Nathan remained bemusedly perplexed. He had expected … not quite anything but at least something. Not sure exactly but something. What? A mild culture shock? To stand outcast? His anticipated weirdness did not emerge … yet. He quietly slipped into his new surroundings, though he couldn’t help himself but to remain somewhat wary. Part of him did not wish to become too comfortable too quickly. He decided to take his time to make this his new home. Remain patient, he persuaded himself, stay reserved. Perhaps the anticipation (and trepidation) since the court ruling far exceeded the upheaval actually caused. Perhaps.
Hawkins presented its wares to Nathan as Knox Doss had done two years earlier. True, Hawkins stood far larger, more majestic – for more than a century before Doss had even become an idea. Hawkins held decades old traditions, some for more than century; it practically bled history. Still, it remained but a campus, only a campus with students, faculty, and staff: know-it-alls, hormones, cliques, jocks, geeks, artists, nerds, band fags – all with self-inflicted drama, elevated self-importance, grandiose self-worth, exaggerated significance. Well, okay, maybe he could call this home.
Nathan sat-up in his chair, leaned forward to tap the console of his desk. The pop-up holographic projection appeared immediately. It referenced a set of course guidelines for Junior H-English. Honors. Nathan’s grade school aptitude tests almost leapt off the charts. Though he qualified for advanced classes, grossly accelerated credits, and thus an early graduation (projected at two years? He couldn’t remember), Nathan opted for a straight forward though advanced course load. No need to grow-up too soon his grandfather Marvin would often say to him. Nathan cut his hand to the left, moving the first document to the side. He only half-heartedly listened as his English teacher continued explaining course outlines, school guidelines, her expectations, and the progressive discipline policies. His fourth class; it followed Homeroom, Advanced Calculus, and Physics, and this became the fourth presentation of the progressive discipline hoopla. All of his classes began in this fashion. Ugh. Did such difficulties exist pervasively in such an established and, he had to admit, rather impressive institution? Given the incident in the Library this morning, first day, not even out-of-the-gate, he probably should not be surprised. Apparently. With that, his mind began to wander.
That, and his English teacher was absurdly short.
Mrs. Beverly Hancock spoke with confidence, a noticeable southern twang pierced her diction. Four foot five, maybe? If she wore heels. Pitch black hair, short, one length, curled inward above the shoulders, accented neatly by her dark business attire. She spoke the lines of a well-rehearsed, oft repeated, canned speech that introduced a boilerplate course.
A news item caught Nathan’s attention and he tapped on the headline link, published this morning, on the one the press had just dubbed the Seven Deadly Sins Serial Killer. He had seemingly struck again: three “sins” in four days. Nathan glanced over the article. He paused to look at the imbedded photo of the detectives in charge: Lt. William Somerset and Det. David Mills. They labored in an absolute shithole of a sprawling metropolis in a corrupt and shithole State. Gluttony, Greed, and now Sloth all in short order. Nathan kept reading. Huh. The staging of Sloth had taken months, long before the first two victims were discovered. Sad.
Nathan tapped the hologram display back to his course outline.
“Any questions?” Mrs. Hancock asked.
Nathan spun his pen over his thumb. A habit he picked-up from debate.
“Yes,” some lad in the back chimed. “Could you cover the part after you said ‘good morn’n’? I kinda zoned-out there.”
Muted laughter spread throughout the classroom.
“And with that Mister …” Mrs. Hancock paused as she tapped her P.A.D.D. “Holt, I want everyone to craft a five hundred word essay on the folly on inattentiveness.”
Groans replaced the lingering chuckles. Someone punched Mr. Holt in the arm. Nathan did a double-take. Wait! Mr. Holt was one of the five out in the hallway. Perfect.
He turned back to the class. Up to that point everyone had stared blankly at Mrs. Hancock. That blank but attentive, inattentive stare that showed both the required curiosity and mind numbing boredom at the same time. One lady half chewed, half chomped her gum, blew a bubble, popped it, tapped her holographic display, wrote something on paper, tapped her P.A.D.D., switched text books (yes, some classes still used them) all without changing her expression. Not one crease, not one millimeter of change in her dull, blank stare.
Nathan smiled despite himself.
“Alright then,” Mrs. Hancock continued. “I expect the following …”
Nathan drifted off again. He then pulled-out his worn, small leather brown journal and removed the rubber band.
Try to find a better place
But soon it’s all the same
What once you thought was a paradise is not just what it seemed
The more I look around
I find the more I have to fear
Where do we go?
Where do we go from here?
He glanced up at Mrs. Hancock again who had just begun to explain the primary texts they would use.
I know it’s hard for you to change your way of life
I know it’s hard for you to do
The world is full of people dying to be free
So, if you don’t my friend
There’s no life for you and no world for me
The bell sounded as his CommLink vibrated, chiming. Nathan jumped slightly. What had Mrs. Hancock said there at the end? No matter. She’d post it all anyway. Nathan grabbed his backpack, after snapping the rubber band back about his journal. He promptly logged-out and shutdown the desk, starting for the door, pausing only to scoop up his P.A.D.D.
“Not so fast,” Mrs. Hancock snapped. “Y’all have an additional assignment for tomorrow.” She tapped her screen, which lit-up. “I want an additional thousand word essay on this topic …”
She practically had to shout that final part over the growing din. Nathan tapped the question into his P.A.D.D. and joined the growing exodus into the hallway.
Nathan soon caught sight of a familiar face as he headed for the cafeteria.
“Nathan!” Matt smiled as he slapped him on the back, coming in step alongside. “How’s the head?”
“Good.”
“And the day? How’s Hawkins treated you so far?” He asked as he lit-up a cigarette.
“Let’s see, monotonous, repetitive, uneventful – except for that incident in the library – all-in-all rather anticlimactic.”
Matt nodded, still grinning. “You made quite an impression. Gwendolyne’s even asked about you.”
“Ha!” Nathan retorted, shaking his head slightly. “If only.”
“Seriously,” Matt chided. “You’re quite the hero.” He stopped, placing his hand on the locker sensor, the door slid-up. He glanced at his P.A.D.D., then swapped out a couple of books.
“Gwendolyne Shay Stacy,” he started, removing his cigarette. “Junior. Daughter of Captain George Stacy of the NPD.”
“Get the Frak out!” Nathan snapped, his voice clearly an octave too high.
“What?” Matt snapped back, mocking his high pitch. “I’m serious.”
“No. Seriously,” Nathan replied. “Gwen Stacy? Father’s a captain in the Nashville Police Department? First name’s George?"
“What?” Matt said as his locker closed and he replaced his cigarette in his mouth. “WHAT?!” He grabbed Nathan by the shoulder, pointing as the he pushed him into the bustling crowd.
“Uh, dude, it’s right-out of frak’n Spider-Man.”
“Spider-Man? Oh, you mean that centuries old comic strip. Really? Hadn’t thought about it. Doesn’t matter, don’t know it. Whatever.” Matt pushed their way toward the cafeteria. “Gwen’s a quiet girl, very good looking, obviously, street smart, tough as nails, withdrawn though. Had it tough last year.”
Matt removed his cigarette and exhaled a large blast of smoke as they rounded a corner. Though he did receive some frowns from passer-bys, most everyone ignored Matt’s flagrant violation of the no smoking on campus policy.
“Keep moving,” he quipped. “Her boyfriend died this past summer in a horrible auto accident.”
“Oh,” Nathan whispered. He then frowned. “How serious we’re they?”
Matt placed the cigarette back in his mouth. “Been together since sometime her freshman year. She was, understandably, rather upset.”
“You think?”
Matt started to fumble through a side pocket in his backpack as they walked. Matt’s cigarette bobbed as he spoke. “Hey, don’t let that shake you. As I said, you made quite an impression on her and not just because you blocked certain death with that thick skull of yours. You didn’t back down from Shane.” He pulled-out a small notebook and started flipping through it as he replaced his backpack to his shoulder.
“Here it is,” he said, smiling. He pulled a small photo and handed it to Nathan. “She since quit cheerleading, though rumor has it she might rejoin.” He pointed at the photo. “That’s her boyfriend there behind her. Well, former boyfriend. Peter.”
“Okay, seriously, shut it.”
“What now?”
“I don’t suppose his last name was ‘Parker’?”
“Um, no. Pfiel.”
Nathan shook his head as he started to return the photo. “Keep it,” Matt said. “I’ve other copies."
“That’s a bit creepy.”
“I have dossiers on everyone smartass, including you.” Matt took a long draw on his cigarette as they shuffled down the hallway. “Stay tight with me. Now, I have to say-“
Suddenly a large hand thumped Matt’s chest, abruptly stopping him, a large, black open palm that encompassed almost his entire sternum from the diaphragm to the clavicles. Its owner towered over both of them, his aphro clipped rather taught, military style with a neatly trimmed mustache.
“Mr. McLane,” he began with a distinctly baritone voice. “How long have I permitted you to remain a student at my school? Don’t answer. I will tell you: three years. Three years, and I know you know my smoking policy – not to mention the State’s, municipality’s, the city’s as well as the campus’ policies.” He gripped Matt by the back of his neck and steered him across the hallway toward a small alcove away from the cafeteria door. Nathan followed cautiously, hands tucked loosely in his jacket pockets.
“As long as you’re my guest here in my house, you will follow these policies to the letter. You will obey, above all else, my rules as if they were written by the gods themselves.”
“Yessir,” Matt almost coughed out. “You’re absolutely correct sir. And may I add that I’ve been most disrespectful. Worse, I have now embarrassed you."
They stopped. He turned Matt around to face him and stood almost uncomfortably close, lowering his voice only slightly. “Don’t bullshit me boy. I tolerate your crap because your uncle is a close friend of my brother. That does not make us friends. We’re not buddies or brothers.”
“Yessir.”
“And,” he continued, now a bit more deliberately, slowly removing the cigarette from Matt’s lips, dropping it to the ground after he took a long drag. “I don’t tolerate violations. Next time I’ll come down on you so hard you’ll think the world has ended – or wish it had.” He crushed it into the stone floor. “Now, clean that up.” He turned sharply, glanced at Nathan as he moved back into the crowd.
“Whoosh,” Nathan breathed as he stepped toward Matt, bending down beside him. “Who was that?”
“Our illustrious Lord High Chancellor: Mr. Franklin Powell. He’s our priest of Zeus: in charge of order and discipline here at Hawkins.” Matt lit another cigarette. “Don’t let that rough exterior fool you. He really cares about all of us and this place. It’s why we love him so.”
Nathan glanced up over Matt’s shoulder as the drone lowered in behind him. Its electronic eye scanned them both and both their CommLinks beeped. White, silent; its Cyberdyne logo plastered prominently on its nose.
SMOKING IS NOT PERMITTED ON CAMPUS GROUNDS. PLEASE EXTINGUISH ALL TOBACCO PRODUCTS IMMEDIATELY
Matt smiled as he picked-up and lit the crushed butt. How does he do that so quickly? Nathan thought. And from where?
Matt stood and held out the butt. The drone repeated the phrase, slowly moved forward and sprayed a mist over Matt’s extended hand
THANK-YOU FOR YOUR COOPERATION
It then withdrew as silently as it arrived.
“Software’s a bit slow,” Matt smiled as he placed the other freshly lit fag back in his mouth. “This way,” he said turning Nathan toward the cafeteria door. “Now, as I started to say, I might add hat you made quite an impression on her – albeit brief. I know this because she’s already asked Tonya about you.”
“Uh huh.”
“Seriously. You’re the first guy since Peter to whom she’s said more than five perfunctory words, which almost always end with ‘go away’. She listened to you. She cares about your wellbeing. Half the school’s boys would give their left nut to take a crack at her. She has this whole Monroe mystique about her.”
“C’mon Matt.” Nathan sighed with exaggeration, shaking his head. “She’s, um, ‘appreciative’. I took a bookshelf in the back for her. I have a knot. Look! Right here.” He said, pointing to the back of his head.
“Which,” Matt shot back, “apparently knocked sense right out of you.” He frowned. “All kidding aside. I need to warn you to avoid those five who ‘eyed’ you from the hallway. Especially Shane, the brick shithouse that pinned you to the ground.”
Nathan raised his eyebrows as they slipped into line, each grabbing a tray.
Matt nodded. “Shane Phelps. Leader of The Gang. He’s liked Gwen since fifth grade, and he’s made everyone know this.”
“So.”
“So? HA! You speak like Peter. No wonder she’s taken a fancy to you.”
“How is it we’ve gone from appreciative to curious to liking me in a single breath?”
Matt tapped a series of food selections too quickly for Nathan to see. He then snapped his CommLink into the slot. “Trust me,” Matt smiled, the cigarette bouncing again as he spoke. “It’s my job –“
“-to know these things.” Nathan interrupted. “I know.”
“Those five are bad news. Read my lips: B.A.D. N.E.W.S. Bad news for bad news kind of bad news.”
“Copy that,” Nathan quipped. “Your point?”
“Am I talking to the wall?”
“Apparently.”
“Watch your back.”
Nathan tapped his own selections on the screen and locked his CommLink into the slot. “Okay, okay. Though I still think you’re way overreacting.”
“Am I? We’ll see. Hang on a second.”
Matt moved past the distribution kiosk, approaching a short, round obviously “bubbly” lunchroom attendant. She smiled broadly as Matt approached. “Those cancer sticks will be the death of you suga’.”
Matt laughed. She kept an eye on her computer terminal as Matt moved to chat with her. Her uniform contained a hint of flare, a colorful button or two, some gold jewelry to accent the neckline, a large turquoise bracelet. She would occasionally tap her screen as Matt spoke. He then whispered something in her ear, and she tapped something on her P.A.D.D. showing him the results. Matt pulled a small item from his backpack and handed it to her. They hugged.
“She’s right,” Nathan said as he moved to join him. Matt motioned them through the maze of tables. “No one really smokes anymore,” Nathan offered.
“I do,” Matt snapped back. “And more do than you might realize. I just don’t hide it. Besides, it’s still a free country the last time I checked.”
Nathan started to turn toward a distant table but Matt checked him with a touch to his arm. “Follow me.”
He led them out a side door and down a corridor lined with a series of doors, each leading to small rooms. Matt stopped at the fourth one and tapped a code into the keypad. He then motioned Nathan through the open doorway.
“Jon, Richard? This is Nathaniel. Nathan? Jon, Richard.” Matt announced as he followed and the door slid shut behind him.
Nathan nodded. “The Bookie and Tai-Pan.”
Richard looked over the top of his reading glasses, with a very slight smirk, he then returned to an open folder before him.
Jon stood and shook Nathan’s hand. “As I said this morning, any thorn in Shane’s side is a friend of mine. Good memory, too.” Jon removed his Tigers cap and dropped it to the table, scratching his hair somewhat furiously.
Nathan sat as Matt tossed his cigarette and sat beside him, across from the other two. “What is this place?” Nathan asked, glancing around.
Jon leaned back in his chair. “Conference, Study, Meeting room. Used by faculty, staff, student organizations and the like.”
“We use it,” Matt added, “as a kind of appendant body; before classes, lunch, and again just after the extracurricular stuff. You know? Band, football, baseball, debate, whatever. Jon here plays baseball and, like you, soccer.”
“Um, football,” Nathan corrected.
“My bad. Football.” Matt smiled back as Jon nodded in agreement. “Real football indeed.”
“Is this him?” Richard interrupted, not even looking up from his folder.
“Yes,” Matt replied as he pushed a fork through his food.
“Am I who?” Nathan inquired as he took a sip from his glass.
“The one who rescued Gwen,” Jon chimed-in, almost too quickly.
“Yes,” Matt added. “He did indeed.”
Nathan set his drink down. He glanced quickly between Matt and Jon. He then looked over to Richard, who seemed still to ignore all the back’n forth. Nathan looked back at Jon, then Matt again. He raised his eyebrows and motioned ‘well’ with his hands.
“Gi-Bolst Tektonics,” Richard said, finally looking directly at Nathan.
“What about it?” Nathan retorted, leaning back.
“My father owns it.”
“Okay. And?”
Matt laughed.
Richard ignored him. “Partnered with Governor Gibson. You have heard of him, yes?
Nathan smiled, tilting his head slightly to the left. “Maybe.”
Richard sat-up and removed his glasses. “His son, Robert, goes here, in our class in fact. He’s friends with Todd McElroy, Mike Holt, and Shane Phelps. Shane Anthony Phelps, as you ought to know, is the younger brother of Derrick Phelps. Both of them were somehow involved in last year’s football shooting as well as Peter Pfiel’s death. Don’t ask” Richard dismissed as Nathan started to open his mouth. “No, we can’t prove it, but we here know. Anyway, these two are grandsons to Anderson Phelps, owner of Phelps & Holt Construction – as in built half of Nashville, subsidiary of the behemoth Jennings & Rall, Phelps & Holt Construction. We all have close ties to Governor Gibson. Not surprising, since the Gibsons, Phelpses, and McNallies are all related, and all of these men attended this high school decades ago. That is, all of our fathers attended this high school, so we have a relationship that stretches back generations.”
Richard leaned back. “Let’s just say for now that we all don’t see eye-to-eye … on anything.”
“Forgive me gentlemen,” Nathan interrupted, folding his arms, “But what does any of this have to do with me?”
Jon leaned forward. “About ten minutes ago, Mike Holt informed Shane Phelps that Matt led you here to have lunch with us. You now have a target on your back.”
“Sorry,” Matt added, shrugging his shoulders.
Nathan shook his head with a faux smile. “Perfect.”
“Shane’s a real problem,” Richard said.
“No,” Matt interrupted. “He’s a real son-of-a-bitch.” He turned and pointed at Nathan. “You watch your back.”
Nathan sat silent for a moment. “I heard you out in the lunch room.” Nathan didn’t know whether to frown or burst out laughing. After about thirty seconds of Richard staring at him, Nathan unfolded his arms. “All this, because I spoke to Gwendolyne and had lunch with y’all?”
“Perhaps,” Richard replied. “Who knows what goes on in his head. But, when The Gang becomes restless, it proves bad for business.”
“Ah,” Nathan nodded. “The ‘O’.”
“Yes, the ‘O’,” John replied.
“Of course,” Nathan said. “I’ve used your services a few times in the past.”
“Tell me,” Richard spoke, changing his tone considerably. “Do you thrive with trouble? What I mean is: do you seek it? Do danger and conflict excite you?”
“Not exactly,” Nathan quipped, then, seeing how Richard’s expression did not change, paused. He leaned back in his chair. “Is this a test?”
Matt smiled and turned to Richard, who raised his eyebrows. “Um, Yes.”
Richard returned his glasses to his face and held out his hand, and Jon promptly placed a folder in the palm.
“Nathan Barthalomew Baird,” Richard recited as he opened it. “Son of Joshua Carmichael Baird and Mary Genita Chilton. Joshua Carmichael, Colonel, U.S. Special Forces, retired. A graduate of Notre Dame and Emory Universities. In fact, every Baird as far back as records go, graduated from Notre Dame. Interesting, since you’re polytheistic. Before Notre Dame, your father served enlisted under Colonel Tom Ryan and Jonas Blane before his field commission. He now consults for the Counter Terrorism Unit in Los Angeles. Your parents divorced five years ago. Your mother’s side of the family is a bit more ‘colorful’, shall we say, with several relatives and ancestors having served in various departments of corrections.” He paused and flipped a couple of pages. “Huh. Your great, great grandfather, it says here, served on Manhattan Island, back when it was a prison facility. His escape helped expose the corrupt penal system of the time. Your great, great grandfather’s brother, coincidentally, served time on Absolom. Serious shit there. Now, what are the odds of that?” He flipped a couple more pages. “You, however, have been a Cub Scout, Webelos, Boy Scout – having obtained your Eagle this past summer, congratulations. Your aptitude tests were, shall we say, good. Hell, better than mine.” He flipped another page. “Your father has had you attend summer youth military training summer camps, starting sixth grade. You’re proficient in several firearms, some of which are not civilian. You hunt with your uncle, on your mother’s side, every winter. You’ve studied Shorei Goju Ru, Gung-Fu, Aikido, and, interestingly enough, Krav Maga-“
“Krav Maga?” Jon interrupted.
Nathan nodded. “Yes. It’s Yiddish for ‘beat the shit out of it until, literally, it shits’.”
Matt Laughed.
Richard frowned, returning to the folder. “You’re an avid runner, write poetry. You participate in debate, are on the school soccer team, play tenor saxophone in our band. You enjoy ballroom dancing with your mother, having reached bronze. You honor both Aurora and Nemesis, though your father’s entire family is Catholic. You carry a butterfly knife at all times and were involved in six ‘incidents’ at Doss last year.” Richard closed the folder.
“Football,” Nathan said.
“Excuse me?”
“I play football.”
“Ah, yes,” Richard replied as he removed his glasses again. “Football.”
"Я также говорю на русском," Nathan added softly.
Richard nodded.
"Oui, le russe, et vous parler un peu de français."
"Je dirais très peu."
Richard nodded again.
Nathan sat expressionless. After a deep breath, he leaned forward and placed his hands, fingers interlocked, on the table. “Okay. Right. This is now officially weird.”
Matt grinned as Jon took the folder back from Richard.
“Answer the question Mr. Baird.”
Nathan creased his brow. “No, Mr. Holst. I don’t seek-out trouble. I don’t ‘like’ to fight at all, but I don’t like bullies even more. I don’t care who they are, where they’re from … or what they wear. All my life I’ve lived by a code, and that code is simple: Honor the gods, love your woman, and defend your country-“
“-Where have I? Matt started to whisper.
Nathan glanced over at him. “Hektor’s speech as he prepared the Trojan forces to meet the Greek armada at Ileion.” He turned back to Richard as Jon smiled. Richard simply stared blankly at Nathan, who continued. “The six incidents of which you spoke –“
Richard raised a hand. “Two involved girls. Four involved your brother.”
“-and all of them involved bullies.”
Richard leaned back in his chair. “Well, here at CS Hawkins, Mr. Baird, we have a different class of ‘bullies’. They play on an entirely different level.” He sat up. “Just one more question, Mr. Baird.”
“Good,” Jon interrupted. “Because, you must meet with the delivery crew here in about three minutes.”
Richard stood. “The incident with Karen Goos, that eighth grader under the Doss bleachers, I believe you dated her for a short time after that?”
“What about it?”
“Did you know the boy you confronted and stopped? The one who ran? Did you know he was a pledge for The Gang?”
“Do you mean did I see the red vest? Sure I did.”
“And that didn’t give you pause?”
Nathan smiled. “Of course it gave me pause.” He leaned back, placing his interlocked hands behind his head. “For about two seconds.”
“And yet you never heard of Derrick or Shane Phelps?”
“I’ve never said that.”
“True, Mr. Baird. You haven’t really said anything. In fact, you seem to keep everything pretty close to the vest.”
“Yes I do.”
Richard picked up his glasses and placed them in their case. “Good.”
And, with that, Richard abruptly turned and headed out of the room. Nathan watched as the door slid up and he met two other boys and a young lady out in the hallway. The girl handed yet another folder to Richard as the door slid shut.
Jon started to collect the folders on the table, appeared to check them, and then stack them neatly into a steel attaché case he had placed on the table. Matt finished poking at his food and pushed the plate away.
Nathan looked down at his leg. How'd they know about the knife?
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