working either …

… until it did.

All of a sudden, there was a click and the key turned easily.

“Hah,” she mumbled. “Knew that'd get it.”

She opened the handle, and we were in.

<><>​

For the second time that day, we crowded into Mr Gladly's office.

Madison turned to Aisha. “I have to ask. Why do you carry lock-picking gear with you?”

Aisha shrugged. “Why do you carry a makeup case with you?” After washing her face, Madison had carefully redone her makeup.

“I dunno,” Madison replied. “Just in case, I guess.”

Aisha grinned. “Same here.”

I sat down carefully on Gladly's chair; he had screwed it back together, but I didn't trust it as far as I could spit it. His laptop was in a drawer; I took it out and opened it up.

“Now can I staple his papers to his desk?” asked Madison of Aisha.

Aisha shrugged. “Knock yourself out. Or glue them. Whatever works.”

Madison gleefully set to work, aided and abetted by Jason and Eddie, while Aisha leaned over my shoulder. “How's it going?”

“Poorly,” I admitted. “It's password protected.”

“Crap. I can open locks. Passwords I have more trouble with.”

I half-closed the screen of the laptop, then opened it again. “I might have a chance here. A computer issued by the school would require fairly stringent passwords. But it looks like he brings this one from home, going by the stickers on it.” I thought for a moment. “What's his date of birth?”

Aisha shrugged. “No fuckin' idea.” She turned to Jason and Eddie. “Hey. Wonder twins. See if you can find anything that can tell Taylor what Gladly's date of birth is.”

It took a little while, but they located an old driver's licence, tucked at the back of a drawer. I set about typing in permutations of his date of birth.

“Seventy-five percent of people use this,” I explained to Aisha. “It's easiest for them to remember.” And indeed, after six tries, I was in.

“Fuck me,” Aisha marvelled. “I am fucking impressed. You're gonna have to teach me that shit.”

I grinned at her. “Teach me how to pop a lock like that, and it's a deal.” We shared a high-five, then I turned back to the computer.

At first, there didn't seem to be anything of interest on the laptop. Everything on the desktop was vanilla-bland. But I did a little checking, and grinned as I noted something interesting. “Ah ha.”

“Ah ha what?” asked Aisha.

“His download registry is clean. Empty.”

“Uh, wouldn't that mean that he doesn't download shit?”

I shook my head. “No. When you're online, your computer downloads updates all the time. And all his programs are up to date. No, he cleaned it. Which means one thing.”

“What's that?”

I grinned. “That he's been using this laptop to download stuff that he doesn't want other people knowing about.”

“Like what?”

I had an idea, but I shrugged. “Let's look around and find out, shall we?”

It took a while to find, but then, I was looking through a haystack for a needle that looked like a piece of straw. In fact, I found something else of interest first.

“Huh,” I muttered. “I always wondered who put this rag together.”

The Winslow Weekly was a newsletter, purportedly set up by and for students, but espousing fairly bland pro-school sentiments. It announced school events, ran cute little articles on consenting students or teachers, and in general managed to avoid upsetting anyone by never taking a stance on anything. I had vaguely wondered why the 'popular' students often graced its pages; now I knew. Mr Gladly had a certain bias toward them.

I took a few moments to browse through the latest offering, and found that it was blander than unseasoned tapioca. An article about upcoming sports events had a photo of Sophia Hess, winning the hundred-yard sprint. School fashions were typified by – surprise surprise! - Emma Barnes, wearing something fairly ordinary, but managing to make it look like a Gucci original. Other popular students were featured as well.

I closed the file, and kept looking.

Now that I knew there was something to look for, I soon found it. An innocuous zip folder, with the name “Statistics”, amid other files of similar names. But it was the only zip folder with a password lock.

He hadn't been stupid enough to use the same password as his laptop. But it took only a few moments to tickle it open; he had simply reversed his usual password.

And this was definitely something that he didn't want people seeing. It was porn, of course, but porn of a specific type.

“Holy shit,” muttered Aisha, still looking over my shoulder. “The dirty bastard.”

The models were eighteen and over, of course. But they were, one and all, dressed in school uniforms. Or at least, approximations thereof. There were quite a few pictures; he obviously trawled whatever sites offered these images religiously.

“What's in that folder?” asked Aisha, pointing.

I hadn't noticed the folder until she mentioned it; selecting the folder, I clicked it open.

“Whoa,” I muttered. “Holy fuck.”

“What?” asked Madison, leaning over to look. “Wait – fuck – is that Emma?”

I shook my head. “Face, yes. Body, no.” I quickly checked the rest of the images. They were each of a porn star, with a popular – and pretty – girl's face photoshopped on to it. Including …

“Fuck!”

Eddie and Jason, attracted by Madison's shocked expletive, crowded around.

“Wow, Madison,” Jason chuckled. “You never looked so good.”

Madison coloured to the roots of her hair. “Go fuck yourself.” She turned to me. “Can you delete it?” she appealed.

“He'd know that someone had been in his system, then,” I warned her.

“I don't care. I don't want that perv looking at that picture and imagining he's looking at me.”

I rubbed my chin. “Hm. Let's see ...”

Pulling the photo into his up-to-date version of Photoshop, I fiddled for a few moments. “There. That better?”

She looked at it; the lower half, beginning just above where anything began to show, was obscured by a bright green rectangle. “What's that?”

I shrugged. “Image lost in translation. Happens all the time.” I saved the new image over the old one, then went into the properties and adjusted the last save time.

<><>​

Gladly stirred. He rubbed his eyes, and sat up. Carl was nowhere to be seen. He still felt very mellow; the sleep must have done him good. Also, the weed.

It had been years since he'd had a toke. He must have lost his tolerance to the stuff; this lot had hit him like a freight train.

“Damn.” He rubbed his eyes again. “What's the time?” He checked his watch. “Fuck. A quarter after four.”

Stumbling to his feet, he made his way to the roof access door. His clothes should be dry by now. He needed to present a proper appearance to his students.

<><>​

After doing a few more things, I shut the laptop down and replaced it in the drawer. Jason and Eddie were assisting Madison in her artistic work; not only had every piece of paper been glued or stapled to the desk, but the new strip of staples in the stapler had been glued into place.

“Okay, guys,” I told them, mindful that Gladly was on the move again, “time to pack this up.”

A few minutes later, they were finished, and we were out of his office. Aisha pulled the door to with a solid click, and we headed back into the library.

<><>​

“So what can you do?” asked Eddie of Jason.

“Huh?” responded Jason.

“What can you do?” repeated Eddie.

“Oh, uh, I can't do anything,” Jason evaded.

“No, that's bullshit, everyone can do something,” Madison told him.

“Well, okay,” Jason admitted. “My mom says myjadu geonpodo soseu is the best she's ever seen.”

“Which is …?” prompted Aisha.

“Plum raisin sauce,” explained Jason.

“Huh,” Aisha responded. “Eddie, what about you?”

Eddie grinned, and pulled two apples and an orange from his pockets. Standing up, he started to juggle them; slowly at first, then faster and faster. After about a minute of this, he caught them all and put them away. We all applauded.

“Damn,” Jason commented. “I am impressed.” He turned to Madison. “What about you?”

“Uh … I can give Aisha and Taylor makeovers,” suggested the petite girl. “I'm really good at that.”

She looked to Aisha. “How about you? Apart from lock-picking, I mean.”

Aisha grinned. “It's not something I can do, but I got a secret that none of you can tell. I mean, shit, no-one. Cross your heart and hope to die.”

“Uh, sure,” I agreed. “Promise.”

One by one, the others agreed.

Aisha leaned toward us, and lowered her voice. “My brother's a supervillain.”

Madison's eyes opened wide. Jason's jaw dropped.

“You're shitting me,” blurted Eddie.

“That guy who dropped you off? That brother?” I asked, more to confirm than out of doubt.

She nodded. “That's him. Brian.”

I shook my head. “I would never have believed it.”

“Believe it,” Aisha advised me. “Okay, how about you. Apart from your leet hacking skillz, what can you do?”

I looked at her. “Your brother's really a supervillain?”

“Yeah,” she agreed. “He is.”

“Well then,” I told her, and held up my hand. Bugs clustered over the top of it, swirling in a vertical pattern that spread out and then formed a cloud around me. All four sets of eyes were wide, staring. I grinned self-consciously. “It looks like I'm a superhero.”

“Holy shit,” exclaimed Aisha. “How many bugs can you control?”

“Every single one in my control radius,” I told her. “Two and a half blocks.”

“Ah fuck,” Jason blurted. “So that's how you knew where Gladly was.”

“Where is he now?” asked Eddie.

“Well, he's been asleep on the roof for the last couple of hours. He's currently getting dressed. And before you ask, no, my bugs can't see that well. Thank god.”

<><>​

When Gladly looked in, twenty minutes later, we were sitting around and talking in a desultory fashion. We had divided up the remainder of the food in an amicable fashion, and it was stowed in our various bags – or, in Aisha's case, the pockets of her jacket.

“Time to go, boys and girls,” he announced. “Some of you, I will see here next week. You know who you are.”

Aisha came to rigid attention, holding an impeccable salute. “Sir, yes, sir!” she announced, and then marched out of the room. The rest of us followed, trying to hide our grins.

Out in the parking lot, Aisha's brother was already waiting, while Dad was just pulling in. We paused at the top of the steps.

“Well, see you guys,” I said awkwardly. “Madison, I might take you up on that makeover sometime.”

“I'd like that,” she replied shyly, then headed down the steps.

Aisha surprised me with a hug. “Thanks for having my back,” she told me. “Come on, I'll introduce you to Brian.”

“Uh, no, wait, really, it's all right,” I stammered, but there was no help for it. She tugged me down the steps; Jason and Eddie followed, side by side, watching with matching grins.

“Hey, bro,” she called out to the tall black youth, “I want you to meet Taylor. She's my best bud here at Winslow, and she totally thinks you're hot.”

My blush hit the roots of my hair. “Aisha!”

“What?” she asked impudently. “It's true!”

“What's true?” asked Dad, getting out of his car.

“Nothing,” I called back, then I turned back to Brian and lowered my voice. “Could I … get your number … or something?”

He looked me over, and I swore I could feel trails of heat from where his eyes lingered. Something touched his expression; interest? Amusement? I didn't know.

“Sure,” he agreed, and dug in his pocket for a pen.

Moments later, I was clutching a piece of paper with Brian's phone number on it; the first I had ever gotten.

The fact that he was apparently a supervillain, while I was a superhero, mattered not to me at all.

By this time, Dad was standing nearby, watching the proceedings with interest.

“So, was it a good day?” he asked.

I nodded. “Yeah. We learned a lot about each other.” I waved to Eddie and Jason as they got in their respective cars.

“See you around,” I told Aisha.

“High five, sister,” she responded, and we slapped one anothers' palms.

Dad and I got into our car, and I did up my seatbelt.

“So, did I just see you get a boy's phone number?” he asked me.

“Uh, yes?” I asked.

He smiled. “Just checking.”

Turning the key, he started the car.

“Let's go home.”

<><>​

Gladly yawned. Despite his sleep on the roof, he was still feeling lethargic. He went to his office, took his laptop from the drawer, and booted it up.

The Weekly still needed printing out; he'd had it ready to go when the kids had interrupted him.

He established the wireless connection to the printer, and pulled up the file. Clicking Print was but the work of a moment.

I'll go home, and collect them Monday morning, he decided.


End of Part Four

 

Alternate Beginnings

Epilogues


Epilogue 1: Sunday (Taylor)

On impulse, I went out Sunday and bought a cheap mobile phone. I didn't tell Dad; he would not have approved. But I decided I needed to be able to keep in touch with people.

That night, I sneaked out, into gang territory. I had my bugs keeping track of people all around me, so I managed to avoid notice.

When I found the ABB thugs, and Lung, I was so very glad I had gotten the phone. Lung was talking about killing kids. This was not a good thing.

Pulling out my new phone, I hesitated. If I called 9-1-1, they would just put me through to the PRT switchboard, and I'd have to explain what was going on. They might even argue, and dismiss me as a prank call.

But I already had a number. I called it.

Not how I thought I'd be calling this.

The rich baritone voice answered me. “Hello?”

“Hi,” I replied. “Hate to spring this on you like this, but I'm a superhero and I need your help.”

A very long pause. “ … who is this?”

I had been thinking of a name. “Call me Hive Queen. I know your sister Aisha. She says you're a good guy. I'm looking at Lung, right now. He's telling his men to kill kids. I don't want that to happen, and I'm not sure if I can stop him on my own.”

“And so you're asking me to help.”

“Villains help heroes against bigger threats, right? Lung's almost Endbringer class, all by himself.”

“You have a point. Listen, where are you?”

I told him. “You know where that is?”

“Sure do. Can you delay him, stop him from leaving? We'll be there shortly.”

“I can try.”

<><>​

Grue and I stood on the rooftop, watching as Bitch's dogs mauled Lung mercilessly. I stood as close to him as I dared; he didn't seem to mind. Tattletale stood a little way off, a fox-like grin on her face. I didn't know if she was grinning at me or at the way Lung was getting his ass handed to him, and I didn't really care.

“You really did us a solid on this one,” Brian/Grue told me.

“Hey,” I replied. “I didn't know it was going to be you he was talking about, but this works for me.”

“You don't have a problem with working alongside supervillains?”

I shrugged. “I've learned a lot about grey areas over the last couple of days. There are good bad guys, and I guess there are bad good guys. I want to be a good guy, but that doesn't mean we can't help each other out.”

“Protectorate incoming,” warned Tattletale.

Bitch whistled to her dogs; for the last minute or so, they had been more or less using Lung as a chew-toy anyway. They leaped and clawed their way back up on to the rooftop.

“Want a ride?” asked Brian.

I shook my head. “Nah, I think I'll stick around and see what happens.”

He nodded. “Sure. Well, keep in touch.”

I grinned inside my mask. “I'll do that.”

<><>​

Armsmaster let his grappling hook pull him to the rooftop. I stood there, swathed in swirling insects.

“Are we going to fight?” he asked.

“Not unless you want to,” I replied boldly. “I'm a hero too. You can call me Hive Queen.”

“I see,” he mused, watching the bugs swarm around me. “That's a dark and edgy look for a hero.”

“It's a dark and edgy world,” I told him. “Bad things happen. I want the bad guys to realise that I can be one of those bad things.”

Unexpectedly, he chuckled. “Ballsy. So, can I ask how old you are?”

“Nearly sixteen,” I told him honestly. “Does it matter?”

After a pause, he shook his head. “Not really. Did you see another group around here just now?”

“Yeah,” I told him. “The Undersiders.”

His head came around. “Did you speak to them?”

“A bit,” I admitted off-handedly. “They helped me take down Lung. He was talking about killing kids. Turned out they were the 'kids' he was talking about.”

“And you didn't try to arrest them?”

I made a rude noise inside the mask. “Not hardly. For one thing, they were helping me. For another, four against one? That would have been unpleasant.”

His voice was hard. “Heroes don't usually associate with villains.”

“Except when it comes to greater threats. Or am I wrong about that?”

I couldn't believe I was arguing with Armsmaster. I had underwear with his emblem on it somewhere. This man was one of my heroes, and I was arguing superhero ethics with him!

He changed tack. “Did you get any information about any of them?”

I shook my head. “No, none of them let anything slip. We were concentrating on Lung.” I paused. “Tattletale knew you were coming, somehow.”

He made a growling noise in his throat. “That girl is very annoying.” Turning to the roof edge, he reattached his grappling hook. “I have to deal with Lung. Can we continue this conversation down there?”

I climbed down the ladder at the side of the building, and rejoined him; he had apparently injected Lung with some sort of tranquilliser and was caging him up. “Just remember,” I told him, “there's lots and lots of venom in him. Enough to kill an ordinary man several times over.”

“I'll keep that in mind,” he agreed. “Now, as for credit for this.”

“That's H-I-V-E Q-U-E-E-N,” I recited promptly. “Two words, no hyphenation.”

“Are you sure?” he enquired. “The rest of the ABB might decide to take retribution about this.”

I held up a finger. “Ah, but would they attack a Ward?”

He paused. “Are you saying you want to join?”

“Well, it would make me a hell of a lot more effective to be working with a team, and somehow I don't think you want me joining the Undersiders,” I commented dryly.

“Would you join a villain team?” he asked sharply.

“I want to make a difference. If you and the rest of the heroes turned out to be people I couldn't work with, I'd probably consider it,” I told him honestly.

His mouth quirked a smile. “Straightforward and up front. I like it. Contact me when you've got your parents' permission.” He handed me a card.

I tossed it into the air; two moths caught it and flew it around to the storage compartment at my back. “I'll do that,” I told him.

<><>​

I sneaked back into the house. Ducking down into the basement, I stored away my costume, then back to the kitchen. I was hungry – fighting supervillains alongside other supervillains was kind of wearing – so I made myself a snack. Still eating it, I wandered upstairs.

I was just about to open my door, when I reconsidered. Crossing the hall, I tapped on Dad's bedroom door.

A mumbled reply came from within, far too quickly for him to have awoken. Ah crap. He heard me come in.

“Dad?” I called. “Can I come in?”

He answered in the affirmative, and I opened the bedroom door. Entering, I sat on the edge of his bed.

“Taylor,” he asked, “where have you been?” He sniffed. “And is that smoke I smell? Have you been smoking?”

I grinned. “Nope. But I do have some stuff to tell you about.”

<><>​

Epilogue 2: Monday (Winslow)

Mr Gladly yawned and stretched as he picked up the stack of newsletters from the out-tray of the printer. His office was still reasonably dark, as he hadn't bothered turning on the light. He riffled through the newsletters, checking that none had been misplaced in the printer; the text blocks and the pictures seemed to be all in the right place. He didn't bother actually reading it; he'd been over it a thousand times on the computer.

Sometimes it was hard, coming up with a fun and interesting set of articles each week. He wished people would appreciate his efforts more.

Strolling around the school, he left a stack of Winslow Weekly newsletters on the small table outside each classroom, and next to the main bulletin board. Principal Blackwell didn't even look up as he dropped her copy on her desk.

He went back to his classroom and started working on the day's lesson plan. Today I'm Mr Gladly, not Mr G, he reminded himself. Today, they learn to respect me.

<><>​

Principal Blackwell ignored the copy of the Weekly that Gladly had dropped on to her desk. The man churned out the same pre-digested pap and cutesy little stories every goddamned week. He must have worn out his thesaurus by now, looking for new and imaginative adjectives to describe the same old things.

Getting up from her desk, she strolled out into the corridors as the first kids came through the main doors. She liked to be there when they came in; 'taking the temperature', as she put it. It let her imagine that she had her finger on the pulse of the school.

She noted that some of them were clustering around the small stacks of newsletters, and that these were being passed from hand to hand. There was suddenly more and more interest, laughter, incredulous expressions. When they saw her, they shut up, and huddled.

She moved closer, curious; they moved off, and there was not a Weekly left behind. That was odd. Normally, most of these found their way into the trash.

She went back to her office; each time she saw a bunch of students huddled around a copy of the newsletter, she moved a little faster. Snatching up her copy, she scanned it quickly.

Her first fear, that he had taken to writing risque jokes, or off-colour articles. But no, it was the same old, same old. Upcoming sports events, popular kids, Winslow fashions, everything that had been through it before.

And then she actually took in what the pictures were portraying.

Under an article about a sports meet coming up soon, there was a picture captioned “Our cheerleader squad, starring Emma Barnes.” The picture showed girls in cheerleader outfits … sort of. One of them even looked like the ever-popular Ms Barnes. But the outfits were … more or less non-existent. Pornographic, even. So was the activity they were engaged in.

Another picture was titled, “Emma Barnes congratulates Sophia Hess for winning the one hundred yard sprint.”

Again, the faces were right. But … she had been there, and she didn't recall Emma congratulating Sophia in quite that intimate a fashion.

She quickly looked over the rest of the newsletter. The front page was bland, as per normal. No-one would tell the salacious contents from just looking at it. But inside, and on the back …

Oh my god.

The back was a montage of what was supposed to be school activities, portraying the most popular girls in the school. It was a montage, all right. And some of the faces were even familiar. But what they were doing in those pictures …

“Oh. My. God.”

She took in a deep breath.

“GLADLY!!!”

<><>​

Principal Blackwell's phone rang. Blackwell looked up; she had just finished haranguing Gladly over the content of the newsletter, and was in the process of composing an email to the school governors. Gladly will be lucky to keep his job over this.

She picked up the receiver. “Blackwell.”

“I have Madison Clements here,” replied her secretary. “She says she needs to speak to you about a case of ongoing bullying.”

Blackwell paused. “Send her in.”

Madison entered; she still bore the marks of the fight on Friday.

“Take a seat, Ms Clements,” Blackwell told her. “So tell me; who is bullying you?”

Madison shook her head. “I'm not being bullied. I want to tell you about bullying that I've been helping other people do.”

Blackwell blinked. “Please repeat that.”

“I've been helping Emma Barnes and Sophia Hess bully Taylor Hebert ever since September of the year before last,” Madison told her steadily. “I was there when they locked her in her locker.”

As if in a dream, Blackwell opened a word file on her computer. “I suppose you'd better start from the beginning.”

Madison nodded, and began to speak. But she didn't get very far, as Blackwell's phone rang again.

“What is it?” snapped the principal. “I'm busy here.”

“Sorry to bother you, but we have a situation. One of the students is assaulting other students in the hallways.”

Blackwell had a sinking feeling. I don't believe this. “Who is it?”

“Sophia Hess.”

<><>​

Emma strolled through the school, Sophia at her side.

“I wonder if Madison will even show her face in school today?” she asked idly.

“Don't give a shit,” Sophia answered. “She got her ass kicked. She's gotta work hard to get back to my standard.”

“Aren't you being just a little hard on her?” chided Emma gently. “Taylor took her by surprise, after all.”

“Doesn't matter,” Sophia insisted. She paused. “What's going on there?”

'There' was a group of girls and boys clustered around something, laughing and commenting.

“I have no idea,” Emma admitted with a frown. She walked up to the group. “What's going on here?” she asked.

Two of the girls looked at her, and burst out laughing. One of them handed her something, then they moved off a little way.

She looked at it.

“It's just the Weakly,” Sophia observed. “What's so great about that?”

Emma opened it and looked at the articles – nothing new – and then the picures.

Her face drained of colour.

“Oh fuck. Oh fuck.”

All around her, people were looking at this very newsletter, and laughing.

Laughing at her.

Everyone was laughing at her.

Sophia stormed over to the nearest group. “Give me those!”

One or two handed them over; the others moved off, clutching their copies. Sophia grabbed one, spun her around, wrenched the newsletter out of her hand. The other fended her off. Sophia punched her, then kneed her in the stomach. She prised the crumpled paper from the girl's hands as she lay curled on the floor.

But there were others, also pointing, also laughing.

She moved in on her next target.

<><>​

Epilogue 3: Monday (PRT)

Emily Piggot was just reading Armsmaster's report on the new cape calling herself 'Hive Queen' when her phone rang.

“Piggot.”

“I have a call from a Principal Blackwell. She says it's urgent.”

“Put her through.”

A few clicks later, and she heard the Winslow Principal's voice. “Hello?”

“Ms Blackwell. What can I do for you?”

“You can take Sophia Hess out of Winslow, is what you can do!”

The Director recoiled. “What? What's happened?”

“She has assaulted twenty-seven students and three teachers, is what's happened. Several of the students are quite badly injured, and she beat Mr Gladly half to death.”

Piggot put her hand over her eyes. “Where is she now?”

“We don't know. She left. And good riddance.” A pause. “Oh, and just so you know, I have evidence that she was involved in an incident earlier this year, when another student was locked into her locker. So if and when you catch her, you can put that on her as well.”

Director Piggot shook her head. “Right. Thank you. I'll get right on it.”

She ended the call, then dialled a number.

“Yes, Director?”

“Major, I have a job for you. One of our Wards has gone off the rails. You are to find her and bring her in, any means necessary. She has already shown a willingness to injure civilians. Take no chances.”

“Which Ward is this, Director?”

“Shadow Stalker.”

“Will we be getting Protectorate assistance as well?”

“I'll be alerting them next. You have your orders.”

“Thank you, Director.”

Piggot hung up, and massaged her temples. And it's not even nine o'clock yet.



End of Alternate Beginnings