In reply to Jack Sharpe (msg # 22):

Junita shrugs.  "Special's eight.  Two'd be sixteen.  Coke is a dollar more.  I can put in the order for the second one once I bring you your plate.  That way it'll stay hotter longer."

The big guy seems a bit surprised at first.  Then he looks down at the class schedule.  "You could see this?  You got great vision."

He nods.  "Yeah.  I'm Dan Cabbrizi."  He says that like you'll know who he is.  After a moment he shakes his head.  "You really aren't from around here, huh?  You just starting?  If you got your schedule, I can give you a heads up as to which teacher is gonna be a pain in the ass."  He picks up his drink.  Under his breath you can hear him mutter to himself.  "I've had 'em all enough times."

Jack will have to take English, World History, a foreign language, math of your choosing, and two electives of your choosing.  He doesn't have to take a PE class unless that's one of the electives you pick.  For electives, make one a science and the other your call.  Just something you'd see offered in a public high school.

I'll add the instructors names once I have the class list.  Thanks.

“Skip the Coke then so that I can give you at least a little tip, I have exactly seventeen,” Jack says to the woman so that she can adjust the order and not bill him for the Coke. He feels selfish for asking for it. He doesn’t need it. The food would have been enough flavor to feel like a treat. Looking after the woman for a moment longer, he pulls out the last of his seventeen from the exchange with Emily’s Boutique, and puts it on the counter for the waitress to take at her leisure.

Turning his attention then, fully, to Dan Cabrizi he notices the way the boy says it, and the mention of ‘had them all enough times.’

“I just moved here from Saint Cloud,” he answers, not going into the whole detail about him having been home schooled, that his mother was a genius, that his father was someone he hardly knew, or anything about himself. “Jack Sharpe.”

It doesn’t take him a second to recall the classes, their order, the time of day, the room he is going to, but the idea of knowing their teaching style and attitude might relieve some of the stress of being new. Taking a breath, he recites: “Advanced world history, Chinese, pre-calc, English, advanced physics and uh..” he threw in a bit of a pause there so that he didn’t seem too unnaturally capable of recollection, “Meta studies? Something like that? It was an elective.”

Turning his attention back to Juanita, he watches her for a second and then looks back to Dan.

“What about you?” he asks, looking at the sheet in his hands.

In reply to Jack Sharpe (msg # 24):

"You AP?  Sounds like it."  Dan sighs.  "Let's see.  If you got  Advanced World Civ you probably got Mr. Calico.  His tests are pretty straight forward.  Read the book and you're fine.  It's the project with him you have to watch out for.  Year long research paper.  Usually you have to go over to the University to find the sources.  And he grades tough on it.  So you probably wanna start thinking about it now.  It'll be the majority of your grade.

"Chinese?  Okay.  I didn't even know that was offered.  But I bet Mrs. Zhao is teaching that.  Nice lady.  Really smart.  She makes awesome dumplings.  She'll bring 'em in for end of the year party.  Well worth it.  I actually had her for World Civ."  He sighs and takes a drink.  Again a mutter under his breath.  _{"Only reason I passed it."}

He shakes his head.  "Let's see.  Pre-calc.  Pre-calc.  I bet you get Ms...or is it Missus now?..Anyway, I bet you get Ms. Deacon.  She like student taught here a couple of years ago.  But she's a math whiz apparently.  So they kept her on.  She teaches most of the advanced math classes now.  Expect a quiz every Friday.  I mean every Friday.  She's tough but...well.  She does know her stuff."

He scowls.  "I hope you didn't get Mrs. Whitefalls for English."  You did.  Dan makes a moaning sound.  "Bitch on wheels man.  Bitch.  On.  Wheels. Her tests are nuts.  And you have two big writing assignments with her.  One due before the Christmas break and one due after spring break.  And they are both nuts.  The first one is usually an opinion essay.  You have to pick a debate topic and write about one side.  The problem is they're all really political topics.  And if you don't argue the one she supports, she just covers your paper with red ink.

"The spring break paper is even worse.  You have to talk about a particular poet.  And it's not gonna be like Robert Frost or Emily Dickinson.  Oh no.  She's gonna assign you like E E Cummings or Lawrence fuckin' Ferlinghetti.  You ever even heard of him?

"Her final is a nut buster too.  Make sure you save every note you take during the year man.  Best advice I can give ya."

Your food arrives as does his.  Juanita gets you set up with anything you need and sweeps up the money, setting down a glass of coke in it's place.  She winks at you.  "I put in your to go order.  Take your time."

The sandwich is great.  The bread tastes really fresh.  The soup is phenomenal.

Dan has some tomato sauce on his face.  He wipes it off with a napkin.  "Physics huh?  I always took biology.  I bet you got Mr. Spriggins, huh?  Yeah.  He's a nice guy.  But man is he dull.  I mean duller than dishwater dull.  Read the book.  Everyone I heard talk about him says his tests come right outta the book.  Though now that I think about it, he takes his classes to the University once or twice for some kinda field day.  Like I said.  I always took biology.  So I don't know much about it.

"Meta studies?  Oh wait.  I bet that's the new Sociology class.  I heard someone talk about it...well."  He shrugs and tears his dinner roll apart, using it to wipe up the sauce and cheese left in the bowl he's cleared of Beef 'n Noodle hot dish.  "If it is, you'll have Mr. Casey.  He teaches the psych and sociology courses.  Think he also teaches a section of American Civ.  Anyway.  He is actually a meta.  But he's a normie," Dan adds, using the slang for a meta who doesn't use their powers and just tries to live a normal life.  Whatever that is.

"I don't know what to tell you on that one.  Mr. Casey's a decent enough guy I guess.  But I only know him slightly.  He always does the yearly inclusivity assembly.  Cos...you know...he's got ears like a rabbit."  Dan shrugs.  He looks you over.  "You gonna go out for one of the sports teams?"

“Thanks, Juanita.”

Jack had had to take a few tests and was placed accordingly. Aunt Marlene had insisted that he go to school, and not continue home schooling, and he was happy for it. It had just meant a few days of testing. As expected, he didn’t do the best in English and its associated humanities type classes, they were too much about feelings and interpretations. While he can appreciate that sort of thing, he has no knack for it like he does for facts and data. He can consume information and remember it, all of it. Knowing all of the lines to Shakespeare is a neat trick, understanding the metaphors is another.

He could read books and simply adapt other's interpretations--and that might get him past many classes. But his own feelings were not the sort of thing he could simply just draw from the well of his memory at will.

It was actual work.

Listening to Dan talk about each teacher in turn, he nods his head making mental notes. He’d remember it all either way, but it helped to parse things with mental notes. For the most part, the only things he ends up making real mental reminders to himself for are the problem teacher, and how to approach her class. Notably, to try to argue from her point of view, he’d have to be charming to get that angle from her, and the point about the poet.

“No, never heard of him,” he answers with a snort at the explanation, now eating his sandwich and soup alternatingly. Sipping at his Coke from time to time.

“Spriggins, yeah, sounds familiar,” he confirms when he is essentially asked for verification.

The point about Mr. Casey having rabbit ears makes his attention perk up, but he doesn’t say anything. He was apparently interested enough in the topic to have taken it as an elective, so that speaks a bit to his interest, but he’d never met anyone else like him. His mother might technically qualify, and he has no idea about his father. He sort of hopes she doesn't. It'd make her prison stay a different one than it would otherwise.

The question about the sports team earns a slight shake of the head. “Screwed up my knee just enough that if I get hit again from the right angle, I’ll be walking with a limp for a few years, so that rules out all the sports that are fun. I could do track, maybe,” he remarks and seems to be giving it a serious thinking. He isn’t though. Eventually he’d have to have a blood test, and well, he can’t do that.  He's a good actor, and he'd worked with this sort of lie enough in the past that it comes easily to him.

He'd remember the same lie for others at school, if asked.

It would be a common question, given how he is built.

"How about you? You sort of have a wrestler vibe to you,"  he remarks.
This message was last edited by the player at 06:30, Sat 30 Nov 2019.

In reply to Jack Sharpe (msg # 26):

Dan's quiet a minute.  "I used to play football.  But I don't anymore."

He lays some cash on the counter and stands, finishing off his drink.  "Well.  It was nice to meet you Jack.  Maybe we'll see each other around."

Juanita takes your plate when you're done and cleans up, taking Dan's money as well.  She shakes her head.  "Hope you an' Dan can get along.  All those things people say about him are just bunk if you ask me.  He's always been a good guy.  Your to go is ready honey.  You need anything else?"

Jack gets the impression that the matter of football is a sore subject, but then he has to wonder why Dan had brought up sports. Perhaps Dan was the sort who just lacked the foresight to know that it was the natural evolution of the conversation. Finishing off his drink and the last of his philly, his soup isn’t quite polished off, but he has enjoyed the taste enough to feel like he doesn’t need to enjoy it any more.

“Yeah, see you around dude,” he throws a parting wave over his shoulder and hopes that Dan is as cordial in school as he is here. Friends are good.

Turning his attention to Juanita, he watches her as she busses the plates, and then with a spared glance to make sure Dan has left, he asks, “I’m not a gossip, but what is it that people say about him that’s wrong?”

With whatever answer she might give, and Sol’s lunch in a bag, he bids Juanita goodbye, and mentions that he plans to drop by from time to time. Complimentary as he can be.

And he starts back along the sidewalk, taking the route back. Perhaps cutting across the park or checking out the area a bit more as he does, to get a feel for the layout of things and any other businesses. But he doesn’t spend too long at it. He has to drop off Sol’s food before he does anything else.

The plan for the rest of the day? Not much. He has school starting in two days, and he isn’t about to get bogged down in research into the Monkey when he only has a few last days of freedom.

In reply to Jack Sharpe (msg # 28):

"There's a lot of stories.  And since I don't know what's what about any of them, I won't repeat them.  But I will tell you Dan has had a lot of trouble in school.  He's a smart kid.  Good at sports.  His sophmore year he made first string for the team.  And he really earned it.  Played great.  I heard he always had good grades.  Everyone liked him.  Just kind of an all around good kid.

"Then his junior year things fell apart for him.  He ended up failing some classes and having to take summer school.  Last year was supposed to be his senior year.  But he failed again.  And this time it was so bad, summer school wasn't gonna fix it.  He's having to redo his whole year.

"Starting his junior year, some colleges were already scouting him.  But with failing this last year, all hopes of a scholarship are gone.  It's worse cos his dad is the vice principal at the school.  So...yeah."  Juanita finishes wiping the counter and sighs.

"I don't know what happened.  It's not drugs.  I've known that kid for ages and he's not one to do such.  And...well.  He's not living at home anymore.  Anyway.  If you can, be a friend to him please.  He really needs all the ones he can get."

---

The park seems nice.  There are people around and they seem to be enjoying themselves.  So it seems safe enough.

On the way back, you see a few spots that might be of interest:

Dixon's Coffee House.  It looks like a neighborhood brewery.  The customers appear to be of all ages and backgrounds.  Country music is playing on the speakers.  Not the newer poppy stuff, but the older "I just shot Momma now I gotta go down by the railroad tracks" type stuff.  Johnny Cash.  Hank Williams.  Patsy Cline.

Yellow Kings.  It looks like some kind of used book store.  Maybe a comic book shop, but it seems to have a lot of regular print books as well.

The Swing By Inn.  From the looks of it, this used to be an old style motor lodge like from the 1950s.  But now it looks like low rent housing.  What catches your eye, or in this case your ear, is there seem to be a lot of conversations in what you think might be Russian going on in there.  And it doesn't sound like it's from one room either.  They seem to be coming from several different rooms.

---

"Aw kid.  You didn't have to!"  Sol says that, but he seems quite pleased.  Especially by the soup.  "Ah!  I don't know how they make simple tomato soup taste so good.  You would think it'd be canned.  You wanna Fresca?"

Anything else you want to do this afternoon?  Or are we ready for school?  Thanks. 

Listening to the tale of Dan Cabrizzi as best as Juanita can hedge around the issues, Jack had to wonder what would make someone fall apart academically like that. To him, it sounds like the guy needs to see a therapist and work through some problems, but people are complex machines. He could guess all day at causes and be wrong in all but the one case.

“I see, thanks.”

The various shops and the inn all earn their brief examinations from afar, but he doesn’t really make any plans for any of them but the Yellow Kings. He’s curious what sort of information they can provide to a young meta. That said, he continues on to Sol’s.

“Basil?” he questions when the man wonders at the improved taste. Not really sure himself. He’s certain he can smell differences between the store bought canned tomato soup and Ray J’s. But he can’t identify the individual ingredients, he just isn’t schooled in that sort of thing.

“No thanks, Sol. I just wanted to drop it off, show you my new shoes,” he mentions and twists his ankle from side to side. “By the way, do you know anything about those BE kids?” he asks.

I think we can go to school.

In reply to Jack Sharpe (msg # 30):

Sol seems to know instantly who you're talking about.  "Those kids who look like they stepped outta an episode of Leave It To Beaver?  Sorry.  Probably a reference before your time.

"Yeah, I've seen 'em around.  They're...nice.  Maybe a little Stepford Wivish.  Oh.  That's probably a reference you won't get either, huh?  Well.  Your generation has the Google. So you'll figure out what I mean."

---

"So you sure you got everything?" Aunt Marlene smears some more sour cherry preserves on her english muffin and takes a bite.  She bites and chews in a very precise way.

She got you up today at the time she gets up.  Not that you probably weren't awake anyway.  But it seemed to make her feel better.  That, even though it's an hour and a half before you would need to head out the door, she got you up for school.

"Okay.  I'm gonna be late today.  So make yourself a sandwich when you get home.  I stored up on cold cuts.  You got your registration and everything?  Oh jeez.  I gotta get.  Dr. Salmon has an early staff meeting scheduled."  Marlene is an administrator over at the University.  She has something to do with the finance office, but what her exact role is you aren't sure.  After you moved in, you would usually only see her a few hours in the evening when she got home.

You could catch a public bus to Thomas Edison.  But it's within walking distance and, according to Aunt Marlene and Sol, it's quicker to walk than take a bus in Minneapolis.

"If you have to take a bus, like when it gets real cold, plan for it to take at least an hour.  Even if you're just goin' seven blocks one way or the other.  I swear it's a mess," Sol opined.

It will be about a fifteen minute walk if you want to go that way.  IF you want to take the bus, it will probably take twenty minutes despite what Sol and Marlene said.

There is a school bus too.  But the directions on where the stop are were kind of vague.  You can hunt around for it if you want.

That was the second time someone had said that about the BE kids. The Stepford Wives thing. He would have to look it up now. He’d also just have to Google the BE kids themselves, since apparently nobody had the details. Some inner part of him, the part that aspired to becoming a cape, that part of him was constantly looking at events and trying to see the Meta behind it. Was this something Meta? A cult? A bunch of people who were secretly aliens or robots or ninjas? Or all of the above?

“Ah thanks, Sol.”

---

Jack had laid down as soon as he’d heard his aunt start moving for her morning routine, crawling under his covers and feigning that he’d been asleep. He nods his head and blinks languorously, like he’d practiced a hundred times, and rubs at the sleep in his eyes. Yawning forcefully as he sits up, rubbing at the taut muscles in his abdomen. “I can use the alarm on my phone,” he mentions as he climbs to his feet and sets to putting on the clothes he’d laid out the day before.

His bag had been packed and re-packed with everything where he’d want it to be. Weight was obviously not an issue, it was more of an issue of volume and having everything he’d want for his first day.

A pack of pencils, a pack of gel-pens that he would never share, because gel pens are life, a TI-81 calculator for whatever math classes, some extra erasers, a highlighter, a college-ruled five-subject notebook and a handful of folders in a binder. He had also gotten a nice little lock for his locker, that’s where he’d keep the books he didn’t have homework for. The biggest advantage of not sleeping much is the excess time to plan. The biggest drawback of not sleeping much? Excess boredom.

“I packed and double checked it last night before I went to sleep, I have everything,” he replies casually, not looking nearly as stressed as she seems to be feeling. He’s nervous about the social aspects of school, and making the right impression, not about having all of his supplies and registration set up.

Putting on the hoodie he’d gotten from Sol, and his hat and new shoes, he feels that he looks properly weather-resistant.

Walking out the door, he is still debating whether to take the bus as he walks out. Locking the door behind him. Turning a glance in the directions he’d thought the bus stop might be, he tries to spot it through the intervening distance. The only reason he’d ride the bus today? Cute girls.

Barring that, he would hoof it. It’s not like he had to worry about getting tired, and he could give the bus a shot once he had an idea of the others who rode.

In reply to Jack Sharpe (msg # 32):

I'm assuming you either know what the Stepford Wives are or can Google it yourself.  Jack can readily find the information.  I agree with him completely about gel pens.

There isn't anything about the BEs online.  A couple of comments on some chat boards, but mostly by people like you or Sol or the Pizza Lady who just find something off about them.  Nothing about who they are or where they come from.

---

As you step out the door, you look carefully.  The public bus stop is up one block north.  Two older women, both who look like middle aged moms, and a heavyset man are waiting for the bus.

Where you think the school bus stop is has two people standing at it.  They are both around your age, maybe a year younger.  Boy and girl.  You would guess they are siblings.  There is a familial resemblance around the eyes and nose.  They are both either light skinned African Americans or possibly Middle Eastern.  She has a cute figure.  A couple of tattoos visible on her lower arm.  Piercing through the side of the nose.  Beautiful eyes.  Their conversation bears out their siblings:  they seem to be arguing over something to do with their mother.

You can see a few clumps of people that are obviously walking to school.  There are two groups nearby.

One is a group of three guys walking up the south side of 5th Street.  They all appear to be the same age group as you.  They're dressed similarly to you in that they wear hoodies.  Though they're hoodies have that 'psycho bunny' logo or a Nike logo on it.  They seem to be talking about some kind of game they've all been playing lately.

There is a girl as well walking by herself, going north on 4th Avenue SE.  She is pale with what appears to be straw colored hair peeking out from under  a knit cap.  A little on the skinny side maybe.  She's clutching the strap on her backpack and muttering "Ma saan seda teha." over and over under her breath.  English doesn't appear to be her first language.  It sounds like the language you heard from the Swing By Inn, which would be in the direction she came from.

There is one other group further out.  If you wait five minutes, they should be walking past your side of the street.  Two girls.  Both with olive skin and lovely green eyes.  Twins?  Maybe.  They are quiet and after a while one says to the other,

"Did Dad say he was gonna be late tonight?"

The other girl nods.

They keep walking in silence.

Jack decides he isn’t going to necessarily bug any of these people by inserting himself into their conversations, since they all seem to be moving and walking and talking together. He will remember the guys as video game players, and that the girl with the knit cap speaks Russian or whatever it is, and seeming a touch crazy. The twins also get a look, but he isn’t about to intrude on that group either. The only one who seems to be alone is the girl talking to herself, and while he wants to see if he can’t help her since she seems to be unraveling, he doesn’t necessarily want to go jogging up to her on his first day.

The location of the bus stop is noted, and he gives it a long thought. Noticing the tattoos on the girl’s arm he’s a bit surprised. She looks fifteen or sixteen and has tattoos? Jack wonders whether her parents must be rather open to ideas, or she’s got a friend who does them?

Having learned a bit about his neighbors and fellow students in the surrounding blocks and neighborhoods, whether for his high school or not, he starts off at a casual, albeit not entirely slow, pace towards Thomas Edison. Looking at his phone while he walks, he reads the morning news and checks his favorite subreddits. In particular those dedicated to metas. Making note of the continued speculation about the various goings on of meta folk and their various crimes and tribulations.

His eyes able to handle the task of walking and reading rather exceptionally.

Coming to a stop at the first real intersection, he gently taps the button for the crosswalk with his elbow and glances up from his phone again, looking around, getting a sense of things before he resumes his journey.

In reply to Jack Sharpe (msg # 34):

Your walk if pretty uneventful.  The temperature in Minneapolis is already on that decline towards hardcore winter.  But that's the joys of living in Minnesota.

You arrive at school in plenty of time.  Counselors with armbands are there to meet new students, mostly freshmen, at the door.  You join a line to talk to one.  She tells you how to get to your first period class and gives you a map of the school.  It's the one that was online, which  you've already memorized.  You'll get your student handbook and locker assignment during your first period class.  In your case that's World History with Mr. Calico.

Second floor.  Room 248.  That's at the other end of the school from the main entrance.  Depending on where your locker is, it might be better to enter through the back lot.  From what you can see, this school is pretty crowded.  The hallways are packed as tightly as pictures you've seen of New York subway cars during rush hour.  Navigating them should be interesting.

You join the throng waiting to head up the main stairs.  As you do, you see Dan Cabrizi arriving.  He walks in without looking around him and turns down the main first floor hall.  You notice a lot of people look after him.  A few snicker.  A couple shake their heads.

"He actually showed up.  Must have balls made outta brass."

"I heard he got an attorney and threatened to sue if they didn't let him come back."

"Now we got two Old Man Cabrizi's here.  What a fucktard."

The comments about Dan mostly run along those lines.

Then you hear one voice that says, "Soup's on!"  It's a weird voice.  Maybe someone talking over a cell phone speaker that had a bad connection.  It sounded a little echoey.

It takes six minues...two minutes of which was just getting through the hallway traffic...to get to Room 248.  You walk in.

Whoever Mr. Calico is, he's not here yet.  There's a large desk at the front of the room.  A couple of world maps are hung on large stands on each side of a white board.  On the white board, in big block letters, is written SEE SEATING ASSIGNMENT CHART BELOW.  TAKE A SEAT.  WILL BE BACK SOON

There aren't many other people here yet.  A couple of guys and a girl seated in different areas of the room.  None of them are looking at you.  They mostly seem interested in their phones.

Your seat is fifth one back third row over.  Not quite the back row, but pretty close.  The desk isn't new.  It's been scrubbed clean, but there are various slogans carved into the desk top.  Many of them have spelling mistakes in the etched words.

As you situate yourself, in walks the Maybe-Russian-Girl.  She looks around, reads the board and checks the chart.  She then walks down the fourth row until she stops at the fourth seat.  She sets her backpack on the desktop.

She gives you a small smile and nods, then sits down, taking off her knitted cap.  Her hair is straw colored and hangs down to her shoulders.  You hear her mutter, "Okay..." under her breath as she takes out a notepad and pen from her backpack and then hangs the backpack on the slate of her chair.

She looks around.  The two of you are the only ones in this area. And the only two not on cell phones.  She looks back at you.  Again the small smile.  "Uhm...Hi.  I'm Darja Tamm."

Her English isn't bad.  But she definitely has an accent.

Standing in line to talk with the guidance counselors, Jack looks at the other students. He feels a touch obviously meta. He’s roughly a year older than the Freshmen, one would assume, but his muscular build, the width of his shoulders, the height difference. The clear quality of his skin so smooth and bordering on poreless, and the unnatural color of his eyes. Looking in a mirror, he can’t see anything but the differences between him and normal people. His features having a perfect symmetry.

Jack isn’t beautiful because of some gorgeous nose and high cheek bones and a strong jawline- though he has those things, he’s different in that he has no flaws. He’s what might be called a Platonic Ideal. Nothing is out of place, no freckles, no sun damage, his cuticles are all exactly the way they should be, his hair is all smooth and thick, his teeth are as naturally white as white can be without looking unnaturally bleached.

But it’s his eyes that he knows are the biggest giveaway. He can try to hide them with sunglasses, which he often does, but their coloring is so bright and absolutely blue, that he cannot but think that he’s obvious.

But he isn’t. Nobody pays him too much attention.

He’s just another kid wearing a hoodie as he walks through the hall, his notes received from the counselor, the pieces of paper in hand, his backpack slung over his shoulder.

Checking his mental notes as he walks through the crowd, Jack pays attention to people around him and does his best not to shove against anyone as he moves his way along. Finding the arteries of traffick that tend to form in these situations and sticking with the crowd as it moves.  The mental notes, previous conversation aside, are a basic set: Mr. Calico, World History: straight forward tests. Read the book. Year long research paper. Do it early. Room 248.

Noticing Dan he might have said hello, but the other guy doesn’t even come close, so he keeps his attention on his destination. The comments about the older student making him wonder a touch, but he’s not really sure what he can do with all of that.

The weirdest of the random things he hears is the comment about soup, so much so that he momentarily considers taking a moment to look for the source of the sound. Just to solve a puzzle.

Looking at the seating chart, he glances over all of the names, putting them into his memory for later. In case he wants to know who someone is, and takes a seat, putting his backpack into the rack under the chair, he pulls out his notebook, a binder, and a pack of pencils. Pencils in hand, he is standing up when Darja looks back at him, and he smiles back at her. “Hey, I’m Jack. Nice to meet you Darja, where is your name from?” he asks.

Putting the pack of unsharpened pencils back in his bag, he pulls out the pack of gel pens and draws one out of the packaging. Neatly opening the hardy plastic with a single motion of his fingernail, not really thinking about it.

The most unnatural thing he might do all day.

In reply to Jack Sharpe (msg # 36):

Darja starts a little when you ask the question.  Maybe she wasn't expecting anyone to ask.  "Oh...It's Estonian.  I"m from Estonia."  She chuckles.  "Sorry.  I feel a little nervous. I'm not used to talking in English so much to people outside my family.  So sorry if I make a mistake."

She smiles again and looks around.  "I'm sorry to ask.  But is this school always so crowded?  We...uhm...My family.  We just moved here a few weeks ago.  So I'm not quite used to going to a school this...large."

“Estonia? That’s cool, what brings you here? Don’t worry about it, most people here only speak the one language so they can get over it,” Jack suggests, being positive and finishes peeling open the package of gel pens. Pulling out the three, he tucks the two he isn’t going to be using in the outside pocket of the bag and peels the little nub of sealing plastic off the tip of the point. A few quick words are jotted at the top of the page:

Mr. Calico. World History, room 248.

“I’m new here too, so I don’t know. I don’t know of any recent closures or anything that’d force more people here, but I don’t keep up on news like that. But my guess is that you should get used to it, yeah,” he answers and smiles a bit more.

Darja Tamm. Pale, a touch skinny with straw colored hair. Estonian. Which means the language spoken by the people at the Swing by Inn had been Estonian.

In reply to Jack Sharpe (msg # 38):

"Oh.  My family just moved here this summer. My Father retired.  He's American."

She nods at your opinion about the school population.  "Okay.  Thanks."  She follows your lead and starts to set up her desk as well.

A few more students trickle in.  Then, about two minutes before the bell rings, a whole slew comes through the door.  Among them is a short man, probably in his late forties, with a small patch of thin, graying hair atop his almost perfectly shaped, spherical head.  "Let's settle down people.  For those who may not know me, I'm Mr. Calico.  And this is World History.  Advanced Placement.  Now I know most of you only care about your locker assignments.  But first things first.  Let's talk about the class."

He hands out a syllabus.  It's pretty much what Dan told you.  Calico seems to be pretty methodical in his teaching style.  You can tell that right off the bat.  The paper is detailed  in the syllabus, and again Dan's summation is right on the money.  The topic will be assigned by Calico.  Also, you'll be expected to use the University's library to complete the paper.  Apparently the University library offers a class on how to use it's resources for research.  The class is free to the public and offered the first Saturday of each month.  Calico strongly advises you all to plan to attend at least one session.

Calico hands out your text book.  A World In Motion.  Skimming it and the syllabus, it seems like this class will cover actual world history and not just European.

Calico turns to the student handbook.  Most of the class tunes him out.  You and Darja are the only two taking any kind of notes at this point.  Seems like you two may be the only two new students in this class.

A few minutes before the end of class, Calico hands out your locker assignment.  Locker 1022.  From the map, it would probably be on the first floor, right under this class room.  It's also right outside the area your fourth and sixth period classes will be.  In fact, other than your fifth period class, all of your classes are in this end of the building.  They only vary by floor.

As the bell rings, Darja looks back at you and smiles.  "Have a good day."

---

The lockers are pretty narrow.  As you look in to locker 1022, you doubt you could fit much more than your books and maybe a jacket.  School lockers on TV always look so much bigger.

"You're in the way."  The voice is right behind you.  Looking back, you see the girl from the bus stop standing behind you.  She stares back at you and then points to locker 1021.  "I need to get to my locker.  Now. Please."

From the way she stares at you, it's obvious the please is just perfunctory.

Chinese is the next class up.  It's down the hall in room 19.

We'll be jumping through a couple of classes in a bit.  Just wanted to see how Jack handles this bit.  Thanks.
This message was last edited by the GM at 08:10, Sat 07 Dec 2019.

Interesting. Jack had to wonder if there were other Estonians or the outburst foreign of language at the Swing by Inn had been other groups from other countries. And if they’d retired, why live at a motel? That was a strange choice. One usually retired when firmly secure financially, and the Swing by Inn did not strike him as the sort of place a person moved when financially secure.

“No problem.”

Looking at everyone as they come in, Jack summons to mind the seating chart and puts names to faces. Since that’s a useful thing to do, and looks at Mr. Calico. The man looks like a teacher, and when he instructs, he sounds like a teacher. Listening to the expectations, he does take a few notes, but to be fair, Jack doesn’t take normal notes.

He doesn’t record facts or data, since those things end up easily recalled when he needs them. He mostly records things he needs to do, like say, ‘Read the full syllabus, student handbook and textbook.’ ‘Visit university library.’ He doesn’t make any mental plans or a note about attending the offered class, not that he’d mind hearing what they had to say, and if he were bored, he might just do that, but he is fairly certain he can figure it out.

That and he’s fairly certain he can just ask a librarian for help if he can’t seem to figure something out.  Right?

Thinking about the project he’ll need to do, he also writes down, ‘Get books on topic as soon as available, in case they’re picked over by the time it comes to write the paper.’

"See ya later."

---

Looking at the locker number, he nods to himself and proceeds to the nearest stairwell. Looking at the locker for a moment, he decides not to throw his book in there, not until he has had a chance to read and by proxy, memorize it. He’ll always crush classes that test for information retention. It’s classes that require creativity that tax him.

In the midst of his thinking about how he’d be attacking classwork in as methodical a way possible that someone speaks to him.

Turning in place, he looks down at her and then moves to the side. He makes a Vanna White gesture towards her locker, and slides away like a matador, moving off in the direction of Chinese, with a parting, "All yours," thrown her way. He of course, is keenly aware it’s the girl from the bus stop, but she’d think he was creepy if he noticed that. That’s something he’d learned early in life. Nobody liked the guy who remembered every face they saw from across a parking lot.

‘Oh hey, I saw you walking out of that office on 3rd street six weeks ago!’ is not a good conversational opener. It makes it seem like one is paying too much attention. Stalker like. Or as his generation likes to say, 'Creeper.'

In reply to Jack Sharpe (msg # 40):

Mrs. Zhao reminds you of a content grandmother, even though she's probably only in her 40s.  And no matter what she is saying or doing, it's like she's smiling happily while she does so.  Even after only twenty minutes in to the class, you can tell she's one of those teachers who loves to teach and is good at it.

Which is a good thing for the rest of your classmates.  Half the class are of oriental lineage.  Though it appears they are either native born Americans here to learn their cultural language or natives from another country who live here now and are familiar enough with Cantonese to figure they'll have an easy A.

There are three people in class who you guess are BEs.  Two guys and a girl.  They sit next to each other.  They are dressed like the group you saw the other day.  And most of the other students are giving them a wide berth.  Which seems to be fine with them.  They smile and nod politely at you and the others.  But they keep to themselves otherwise.

You will be expected to participate in a listening lab once a week.  The sign up sheet for the available hours are on a sheet on her desk.  You can go in during one  of your lunch periods, after school Monday through Wednesday, or for an hour before school any day of the school week.

Mrs. Zhao gets right in to it, going over basic salutations and greetings.  If what you're seeing here is any indication, you shouldn't have a problem with this class.

---

Ms. Deacon turns out to be Mrs. Hollister now.  She got married over the summer.

Her class is even more straight forward than Mrs. Zhao's.  As in the first two classes, with the exception of Darja, no one seems to pay you much attention.

Again, Dan's intel turns out to be pretty spot on.  No nonsense, Mrs. Hollister is very straightforward in her approach.  She even gives out homework the first night. You don't imagine you'll have any difficulties with this class.

---

As you stow away your Chinese and Pre-Calc books, you check your schedule.  Lunch.

The cafeteria is in the center of the school.  You could head there.  It does look like some students are taking sack lunches and eating out in one of the courtyards that dot the exterior of the school.  There are two nearby.  Or you could check out the library.  Or walk around.  It's a free period one way or the other.

While Jack appreciates Mrs. Zhao’s enthusiasm for her job, the amount of smiling that she does reminds him of the stuff he’d read about the Stepford Wives. He’s not a grumpy person by any means, but even he doesn’t smile that much! The Asian-Americans and the foreign born members of the class are all assessed in the same manner. He gives everyone an equal chance. Like a butcher looking at livestock, he finds himself assigning grades. Fruitlessly, perhaps, but when he isn’t paying the strictest attention to the teacher, it helps him to learn a bit about his fellow students.

As one might expect of a teenage boy with an active hormonal system, despite his oddities, he looks for cute girls. Paying attention to their names, looking to see if any of them notice him without staring himself, and of course, also paying attention to what sort of students they were and if they had any notable traits.

Like he had in all of the other classes, he sorts and decides who he would prefer not to associate with, namely those who seemed hateful and bullies. Those receiving a prompt F on his mental rubric. Cute girls are automatically salvaged from total failure, on the off-chance that they might be having a bad day. Those in the middle ground are further evaluated for scholastic aptitude, in case he ever needs a project partner.

Project partners are important.

When he notices the BE students early in the class, and is certain they are who he thought they were, he reminds himself to spend a few minutes browsing and perhaps even considering posting a few subreddit posts anonymously to inquire if anyone knew their “deal.” He briefly considers approaching them directly, but if that went sideways and they were some sort of aggressive cult, he didn’t want to risk the chance that he might be found out. His mom wouldn’t like that.

He adds a few lines to his notebook about the listening lab, and decides that he’ll try to focus on doing it on Mondays. Many students would put it off until later, as procrastination is ever tempting and he could beat them to it by just doing it immediately in the week.

---

Finding that Mrs. Hollister is as proficient and factual as Dan had suggested, Jack is happy, and makes sure to take the same sorts of notes. Mainly focusing on establishing a to-do list when he gets back.

---

Lunch on the schedule. Jack nods to himself and makes his way to the cafeteria. In the coming weeks, it was unlikely he’d continue to make his home in the most populous room in the school. His head would soon ache with all that noise, even now, almost deafening. But for now, he wanted to see what it was like, perhaps see if someone invited him to a spot to sit, find a few friends, etc.

Proceeding to the lunch-line, he scoops up a tray and makes sure to pay attention to any signs that direct him on how to handle the lunch line properly. He also looks for upper classmen, doing as others do.

In reply to Jack Sharpe (msg # 42):

The routine of the lunch line seems fairly straight forward.  The offerings are suprisingly extensive.  You notice no one touches the barbecue sandwiches. The cafeteria staff can barely keep up with the demand for the burritos and tater tots.   There are two hotdish offerings..well this is Minnesota.  They seem fairly well liked.

As you wait to pay, you go over the results of your observations thus far.

In terms of cute girls...there were a couple in Calico's class.  Darja would probably come in third or fourth.  Numbers one and two spent a lot of time in class fixing their make up or playing on their cell phones.  There was one other girl worth noting.  Not because she was cute.  Fairly plain actually.  But she seemed to pay very close attention.  Outside of yourself and Darja, she seemed the only one interested in everything Calico had to say.  Abigail Odom if the seating chart was correct.

Zhao's class...there were quite a few nice looking girls in there.  And it was an interesting mix.  Of the three classes you've had thus far, Chinese takes the prize in the good looking girls category.

As far as project partners, three students stood out.  The second cutest girl seemed to be very involved in the class.  You caught her making careful notes.  While Asian, she didn't look Chinese.  Maybe Filipino.

A guy sitting two seats ahead of you is also a likely candidate.  You could listen to him as he pronounced the words Zhao went over.  His first pass was poor.  His second pass was much better.  And his third time saying the word was as accurate as Zhao's was.  A white guy with glasses and red hair that was crew cut.

The last potential partner was a guy who sat in the far back corner.  You couldn't study him much by sight.  Turning around to look behind you during the lesson would have been sort of creepy.  But you could hear his pronunciation and it was spot on.  He may be a native speaker looking for the easy A.  From what little you saw of him, he was Asian with long hair tied carefully in a pony tail.

Hollister's class was mostly preppies.  Everyone seemed fairly competent.  But no one stood out as noteworthy.

You pay for your lunch and walk out into the tables.  A quick scan shows three people you recognize.

Dan is seated by himself at the far end of one of the tables closest to the door.

The Filipino girl is sitting with two friends not far away.

Abigail Odom is seated with a guy halfway between the two.  As you finish scanning, the guy says something to her and walks off.

I haven't forgotten your subreddits on the BEs.  I'll post those results after we're done with the school day. Thanks

Feeling a bit robotic as he goes over his options, Jack realizes that he is mentally being a bit too methodical. His gut isn’t involved, and he needs to also trust his gut here. But the rubric is useful and he can do that sort of thing while splitting his attention, due to how fast his mind works.  Considering things he retroactively decides to refine his girl choices a bit before making any romantic overtures of any sort, and that would require that he rubrics out all of his classes. He’d do that tonight while Aunt Marlene was sleeping.

Stopping at his locker to drop off his hoodie, Jack pre-emptively decides that he might benefit from not covering up his muscles so much. If he was going to get himself a girlfriend and make friends, he should be seen as a prize and his clothes were not going to convey that. He just looks poor if one looks only at his clothes. So, he just lets his arms and chest do the work of distracting from his ugly shoes and hand-me-down clothes.

---

Regarding the lines, Jack pays attention to the opinion of his fellow students. Looking at the barbecue sandwiches he makes his way towards the burritos. It’s not like he needs lunch, but if he’s going to try to be normal, he needs to look normal. Not just sit down with these people without anything on a tray. Though he feels like a bit of a lemming for doing it, since he could just not finish the food if he doesn’t like it. But at least for now, Jack wants to fit in. Be normal.

So, burritos it is. As he stands in line, thinking about his options of both a food and girl variety, he is also keenly aware that regardless of what he might choose, unlike the food choices, he might get rejected and while rejection wouldn’t really bother his ego he’d prefer not to be seen as the guy who gets rejected a lot. So his approach at this point in the year is going to be to more of a fishing expedition than a hunt. He needs to see if there is any interest at all, when he finally gets near any of the girls.

But not yet! He needs to stop trying to think of how to approach them. One or two days to have at least met and seen all of the girls in all of the classes, plus those outside the class, try to figure out basic personalities and interests, and then he’d start going down the list. Preferably he’d find a girl his type with a good nerdy personality and interests, that tended to be the sort he found most attractive. Not that he has a lot of (or any) experience with this sort of thing, he knew himself well enough to know that a well-shaped nerdy girl was his type.

Darja is the only one he’s even somewhat certain he wants to befriend at this point. The rest were just tentative friends for study purposes, like the red-head and the Chinese guy in Zhao’s class. He’d pay attention and figure out if they were his kind of people. Friendship optional, project partner likely. Then he’d sit by them if the option was there to move around.

All of that sorting itself in its head, he finally gets his burrito, some rice and beans, and a carton of chocolate milk and pays with cash.

Now, where to sit. The Fillipino girl (or whatever she might be) is a good option, and so is Abigail. Abigail because she was a good project partner, albeit not of the cutest variety possible. Dan is a poor choice. Jack doesn’t mind befriending the guy down on his luck, but not as an opening move. He’d wait until he’d secured himself at least a bit of credibility as a “cool guy” or whatever people might label him, and then he’d try to see if he couldn’t befriend Dan a bit more.

But in the end, he opts to sit near-ish to the Fillipino girl and her friends. Not because he wants to necessarily pursue her, but because she, like Abigail, Darja, and others, was also likely to be good to go to for notes and projects. It also would make her feel less like he was forcing his presence on her, since she had her friends.

He doesn’t sit so close that they should feel like he has inserted himself into their conversation, more that he has simply chosen to sit somewhere nearby. By himself.

And he starts to eat.

Thanks! I’m trying to channel a teenage boy who can think as fast, orderly and clearly as Jack does, but I’m worried I might be over doing it.  I might try to tone back how much I’m sharing, but I figure a few posts where we see his mentality, like the sort of girls who rate highest (cute top heavy nerdy girls) and what sort of things catch his eye are good to establish and then I’ll pull back on how much I share and just how he approaches.. That being said, I hope anyone who reads understands that I’m just trying to give an honest representation of condensed super-powered teenage boy thinking. :P
This message was last edited by the player at 07:39, Tue 10 Dec 2019.

In reply to Jack Sharpe (msg # 44):

I think the narrative is beautiful.  Jack is an interesting mix of awkward, calculating, and exuberant.  I love how he is so methodical about not really knowing what to do.  It's great.

Go at whatever speed you want. We're still in the groundwork stage.  Having said that...

As you eat, you notice the Filipino girl and her two friends casually look your way.  They huddle a little closer after they've all finished their burrito.

"Whaddya think?"

"He's kinda...too big maybe?"

"Oh?  So you already know how he's hung?"

The three of them start laughing.

"Seriously.  I mean yeah he's built.  But doesn't he seem a little..."

"...little?"

"Stiff."

There's a pause and then the two friends start laughing.  The Filipino girl seems to blush.  Her heart is beating rapidly.

"Really?  Now who's the one who's taking peeks inside his BVDs?"

"Shut up," the Filipino girl mutters, glancing your way without trying to be obvious about glancing.  "He'll hear us..."

"He can't hear us from over there."

"That is the guy from my Chinese class.  I think.  He ditched the hoodie."

"Ohhhhh!  Someone works fast!"

"Stop it."  The Filipino looks down at her hands.  "Carl is my man."

There's a moment of silence.

"Carl is your douche."

"She called it."

"Shut up."  With a last furitive glance in your direction, the Filipino girl picks up her tray.  "Bell's gonna ring in fifteen minutes.  I still need to check my locker."

The three get up and take their trays over to the garbage cans.

They are correct. Fourteen minutes now until next period's bell rings.

The burritos are in fact quite tasty.
This message was last edited by the GM at 01:58, Wed 11 Dec 2019.

Jack almost chokes, almost. Then he remembers he works differently from anyone else, and forms a seal around his mouth with his hand for a split second and forcibly exhales a lungful of air up towards his mouth, trapping the air there and also dislodging the piece of food that’d gone down the wrong tube. It looks just like he’d covered his mouth, but the process is suitably distract him from the blush that rises on his cheeks as he temporarily looks down and away from the girls, like he’s checking something on his pant’s pockets.

The comment about his posture does register and he realizes what she is talking about. He needs to slouch a little. Normal people can’t maintain a perfect posture 24/7. Note for later, not something to respond to now.

Between the three of them he does manage to learn that the Filipino girl, whose name he still doesn’t know, has a boyfriend that none of them is over-enthusiastic about. He also figures out that apparently taking off his hoody was the right move. He’ll have to remember to do that in the mornings in the future.

Taking off his hat, he reaches up a hand to smooth back his hair and gets up to put away his tray a few minutes after the girls.

Walking through the school, he idly makes his way towards his next period class. Knowing that he has ten minutes to spare, he is checking out other classes as he walks. Generally making his way through the building.
This message was last edited by the player at 11:49, Wed 11 Dec 2019.

In reply to Jack Sharpe (msg # 46):

As you head out of the cafeteria, you see that the halls are starting to fill up.  But instead of people moving towards their next class, it's full of small knots and groups talking to each other.  It seems a lot of people eat at their lockers while they talk to their friends.

Their voices reach you of course.  There are so many it can be tough to focus.  But you get little smatterings here and there.

"I am so screwed.  I can't believe I got Whitefalls for English..."

"She's got a nice ass, yeah.  But would you really wanna have to put up with that mouth of hers all the time?"

"So yeah, I'm gonna get a car.  But my Dad said I won't get it until I've saved up to pay for a years worth of insurance.  I mean, I get what he's saying.  I need to be responsible and all that.  But can't I just pay month to month like a normal person? Why do I gotta pay a year upfront?"

"Let's make Sara cry."

"It took me all of June to beat that level.  Stop laughing!  It was hard!"

"You're pregnant?"

You don't hear any of the BEs.  You think you catch Dan saying something about everything having changed.  You didn't quite make it out because some guys were laughing and shouting nearby.

Five minutes until the bell.  Time to meet Mrs. Whitefalls.

---

"It really isn't that difficult.  You're all supposed to be AP.  So now is when you get to prove it."

And with that, Mrs. Whitefalls hands out her syllabus for the year.

She had been in front of the room, waiting, smiling slightly and observing each of you as you came in.  She nodded towards a few people, but mostly said nothing.  There is no assigned seating here.  Apparently that only happens in first period for attendance purposes.

Mrs. Whitefalls is a short woman with greying hair tied up in a tight knot at the back of her head.  She wears glasses, but keeps them perched on top of her head.  Her lips are smeared with a slightly orange shade of lipstick and earrings which are a rather intricate set of interconnected hoops hang from her ears.

As the bell sounds, she walks back towards the door, shuts it, and turns around walking straight back the same she came.  "Good Afternoon.  I'm Mrs. Whitefalls.  Let me start off by saying this:  I expect the best out of each one of you.  If you want to slack off or goof around in other classes, that's your business.  But here, in this class, I expect your full attention.

"On average, between all five classes I teach, I give out two A grades.  I give out some Bs.  Mostly Cs.  Some Ds.  And I am not at all afraid of giving out Fs.  I usually have a few of those too.

"If you don't want to be one of the F students, then pay attention.  I know all this material. I'm not going to go over it for my own benefit.  If I bore you, too bad.  If you think this is a waste of a class, tough luck.  You will either leave here knowing the material with a good grade.  Or you will leave here not knowing the material with a poor grade.  That is your choice.

"It really isn't that difficult.  You're all supposed to be AP.  So now is when you get to prove it."

Her syllabus is twenty one sheets of paper thick.  You hear quite a few people groaning under their breath.

Several pages in the middle are about the opinion essay.  You glance over it.  There are a list of topics.  But there is one line at the bottom:

Topics not mentioned here will be allowed if they have my prior approval.  Please submit a proposal addressing what topic you are interested in no later than the second Friday of the class.

You have two weeks to decide on a topic.
This message was last edited by the GM at 03:00, Fri 13 Dec 2019.