Disclaimer: If you recognize it, I don't own it.
Personal Disclaimer: Any similarities between these characters and real people and events are intentional, but should not be taken as any indication of my mental state. The fact that my life inspired a hostage story is purely coincidental.
Time: Mid to late 1980s.
Setting: Ronald Reagan High School. Senior Year.
Genre: Action/Adventure, Crime, Friendship, Romance
Warning: "I only speak two languages: English and bad English."—Corbin Dallas, The Fifth Element. Consider yourself warned, foul language ahead.
Summary: It all started because of history. When their high school class is taken hostage, Matt makes the foolish choice of trying to reason with the HT. Emily's just there to save all their butts.
Because of History
Chapter 2
Previously:
In the boy's hand was a shiny pistol and the business end was pointed directly at Mrs. Sherwood's nose. One thing was sure: this history class had just become a lot less boring.
--M--
Matt was bored. He was in a boring class, with a boring teacher, listening to a boring subject. He was very, very, very bored.
That is until a guy walked into said boring class and aimed a gun at said boring teacher.
Maybe it was the gun or perhaps he was just that bored, but something in Matt snapped. An image of white walls and the sickly sweet smell of disinfectant invaded his senses. He stood up before they could come back and walked over to the guy with the gun. "Hi," he said, holding out his hand for the other boy to shake. "I'm Matt Flannery, and you are?"
The other boy looked at him and then down at his outstretched hand, his face incredulous. "What the fuck are you doing man?"
Matt shrugged. "I'm kind of going off my gut here."
The boy looked at him for a moment, obviously unsure how to respond. Without warning, he swung the gun to point at Matt. The rest of the class flinched, but Matt didn't even blink. "Sit down, shut up, now!" he ordered, gesturing with the gun at an empty seat in front of the new girl. Matt thought her name might be Emily something, (Leah, Lehman?) but he could've been wrong.
Like him, the girl didn't seem to be bothered by the gun. She was, however, scowling.
As he sat down in front of her, he thought he heard her mumble something under her breath along the lines of "stupid boy, going to get us all killed, doesn't know what he's doing."
He turned around and gave her his signature, toothy grin, patent pending. Her scowl intensified.
"So, what's your name?" Matt asked conversationally, turning back to the gunman.
--E--
Matt Flannery was going to get them all killed, Emily just knew it. She didn't know many people here, but she knew Flannery. Everyone did.
Captain of both the debate team and the football team, he had been elected class president in a landslide and was easily the most popular kid at Ronald Reagan High, possibly in the greater LA area.
He was the kind of guy you either loved or hated with a passion. With his winning grin and shaggy-dog hair, he had all the teachers and the majority of the staff wrapped around his little finger, particularly the females. The puppy dog eyes of his just cemented the deal.
But as potent as his hair, grin, and eyes were, their power paled in comparison with his tongue. He could talk bees out of their honey and make them think they'd planned to give it to him the whole time. Poor grades vanished in the blink of an eye and his speeches left people in tears. He would make one hell of a politician one day if he weren't so stubborn all the time.
Matt Flannery's stubbornness was legendary. It was part of what made him such a great debater. He took a position and nothing and no one could change his mind. But while some people might be able to consider his stubbornness a good thing, his other fault was harder to forgive.
He was extremely egotistical. He wasn't necessarily arrogant, but he tended to think of himself as invincible. This combined with his stubbornness often led to some seriously sticky situations.
Like now for instance.
If Emily knew Flannery — and she did know Flannery — then he had gotten it into his head to bring this guy Hanson down, and nothing short of Hanson's surrender or one or both of their deaths was going to stop him.
They were all dead.
--M--
"Tom. Tom Hanson." The boy said. His was back to facing Mrs. Sherwood, his gun returned to its original target, but his eyes kept flashing between Matt and the teacher.
"It's nice to meet you Tommy," Matt said smiling again. Tom winced slightly at the nickname, but didn't say anything. "If you don't mind me asking, what is it you want?"
Tom's hand tightened on the gun. "I wanna talk to her." He gestured with his gun at Mrs. Sherwood. She leaned back further in her seat, but didn't say anything.
"Then why the gun?"
"She won't listen."
"There are other ways you know, besides resorting to violence," Matt said calmly. Behind him, Emily inhaled sharply.
"Don't go telling me what to do!" Tom cried angrily. "You don't know anything! I could shoot you where you stand right now!" He turned the gun on Matt.
"Don't patronize him," Emily whispered. "He's got to think you're on his side."
"No shit," Matt whispered back hotly, lifting both his hands. "Hold on there, Tom, just calm down."
Tom snarled. "You think I didn't try a different way? I tried! I tried everything. I sent her damn letters, left her fucking messages, and I've come here everyday for the past fucking five days. She says we'll talk, but she's always busy. Now she's got to listen." He turned back to Mrs. Sherwood. His grip tightened even more.
"You're right, she shouldn't have been trying to avoid you," Matt said soothingly.
"Damn right." He lowered the gun slightly. "I was a good student. I stayed awake during her boring, shit-hole lectures, I did my homework, I answered her fucked-up questions, and for what? So I could get goddamn fucking screwed! This goddamn bitch screwed me over! I was so close, so close to getting out. And now? Now it's all ruined. All because of her!" The gun, which he had been slowly lowering, rose back up to point at Mrs. Sherwood's forehead. "This bitch screwed me."
"How—"
"Don't!" Emily whispered sharply.
But it was too late; Matt had already finished the question. "How did she screw you?"
"You idiot! You're supposed to be calming him down, not making him more angry!" Emily said harshly in his ear. "You're making it worse!"
"Now you tell me?" Matt responded.
Tom was pacing, walking back and forth in front of Mrs. Sherwood's desk. "This class was supposed to be my ticket out. I pass this class and I graduate and can leave this hellhole of a city behind. One fucking class! I can't take anymore of this shit!"
"I know exactly what you mean."
Tom suddenly stopped pacing and stood stock still, staring down at Matt. "Like hell you do. You're just a spoiled little rich kid who's had everything handed to them on a silver-fucking platter. You, Mr. Student-body President, know nothing about me."
A girl in the back row started crying.