Chapter 2: Cougar Country
“We are prepared to support this project with whatever funds may be necessary. We understand this may run to a high figure, of course, but the implications, which I’m sure you understand, lead us to accept whatever cost is involved.”
Jackson B. McCay
It stood the oldest high school in Hendersonville. The plaque, placed just inside its main doors, displayed the commitment to future generations by a group of forward thinking local business owners. Commitment proved itself a rare commodity during their time in American history. Uncertainty commanded everyone’s attention, and uncertainty brought fear. To fight fear, Christopher Hawkins argued, we need a dream. They set-out to build one, and the hopes many pinned on the youth of that time also became a commitment to the community itself. That dream soon became a reality: a shining star during an overly chaotic time that played-out well over a century ago. The country suffered an unprecedented financial upheaval, and yet the school’s construction brought focus; it brought purpose, and it brought jobs. Today, students and visitors alike can still walk a small hallway, left untouched, and peak inside a classroom as it appeared all those generations ago – a testament to the determination and fortitude that defined the people of Hendersonville.
Such read the beginnings of Christopher Samuel Hawkins Senior High School.
Nathan Baird rode his bike down Walten Ferry Drive, an all-terrain twelve-speed, dark blue with silver highlights. He peddled casually, coasting with ease and commanding skill. He sat upright, arms hanging somewhat loosely at his side while his Walkman played into his ears. He shifted direction by adjusting his weight ever so slightly, taking into account the backpack that hung from his shoulders. The morning proved a healthy ride, through some very busy parts, but a ride well worth it. He rolled past the remaining local houses, rounded the final corner, and finally beheld the building as it came into full view for the first time; his dark sunglasses hid the widening of his eyes. It was rather large … no, huge. Scratch that too. It was a monster – a monster in far better shape than Nathan imagined for a school well over a century old. He had not actually set foot here, no need since he could complete all prerequisite material and tasks remotely.
Nathan studied the building as he approached; he noticed its size betrayed its age. It became clear that various sections of the campus buildings were completed at widely differing dates. Still, the outer trappings showed a flow to it, a covering to appear quite contemporary -- like it had benefitted from a facelift. Nathan turned through the main entrance, coming into pace with several other bicyclists.
The school bustled with activity. Too many students to count milled about the parking lots, the main grounds: walking, laughing, talking, joking, slapping backs. Many huddled in groups, some about cars; others near a staircase; others still about trees. Some smoked; some sat eating breakfast about the various benches that lined the area. One group had a complete stereo system mounted to a wagon of some sort, music blaring. Some danced to it, others sang along. Another group appeared to be “gaming” -- or perhaps that was two groups? Then again, others seemed to play various games of chance with real money changing hands while cards flipped and die rolled. In addition, cars maneuvered their way into the student parking lots; he could also glimpse the train of busses some distance off, working their way into the unloading zone. Interspersed through all of the activity, huge illuminated screens continuously rolled the important information needed for every one’s first day.
Nathan glanced to his right. Someone appeared to sleep in the grass, complete with a thin blanket and small pillow. He smiled to himself and then followed the signs for the bike housing area.
Nathan swung his right leg over the center bar, preparing to dismount. He stood on the port pedal using his left foot, right foot slightly forward, facing out; he gripped the handle bars. He turned up onto the sidewalk as he straddled the bike and guided it into the grass toward the main docks.
“No riding on the main grounds!” A stern pitched female voice sounded through his music. Nathan squeezed the brake and stepped off. He walked forward a few steps and placed the bike into an open rack. He placed his thumb on the lock pad and watched as the clamps latched. He removed his headphones, but, by the time he squatted to tie his shoe and looked over, the guard had already moved on to shout at someone else.
A gun? Nathan tilted his head slightly, creasing his brow. He noted the rather large holster to her side. Then he saw her uniform: paramilitary, somewhat armored and she had full police powers no doubt. Nathan shook his head. Should he view that as a good sign or bad? He took a brief second and made sure his own trusted sidearm rested strapped to his right leg: his Bradley 5500 Kimura V satin spear point 5" Balisong blade, his baby – crafted of hardened polymers by his Sensei to avoid detection by sensors. He never went into potential hostile territory unarmed; his own survival guideline. Satisfied, he stood.
Nathan painted an unimposing picture. His clothes remained simplistic: a comfortable unicolor t-shirt, brown; loose fitting denim, even though the onslaught of more efficient fabrics made “blue jeans” rather “quaint.” He removed his thin tan jacket and stuffed it into his backpack, and lastly, of course, his plain white K-Swiss Classics. There he stood: a monochrome testament to blending.
He began to walk back toward the main front grounds but suddenly paused. Good gods, he thought as he placed both hands on his hips, this was the camera angle. He looked down the grassy lawn sandwiched between the two buildings behind the bicycle dock. Nathan gazed over the large bay windows that lined the hallways, where the news crews had caught glimpses of the crazed bald man. He would spin in circles, mutter to himself.
Last year, he had taken several students hostage, 40+ if Nathan remembered correctly. The man appeared out of nowhere, over powered a guard, and, having taken his weapon, cornered the students in this area. He held out for days -- kept rambling about being at the wrong place and about an army of some sort and a phone call he had to make but the number did not exist. By the end of the first day, all of Hendersonville had become wrapped-up in the affair; by the second day, the State; by the third, it made national headlines. All anyone really learned was his name, James Cole.
Then “poof,” he vanished, literally, like a fart in the wind. The local news continued to follow-up for a while. Unfortunately, Mr. Cole has remained unseen since.
“Whoosh,” Nathan said to himself and continued his walk.
By the time he had returned to the main entrance, the bells sounded. A computer followed: ALL NEW STUDENTS PROCEED TO MAIN LOBBY FOR CHECK-IN. ALL RETURNING STUDENTS PROCEED TO MAIN LIBRARY FOR SCHEDULING. ID’s AND REGISTRATION FORMS REQUIRED. The message repeated.
The various screens displayed color coded paths overlaid on a schematic of the school: white for current students, red for new students. Nathan studied itfor a moment, removing his sunglasses to hang them on his shirt behind his neck. He started for the door, but then noticed that one student still sleeping the grass. He cocked his head sideways. Might as well start-off on the right foot, hit this place with a positive attitude and all that, he thought. He trotted over to him.
Nathan squatted and poked the kid in the side. “Bell.”
The boy stirred, muttered something then sat-up abruptly while flailing the blanket from him. “Dude!” He exclaimed, and he was a sight: hair rather long for Nathan’s taste, unkempt bur not wild, a gangly mustache, and, good gods, flared blue jeans. Nathan laughed out loud, almost. They both stood.
“The most amazing dream” the boy sighed as he gathered his sheet and pillow and shoved them in a backpack. Wait! Where’d that come from? Nathan wondered.
The boy turned to face Nathan. “I was having the most amazing dream.” He sighed again. “An eclipse, native women wanting snoo-snoo, and something to do with radishes. Actually, I’m not sure about that last point. I heard chanting, though. Wait! What time is it?” He glanced over to one of the distant screens. “Okay. Good.”
He stared at Nathan intently for a second then stuck out his hand. “Name’s Matt. Mathew McClane.”
They shook.
“You’re new here, aren’t you?” Matt smiled. “But I’ve seen you before, no? Yeah, at summer band camp. You play,” he snapped his fingers. “Saxophone don’t you?”
“Nathan. Nathan Baird.” They turned and started for the main door. “Is my status important?”
“My job to know these things,” Matt smiled again. He bent down and snatched a pack of cigarettes from under his pant leg. “You’re a Dosser, right?”
“I attended Knox Doss if that’s what you mean.”
Matt laughed, pulling out a cigarette. “No big deal, dude. Just don’t go advertise it less some of these natives get restless.” He paused, struck a match (where’d that come from?). “I should’ve known your name after seeing you at camp, something like sixty or so of you Dossers were caught-up in the redistricting.” He lit the cigarette and placed the pack back out-of-sight.
“I keep a low profile,” Nathan smirked.
“Well, you’re a Cougar now.”
“How do y’all keep saying that with a straight face?”
They entered the great double doors and placed their backpacks on the scanner and stepped into the line.
Matt touched Nathan’s arm and pointed with his cigarette. “Now that’s what makes Hawkins far superior to Knox Doss.”
“Fair enough,” Nathan nodded as he and Matt watched some young ladies stroll by. “My gods,” Matt exhaled softly. “I want one for Saturnalia.” He then raised his voice. “Don’t forget Ladies, I need you both in about ten.”
They nodded, smiling back at him. “Who’s your new friend?” One giggled.
ALL NEW STUDENTS PROCEED TO MAIN LOBBY FOR CHECK-IN. ALL RETURNING STUDENTS PROCEED TO MAIN LIBRARY FOR SCHEDULING. ID’s AND REGISTRATION FORMS REQUIRED.
“Here. Hold this.” Matt handed his cigarette to Nathan as he entered the body scanner. “Hand it to me quickly as I step out.” The light blue rays raced up and down Matt’s form; the floor sensor flashed. “Now,” Matt snapped as he lifted a foot off the pad.
Nathan stepped onto the pad. “Doesn’t the school have smoke sensors?” He asked as the he felt the tingling of the scans.
“Sure,” Matt replied, taking a puff. “But they can’t pinpoint in large crowds. Besides, I never stand still.”
They retrieved their backpacks and started toward the main foyer. Nathan did not see any “teacher patrols,” no dogs. True, he did see a campus police officer but no more than Knox Doss had. The crowd moved boisterously, most everyone just seemed to belong, wanting to be here – and that was a very different atmosphere than Knox Doss, which now seemed so much more “sterile.” There, students squared off into well-defined cliques. Here, everyone visited with everyone else, one big Cougar family. Okay, that was lame.
“See that?” Matt interrupted. He pointed to a news terminal imbedded in the wall. “We’re actually sending men to Mars. Mars of all places. Isn’t the Moon enough? Mars is a fuck’n windy dust-ball?”
The video juxtaposed two launch pads in split screen. Capricorn Two stood in Houston while Capricorn Three stood on the Clavius lunar Base. Capricorn One was already enroute, where the onboard HAL would place it in orbit to await the arrival of the astronauts. The scrolling ticker indicated the USAA had just announced the crew: Air Force Colonel Charles Brubaker, Air Force Lieutenant Colonel Peter Willis, and Navy Commander John Walker.
“Where’s your sense of adventure?” Nathan prodded. “You’re national pride? We’re beating both Japan and the European Confederacy there.”
“Between my legs,” Matt retorted. “Right here, where Nixon’s should be.”
“Between your legs.”
“No, jackass. I mean here on Earth. This was Santos’ wet dream.”
ALL NEW STUDENTS PROCEED TO MAIN LOBBY FOR CHECK-IN. ALL RETURNING STUDENTS PROCEED TO MAIN LIBRARY FOR SCHEDULING. ID’s AND REGISTRATION FORMS REQUIRED.
“Gods almighty,” Nathan exclaimed. “She is loud.”
“It’s time.” Matt suddenly shifted gears. “Check this out, you’ll enjoy it,” he said pulling Nathan after him. Matt dropped his cigarette and pushed his way through the crowd toward the administration offices. Attention seemed to shift toward him as he moved. Nathan slowed and watched as Matt hoisted himself up on a railing. He placed a foot on the adjacent wall then pulled himself up into a maze of overhead piping.
The crowd started to gather. Matt positioned himself and looked about. “HEY!” He suddenly shouted, pointing. “You! Arthur! Front and center! We have less than a minute.”
Nathan stepped aside.
“Everyone’s ready.” Arthur replied as ran forward. He stood under Matt, who spoke quickly in a low voice. Arthur nodded and gave the crowd two high thumbs-up. A group from the back gave thumbs-up in return. People began to clap. Then, someone stepped through the crowd. He was a student, for sure, but he wore a suit. He looked at a wristwatch. Wristwatch? They were quainter than blue jeans.
“Good luck,” he said.
A hushed flurry of “Thanks Tai-Pan” raced through the crowd.
“What the hell?” Nathan muttered to himself as he glanced around.
Moments passed then a light shown green. The door just beyond Matt’s position slid aside. A stern, balding, heavy set but by no means flabby gentlemen with black rimmed glasses stepped-out, electronic tablet in hand. He appeared preoccupied with whatever it displayed. He paused to pull a Commlink from his belt.
“OH SHIT!”
THUMP!
Matt fell hard and landed in a faux heap just in front of the man who jumped and fumbled the Commlink. He almost dropped the tablet, but he recovered and looked down.
“Dammit McClane!” He snapped. He bent down. “Three years now,” he began.
Matt sat-up, shaking and rubbing his head. “There I was, Mr. Wells sir, minding my own business, when the Gang--“ Nathan saw the young ladies from earlier rush forward.
“I don’t want to hear it,” Mr. Wells interrupted. “You keep this up,” he added, “and I will bounce your butt out of here so hard it will give your ancestors whiplash.” He stood, holding the Commlink.
“You okay baby?” One of the girls soothed as they both helped Matt to his feet.
“Well, my legs are a little sore,” he grimaced looking back and forth between the two. “I think I may need some support.” He draped an arm over each of their shoulders.
The Principle angrily pressed the Commlink and the door slid shut. He turned back to Matt. The crowd appeared to mill about themselves, though Nathan could hear laughter here and there. Mr. Wells stepped close to Matt and lowered his voice. “Keep it straight? Everything’s good. Go sidewise, and I’ll burn you so bad you’ll wish you died as a child.”
Mr. Wells stepped around the ladies and turned back to his tablet. He marched into the crowd, around the corner, and out of sight.
“Thank-you ladies,” Matt was saying. Wait, where was Arthur?
The door slid aside, revealing the young man with an ear-to-ear smile. “Ta-daa!” He chimed.
“And that’s how we do things downtown,” Matt grinned with obvious pride.
“Do what?” Nathan asked, stepping-up beside them.
“Name’s Tonya,” one of the girls smiled.
“Focus,” Matt snapped at her. He then let out an ear piercing whistle. “Tradition,” he replied to Nathan.
Oh Right, tradition, Nathan thought as he nodded. “Of course.”
From the back of the crowd, several large boys, all wearing masks of comic book superheroes over their faces, rushed forward. Matt pushed Nathan back up against the wall as he pulled the girls with him. “Seniors,” he reported as he lit another cigarette. “Two minutes before the MCP takes over!” He announced.
Traditions. Another thing Knox Doss did not have. Nathan snapped his head back and forth between Matt, the ladies, and the rushing superheroes. Nathan had first encountered them during band camp. Cougars spoke of it with pride. Hawkins had whole playbooks of traditions. Each class had their own to perform each year, the football team had their own, as did the Volleyball, Soccer, Basketball and the rest of the sports. Drill team, Cheerleader squads, and, of course, band, all had their own as well. Nathan wouldn’t be surprised if the custodial staff had a set of them. Cougars spoke of it with an almost sacred reverence.
Nathan watched a parading throng of various superheroes leave the office, one after another, each with a treasure: a lamp, a plaque, a picture, a chair, a statuette, more pictures, another chair, the desk …
Nathan coughed. “The desk?”
“WELCOME TO HAWKINS FRESHMEN!” A voice boomed. The crowd roared.
Nathan turned. Matt nudged him. “Brian Bowman. Student Body President,” he said.
“Do you know everyone?”
“My job.”
“NOW HELP THE SENIORS, FISH!” Brian motioned.
Several in the crowd moved; others, it seemed, had to be coaxed to participate.
Wait, where’s the desk? It had to weigh a ton.
“TIME!” Matt shouted and pulled Arthur over toward them all. The light flipped red and a small siren sounded. Suddenly, the door shut behind them. The crowd began to disperse as the laughing continued.
Matt grabbed Nathan’s arm. “The incoming senior Principle must spend his first day finding his stuff. The football team’s seniors way of saying ‘we’re almost outta here’.” He took a long draw on the cigarette. “Main lobby is just on the other side of the main staircase, there” he said pointing. “Once checked-in, they will send you to the library.” He then turned. “Don’t want to be late on your first day. I’ll see you soon enough.” He then walked towards the young man who everyone called Tai-Pan.
Tonya looked back, smiling as she joined her friend and moved into the crowd.
Nathan grinned and shook his head. He started for the stairs. “Whoosh.”
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