AN: So. It's been a while, hasn't it? I apologize for my lack of updating in the past couple of months - first there was work drama where I had to take over for the lead, then I was Aunt Sponge in a production of James and the Giant Peach. On top of all, I started school and it's been a difficult year academically. But. I'm here now, aren't I? With a brand new chapter. And hey look - take note of the GORGEOUS new cover by my good friend Mel (whom you can find at badboylampwick on Deviantart and gollygeemel on Tumblr) as a birthday gift~ She did an amazing job of drawing the style of the ionic poster of The Breakfast Club with some excellent Charlie twists (Mike on his phone! Augustus eating chocolate! And the remarkable resemblance of Charlie to Freddie Highmore!)
I want to thank everyone who's read/faved/followed/reviewed for your continued support in this little ditty of mine. Enjoy~
Who would ever let the fact that Mike Teavee - Mike Fucking Teavee- just broke down and had a psychotic episode in detention just slip away?
Okay. Psychotic was too strong of an adjective, but as soon as he slunk away to the back of the library, towards the books about gardening and shit, he certainly felt like he had just let it all go. He didn't know what demon possessed him to do that, to just up and rant like that about his family, but he hoped moving away from the merry band of nut jobs would help him exercise that demon and away babbling, mommy-issued Mike would go. Eating his nacho cheese dusted Doritos in peace and quiet seems just like the way to get back to normal.
Usually he just liked to stuff his ear-buds in, drown the entire world in screamo and hard base, but since that dick Turkentine stole his phone at the beginning of the session, that wasn't a viable option.
No music for him.
Doritos had to work.
Eh.
Actually, for a while, it really was working. For five-ten minutes, he just sat in the dark alcove of the hobby shelf and ate his lunch, staring at the Dewey decimals on books that looked and smelled like they hadn't been taken off the shelf since at least 1985. And for some time, with staring at the dull combinations of authors' last name and call numbers, angry Mike receded away.
But then he heard a meek little voice. A meek, annoying voice. "Mike?"
Shit. Charlie.
Mike didn't answer, didn't want to be found. He tried to keep the cellophane hushed, but apparently the cheese smell was not overpowered by the aroma of rotting paper.
"Mike?"
Charlie appeared in the aisle, looking concerned. Of course that little saint would set out a crusade to find him and convert him back to the group, make him an example of the lost lamb in the flock. From where Mike was sitting, just angled enough to see the gross lighting behind Charlie, it frickin' looked like a halo.
Mike groaned. "What do you want?"
"I just wanted to see if you were okay," Charlie said, quietly. Well, the kid was always quiet but this was like, more quiet than usual. And, ugh. So fucking genuine. It was a little sickening.
"Fine."
Go away.
Charlie made the space between them small, walking down the aisle. He paused, uncertain, tentative to say something. But he did. "Mike, I just wanted to let you know that I am here to talk to if you ever need -"
"Thanks but no thanks."
Fuck off.
Charlie was stifled a little bit by Mike's interruption, but he continued to press on. "Mike, I can only imagine what you're going through. I really don't have the experience but some people say I'm a good listener and -"
"Look I'm sure you are a swell therapist and all, but I don't need one, so back off."
maybe it would be nice to talk to someone once.
He hardly felt like eating the rest so he just the rest of the crusts of his baloney sandwich and shoved it in the bag of Doritos dust. Standing up, he grabbed his Mountain Dew (half empty)and dusted what was left of his lunch off of his jeans and South Park shirt.
Mike tried to leave. Charlie stepped closer. It was kinda awkward. Books seemed to be enclosing them. Shrubs and Hedges and Organic Roses and You were only inching closer and closer, like this was an action movie and instead of thirty-year old books about gardening. If it was a movie, the books would have been replaced by a stone wall.
But the real horror would have been that Charlie wanted to make body contact. He tried reaching his arm across to put his hand on Mike's shoulder but thankfully Mike moved his body just in time.
Well, if he wasn't going to touch him physically, he was going to get across the sappiness of the moment through his words. "I'm here for you, Mike."
"Yeah, yeah." Mike brushed it off and brushed past Charlie into the light at the end of the shelves. The saint followed suit.
Out he emerged into the gross lighting of the library, greeted by the three other detention-ers, still enjoying the end of their lunch.
Violet, eating her fruit salad, was the first to notice him.
"Welcome back," Violet said. Strangely enough, her voice wasn't completely soaked in sarcasm. Not that she was probably glad to see him - he had said some dick-ish things to her - but it didn't sound too snide.
Augustus and Veruca looked back to Mike and Charlie - Veruca poised with her . . . star something, Augustus with chip dust all down the front of his cardigan.
"It's good to be back," Mike said as he returned back to his seat behind Violet. This one was drowning in sarcasm as Charlie shuffled back to his side of the table, obviously done with the humble feast he called a lunch. "Miss anything while I was gone?"
"Oh plenty of thrilling things going on in detention" Violet said.
(She was back again.)
(Same old. Same old.)
(Good.)
"I hope your little vacation in the library got you inspired for the rest of the essay," she joked, rolling her eyes. She knew as well as he did that he wasn't going to be writing that essay.
Well. Maybe he would have written a "fuck you" on the paper and turned it in with his name on it. But Turkentine would probably make him rewrite it the next Saturday, or the next Saturday, or the next Saturday. He would need something a lot stronger than Mountain Dew to -
The bottle.
In his locker.
His stash for AP Physics.
Jesus, why didn't he think about it before! Pissed off, he had forgotten to bring it home that Friday as he stalked onto the bus. And now was a time he could have used something. . .
"Does anyone want to take a field trip?"
Honestly, he didn't know how he convinced all four of his fellow inmates to go along for the ride. Charlie and Violet of course threw some protests about staying in the library, just like they had thrown a protest to him staying in his seat for the duration of the detention. (That only worked so far, then they started breaking the rules just as they were now.) But Mike was convinced that they wanted to get the hell out of that lame-ass library as much as he did.
Because everyone else was terrified of the thought of receiving another detention ticket, Mike was the one who sacrificed himself to peer out. Turkentine's door was ajar . Not enough to get a view of them heading out towards Mike's locker in the other direction. He peered out just a tiny bit more and saw Turkentine wasn't even in there.
Dangerous. Risky. Perfect.
He turned back, gave the thumbs up, and ever. so. quietly. opened the door. He crawled out and the other's followed.
They were down the hallway, in a line, one by one. As they passed Turkentine's sanctuary, Violet must have caught that the man wasn't there. "Where's Mr. Turkentine?"
Mike shrugged, looked back at the line. Gloop. Beauregarde. Salt. Bucket. "How should I know?" He said, looking ahead. "The can again, I guess. He's been like guzzling down coffee since we got here."
"Why are we taking the risk?" Violet asked, voice pressed.
Veruca piped up. "What's so important that we need to go to your locker anyway?"
"All in due time, dear Veruca," Mike said as he lead the little tour group through the halls. He could hear her pout, a little snuffling sound.
"Mike, we need to be careful," Charlie said gently. He was in the back, constantly behind them. The threat of Turkentine (and Randy) loomed, creeping behind them. It was thrilling for Mike, but for a dope like Charlie it must have been something so bothersome.
But it must have been fun to be bad for a change.
"Don't worry about it, Chuck," Mike said, smirking. "I got it."
He lead the group to a locker area near the History hallway, festooned with posters of Martin Luther King Jr., Rosa Parks, George Washington, and Abraham Lincoln - all leftovers from Black History Month and President's Day that the lazy teachers (including his father) never got around to taking down. In the trophy cabinet across the way, there were several assorted medals and globe-shaped trophies.
He reached H158 and unlocked its door just as he had done every day since August 27th this year, and out fell a notebook - AP Language and Composition.
"Pick that up for me, would you Chuck?" He asked.
Charlie did.
Patsy.
As Charlie stuffed the book back into its place as Mike reached for what he need - the inconspicuous blue water bottle.
"A water bottle?" Violet exclaimed. Flabbergasted, pissed-off, in disbelief. "We risked another detention for a water bottle?"
"You of all people should know how important it is to stay hydrated, Vi," Mike said as he shut door.
"It does not make sense that you would want to go all the way for just a water bottle," Lard reasoned aloud. What a genius. Mind of the year. Give the boy a gold star.
"Unless it's not water . . ." Veruca trailed off, but Violet's eyes light up just as she said that.
"You have alcohol? In school?" She looked at him as if he was Jeffrey Dahmer, and this locker was filled of rotting corpses than just a few ounces of booze.
"Vodka, precisely." He looked down at the bottle. "Russian import."He motioned down the hall to leave. The group shuffled after him.
"This is a horrible idea," Violet said, her annoying, buzzing voice directly behind him.
Smirking, he asked, "How so?"
"Well, if Turkentine smells that on your breath, you'll be serving detention next week in another school district," Violet said. "Secondly, if your mom is an alcoholic, why would you even start drinking?"
"Do you have AP Physics with Mrs. Windsor?" He asked.
"Yes."
"Well, now you understand why I bring a water bottle of vodka for a swig before class."
"Still . . ." She could understand how Mrs. Windsor would give anyone a drinking habit, but she shook that moment of understand quickly off. "This was a terrible move."
Mike groaned. "Look Vi, have a little faith. I got this all covered. We're going to just go through the computer lab -" They were turning down the hallway and - "Fuck." He froze.
"What?" Somebody asked.
"Turkentine." There he was. Balding back of his head facing towards them, strolling on through the hallway. "Shit." Mike glanced back and then started running. "This way!"
The pounding of ten feet - Jimmy Choo-ed, Converse-d, Birkenstock-ed, Nike-d, dress shoe-d feet - squeaking as they hit linoleum. They sprinted through the hallways. They skidded through the corridors, all of it became a blended mix of lockers, wooden doors, and trophy cases.
"Where are we going?" Veruca demanded through panted breath as they sprinted down the Foreign Language hall.
"No- fucking - idea," Mike confessed as they reached the end of the hall - only to be greeted by Turkentine bending over the water fountain taking a drink.
Godammit.
Quickly he tried to pivot and start running the opposite direction- expecting the others to smoothly follow his lead like this was a teen movie. But life isn't Not Another Teen Movie, and he slipped. Like a bunch of dominoes, they fell onto the floor - a dog pile of five flustered teenagers. Squashed between Veruca's panty-hosed leg, Charlie's torso and elbowing above Lard's flabby gut, Mike pulled himself up and glanced up to see that the idiot was still quenching his thirst.
Turkentine didn't notice. What was he? Blind and deaf?
"C'mon" Mike hissed lowly as he struggled to quickly get back on his feet and start running. The group recovered and the race to get back to library was back on.
As they turned the corner, they slowed down to a near stop to all catch their breaths (he could nearly hear Lard hacking up a lung) In an instant, Mike formulated a plan to save their skins. "Quickest way back is through the cafeteria."
"The cafeteria? Are you nuts?" Violet snarled. "The science hall is the easiest way back."
"You don't trust me, Vi?" Mike demanded as they were caught in a split.
Turn left, cafeteria.
Turn right, science hall.
Decisions, decisions.
But obviously, he was right.
"Let's take a vote," Charlie suggested, trying to avoid conflict.
"There's no time for a vote," Mike snapped as he started to pick up the pace to the left. He then looked back to the others who were still standing in the middle, undecided. Idiots."Cafeteria, let's go!"
"You have steered us in the wrong direction before, Mike," Augustus said, proving that once and for all he had an opinion on something and wasn't just one big floppy ball of Play-Doh to be molded by anyone. "I think it is best if we follow Violet this time."
Violet's smirk, so smug, so annoying, so proud, ((kinda amusing)), grew on her face. "Thanks, Gus." She turned to the right, picked up her walking place to a moderate jog, and led the group through the hallway of chemistry labs and biology rooms and the planetarium -
Until they met the end of the hall, sectioned off by a row of bars.
Like a cage.
Trapped.
They should have listened.
"God damn it!" Violet cried, rattling her bars. Pristine Violet cussed. Maybe he was rubbing off on her.
"What now Violet?" Veruca sneered, nose scrunched, arms crossed.
"We're dead!" Charlie cried, realizing that if they went back, they had an even greater risk of being seen by Turkentine. They might as well have been lining up for him to write them all detention tickets.
But Mike, even if he really, really, really, really wanted to, didn't say I told you so. Or laugh. Or do anything snarky.
Because he received an idea from above.
Of course.
The ventilation.
"Hey, Chuck, catch this," Mike pivoted back towards where Charlie was and tossed him the bottle of vodka.
Charlie did. But looked at it as if he was holding soiled clothes than a water bottle.
"Keep it safe." His attention shifted to Augustus. "Lard, gimme a boost, " He said and like an enormous puppy Augustus Gloop snapped to the nickname.
"A . . . boost?" Gus repeated, slowly.
"Crouch down on the floor and help me reach the ceiling," he said, and just like that, the idiot fell to his knees.
"For what?" Violet demanded as he stepped on Gus's flabby back.
"I got a plan, Vi," he told her. To Gus, "Raise me up a little." Lard shifted and managed to go to more of a standing level than a deep squat, but Mike managed to keep his balance. He was just tall enough for his fingers to skim the rough texture of one of the ceiling tiles. For years, after he hit his growth spurt at age thirteen and shot up a full foot and then some, everyone told him that he should play basketball. Since he hated the sport - even in video game form - he never "made use of his height."
Looks like it's coming in handy.
Actually, he had done this before, but with the aid of a chair and not some three-hundred plus pound German porker.
The tile shifted and he pushed it aside. Success.
"And what is this plan, exactly?" Violet demanded, once more.
"Have you ever Man on a Ledge?" He asked back.
He could guess their answers -overwhelming majority of "No."
Before they could say anything, he concluded, "Doesn't matter. We're going to crawl through the air vent, back to the library. Turkentine will never know we were gone."
Protests erupted.
"I am not going up there! It's filthy!" Veruca.
"That's school property - we could get in trouble if it was tampered with!" Charlie. Bringing up the screw incident in a sly way again, Mike guessed.
"What a stupid plan!" Violet.
"You're not squeezing me through that tiny hole," Augustus, shaking his head.
((Mike tried to stifle a laugh as he pictured Lard trying to get himself through the vents, however spacious it may have seemed. It'd be like stuffing an elephant into a tree house. ))
"We need to come up with a better plan!" Violet called after Mike as he pulled himself up into the cool metal vent.
"We don't have time for another plan! It's now or never!" He called back down, adjusting himself so he could look down the about -eight or nine-ish feet below.
They backed away. They weren't coming. Losers.
Mike scoffed, looked down, and said, "Screw you guys, I'm going home!"
How ironic.
"Just get back to the library, okay?"
"Don't worry, I can fix this," Charlie assured them, stepping up to the bat for the first time in this whole situation. "Follow me."
And the four of them disappeared.