A/N: One day I'll wise up and avoid starting new multi-chapter stories when I've already got others in progress. Today, however, is not that day.

I realize this idea may not be of any interest to anyone besides myself, but I wanted to give it a whirl anyway. If nothing else, I figured it would be a good self-imposed challenge to try a story with Beck as a major character; I have a harder time writing for him than for anyone else, largely because he's so unbelievably bland. (There. I said it. I'm not sorry about it, either, even though I know I'll now be torn to pieces by an army of furious Avan Jogia fangirls.)

Disclaimer: As ever, don't own.

As Principal Dubois droned on and on that June morning, Jade attempted to pass the time by imagining all the places she'd rather be. In a cage surrounded by sharks…undergoing an audit by the IRS…watching a slideshow of my great-aunt Doris's bunion removal surgery…yep, all better than this.

"So, you can understand," Helen was saying to the assembled seniors, "that we want to make sure Hollywood Arts has a positive image, both here in Los Angeles and beyond. It's all too easy for people who aren't familiar with us to imagine that we're nothing more than a refuge for temperamental, fame-seeking-" here she shot a meaningful look at Trina, sitting on the other side of the assembly hall- "spoiled brats. That's why Lane and I have decided to institute this capstone community service requirement for all rising seniors. Over the next month, you'll each be working at a randomly selected volunteer job. Some will be here in the city, some at other locations around the state."

Jade sighed audibly, drawing a scowl from Lane, who sat next to Helen on the stage.

"First up will be…um…" Helen flipped through a notebook she held. "…working as ranch hands in a town called Schuester, up north. It's supposed to be lovely, from what I hear. You'll be responsible for raising and tending livestock to serve as food for underprivileged children throughout the state. Assigned to this project will be: Jade West…"

Lane's scowl turned to a grin that, at least to Jade, seemed to have a certain element of schadenfreude in it. Great, she thought. Absolutely frickin' terrific. Nothing like a month of scraping up cow patties and chasing after chickens.

"…Beck Oliver…"

"Oh, no," Jade whispered. Instinctively she cast a sidelong glance at him – he was sitting at the far end of the row – but as soon as their eyes met, she turned away quickly, embarrassed. How am I going to endure working alongside him, after everything that's happened between us? Helen may not care about her students' lives, but Lane knows that Beck and I had an ugly breakup – why can't he step in and fix this?

"…and Trina Vega."

"Please, kill me now," Jade said aloud. From across the room Trina yelled, "Don't tempt me!"

"That's enough, both of you!" Lane snapped. "If you want to tear each other apart, at least wait until you're off school grounds!"

Both girls fell silent.

"Now, then," Helen continued. "Working as candy-stripers at East L.A. Community Hospital will be: Cat Valentine, Ryder Daniels, and Sinjin van Cleef…"

But Jade was no longer listening. This, she thought mournfully, is going to be the worst month of my life.

/

From astride his beloved dappled-gray mare, Molly, Gordon Chance surveyed the boundaries of his property. Most of the grass here had been cut down to stubble by the greedy grazing of sheep, goats and cattle, but every so often a persistent little stalk of green stood out against the red clay. Beyond, a stand of pines, backlit by the fast-setting sun, bent slightly as a strong wind grazed their tips.

The wind carried on it a strong smell – a stench, in fact – that made Chance gasp and nearly retch when it reached him. It was as if all the rotten eggs the world had to offer had been crammed together into one tiny, dense, sulfurous ball and set adrift in the breeze. Clearly Molly didn't like it, either; she shook her head furiously from side to side, seemingly trying to whip the smell out of her beleaguered nostrils.

Finally it passed, and Chance's complexion, which had turned a sickly green, began to recover. But his mare was still out of sorts. Normally gentle and obedient, she now began to buck and thrash about, whinnying with an agony Chance had not seen in her since she had been bitten by a cottonmouth years ago. "Easy, girl," he whispered, stroking her forequarters while gripping the stirrups more tightly to avoid being thrown. "Whatever it was, it's gone now. It's okay. It's…AAAH!"

With one mighty whip of her muscular body, the mare hurled her owner headfirst into the dust. The hard landing knocked the breath out of him; he choked and wheezed, trying to turn himself onto his back.

Molly reared up above him, foam spraying from her wide-open mouth. Swollen blood vessels, like forks of red lightning, bulged in her eyes. Her hooves were poised high in the air.

"No, girl," he gasped. "Please don't do this. Please…"

She slammed down her forelegs, shattering his ribs.

He began to crawl away, toward the road. He could feel the blood pooling inside him, and he knew that his end was near; but if he could just flag down a passing car, have them take him to the hospital in the next county…

But Molly was relentless. She bit down onto his shoulder with her teeth – not made for consuming flesh, but strong and formidable nonetheless – and began to rip and tear, while her left foreleg kicked Chance in the side again and again.

Powerful man though he was, the shock and blood loss were soon too much for him. His vision swam; he could not draw breath. His eyelids fluttered, then shut once and for all.

The mare, her anger satiated, trotted away amiably. Behind her, the road was empty. On the far side a tall sign, painted in cheerful letters of canary yellow, looked down upon the remains of Gordon Chance. It read:

WELCOME TO SCHUESTER, CALIFORNIA

POPULATION 1,275

"A TOWN YOU'LL NEVER FORGET"