The droning tone rang out across the room; loud, yet monotonous and, in unison, thirty students in their mid-teens rose from their seats and began to swarm towards the painted wooden door to their right, the sounds amplified by numerous identical rooms performing the same ritual.
Yet another educational weekday at Union Wells High had come to an end. With the possible exception of the students in their freshman year, the act of attending high school was little more than a routine which they were encouraged – although some would say "forced" - to go through along their journey towards adulthood.
It had been close to three months since Ryan Alcroft had enrolled at the school as part of his exchange trip, a subject which he found himself musing on as he made his way out of the classroom, extending his hand slightly to catch the door as it slowly swung towards him. A second-year college student from one of the many suburbs of London, Ryan had – after persuasion from his parents – jumped at the chance to experience a year as a high school student in America. Deep down, he would have preferred to attend high school in somewhere like New York City or Los Angeles but, after spending the best part of twelve weeks at Union Wells, he had come to realise that Odessa was, if anything, a better place to be. There were no perpetual crowds and mile-long lines of traffic that one would normally associate with the big city and the residents had all turned out to be friendly and welcoming.
The fact that the weather in Texas was nearly always a lot better than back home in London was a definite bonus. Twisting his body to slide through the crowd, Ryan eventually reached his locker and, after a few seconds fumbling with the key (and a few "colourful" words of encouragement rushing through his mind), the thin, metal door yielded, allowing itself to be pulled open. Pushing the bundle of textbooks in his arms into the rectangular box before him, a familiar voice hit his ear.
"Havin' trouble with your locker again, Ryan?"
A smirk crossed the student's face as his head tilted towards the sound. "What makes ya say that?"
"Oh, c'mon," the newcomer replied as he strode over to the locker adjacent to Ryan's, sliding his key into the circular lock before effortlessly opening the door. "That locker's always been a little crappy. If it ain't the lock not workin', then it's the door refusing to close."
Owen Richardson was the first student Ryan had met on his first day at Union Wells. Other than the larger amount of muscle he carried around, he and Ryan looked quite similar, especially when considering their height. The main difference between the two was Owen's deliberately long, dark hair, contrasting sharply against the ear-length dark-blonde hair which graced the top of Ryan's head.
Letting out a quiet laugh, Ryan rolled his eyes before regarding the student next to him. "That's gotta be the hundredth time you've told me," he said with a tone of mock-annoyance. "Lemme guess: the new guy gets the locker that doesn't work?"
"Maybe," Owen answered with a smirk. "Anyway, you workin' again today?"
Ryan blinked as his friend's question triggered a memory buried amongst the recent revision he had been doing in school. "Yeah...", he sighed quietly. "I'd better get goin', before I'm late."
"Ah, damn," Owen quietly replied, with a sympathetic tone in his voice. "There's a party tonight. You would've loved it." He took a moment for the words to sink in. "Ah, well. There's always more of 'em, 'specially seeing as it's November an' all."
"Well...", Ryan said as he slammed the locker door before quickly locking it in place. "I'm sure you'll tell me all about it." Pushing himself away from the troublesome locker with the palm of his hand, he smirked at Owen before turning around to walk away, raising his voice slightly. "Or if you don't, someone will!"
As he began to negotiate the crowd once more, Ryan's hand delved into his pocket, the fingers wrapping around the familiar, rounded rectangle shape of his MP3 player. It wasn't long before the painted, locker-lined walls of one of the many corridors that made up Union Wells High gave way to a sudden wave of blinding, Texas sunlight.
Narrowing his eyes to shield his dilated pupils, Ryan quickly tilted his head downwards, his feet finding a clear path down the stairs; a few seconds which he used to jab the play button on the small, grey electrical device in the palm of his hand. It wasn't until the sound of distorted guitars and a heavy drumbeat hit his ears that his lungs pushed the carbon dioxide out of his mouth in a long, relieved sigh. Once again, he was free. The cattle-like crowd that he had navigated inside had quickly dispersed once they reached the outside air, striding away from the stone steps to make their way home. However, unlike most people, Ryan didn't have to travel very far. Acting on the advice of the friends he had met over the past weeks, he had found a part-time job at a nearby diner. Thankfully, unlike most other exchange programs students could find themselves on, the one to which Ryan had signed up – to help people experience American high school life more fully – had supplied him with everything he would need to legally work in the country for the duration of his visit.
Rounding the corner, Ryan's eyes immediately spotted the large awning above the diner's front window almost a hundred metres down the street, the pale blue material flapping slightly in the gentle breeze. The Sunset Harvest diner was a simple affair; a family-owned, yet popular establishment, frequented by adults and high-school students alike. The fact that the building was located on Ryan's route home made it an ideal place to work. It wasn't long until he found himself pushing the diner's front door open with one hand, the small bell above the door frame signalling his arrival.
The building's interior, for the most part, continued the same visual theme as the awning outside. The tiled floor was an array of alternating blue and white squares, with the seats which flanked the tables lined with a thin, blue, leathery material. With enough seating for at least fifty people, the diner could achieve a relatively large amount of business on a busy day. While today wasn't particularly busy, being early-November, there were still a smattering of regulars sat at various tables.
Making his way towards the long, fake-marble counter at the side of the room, dodging a tall, dark-haired man on his way to the door, a smile spread across his face as he spotted a familiar figure stood on the other side, her head tilted downwards towards the open cash register which concealed the lower half of her torso. Her shoulder-length, brunette hair hung loosely over her ears and the tiny, silver rectangle which was the rim of a name tag clung to her shirt. Planting his hand on the edge of the counter, Ryan decided, after seeing no reaction from the obviously busy young woman, to open his mouth and speak.
"I wouldn't've had you figured as an accountant, Shelly," he taunted playfully, prompting a tiny, startled yelp from the teenager before him as she realised someone was speaking to her. Lifting her head, revealing the large, blue eyes of an obviously anime-inspired figure on her shirt, her face moulded into an angry glare for a fleeting moment, before the urge to grin took over.
A short laugh escaped the teenager's mouth as she replied. "Business suits never looked good on me." Her hand reached over to gently rest on Ryan's. "How are you?"
Michelle Flynn – or "Shelly", as everyone at school called her - was, like Ryan, in her senior year. A member of the cheerleading team, she spent much of her time between lessons practicing. This, combined with their vastly different social circles meant that she and Ryan rarely ran into one another at school; something which made their fledgling relationship far easier to hide. It was only when they started working at the same place that their friendship began to turn into romantic affection. Ryan smiled as he felt the warmth of Michelle's fingers on his skin. "Better now that I'm done in school for another day," he sighed, managing to veer away from any sort of clichéd response.
"That's great," Michelle answered, smiling. "The boss went out for a few minutes just before you came in." She peered over to a door at the end of the counter with a "Staff Only" sign stuck to it. "You might wanna go get ready before she comes back and finds you here, being late."
Ryan let out a small chuckle as he followed his girlfriend's gaze. "You're right," he said. "If she asks, I got here on time, all right?" A grin spread across his face as Michelle laughed, playfully patting the top of his arm to spur him towards the door. "Your secret's safe with me. Now hurry up!", she agreed, quickly going back to her work before she noticed any of the more curious customers glancing up at her.
The staff room may have been small, but it was more than enough to house the lockers for everyone who worked there. Unlike his locker at school, his designated locker at the diner worked perfectly, allowing him to open it with ease. Reaching inside, he produced a small, plastic name tag and an apron. Closing the locker door, he quickly pinned the tag to his shirt and tied the apron around his waist before walking back out to the diner, just as the bell rang to draw attention to a dark-haired, middle-aged woman walking into the building.
"Ah, Ryan. There you are!", the woman called out as she made her way over to the counter. "I was wondering where you'd gotten to."
Ryan smiled, subtly diverting the conversation away from his slight lateness. "I got here just as you left, Mrs. Evans," he answered, trying not to draw attention to the fact he was lying.
"Well, you're here now, that's the main thing," the Southern proprietor stated, not seeming to care whether or not her employee was being truthful. "You get started in the kitchen for now, Ryan an' Shelly can be out front. You can switch places halfway through your shift if ya want, okay?"
The question prompted the two to give a short affirmative nod to the woman before they broke off in different directions to start work. Not having much in the way of experience in preparing food as part of a business had made things difficult for Ryan when he started working at the diner but, as time passed, he found that he was picking up new tasks quickly. The minutes gradually rolled into hours, with the to-and-fro of Michelle relaying the orders of the paying customers to him while he prepared the food for her in return taking up much of his time.
"Hey, Ryan. Wanna swap over now?", Michelle's voice calmly rang out over the sound around her. The fact that it wasn't an order for food caused him to glance upward from the metal work surface and peer over at the slim-built brunette by the counter. "Sure. I could do with a change," he replied with a smile, stopping at the large sink at the wall before striding over towards Michelle, his hand instinctively sliding into hers as he arrived, out of sight of the patrons on the other side of the long, smooth barrier.
"The guy over there just got in. You might wanna go to him first," Michelle instructed, subtly pointing over to a slightly stocky man at one of the corner tables. Wearing a charcoal grey business suit and sporting a head of neatly-trimmed brown hair, he gave the impression that, whatever his occupation, he took it quite seriously. A black, leather briefcase stood at the foot of the table, inches from his right foot. Quickly spotting the man, Ryan simply nodded and released his girlfriend's hand from his gentle grip. Taking the small, spiral-bound notepad and ballpoint pen from where they lay beside the cash register, he began to stride over towards the corner of the dining area.
"Hi," Ryan began, trying to sound as friendly as possible which, given the fact he had gone straight to work from school, had become increasingly difficult as the day progressed. "Welcome to the Sunset Harvest. Are ya ready t' order?"
The businessman looked up from the portfolio in his hand, but it was clear he was still slightly distracted by something. "Uh, yeah," he replied hesitantly, his eyes staring beyond the teenager stood less than a foot away. It was then that the sound of the television behind him was audible, no longer hindered by the sounds of conversation and cooking food.
"We interrupt the regular schedule for a breaking news bulletin," the male reporter's voice began, the serious tone in their voice clearly apparent. "Moments ago, New York City was the victim of a devastating terrorist incident when what initial sources have called a nuclear device was detonated in the downtown area."
In that instant, everybody's attention was suddenly fixed on the small, seventeen-inch television in the corner as the report continued, displaying various amateur videos of a mushroom cloud rising through the air from distant locations. "It is unclear at this time who was actually responsible for this tragic event or how many are thought to be among the dead. We will bring you more up-to-date information on this story as it breaks."
Mesmerised by the spectacle on the screen, Ryan didn't notice the businessman behind him suddenly grab his briefcase and hastily head for the door along with everyone else. It wasn't until Michelle's arms embraced him that he surfaced from his temporary reverie. "My God, Ryan...", she said, her voice quiet and laced with disbelief. "h-.. how could something like this happen?"
Ryan tossed the notepad and pen onto the nearby table, hardly noticing the plastic, octagonal writing implement slide along the smooth surface towards the wall. "I've got no idea," he answered quietly, finally managing to will his mouth into moving again. For both Michelle and him, the next few minutes passed in a silent daze, the two of them unable to stop what they had just seen from replaying in their mind. Still wearing their name tags and aprons from the diner, it wasn't until they reached the end of the street before someone broke the silence.
"So many people...", Michelle quietly remarked, her eyes still slightly wider than normal. Although he had only known her for two months, even Ryan knew how quickly Michelle bounced back from emotional stress; after all, she was part of the cheerleading squad, which made evidence of such resilience hard to miss.
"C'mon, Shelly," he said calmly, gently stroking the shocked cheerleader's shoulder in an effort to reassure her. "I'll walk ya home. You should prob'ly get some sleep, have a bath or somethin'."
Michelle let out a tiny "Mm.." in agreement, then fell silent as the two of them set off together in the rapidly-fading daylight.