Reviews more than welcome. Up next: The Tongue Thing

The Trials of Justin Smith

Somewhere between the o'niner zip code and the less wealthy areas, the penthouses and ghetto apartments, the white-picket fences and graffiti—there's a school named Neptune High. By day, the place is full of drama, students, teachers, and whoever else decides to drop in. It's the epitome of everything Neptune stands for. The lines are clearly drawn.

After four o'clock, however, when everyone—except, occasionally, a certain blonde vixen with pixie-like features and a penchant for trouble—is gone, and even Lucky has stumbled back to wherever the poor fellow sleeps, a certain room within Neptune High is opened.

Few know about The Room, and those who enjoy its charms take special care in making sure things stay that way. Janitors, homeless men, and even a couple nosy students have disappeared after stumbling upon Neptune High's little secret. It's surprising how many people are willing to vanish for a bit of money, a new identity, and/or several years shaved off through the miracles of plastic surgery. And those who aren't usually cave in when faced with the wrath of the less reputable frequenters of The Room.

All those who frequent The Room have asked, at one point or another, who the owner of The Room was. Who paid the bills and kept things so hush-hush? They were all treated to the same shrug, the same indifferent stare or smooth switch of topic by two bartenders.

No one asked more then once.

How did one get into the room? Well, no one ever truly got in, and no one ever truly knew how the person sitting next to him managed to score his ticket. Things generally stopped making sense within The Room—as one video-game loving freshman is about to find out.

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Justin Smith wasn't exactly sure where he was, or why he was there, or even what he had been thinking when he decided to take a midnight stroll. All he knew was that one moment he was on his front porch feeling like a rebel for finally sneaking out, and the next he was blinking inside what looked to be a private bar.

Wait, since when does Neptune High have an underground pub?

Suddenly, Justin stumbled as a big hand shoved him to the side. "Move it squirt," the big man growled as he stalked past, "You're blocking the door." Justin watched as he pushed his way to the bar and barked out an order, gruff voice indecipherable among the chatter.

"Don't mind Mr. Fitzpatrick," a busty woman in her fifties smiled at him, "He's always a bit grumpy when he comes in. Welcome to The Room, honey."

"The Room?" Justin asked, voice cracking. He coughed and tried again. "Where's that, exactly?"

"I'm Thelma," the woman said, seemingly not hearing his question, "Why don't you have a seat with some of these fine young gentlemen." She ushered him to a booth and gave him a motherly smile. "I'll be right along with some hot chocolate, sweetie, you just sit tight and I'll be right back."

Justin nodded as Thelma walked away, and then looked up to find himself staring at a muscled biker with a beer bottle in his left hand and a rosary tattooed on his right. Oh, God.

"S-sorry," he said, and then wish he hadn't, because now the guy was actually looking at him and Justin really was too young to die, "U-uh, I'll j-just be going now."

The biker shrugged. "You don't have to. It's The Room. Sit if you like." He didn't smile, but he didn't give Justin the death glare he'd been expecting either. "I'm Mildew."

"Mildew?"

"Yeah. My mama didn't have time to get to a hospital and the first thing she saw when I popped out was the dew on the grass of whatever o'niner lawn she'd been mowing."

"Oh." Justin wasn't sure what to say to that, but Mildew didn't seem offended. Thelma returned with the hot chocolate, lined blue eyes smiling as she handed them two cups. "Thank you," Justin said, and was surprised when Mildew did the same.

"So, what's your name?" Mildew asked. Justin, who'd just realized that heaven really could be contained in a Styrofoam cup, choked. Mildew waited, calmly sipping his own drink, as Justin tried not to choke on his own spit. "J-justin," he finally managed, "Justin Smith."

"Smith, huh?" Mildew looked thoughtful, "So, what are you doing here, Justin Smith?"

"I don't know. I just—found myself at the door." Justin didn't know what he was expecting, but the nod Mildew gave definitely wasn't it.

"Yeah, found myself here one day too. Didn't know how the hell I managed to get from the beach to a High School, but never regretted it. It's nice here. Peaceful. Things don't get out of hand." Mildew's voice was wistful, which Justin found unnerving. Was he really sitting here drinking hot chocolate with a biker?

"So," Mildew continued, "Heard you got yourself a website." The contemplative mood he'd been in vanished, and a dangerous gleam was in his eye. Justin swallowed hard, taking another sip of his hot chocolate.

"Uh, yeah. Me and my friends, we started it, you know, for kicks." He tried to shrug it off, but the look on Mildew's face told him they weren't finished. "It rates girls," he added lamely, "From one to ten. One being barely human and ten being absolutely pants-dropping gorgeous."

"Yeah, I know how it works," Mildew said, "Been on it a couple times myself. Had a few—suggestions to make." His smile disappeared. "Maya Gonzalez a four? Do you want to die, punk?"

Justin suddenly found himself seriously contemplating that question. Did he want to die? His brain was screaming noooo but his mouth seemed to have different opinions. "Should she be lower?" His heart shrieked as Mildew's jaws clamped shut, but his mouth continued to betray him. "She's too skinny," it babbled, "And her hair's always a mess." She's also a diehard cat fan, which is kind of creepy in a senior.

Mildew's face was getting purple. "What did you say?" Justin couldn't help but notice the rosary on his hand had just disappeared as the biker ground his fist into his other hand. Great, Justin, lay your head on the chopping block, why don't you?

He shrank back. "I said, whatever you want, man. No problem. I'll have it fixed tonight."

Mildew gave a brisk nod. "Good. She's my girl, and I won't have some punk kid's website making her feel like she's not the most beautiful woman in the world."

"I'll do it as soon as I get home. I'll go home right now."

"Better do that." Mildew gave a smile that didn't make Justin feel an ounce better, "And while you're at it, Weevil wants me to tell you that giving a girl a mix CD isn't going to do you any favors, and to be careful where you step when it comes to that girl in particular." He clapped Justin on the back with a friendly chuckle. "Consider yourself warned. Now scram."

Justin scrambled to his feet and made for the door. Just when he thought he was going to make it, someone tapped his shoulder, and he whirled, hoping with all his heart it wasn't the leader of the PCHers himself.

It wasn't.

"Hi, there, freshie," Logan Echolls gave him a smile that made his stomach clench and his armpits start sweating, "Guess what? You're not going to say anything about this place. In fact, you're not even going to remember this place, got it? In fact, you'd do good to forget the last couple days."

Justin nodded and fled, not slowing down until he reached the cool breeze of the midnight air.

Eli "Weevil" Navarro chuckled as he heard the outside door slam. "You didn't have to make the kid pee his pants, Thelma probably drugged his drink. Kid won't know what hit him when he wakes up the next morning passed out somewhere on his first night away from mommy dearest with no idea where he's been."

"And people say I'm the cruel one," Logan sighed as he turned back to the poker game, "No one suspects the sweet giver of hot chocolate. I'll raise you twenty bucks. All in."