Hello everybody! I should be, in all honesty, writing an essay right now, but you know what? Essay can go die. Especially this was so much more entertaining to write.
Sort of a spin-off of my own story Identity Crisis. What if all the turtles were turned human and they had to deal with school and was forced to talk it out with someone? This is the result.
Hope you enjoy!
S.S.
In the Therapy Room
Julia Hepburn entered her office, where a red-headed boy was sitting in front of her desk, knee bobbing up and down faster than a hummingbird's heartbeat. She'd never dealt with him before, since he was a new transfer student, not to mention it was still early in the school year.
He jerked when he heard the door open and close, and though his expression eased a little at seeing her, he still looked mortified beyond words. He ducked his head and resolutely stared at his twiddling thumbs. His knee refused to stop moving.
"So, Michael," she said sitting in front of him, placing the clipboard behind her, "What happened today?"
He fidgeted. "A lot of things happen, miss, uh…"
"Hepburn."
He looked up with a grin as bright as day. "Hepburn? Really? Well, the real thing's got nothing on you." he added a whistle and a very Joey-like wink, to which she couldn't help but smile.
"Michael, you haven't answered my question."
"Oh man, you're right, uh…" he scratched his head and shrugged, still grinning, "You know, a lot of things happen in a day. Food fights, walking to school, putting spit-balls in bro's ear, stopping muggings from happening and trying to hook up with that smokin' girl Davida, you know? So much goin' on, so many missed personality tests. Where is a guy to start?"
"I was asking more about your biology class."
His grin gained a strained rigor-mortis quality, but still, it was there. "Look, Miss Hepburn, it's all a misunderstanding, really! I just didn't get enough sugar during lunch, hence the whole, woozy, blinking black stars out of my eyes thing. Really! No big deal. Gimme a granola bar and I'll be as jumpin' around like Freddy Frog. Or Kermit. I could even sing 'A Muppet or a Man', if you like? I'm pretty good."
"Michael, I must insist,"
"You can call me Mike, Miss Hepburn" he interrupted, though giving an apologetic shrug. "Michael makes me nervous."
"Okay, Mike…" Julia brushed her dark hair behind her ear, fiddling with her pen. Though this boy seemed never to stop smiling, she wondered how much of it was genuine. "You don't have to be embarrassed or ashamed, do you understand that? You aren't the first person who had a dizzy spell when dealing with the dissections, and you certainly won't be the last."
The young boy swallowed, that smile slightly faltering. He didn't reply, so Julia hazarded at another question.
"Was it the blood that scared you?"
He snorted. He opened his mouth, an impish quirk to his mouth, but he settled instead for a, "No."
"Was it the rat?"
"No! I..." again, he opened his mouth, closed it, formed silent words that he discarded without speaking them. She didn't like the way his eyes flitted around the room, so troubled and uncomfortable and unwilling (unable?) to speak. "I love rats."
"Consider me impressed," she smiled, aiming for sympathy, "I can handle mice and hamsters, but just not rats. At your age, I just found them terrifying."
Just like that, the clouds across his features lifted and he grinned like the sun again. "Lady, give them the chance and they are the cuddliest dudes you'll ever meet. Especially with the right shampoo."
She opted to laugh, but she shook her head and gave him a well-meaning but stern gaze. "Mike, this is serious; the symptoms that Mr Bourne described to me was a full on panic attack. Don't you want to resolve this? So that it never happens again?"
"Hahaha, no. Miss Hepburn, I'm fine. I'm singing in the rain fine. I'm fine like the way guys say it, like they're actually fine and not the 'I'm saying I'm fine because I want you to leave me alone' fine. Cuz, you know, I'm a guy. And I'm fine. Trust me, there's not going to be a sequel to Upchuck Mikey, because that would be a terrible endorsement to me. I'm too pretty for that kinda scene, so no. I'm fine."
"You're obviously not, Mike."
He ducked his head, and clenched the hands that had started shaking as soon as his knee had stopped twitching. His smile was taut, forced, and green, but still he smiled.
"Miss Hepburn," he said with a shred of sincerity, "I'll be okay. The rats just floored me, cuz I was expecting frogs or, just bits of dead cow. And I like rats. I was low on sugar, I had a bad lunch, and I was a little sick yesterday. It was just a combo of small stuff that came up at once at really bad timing, honest."
She was sure he wasn't telling the whole truth. "Are you sure?"
Mikey grinned again. "Are roses red? Violets violet? Are you prettier than the actual Hepburn?"
Suppressing a smile and an eye-roll (no use encouraging blatant flirting) Julia instead eyed skeptically, but relented. "Alright, but if you have anything you want to discuss with me, please feel free. you know everything we talk about is confidential."
Mikey smiled, nodding. His leg was twitching again.
"Are you sure you don't have anything you'd like to discuss with me?"
"Well..." he actually seemed to think about it, pushing her hopes up. "I suppose you could give me advice on how to land a date as good-looking as you?"
She gave a surprised laugh, and deeming the cheek as a sign of a genuinely sound mind, she waved him off. "You can go now, Mike."
He was gone.
Sighing, Julia packed her things (he had been an impromptu student, squeezed in there against his will even as she'd been getting ready to go home) and stepped out of her office, quickly checking her phone for any messages from her partner. Maybe if she'd been paying sole attention to where she'd been going she wouldn't have noticed the group of boys in her peripherals, just outside the classroom, one of whom wore the bright orange jacket that Mike had been wearing.
She stopped, and listened.
One of the other boys was laughing as he gave a rough punch at Mike's shoulder.
Julia Hepburn bristled. Bullying?
She listened more carefully, standing rigidly by, hiding in the doorway to her office.
"Why didn't you warn me?"
"Mikey," one of them sighed, shaking his head, "There was a parental form; I don't know how you missed it. And I did warn you this morning but you were too busy listening to that band that sings about babies."
"I think you're getting two artists mixed up, Leo," another corrected, tapping away at his bulky touchscreen laptop, "And I don't think they have the right to be called artists."
"Dudes, I have more taste than that; that song was from Adventure Time," the ginger haired boy whined as a bigger boy chuckled rather nastily. But he ruffled Mike's hair, an affectionate gesture that surprised the counsellor though the nasty edge came back when he shoved Mike's head rather aggressively away.
"You're the only one that didn't skip, egghead," the bigger boy taunted as they started heading her way. Miss Hepburn hastily reached for her phone and pretended to send a text as she walked by them, thankfully not earning a suspicious glance as they crossed paths.
She knew who the bigger boy was.
... ... ... ...
"Hello Raphael."
"Hey Mizz Hepburn," he grumbled, closing the door firmly behind him, "How's stuff."
"Good. Yourself?"
"Peachy," he grumbled again, dumping his bag by the door and not taking another step. Julia liked to think she was getting better at reading this young man now; days when he hung back was when he felt as if he didn't deserve to be there. Which, admittedly, was often.
"It's alright," she coaxed, "You're not in any trouble. I was concerned for Michael, that's all."
A line cut itself between his brows, "Michae-oh. Mikey. What about him?"
She invited him to sit down, but he still hung back with a look of mild wariness in the curve of his mouth, though he didn't hesitate to pocket a cookie or two that she reserved for her students. "After the incident in biology, has he, I don't know... relapsed?"
He snorted, leaning against the wall, crossing his arms. "What's he got, cancer? He'll get over it."
She frowned. "I would have thought you'd show him more sympathy than that."
"I ain't givin' him a hard time, am I? That's sympathy."
"What were you saying yesterday? You're the only one that didn't skip, egghead, hm?" Miss Hepburn cocked an eyebrow up and Raphael Jones' face twisted.
"Aw, geeze."
"Now, I may have heard that wrong," the brunette allowed, flicking a troublesome lock of hair behind her ear, "But it seemed to me that there was a mass distaste for science from your group of friends."
She was met with stony silence. Julia Hepburn sighed.
"Must we do this every single time?"
He allowed a slash of a smile before looking out the window, arms thick as saplings crossed over his broad chest, still leaning casually against the wall. It was answer enough.
"We've talked a few times now, and I know that you trust me with some things. So why can't you trust me with this? There's nothing wrong with disliking blood."
Julia jumped when he actually laughed, like a gunshot of dark humour. Warily she eyed him, still wearing a smirk, an odd glint in his eye that funnily reminded her of her older sister when they'd both been children and she had been particularly patronizing towards Julia.
Julia bristled. This boy, patronizing her?
"Dare I ask what's so funny?"
"Mizz Hepburn," he drawled, pushing himself off the wall to stroll forward, leaning on the students' chair, "Most times, I'm in here for what, anger issues? Violence? And you think I'm nervous over blood. That's pretty piss poor detecting on your end, miss, though uh, pardon my French."
Julia decided that rolling her eyes would be childish and he did have a point.
"Then I suppose you love rats too, then?"
He shrugged, amusement loosening his mouth, as always. "Depends on the rat."
"Will Michael be alright?"
He schooled his features. "He's fine."
"Raphael."
His expression didn't change.
"Please, Raphael, I genuinely think he wasn't alright, and I'm worried that he still isn't. He..." she floundered, not sure whether she should be saying anything more; this job was about trust, and confidentiality was the rule that couldn't be broken. But would he, Raphael, understand that a panic attack was an unusual terrifying thing for any individual to go through? Would he know what to do if Michael had one in an uncontrolled environment?
"He's fine. He's got us. Seriously," he added loudly, forestalling her further enquiries, "He's fine. He's playing videogames and reading comics and bein' his normal egghead self. We're keepin' tabs on him, sure, but he's fine. Got me?"
"...Alright," Julia pulled back, and he gave a soft huff through his nose, looking satisfied. Trust went both ways; if she trusted his words, then he would hers. "So, why did you skip?"
He rolled his eyes as he pushed away. "It ain't a big deal. I skip science sometimes, it gives me a friggin' headache. Didn't we cover all this last time I was here?"
"But why this particular one?"
"You think this has somethin' to do with my anger issues? Is that it?" he snapped, ire creasing his face in ugly slashes as he kept moving away, scooping down to grab his bag. "Cuz that track's gettin' old now. Unless you got some other thing you wanna pick my head open for."
"I just want to help you. I can't help you if you don't tell me what bothers you."
"Prying therapists bother me," he snarled, grabbing the doorknob. "So if I'm here to tell ya that Mike's fine, he's fine. Play at Good Will Hunting with the guy later if you're that worried."
"I'm sorry," she blurted, standing up and surprising him, "I didn't... I was just, I'm sorry. You're right; calling you in to check on someone else is a waste of your time. And assuming that you would have similar issues was presumptuous of me, so please let me start again: How are you? Is everything alright? Is there anything that's bothering you, that you want to talk about? How's your job, actually?"
He blinked in surprise again, and furrowed his brow. "I don't remember tellin' you about my job, Miss."
"Ah, yes. Funnily enough, my nephew's one of your new students. Francis."
"Huh." then, finally, Raph approached, dropping his bag by the seat as he sat down, taking another cookie with a jerk of his chin, his way of asking permission. He took it when she smiled approval, and matched her expression with a grin of his own. "Blond kid, arms like a twig, bit of a whiner? Hates bein' called Sissy."
He laughed at her reproachful glower. "Should you be bullying your students, considering they're paying you for your services?"
"For one, it's their parents payin'. Two, it ain't bullyin' if I plan on callin' him somethin' else if he stops bein' a pushover. And I told him that if he don't wanna be there, I don't want him wastin' my time either." he rolled his eyes when her disapproval didn't let up. "Look, he ain't gonna improve if he doesn't want to learn, and I don't wanna teach someone who ain't gonna pay attention. It's a waste all round, and I ain't happy getting money that I haven't earned. And, hell, it just pisses me off so what's the point?"
"Sound reasoning as that is, did Francis understand that?"
"Kids understand more than ya think, Miss," Raphael started playing with his pen, a habit that she, at first, had thought to be a nervous one. But the way he handled the stationary, whirring across his knuckles and flipping around his fingers, was lazy, comfortable, practiced. "They like havin' a say, and I gave him one by givin' him an out or an in. It's about respect, right? He gotta respect me for me to teach him, but I gotta respect him and his boundaries and his limits'n'stuff, or else all I'm gonna end up doin' is beat him up, and I ain't a sadist. Most times. Anyway, he ain't gonna respect me if he's there just cuz his mom thinks he needs some beefin' up, and I ain't gonna respect him if he's wastin' my time. I told him so. And he's still comin every week, ain't he."
Her own knowledge of the situation confirmed the fact, and his self-satisfied smirk foretold Francis's ongoing participation in the extra-curricular sport. Julia finally smiled, albeit ruefully, as she shook her head. "True. He does seem to be enjoying it."
"Good."
"You must have had a good teacher."
For once his smile lost its dark edge, leaving only warm pride and genuine affection. "The best."
... ... ... ... ...
"Miss Hepburn," said her new student/patient, "Trust me, you have better things to do. And I mean no disrespect, but so do I."
She raised an eyebrow at him, making his look of misery more acute. "And what may they be, these better things?"
"Reading a book. Listen to a good song. Watch a good movie, or even eating pizza, to name a few of a thousand possibilities. But talking to someone with no intention of listening or participating in the conversation is not an acceptable method of killing time. Not enjoyably."
She noted how polite he was, how intelligent he seemed. Somehow she found it hard to believe that this young man was the delinquent he was meant to be. His clothes were worn, true, but none the less neat, and he seemed more put out than rebellious in his manner. He was holding a bulky contraption, fingers fluttering over it. "I see. Then why are you so... determined, shall we put it, to place yourself in a situation that forces these circumstances?"
The brunette gave a long-suffering sigh, rubbing out the frown lines at the bridge of his prominent nose. "I don't see why I can't have the same arrangement with Mr Frasier as I did with Mr Lance."
"Mr Lance?"
Donald nodded, fiddling with his... now that she had a proper look, she had no idea what that was. "The previous science teacher."
"You... had an arrangement?"
He looked at her with a twist of mild disgust marring his mouth. "Please don't make it sound so sordid. It was simple; I had the back corner table, he ignored me, and there was peace of mind for the both of us."
"Peace of mind?"
"It's... the only way to put it, really."
"I see." she didn't, really, since a teacher ignoring a student seemed particularly irresponsible, especially from her brief impressions of Mr Lance; he seemed an earnest old man, forced into retirement because of his poor heart. "And what is that?"
"Oh, this? This is..." and she watched him with some puzzlement as his delighted smile withered, and something like resentment marred his expression. It oddly reminded her of Raphael. "It's nothing you would be interested in."
She noted that down for future reference and he noticed it, making him scowl deeper. She skimmed over his notes again; good marks, quiet, just... tardy and uncooperative, notorious for skipping most of his classes. What was odd was that he had chosen to take said classes, the sciences over the arts, and all advanced too.
"You were homeschooled previously, weren't you?"
"Yes."
"And you enjoyed science the most."
A smile wormed its way onto his sullen expression. "To put it lightly, yes."
"So are you finding these classes too..." she'd been about to say 'difficult', but his marks were above average, he was polite, intelligent, and most of all, the resenting expression had come back in full force. She hardly believed herself as she corrected her guess: "Easy?"
He looked at her with surprise and a second later, relief. "Yes."
It was a loaded, desperate answer.
"You're finding advanced physics and chemistry simple." she clarified, unsure whether to take that as a mild exaggeration or a simple fact. After all, his grades were good, but they weren't perfect.
"Yes."
"How simple?"
"I..." he rubbed his nose, considering his answer. "I can build an engine from scratch."
That didn't really answer her question, and she told him so. To that he shrugged, mumbling something.
"I'm sorry, I didn't quite catch that."
"You wouldn't believe me if I told you what else I could do," he said, staring at the device still resting in his hands. "This is a motion detector that I made myself. If I wanted to, with the right equipment, I could build a fully operational and probably better equipped robot suit similar to the one in the original Alien movie. If I had the time, I could probably figure out a way to build a spaceship for NASA out of scrap. I should be writing a thesis about biotronics. I should be elbow-deep in grease. I should be home. I shouldn't be here. That is what I said. I shouldn't be here."
If it were any other student she would have snorted, or rolled her eyes, but he looked so earnestly miserable, she was intrigued. Was he really as smart as he said, or was he smarter than he thought? "Then why are you?"
"Because I have to be. If I want to get into College, which I do, I need a scholarship. I don't... I know there are examples, plenty of them, of people far younger than me going straight to college, but, I just can't. So I'm collecting my GDE first. But I never... I never realised how simple the curriculum is. Mr Lance understood and he let me do what I wanted, as long as I didn't disturb the class, but with him gone and Mr Frasier being..." he visibly bit off what he'd been about to say, took a deep breath and then drooped. "Being Mr Frasier, I've seen no reason to be in class except for tests."
"Though I understand your reasoning,"Julia broached, "You do understand how disrespectful that is?"
"Respect has to be mutual," he stated flatly, "And he has none for me. Just because he's an educator with supposedly more experience than I do, it doesn't entitle him with my obedience."
"Donald, I understand how you feel, but,"
"No." he said, with enough blunt force it was almost a physical blow. "No. I can do compromise. I can do mutual apology, but if this is just about me doing as I'm told, I won't. My fa-friends agree with me."
"And your parents?"
His face hardened in determination. "I will get a note if I have to."
She tried to reason with him, but he had said his piece. He quietly fiddled with his motion detector (it looked nothing like what she thought a motion detector could look like) until the next student came along. So she let him go, and he thanked her for her time and understanding, even if it did sound forced.
... ... ... ... ...
"Miss Hepburn?"
She looked up from her notes about Michael Angler, who'd been made to come and see her for his short attention span in class. She was under the suspicion (and she was sure that some of her colleagues would agree with this) that he had ADHD, and had been trying to figure out a way to break it to him and his parents.
She blinked when she saw Mr Winnall, the English teacher, also Vice Principal of the school, standing by her table looking grave. He also held two mugs of coffee. "Mr Winnall. May I help you?"
"Yes, I think you may..." he placed a mug by her elbow, for which she thanked him, taking a stick of sugar as well. He pulled himself a seat from another desk and sat himself down, the buttons of his waistcoat straining over his prominent belly. "I understand that your, sessions, with the students are confidential," he hazarded, straight to the point, "But I was wondering... have you ever had a session with Leonard Dent?"
"Leonard... no, I don't believe so."
"Ah. I see." he took a sip of joe before dabbing a handkerchief against his snow moustache, nodding a little more. "He's a bright student, well behaved, polite. Hardworking, respectful. I have high hopes for him."
Julia wondered if he knew how cliche he sounded, and whether this boy had anything to do with her if he was in no way troubled. She told him so, and he nodded, apparently pleased with how quickly this conversation was going.
"I am concerned about his, so-called friends. They I am sure, you are well acquainted with. All trouble, all misfits; Leonard is the lone white sheep of a herd of blacks."
Julia also wondered if he knew how racist he sounded, but decided not to comment. "I see. And they are?"
"That prankster, Michael Angler, for one," he grumbled, taking another sip of coffee, "I think Leonard took him under his wing to try and be a guide to him, but I don't see any improvement as of yet. The rest, well, I don't even know how that friendship even started. Donald Teller and Ralph Jones."
"Ralph Jo-oh, you mean Raphael."
"Yes, yes, Raphael. Two of the most troublesome students I've had to deal with, and trust me, Miss Hepburn, I have dealt with a number of delinquents in my time."
Julia blinked, surprised at the idea that Raphael and Donald could be friends; they seemed far too different, for one, and she had the feeling that Donald seemed just the kind of boy Raphael would love to bully. She found it odd enough that Michael was friends with Raphael; would Donald, who seemed very assured of his intelligence, be patient enough to be friends with the excitable red-head?
Then she remembered the conversation she'd glimpsed when Michael had come in after the panic-attack, him and four students, one of whom had been Raphael. In retrospect the boy with the bulky touch-pad computer had been Donald, so, the final one must have been Leonard.
She didn't remember much about him. He'd seemed… average.
"I don't believe the two of them would be a good influence on Leonard," Mr Winnall continued, placing the mug on her desk, "I am sure that if I arrange a meeting for him, with you, he will go. I'm hoping that you could convince him to… distance, himself from those boys."
She blinked rapidly, stunned. "But they're his friends, aren't they? Couldn't he be a good influence on them?"
"It's been three months," the vice principal grumbled, "And their behaviour hasn't mellowed at all. At this rate they'll drag him to their level, and I cannot allow such a bright child squander his potential. You can do it, Miss Hepburn, yes?"
"Mr Winnall," she protested, "It's not part of my job description to influence students in that way, I'm here only to help them with their troubles, not-"
"And I believe," he said over her, "That he needs to be rid of the trouble those boys are going to cause him in future. Why cure when you can prevent, as they say, hm?"
Julia made a few more token protests, but they were overridden and ignored, as she'd guessed they would be. She eventually caved, set aside a time for this Leonard boy, and was finally left alone with her coffee that tasted far too bitter for her liking.
… … … … ….
Leonard Dent came into her office with a polite hello, and sat at the patients' seat with a curious expression on his face. Julia wondered from his vaguely Asian features if he had multi-ethnic parents as she welcomed him into her office, and offered him a cookie. He declined, though he thanked her.
"So, Leonard." she sat herself in front of him, trying to shake the feeling of discomfort this interview was giving her. "How are you enjoying the school?"
"Well enough, thank you," he said, "I think I've adjusted."
"Good. That's wonderful." she shifted in her seat, unsure how to broach the subject. "I take it that you've made some friends, then."
"I have," he responded, giving a brief nod, "They've helped me a great deal."
And she was supposed to convince him that they were a bad influence. She wished she could slap that presumptuous English teacher.
"I see. Well, I can see your grades are above average, and your record is clean… which begs the question, why are you here?"
"I was actually about to ask you that," Leonard admitted with a soft smile, "Am I in trouble?"
"Hardly." Julia bit the inside of her cheek and decided to just go for it; there was no easy way to go around the issue. "A teacher of yours approached me, saying that they were concerned for you, which is why you're here. So, really, it's the opposite."
"Someone's concerned about me?" the black haired boy gave a brief frown. "Who?"
"For confidentiality, and just to save you both from future awkwardness, I can't say. Not to mention avoid accusations of favouritism. The point is, they think you have potential," she explained, deciding to go for the academic persuasion rather than the social one, "They think something is holding you back, and I'm just offering my services, in case you want to talk to me."
"Oh. Well, I do have to admit," he gave a soft laugh, his mouth quirking with a hint of apology, "I'm surprised that any of the teachers see me that way; I'm average."
"Nobody's average, Leonard; everybody's special."
"I'm especially average, then," he shrugged, leaning back in the seat, "As grateful as I am that someone's looking out for me, I'm going to have to disappoint. I don't have any particular raw talent that, say, a sportsman would envy, and my IQ is unexceptional. I like to think I'm a hard worker, but I'm not interested in putting in any more effort than I already do in my studies; I'm happy with how I am."
Julia found herself perplexed by his statement. "One could argue that that attitude in itself is a waste."
"If I had any ambition, maybe. I'm a simple person; all I look forward to is quiet moments."
"Oh? Are quiet moments hard to come by?"
"I think it's a given in this city," Leonardo shrugged again, "Especially since New York has the population of a small country. The only way you'd get some peace would be to go underground. Even then... that's an iffy thing."
"I take it your friends are rambunctious people?"
He snorted. "I would say so."
Well, she had one foot over the line; she just had to cross the threshold into the more dangerous territory. She grinned, making her tone teasing, friendly, and most of all, not accusing. "Do they support you in your dynamic quest for average-ness?"
He watched her, looking unconvinced by her tone, but smiled nonetheless. "They tease me about it, but it's my choice in the end and they respect that."
So should you and this mysterious teacher, said his tone.
"Fair enough," she agreed, nodding.
"May I be excused?" Leonard requested, again an apologetic quirk to his mouth, "I wouldn't want to take any more of your time, and as I'm not in trouble, or troubled, rather… there's no reason for me to be here, is there?"
"Yes, I suppose not," Julia had to agree, somewhat glad that the conversation hadn't soured.
"Thank you, Miss Hepburn." he said as he stood, shouldering his bag, "I could assure the teacher in person that I'm fine, if you could tell me who it is? It'll save you the trouble of playing middle-man."
"As I said, confidentiality. But thank you for the offer."
"No trouble," he said, and left.
Well, he really was the most mild-mannered teenager she had ever had to deal with, that was for sure. Which, she supposed, could potentially explain the almost impossible relationship between him and the three students in question; he probably just let them outshine him all the time.
Which, she concluded uncomfortably, couldn't be healthy.
… … … … …
The next Monday was chaos.
All the toilets had been glad-wrapped, all the doors had been rigged with water-balloons, and the windows that could only be reached by ladders were covered in foil. The ventilation shafts were leaking heavy bruise coloured steam that rolled across the floors, the source of which turned out to be dry ice in buckets of purple and green inked water. MP3s with jury-rigged speakers had been planted all over the school, playing nothing but Black Sabbath, Metallica, Led Zeppelin and ACDC. Cats wearing numbered vests littered the classrooms and streaked through the smoking halls like banshees, and no matter how much everybody looked they couldn't find Cat 4 and 7 (supposedly out of ten).
All students had been gathered into the Gym once the rudimentary pranks had been cleared to let the fire brigade deal with the dry ice. Which turned out to be a mistake, as bags full of coloured powder (which turned out to be flour) taped to the beams and awnings (how?) were ripped open and their contents rained down like a rainbow fallout from a baker's bomb. There was much screaming as students escaped on the lawns, at which point all the sprinklers inexplicably turned on.
One boy tackled another into the ground, and from there all concept of control was forfeited, especially with the introduction of the school's supply of balls. The girls managed to escape without being hurt. The rest got muddy.
Julia Hepburn had never seen such a convoluted series of pranks executed so perfectly in her life.
As she stood with the staff, staring and wondering whether they should cut their losses and cancel the school day, a figure caught her eye in the peripherals, mostly because Mr Winnall was gaping in that direction. She wondered what was so horrifying about the huddle of girls that were gathering away from the mud-wrestling fiesta the field was turning into, when she saw it too.
Leonard Dent was reading a book on the bleachers, unscathed.
He looked up as if sensing their eyes on him, and smiled softly, closing the book. His attention drifted and his grin widened as three wet and messy boys approached him, laughing their hearts out and dragging him into the frenzy of water and mud and testosterone, Donald talking rapidly as Raphael distractedly caught a basketball aimed at them and threw it right back with cheerfully vicious force, Michael catching up with them after dropping off his bag next to Leonard's things, an orange tabby cat popping its head up from the resulting pile.
On the grounds of making sure the girls were alright Julia rushed to the bleachers, and coaxing the rather scruffy cat off of Leonard's book, she read its title.
Sun Tsu: Art of War.
… … … … …
Unable to prove who did it, (though there were three students in particular that looked particularly gleeful, but the star student of the school was defending said three students' innocence and claiming they had an alibi) there was a distinct lack of expulsions, suspensions, and even detentions. There was, however, a series of counselling sessions and extra-curricular activities assigned to four students for the next few weeks during lunch break, as if to ensure that they couldn't band together to plot another episode.
Julia eyed the most mild-mannered, polite and harmless-looking young man (it was hard to consider him a boy) she'd ever met, who smiled as if radiating Zen.
"So, did the teacher in question speak with you in person?"
"Yes," he affirmed serenely, his smile quirking with what looked suspiciously like pride, "Mr Winnall was concerned about my choice of friends and their influence on me. I'm glad that the record was set straight."
The smile widened enough to be positively evil.
Julia rolled her eyes, dropped her clipboard and leaned forward, eager to know. "How did you do it?"
"It?" he asked back, dropping his impish grin and cocking his head, "I don't know what you mean."
Though similar questions were broached to his friends and their reactions ranged from smugly sarcastic 'if only we knew's, airy shrugs accompanied with 'science, probably's, and degenerations into loud, helpless, uncontrollable laughter, they all wore ridiculously proud grins as they did so.
Leonard's friends needed to work on their poker-faces.
...
So, what did you guys think?