two: the introductions

It wasn''t as nice as I thought it would be.

Don't get me wrong, Briarwood was totally money. Literally. I could smell the hundred dollar bills within getting one mile of the school. But the second I got out of my taxi, the school's luxurious campus overwhelmed me. It was almost exactly as the brochure picture, right down to the immaculate gardens and even more immaculately dressed students lounging around the exterior setting.

There was a peace to the air, but I couldn't shake the unnerved feeling that lingered in my stomach. The feeling that maybe this wasn't such an easy way out of my problems, that you actually can't just transfer away to another school to escape your screw-ups at the old one. That's what wasn't nice.

For the first time, I was actually anxious about being the new kid.

After my meeting with Mr. Myner, I went straight home and explained the situation to my father. Dad had been hunched over his laptop, with the empty Chinese takeout boxes and coffee cups indicating that he had been up for the most of the night. Our tiny apartment seemed to have shrunk and was extra messy, but he didn't register that fact at all.

"So you're going to be expelled for fraud..." Dad had started after I recounted Mr. Myner's speech to me with a hint of skepticism, "or get transferred to some rich kid private school?"

"Yup."

He took off his glasses as he looked over the brochure in disbelief. "And this school is one of the best in the nation?"

"Yup."

"And you'd be there on an academic scholarship? And I don't have to pay a dime?"

"I believe that's the gist of it."

Dad gaped a bit. "Well then, son." He stood up from the table and clamped his hand onto my shoulder—his signature form of affection. "You'd better start packing." And that was that, a simple decision for a simple family. There was no angst, no protests, no tears. Going to Briarwood was clearly the better option for, and not even the prospect of his only son going away to school could keep my father from denying me a free, kick-ass education. Plus, the old man's had seventeen years of me. I think that was more than enough.

In the span of a few days, I had gotten all my things together (which wasn't much) and Mr. Myner sorted out all my transfer details. My departure was celebrated by a steak dinner with my dad and a half-hearted goodbye card made by Lisa Chung, bless her heart. The cab ride upstate to Briarwood was used to study over my new student information and housing arrangements: I'd be living in Coolidge Hall, room 405.

But I stood now in Coolidge Hall, room 405, and it only just hit me that this was it. You know in movies or TV shows, where one major event happens to the lead—death of a loved one, a new enemy resurfacing, getting the girl—and that event's affects were so astoundingly important to the storyline of the story that the audience knows immediately that nothing will ever be the same? That's a game changer. And I was in the midst of one.

My room was cluttered, with clothes and papers strewn about and covering a significant part of the carpet. Posters covered the walls, mostly of bands that I had never heard of. There were countless photographs and clippings of the last World Cup and their presence was enhanced by the soccer equipment left haphazardly in the corner. In short, it was a clusterfuck.

Or at least, half of it was.

I assumed the half of the room that looked like it was ravaged by a hurricane belonged to my roommate, who was nowhere to be found. The other half of the room was bare. Blank gray walls, plainly made bed, and an empty drawer. Figuring I probably looked stupid just standing there and staring, I began to unpack my belongings.

Seven years of having to pack up, move, and then unload honed my skills and I finished the task in about thirty minutes. I didn't have any photos or posters, just my clothes, some random stuff, and the textbooks Briarwood's academic advisor (they actually have one of those) said I'd need.

A few pages into "Advanced Higher Level Chemistry" when I heard a knock on the door. Before I could get up to open it, in came some guy. He was nearly my height, which was a feat considering I stood at a lanky six-foot-three, but this guy looked like he could easily take me in a fight. He looked Spanish, with dark hair and olive skin. But what stood out most to me was his hefty soccer bag and t-shirt featuring one of the bands plastered on the wall.

And then, the realization hit me that this guy was my roommate.

"Hey," he greeted coolly, throwing his stuff on the floor carelessly, "you must be the ass who ruined my streak of having a room to myself for the past three years."

His easy smile negated his words. "Yup, I'm that ass."

"Own it," he remarked with a nod. "I'm Josh. Josh Hotz. Nice to meet you."

"Chris Plovert, back at you."

Josh's face turned up in a grimace. "Ah shit, another Chris? You'll be one of a thousand, man."

"There's a thousand Chrises?"

"A mild exaggeration," he admitted, "but you've got some competition in the memorable Chris department. There's Chris Abeley, who could buy your grandma's soul if he wanted to. Chris Georgeson, chief jerk-off. Chris Goldstein, twelve-year-old senior. And, my personal favorite, Chris the Piss, whom after a memorable Halloween party decided to—"

"I get the point," I interjected, predicting how the story would end. Spoilers: nastily.

Josh laughed and shrugged. "Sorry man, but it's true. Prepare to be known on a first and last named basis, but not the the bad-ass way."

Mulling around the idea of being addressed by both names, I suggested, "So just call me Plovert."

"Hmm, Plovert. Plovert. Plovert," Josh tested out my new name. "Sounds intriguing." He clapped his hands together and said in a dramatic tone, "Let it be known that henceforth, you shall be known solely as Plovert. Huzzah."

I stifled a laugh, "Huzzah."

Josh hopped off his bed and grabbed my schedule. "Shit. Calculus, chemistry, world history, and English lit. All AP." Shock registered on his face. "What's your story, Plovert?"

I frowned, not knowing exactly what he meant. "Huh?"

"Your story. Come on, you transfer to Briarwood a month into senior year and you're taking an unreasonable amount of AP classes. Explain it."

Truth was, I didn't know how to explain it. There was no respectable way to say, "You see, I made a lot copies of exams for people so they could study but not a lot of friends, but luckily my test scores saved me from being expelled. Unfortunately, it brought me here.

"Late acceptance, I guess. They were impressed by my grades." It wasn't a lie as much as it was an omission.

Josh looked impressed. "Nice one." He glanced at my schedule again. "We'll have calc and history together. Thank God. I was getting so bored in there I thought I would have to learn."

"We wouldn't want that." So, at least my roommate was cool enough. Not that I was particularly cool myself, but after realizing all the kids at ADD were wrapped up in their own little worlds and that it would be impossible to make friends unless I was on the road to Princeton or prison, his apparent friendliness was welcome.

"JOSH!" First came the shrill scream, and then the door flung open and in came an exceptionally angry girl. Her eyes were narrowed into deadly slits and her dark hair was wild, possibly wilder than her. She immediately let loose on Josh, who was the picture of both fear and amusement.

"YOU. ARE. THE..." And that was all I got until the girl started to verbally assault him in frenzied Spanish. Now, I had taken Spanish for the past three years, but I could only pick out a few random words like "car" and "lake", along with a cornucopia of some choice expletives.

Occasionally, Josh would lift his arms in the air to signal defeat and try to interrupt her by saying, "Sí, pero escucha..." But she wasn't having it. In fact, it had the opposite effect, with her only yelling louder. A few curious students stood at our door and watched from a safe distance, lest they get caught up in the fire.

After three minutes of almost straight cursing, the girl finally stopped to catch her breath. It was only then that she noticed my awkward presence. "¿Quién es?" she asked, staring me down suspiciously.

Josh took that opportunity to distract her from her train of rage. "Introductions! How rude of me! Plovert, this is my incredibly stupid sister Alicia—"

"Half sister," she corrected with contempt.

He snorted. "You always say that when you're pissed at me. Incredibly Stupid Sister Alicia, this is Plovert. My new roommate."

I waved meekly. "Hola."

"Hey," she muttered, before turning back to her brother. "I'm serious, Josh," she growled, poking him menacingly in the chest, "lay off of him. Or else." Alicia didn't give him a chance to respond to her threat before she stormed out, pushing away the startled students in her wake.

"Mujere," Josh grumbled under his breath, collapsing on his bed.

Unwilling to let the mood become uncomfortable, I mused, "So that's your sister." Stupid and obvious, yes, but at least it was something.

"She's so batshit sometimes." His reply was muffled by the pillow on his face. "And by sometimes, I mean all the time."

"What happened?"
He sighed. "Her asshole boyfriend happened. Cheated on her with this one girl at some stupid party." He sat up to face me. "So naturally, me and my friends get a little revenge on him for her. Nothing big. We just moved his car for him. To the bottom of the lake."

I don't know what was worse, the fact that he actually did that or that he considered it "nothing big." Regardless, I couldn't help but be impressed.

"And yeah," Josh continued, "she didn't take it very well. Turns out, she forgave the asshole because they 'love each other' and they're gonna 'work through this'. Bullshit."

There was nothing for me to add, so I just nodded vaguely. Josh checked his clock and said, "Shit. It's dinner time. Come on, I'd like to eat my frustration away."

Dinner at Briarwood was a relatively important event. According to Josh, everyone was required to have the evening meal together in the dining hall as a way to "foster bonds between students" and "create a familial environment at the school." What it actually meant, he added, was that it was way easier for the cleaning staff to do all their dishes at the same time. Not that I minded having dinner with a huge group of people, it sure beat eating two-day old takeout in front of the TV while my dad worked.

The dining hall was enormous, with tons of multiple tables scattered about, filled with students chatting excitably. The food was served in the back, where its aroma wafted into the air and surrounded us. And my God, the food. I haven't seen so many fresh fruits and vegetables since, well, never. Bread, various meats, pastas, dessert. I take back everything bad I ever said about this joint, it was amazing.

Josh led me to a table in the back with our food. Pot roast, mashed potatoes, and some artichoke dish the server recommended—I was in heaven.

"Gentlemen," Josh said to the two guys already situated the table, "this is Plovert." They shared a brief look of doubt, but Josh dissolved it by adding, "No worries. He's cool."

Josh pointed at the guy with the beanie and strange mismatched eyes. "Plovert, this is Cam. " Cam nodded coolly. "And that's Dempsey," he added, gesturing to the other guy with a mop of blond hair.

"Hey, man," greeted Cam.

"Sup," Dempsey said cordially before turning to Josh with a laugh. "So what's this I hear about Leesh nearly tearing your head off?"

Josh rolled his eyes. "She didn't nearly tear my head off."

"That's not what I heard," Cam cut in with a smirk. "I heard she called you a pendejo and you cried."

"I did not cry!" Josh defended himself indignantly to the snickers of his friends. "And she called me a lot worse than pendejo. She's really not taking this well."

Dempsey stared at him in disbelief. "And how did you expect her to take it? You drowned her boyfriend's car."

"With some gratitude! Harrington cheated on her with STD Strawberry of all people." Josh glowered, ignoring my shock of a girl being named Strawberry. "And it was a group effort. I recall a certain someone distracting the campus security while we hot-wired the car."

Dempsey reddened, but laughed it off anyway. "You speak the truth," he conceded. "Not that I minded though, Earl gets cuter by the year." So, Dempsey batted for the other team. I had to admire his brashness about it.

The other guys laughed. Josh claimed, "What happened to Petrov, the rushin' Russian?"

"He was way too slow, man." More snorts and punches on the shoulder galore. Even I had to join in.

Cam, on the other hand, was considerably more sensible. "Seriously, though," he stated, lowering his voice, "do you think Derrick knows it was us who did it? He was pretty pissed." His voice reeked of caution.

Josh scoffed, as if he was offended at the idea of that Derrick kid figuring it out. "Harrington's got less braincells than Dean Don's left nut. I highly doubt he knows it's us. Probably thinks it was a prank from some other person he's shit all over. Plus, Leesh wouldn't rat us out."

Cam didn't look convinced. Dempsey shrugged. "We didn't leave any evidence behind. I think we're good."

"I beg to differ," came another voice. A female voice. A female voice so angry that it would put Alicia's rampage mode to shame. A blue notebook was slapped on the table with such force that it actually knocked down a saltshaker. Josh, Cam, Dempsey, and I all snapped to attention.

"Uh, oh," whispered Cam, "Insane Layne coming through."

The cause of this was a particularly petite girl. Well, maybe she wasn't small as much as the rest of us were taller. She had choppy brown hair cut to her ears, with bright green eyes piercing through her fringe. Despite her stature and her crazily mismatched clothes, she managed to hold a presence over the rest of us. A very terrifying presence, that is.

"What the hell is this?" she snarled, looking at the notebook with an extreme disgust.

"Um, a notebook?" Dempsey responded, putting on puppy dog eyes.

Clearly, those eyes had no effect on her. "Shut. Up." She exhaled sharply. "Now, can anyone tell me what this notebook was doing on the dock of the lake?"

"Catching some rays," snorted Cam quietly, not daring to meet her eyes.

Only Josh was brave enough to directly speak to her. "Come on, Layne. Relax, it's not like a notebook can be traced back to—"

"Wait!" She cut him off and wheeled on me. "Who's this?" But what she really meant, I believe, was "can we trust him?"

Josh waved her off. "That's Plovert. My new roommate. Chill your ovaries, okay? He's not some CIA double agent."

Her eyes lingered on mine for a moment, causing me to smile feebly. Layne's expression didn't falter, but she set her focus back on her apparent partners in crime. "Which one of you idiots did this? Do you know what—"

"Our names aren't in here," Dempsey observed after flipping through the notebook. "Just some of Cam's random sketches. But no names."

Whipping so fast to Cam that I thought her neck might snap, Layne hissed, "Cam! Everyone in the whole damn school knows how you draw, if I hadn't found it someone could've figured out it was your notebook left at the lake and put two and two together! Shit, think for once in your life!"

Josh shook his head. "You're giving the people here too much credit. Cam could've just been drawing by the lake or whatever. It doesn't mean anything," he countered, sipping his coffee. "And youfound the notebook, okay? So relax. We're good."

Layne didn't seem all that relaxed, but she sat down anyway and started eating the bread off Dempsey's plate. "We'd better be," she muttered with her mouthful.

The conversation after that flowed into talk of an upcoming physics test, how some people were caught getting high on the roof, and other slightly memorable events of the day.

When Cam, Dempsey, and Layne became immersed in a debate over whether or not a lion could beat a bear in a fight, Josh leaned over to me and said, "So, what do you think of Briarwood?"

I pondered the question for a moment, mostly wondering whether or not I should be sincere and say that my first day was a head-trip, but interesting. Instead, I went for the joke route. "I think the people here are crazy," I kidded with a grin, thinking of my encounters with Layne, Alicia, and the biting irony of making the acquaintance of not-so-reckless when I was told not to "screw up."

Downing the rest of his coffee, Josh let out a small, albeit bitter laugh. " Crazy? You haven't seen crazy yet."

author's note: I had this chapter written along with the first one, but I had to divide it up because of the ridiculous length. This chapter was a lot of fun to write, and now we're introduced to most of the major players. Note that I said most ;)

Thanks to everyone who read/reviewed/alerted this story so far, you guys are the best! I'm gonna update 'the great inbetween' quite soon, so watch for that!

xo,

Ren