This is a three part series that is sort of a slow build. I hope you like the characters and the story—the real sex doesn't kick in until Chapter 3.
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Nothing interesting ever happens in Farston. I mean, obviously, some stuff happens, we had that big car accident a couple of years ago, and that storm last summer that caused a flood, but not much interesting to a teenager like me. It was the first day of school, so that meant that my summer routine was over, and I had to get back to my school routine. As I got dressed, I was thinking without any particular enthusiasm of seeing the same kids who I had known since kindergarten and the same teachers I knew since I started high school.
At least it was senior year. Not that I hated Farston, really, it was a great place to grow up in so many ways, but I couldn't wait until graduation and the chance to go to college and widen my horizons some. So, at least that would be different—applying to colleges would give me and my friends something new to speak about other than sports, TV and girls. I finished getting dressed, put on my shoes and came downstairs.
As usual, my father was sitting at the table, drinking coffee and eating a bowl of cereal while reading the newspaper. The local NPR station was droning on about the situation in Africa, and Mom was finishing making my lunch.
"I told you that you didn't need to do that," I said, smiling with the knowledge that she was going to ignore me.
Mom smiled back, her dark eyes flashing, "You are on your own tomorrow, Dale, but you know I always make lunch on the first day of school."
"I know, Mom, and thanks," I said, pouring myself a cup of coffee and a bowl of Cheerios.
"So, senior year," my dad said, and he waited for my response.
"Yep," I replied, "I guess this is the last year that Mom will have to make my 'first day of school' lunch."
Dad laughed. "Don't bet against her getting something to your dorm next year."
I looked at Mom, and there was a devious look in her eyes. I wouldn't put it past her, actually.
We ate in silence after that, for the most part, listening to the news and slurping our cereal. Dad looked at his watch and said, "Ready?"
I stood up, took our dishes to the sink, grabbed my backpack and headed out to the car. Ever since I got my license, I dropped Dad off at his office in town before driving to school. It was a good arrangement, and it allowed me to have a car to get me home after school, and gave me a little freedom. Either Mom or I would pick him up at the end of the day, unless he got the crazy idea to walk home from town, which happened about once every six months, and usually ended with his complaining about how much his feet hurt.
Dad's only rules were that I had to pay for gas and he got to choose the music while he was in the car, which seemed pretty fair. His musical tastes weren't bad, for a dad. As we drove through our neat suburban neighborhood into the small downtown of Farston, we made small talk. Sports, mostly, and school. I pulled up in front of the three story brick building on the corner of Main and Collins that housed his office. "Good luck," he said, as he grabbed his briefcase and slid out the door.
"You too," I said, like I did most every school day, before pulling away from the curb and heading down Main, past the few stores, the bank and post office that made up Farston, toward the school campus. I was a bit early, so the student lot was almost empty, and I could park anywhere. I recognized pretty much every car in the lot, so I knew that Larry was already there, but, as usual, Albert was not. I grabbed my backpack, locked the car and headed into the school, passing into the "New Wing," that had been built in 1978, nodding at people in the hall, before finding my homeroom in the original school building, that dated from the turn of the last century, and which both my parents, and all four of my grandparents, had graduated from.
I walked into homeroom, said hello to Ms. Walker, who had been my freshman English teacher, and asked if there was assigned seating. Ms. Walker was young, and not bad looking, and had a subtle sense of humor. She told me that it was senior year, and I could sit anywhere, so I found a seat a few rows back and a few rows from the door. Not the front row, not the back row, and not dead center. It was where I liked to sit. I said hello to Nicole Lawrence, sitting in her usual front row seat, nodded to Sal Clarke, in the back row, whose eyes were barely open, and gave a half wave to Erika Fletcher, the first girl I ever kissed back in eighth grade, and who I had said about a dozen words to since, before sitting down. The room began to fill with a selection of the usual characters, some of whom acknowledged me, and some who didn't. I waited for another school year to start.
And then, something actually happened.
A new girl walked in the room, looking uneasy and out of place. A pretty girl, clearly. She was tall, with long blonde hair pulled back in a severe pony tail. She was wearing jeans and a blue shirt, not overly tight, but tight enough to make it clear that she had a good body. I could sense the general hubbub in the room get softer as everyone began to size up the stranger. I noticed immediately that some of the guys stood up straighter and some of the girls tried to fluff their hair.
I saw Ms. Walker look at her book, and then she said to the new girl, "You must be Rose Hicks." The girl nodded shyly. "I'm Ms. Walker, your homeroom teacher, welcome to Farston High, you can sit anywhere that's open."
"Thanks," she said softly before finding a seat in the second row, a few rows away from me. As I looked at her more, I realized that she was actually quite pretty, even without trying too hard, and I knew that this would give us all something new to talk about, at least for a few days, until we got used to her.
The bell rang, and Ms. Walker welcomed us to senior year, handed us our locker assignments and combinations, made a few announcements, explained a few minor rule changes that seemed both unnecessary and random, and the bell rang. Senior year was on. I found my locker, pleased that it was convenient to my classes unlike last year, stashed a few things from my backpack and headed off to first period, where I was happy to see Larry and Albert. It was what I expected, as was second period.
However, on my way to third period, I was approached by Mr. Garner, the principal. I knew that I couldn't have done anything wrong yet, and was surprised when he asked me to come to his office right at the beginning of lunch period. He didn't say why, but he assured me that I was in no trouble. I'm generally the type that stays out of trouble, but I'm not a complete stranger to the detention room, but usually for dumb, pranky stuff, not anything mean or malicious. I noticed the new girl in my third period English class, but other than that, it was unremarkable, and when the bell rang, I went to Mr. Garner's office. Myra, his secretary, greeted me, wished me luck in my senior year, and sent me into the office.
I was surprised to see Erika there, along with Marsha Patterson, our class president from last year, and Sam Cruz, the editor of the school newspaper. We nervously greeted each other and waited for Mr. G to tell us what the fuck was going on.
"Some of you may know that we have a new student in your class this year, Rose Hicks." Erika and I nodded. "I asked you in here because you are good kids, who have some influence with your classmates." I wasn't sure that I was really so influential, but I figured he knew what he was doing. "Anyway," the principal continued, "Rose has gone through some tough stuff in her life, and is here because she and her family want a quiet place where she can go to school, make some friends and be left alone."
Marsha, who had been pushy since she took everyone's crayons in kindergarten, interrupted and said, "What d'you expect us to do?"
Mr. G smiled and said, "I just want her to have an easy time here, and I figured that you four could help it to happen, without making it too obvious."
I thought that was pretty clever, actually, and was musing on how sometimes grownups can surprise us, when Sam asked, "What happened to her?"
Mr. G's face clouded. "I can't tell you. You just have to trust me." He paused before continuing, "Sam, I know that you want to be a reporter, but I'm asking you to exercise discretion here. Don't do anything without the facts, or one of your classmates and her family will be hurt."
I could see the wheels turning in Sam's brain. "Are they in the witness protection program?" he asked.
