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Description
Something slick and wet smacked his neck and trickled down. Shasta whipped his hand up and pulled off a spit wad. His lips curled back in disgust and he snapped his head up in search of his antagonist.
A small group of preps braving out the merciless sun laughed sheepishly. One of the girls smacked a guy (Jason, Shasta recalled) in punishment, but her amusement was not contained.
“You’re so mean…” Her voice carried on, but a gust of wind blew it away. Fury bubbled up in Shasta’s throat. He wanted to hurt him; drive his smirking face into the dirt and make his fucking blood give itself to the earth; payment for carting his worthless body with the living. But not now, not in front of the girls. Not in front of any girl.
“Sorry,” Jason shouted over the wind, still submerging within small fits of laughter. The apology only fed Shasta’s rage.
With no course of action, he turned his attention back to the base of the massive tree. Clumps of feathers spotted with blood could be found in a six-foot radius. There was even a torn piece of wing plastered with dried blood and orange fur. It was evidence of a disastrous one-sided battle. Silent, portentous grief replaced his wrath in a rush. The attack must have been so unexpected and shocking. There was no corpse, only the memory imbedded into the dirt.
The bell sounded the end of lunch and Shasta relieved his knees from the rooted ground. He weaved, first, his way through the parking lot (making sure to give the finger to anyone who honked at him) then through the waves of cliques and individuals and clinging couples frantically trying to escape the heat to their next class.
Entering the building through the crowded door with difficulty, he tuned into the sounds; the familiar guttural churn of the ancient air conditioning, lockers sustaining abuse, chatter, the occasional scream. Everything.
Shasta climbed to the third floor and opened the door of his next class as far as he could against the pressing crowd and squeezed his way in. Mr. Ace looked up from his desk and let out a noise that sounded like, “huh”. It was too hot to laugh with any more vigor.
“Can’t wait till West gets done,” the older man muttered. Shasta nodded in agreement, more to himself. After a new safety law swept the nation, schools had been torn down one by one to be rebuilt with new security systems and sturdier foundations.
For those students attending schools under construction, the numbers were cut in half and crammed into neighboring schools. Half of West Deckmond’s students were shoved into East Deckmond, making the attendance rise from two thousand to three.
It was hard on everyone. Besides the science classes desks were taken out of every classroom to fit 40 to 50 bodies, forcing students to reside on the floors. Shasta was grateful that the construction of his own school would take place over the summer and as quickly as possible. Even after being built, West would only hold their own population; a thousand more students would land them all (and another unlucky school) on the floors again.
Good riddance to all of them, he thought after a pointless stare-down with a West student.
He huffed, fell to the carpet, and sprawled out his legs before the masses of others forced him to scrunch up.
A heard of girls managed their way in, behind them his friend Diant who flopped next to them.
“Another threat in the fuckpuppets’ bathroom,” Diant updated. Shasta smirked. ‘Fuckpuppet’ was a new term Diant used to describe the girls that came up with ideas to create statements of power. This month’s new fuckpuppet fad (known as FPF) was to take turns threatening the school. A gang of thirteen girls were arrested the previous week for stealing kitchen knives from the culinary arts rooms.
“What kind this time?” Shasta asked. Diant shrugged.
“The usual; bomb threat. Must have been some emo chick ‘cause the threat was written as poetry,”
“Diant, you like to write poetry,”
“Shut up,”
“Both of you shut up,” Their friend Mary sat down with them and all three pulled in their legs to their chest to accommodate for the lack of space. A Cheshire cat grin was plastered to Mary’s face.
“Again?” Diant asked, exasperated, noting the spots of blood on her tee-shirt. Mary’s grin only became smug.
“Gave that bitch, Adriana Keller, a black eye,”
“Looks more like you scratched it out,” Shasta observed in disgust and fascination. He had asked repeated times as to how she avoided being outnumbered while fighting, but all she did was smile knowingly. Still water may run deep, but disturbed water ran deeper.
“QUIET!” Mr. Ace bellowed over the forty-three voices. Everyone’s mouth shut, but a scattered few snickered. He grabbed a large stack of papers and threw handfuls in various directions. Most teachers did this to save time and energy.
“Everyone grab one. Or two or three. God knows my TA made enough copies. A giggle arose from the back of the crowd. Mr. Ace continued;
“This is, yet, another letter to your parents informing them of the threat and that school with not be closed. Extra security will be stationed all over the area, and as usual, the threat is most likely another prank, but better safe than sorry. Once you’re done stuffing it in your binders where it won’t see the light of day again, pass up your essays on “Black Tuesday”.
Shasta managed to snatch only a half crumpled one before it was really damaged in the turmoil and just as the Mr. Ace predicted, shoved it into his binder. Unlike him, Mary scanned over the letter, but her eyes were wide in surprise.
“He sounds really pissed,” She muttered, referring to the principal.
“Wouldn’t anyone be after five bomb threats?” Shasta pointed out.
“Six,” Diant corrected.
“Whatever,”
“And a couple of suicide notes,” Added Mary. Both guys gave her a questioning look as she casually passed up her homework, which was exactly what she wanted.
“Well,” She started, “there was this group that couldn’t handle this month’s FPF,” Diant smiled at her, “so they sent suicide notes instead hoping to get others into it,”
A girl Shasta knew as Valeen, turned around to face them.
“I heard one girl sent a personal suicide note to the principal saying if he didn’t ‘put out’ for her, she’d kill herself.” She whispered excitedly. Mary’s eyes narrowed at the stranger, but eagerly conferred other petty information. Bored, Shasta turned his attention to the teacher.
--------------
Later that day after the last bell signaled the end of the day, Shasta quickly left his Analysis of Algorithms class and slowly moved towards his locker. After ten minutes of trying to maneuver around cliques that planted themselves in the middle of the hallways, he contented himself on waiting in a corner for the traffic to subside and groups to disperse.
While waiting, he spotted Mary and signaled her down. She smiled and motioned she would be right there. She stopped by a group that included her new friend Valeen loitering next to the Calculus/Statistics class. She hugged Valeen and was introduced the other members of the group. Valeen began talking rapid fire and Mary’s eyes lit up as the conversation progressed., but as it got into more detail, her smile faded. Soon Shasta became alarmed as the conversation turned into shouting.
Just then the football team came out of the lockers and headed out to the field, blocking Shasta’s view with a blur of green, gold and a lot of muscle. When they passed Mary was storming away. Shasta pushed against the rest of the crowd to catch up.
“What was that all about?” He rushed.
“They wanted me to take part in this new FPF of theirs, but it‘s just a bunch of crap,” She stated bitterly.
“Didn’t look like they were talking crap for a second there…” Shasta said carefully. The corners of Mary’s mouth twitched in remembrance and dropped her voice.
“They got a hold of some speed,” She whispered. Shasta strained from looking around to see if anyone heard.
“Why would they want that? Why not LSD or something?”
She shrugged in response.
“’Cause it’s illegal?” She smiled sadistically.

Description
Something slick and wet smacked his neck and trickled down. Shasta whipped his hand up and pulled off a spit wad. His lips curled back in disgust and he snapped his head up in search of his antagonist.
A small group of preps braving out the merciless sun laughed sheepishly. One of the girls smacked a guy (Jason, Shasta recalled) in punishment, but her amusement was not contained.
“You’re so mean…” Her voice carried on, but a gust of wind blew it away. Fury bubbled up in Shasta’s throat. He wanted to hurt him; drive his smirking face into the dirt and make his fucking blood give itself to the earth; payment for carting his worthless body with the living. But not now, not in front of the girls. Not in front of any girl.
“Sorry,” Jason shouted over the wind, still submerging within small fits of laughter. The apology only fed Shasta’s rage.
With no course of action, he turned his attention back to the base of the massive tree. Clumps of feathers spotted with blood could be found in a six-foot radius. There was even a torn piece of wing plastered with dried blood and orange fur. It was evidence of a disastrous one-sided battle. Silent, portentous grief replaced his wrath in a rush. The attack must have been so unexpected and shocking. There was no corpse, only the memory imbedded into the dirt.
The bell sounded the end of lunch and Shasta relieved his knees from the rooted ground. He weaved, first, his way through the parking lot (making sure to give the finger to anyone who honked at him) then through the waves of cliques and individuals and clinging couples frantically trying to escape the heat to their next class.
Entering the building through the crowded door with difficulty, he tuned into the sounds; the familiar guttural churn of the ancient air conditioning, lockers sustaining abuse, chatter, the occasional scream. Everything.
Shasta climbed to the third floor and opened the door of his next class as far as he could against the pressing crowd and squeezed his way in. Mr. Ace looked up from his desk and let out a noise that sounded like, “huh”. It was too hot to laugh with any more vigor.
“Can’t wait till West gets done,” the older man muttered. Shasta nodded in agreement, more to himself. After a new safety law swept the nation, schools had been torn down one by one to be rebuilt with new security systems and sturdier foundations.
For those students attending schools under construction, the numbers were cut in half and crammed into neighboring schools. Half of West Deckmond’s students were shoved into East Deckmond, making the attendance rise from two thousand to three.
It was hard on everyone. Besides the science classes desks were taken out of every classroom to fit 40 to 50 bodies, forcing students to reside on the floors. Shasta was grateful that the construction of his own school would take place over the summer and as quickly as possible. Even after being built, West would only hold their own population; a thousand more students would land them all (and another unlucky school) on the floors again.
Good riddance to all of them, he thought after a pointless stare-down with a West student.
He huffed, fell to the carpet, and sprawled out his legs before the masses of others forced him to scrunch up.
A heard of girls managed their way in, behind them his friend Diant who flopped next to them.
“Another threat in the fuckpuppets’ bathroom,” Diant updated. Shasta smirked. ‘Fuckpuppet’ was a new term Diant used to describe the girls that came up with ideas to create statements of power. This month’s new fuckpuppet fad (known as FPF) was to take turns threatening the school. A gang of thirteen girls were arrested the previous week for stealing kitchen knives from the culinary arts rooms.
“What kind this time?” Shasta asked. Diant shrugged.
“The usual; bomb threat. Must have been some emo chick ‘cause the threat was written as poetry,”
“Diant, you like to write poetry,”
“Shut up,”
“Both of you shut up,” Their friend Mary sat down with them and all three pulled in their legs to their chest to accommodate for the lack of space. A Cheshire cat grin was plastered to Mary’s face.
“Again?” Diant asked, exasperated, noting the spots of blood on her tee-shirt. Mary’s grin only became smug.
“Gave that bitch, Adriana Keller, a black eye,”
“Looks more like you scratched it out,” Shasta observed in disgust and fascination. He had asked repeated times as to how she avoided being outnumbered while fighting, but all she did was smile knowingly. Still water may run deep, but disturbed water ran deeper.
“QUIET!” Mr. Ace bellowed over the forty-three voices. Everyone’s mouth shut, but a scattered few snickered. He grabbed a large stack of papers and threw handfuls in various directions. Most teachers did this to save time and energy.
“Everyone grab one. Or two or three. God knows my TA made enough copies. A giggle arose from the back of the crowd. Mr. Ace continued;
“This is, yet, another letter to your parents informing them of the threat and that school with not be closed. Extra security will be stationed all over the area, and as usual, the threat is most likely another prank, but better safe than sorry. Once you’re done stuffing it in your binders where it won’t see the light of day again, pass up your essays on “Black Tuesday”.
Shasta managed to snatch only a half crumpled one before it was really damaged in the turmoil and just as the Mr. Ace predicted, shoved it into his binder. Unlike him, Mary scanned over the letter, but her eyes were wide in surprise.
“He sounds really pissed,” She muttered, referring to the principal.
“Wouldn’t anyone be after five bomb threats?” Shasta pointed out.
“Six,” Diant corrected.
“Whatever,”
“And a couple of suicide notes,” Added Mary. Both guys gave her a questioning look as she casually passed up her homework, which was exactly what she wanted.
“Well,” She started, “there was this group that couldn’t handle this month’s FPF,” Diant smiled at her, “so they sent suicide notes instead hoping to get others into it,”
A girl Shasta knew as Valeen, turned around to face them.
“I heard one girl sent a personal suicide note to the principal saying if he didn’t ‘put out’ for her, she’d kill herself.” She whispered excitedly. Mary’s eyes narrowed at the stranger, but eagerly conferred other petty information. Bored, Shasta turned his attention to the teacher.
--------------
Later that day after the last bell signaled the end of the day, Shasta quickly left his Analysis of Algorithms class and slowly moved towards his locker. After ten minutes of trying to maneuver around cliques that planted themselves in the middle of the hallways, he contented himself on waiting in a corner for the traffic to subside and groups to disperse.
While waiting, he spotted Mary and signaled her down. She smiled and motioned she would be right there. She stopped by a group that included her new friend Valeen loitering next to the Calculus/Statistics class. She hugged Valeen and was introduced the other members of the group. Valeen began talking rapid fire and Mary’s eyes lit up as the conversation progressed., but as it got into more detail, her smile faded. Soon Shasta became alarmed as the conversation turned into shouting.
Just then the football team came out of the lockers and headed out to the field, blocking Shasta’s view with a blur of green, gold and a lot of muscle. When they passed Mary was storming away. Shasta pushed against the rest of the crowd to catch up.
“What was that all about?” He rushed.
“They wanted me to take part in this new FPF of theirs, but it‘s just a bunch of crap,” She stated bitterly.
“Didn’t look like they were talking crap for a second there…” Shasta said carefully. The corners of Mary’s mouth twitched in remembrance and dropped her voice.
“They got a hold of some speed,” She whispered. Shasta strained from looking around to see if anyone heard.
“Why would they want that? Why not LSD or something?”
She shrugged in response.
“’Cause it’s illegal?” She smiled sadistically.