(Not so) Lucky Number 13…
Addition to Disclaimer: I do not own Anne's prose piece. It's "Survivor" by Chuck Palahniuk. (It was one of my prose pieces and, yes, I did have to say that name every week.)
This Chapter: A possible explanation for Sark's drugginess; the quoting game and another secret rendezvous; the band trip to U of I (true story, by the way…left out a few things because o' the yungin's, though…)
Suggested Soundtrack: "Feelin' Too Damn Good" and "Another Hole in the Head" by Nickelback, and "No Such Thing" and "My Stupid Mouth" by John Mayer
Author's Note: According to my written copy of Chapter Twelve, it has been almost three months since the last chapter (or 87 days to be exact). This chapter, consequently, is about forty-five pages written (forty-four and thirteen lines to be exact).
Seventeen Again
Chapter Thirteen: So Much For On Time
"Are you sure?"
"Yes. I'm positive."
"Yeah but are you sure?"
"Damn it, Syd! I know what the man looks like! If I say I saw him, then I saw him."
"The real question, Agent Vaughn, is if he saw you."
Vaughn locked eyes with the elder Bristow across the table. "I am positive. Like I said before, I was in the back of the group and in the shadows. They don't let new recruits handle big drug deals in case they do something wrong. Newbies are just supposed to hang out and observe. Their whole M.O. is eerily like a business; it's it's disturbing, quite frankly. An utter enigma."
No one knew how to respond, and his last sentence hung in the air like cigar smoke in the small room. In response to their request for a safe house/meeting place, the CIA had sanctioned a fully equipped annex above a restaurant in Angers, the next town over from Sugarville. Everyone that had been sent to the small suburb was crowded into the dusky room, barely having enough room for a conference table, six chairs, and sufficient room to pace. They had gathered in the wee hours of that Saturday morning after the first football game to discuss the most recent development in their mission. Despite their rag-tag appearance (Syd and Vaughn were still in their band shirts and Marshall was actually sporting a sleep cap), most were fully awake, although Sydney's eyelids drooped from time to time.
Before they left the school, Syd had called Jack to inform him of their situation and to ask how he wanted them to proceed. He said to go ahead and grab a quick something to eat at Colonial which would give him time to phone Kendall back in L.A. Their "quick something to eat" elongated to midnight when the staff at the small restaurant kicked out the still-rowdy teenagers. Instead of continuing the party somewhere else (Syd had never seen a group of people so excited over a loss), the agents elected to go "home": Sydney's house and then said meeting place.
The discussion up to this point had not really gone past disbelief. Not one agent could wrap their mind around the fact that Sark was dealing drugs in a suburb of Chicago. Naturally, they began attacking Vaughn's credibility, saying that he was hallucinating, too tired, even high off the fumes from the drugs he had dealt (obviously Marshall's idea). He had been fending off their heated accusations for a good half-hour, and the only person who had seemed to overcome his momentary incapacitation was Jack Bristow. For once, the elder agent was not glaring at Vaughn with contempt.
Taking a long drag from the hastily prepared travel mug, Sydney sighed. The caffeine was buzzing through the blood vessels in her brain, trying in vain to awaken the numb organ. She blinked languidly before trying her voice. "But Vaughn, why would Sark be here? Dealing drugs? To kids?"
"Maybe it's just Sark's sick way of making a few extra bucks," Dixon tried.
"No," Weiss countered. The pen between his thumb and index finger began pounding up and down, rapidly beating the defenseless air. "No. I think that Sloane's found us out and sent Sark to keep an eye on us."
"Not quite, Agent Weiss," Jack responded, beginning to pace behind his seat at the head of the table. "I believe if either Sark or Sloane knew where we were, we would know they know." When he received confused glances he corrected, "They'd make themselves known to us, even going so far as to expose you three."
"I certainly wouldn't put it past them," Syd mumbled into the fist supporting her chin.
"Which leaves us with the fact that he's here and dealing drugs," Dixon summed up yet again.
"Well," Marshall stammered, garnering everyone's attention. Quailing under the combined heat of their gazes, he straightened up in his seat as if an invisible string was stretching his spine. "What if that's just w-what he's d-doing?" Finding his voice he in their expectant silence plowed on, "I mean, most people have two jobs if their first one doesn't pay enough. I know I was thinking about taking up the night shift at this gas station but my mom said no and I don't like gas stations anyway: too dirty."
Before he could continue his rambling, Weiss cut him off. "Yeah! What's to stop Sark from still dealing with previous contacts even though he's working with Sloane? Maybe Sark has been supplying these kids for years and we just didn't know it. Even one of Interpol's most wanted men needs a little extra cash sometimes, right?"
"This is crap!" Syd suddenly yelled, slamming both fists down onto the table and consequently making everything jump. Maybe it was her frayed nerves, lack of sleep, Sark in general, or all of them combined They were weighing her down like a sodden fur coat to the point of hysteria. The best aspect of this mission so far, she thought, was that she did not have to deal with anything remotely debauched related to Sydney Bristow's life. Sloane, Sark, her mother, the KGB they were all left behind in L.A.
Supposedly.
Not anymore, though. Not with the appearance of Sark. Los Angeles and Chicago merged, and this little corner of as-close-to-Heaven-as-one-could-get that they inhabited now shattered. It did not matter that they had originally been sent there to take down a drug ring. It did not matter that her boyfriend was risking his life every day in a gang just for that purpose. All that mattered now was that Sark was involved. How naïve was she to think that the most evil people in the world could leave her alone for just a little while? The entire thing made her sick.
She suddenly became aware of everyone glaring at her, both worried and concerned. The most prominent was Vaughn, eyes boring into her from across the table. They were suddenly accompanied by a brush of her bouncing ankle. This small gesture reassured her more than any words of comfort could. It gave her the strength of mind to start thinking again.
'Okay. Let's start with the facts. We know that there's an international drug ring supposedly based in Columbia with operatives here in Smalltown, U.S.A. What else do we know? That Sark deals drugs here are well. Purpose: unknown. What do these have in common?'
"Drugs. They both have drugs in common. What if What if Sark was running this drug ring? What if it wasn't based in Columbia, but Russia? What if it's a special kind of drug? One that clouds your judgment? Well, all of them do that, but I mean somehow enhance their mental and physical capacities. Oh, they do that too! What I really mean is that they switch the loyalties of the user. That they're used to recruit kids! Yeah, that's it! Or there's some Rambaldi pencil sharpener hiding in an unsuspecting student's locker—"
Silence surrounded her, and she bit her bottom lip behind a cupped hand. She had not even realized that she had been talking out loud until the soft brush was replaced with a swift tap to her shin, effectively muzzling her. If she had not been so extremely worn out, she would have been blushing like a tomato, but at the moment she was too tired to care. Instead, she merely gave her eyelids one last tug and rested her head on her fist.
"Did she pass her last psych eval?" Dixon queried to no one in particular.
"Hang on a second," Weiss defended slowly, occupying a laid-back position. "Miss Psycho Band Geek Spy Barbie may be on to something." Sydney had enough presence of mind to peer down the conference table and throw him a dirty look. "I'm serious, Syd! What if Sark is running this ring? What if he's trying to recruit for his organization? We don't exactly know his motives for being here of all places. I mean, I'm sure he could be making more money whoring a prostitute in the middle of a church—"
"Eric!"
"Eric!"
"Agent Weiss! That was unnecessary!"
"Well, excuse me!" He bolstered. Maybe Syd was not the only one with testy nerves after all. "I'm only calling it as I see it, all right?"
"You're wrong, Eric," Vaughn whispered, his tone causing everyone to fix their eyes and attention onto him. His gaze seemed inexorably trained to a coffee stain on the table, seeing more in the misshapen brown blob than any of them. "He made a nice haul tonight. I don't know where these kids get that kind of money, but they do. And they don't mind spending it."
A different silence hung in the room then: one of anxiety, apprehension, almost fear. Each agent looked to another for possible reassurance and found nothing Until all eyes landed upon Senior Agent Jack Bristow.
"The CIA confirms," He began, "that there has been something fishy about this drug ring all along: that's why we're here. But," He added hastily, "we had no idea that Sark was involved in any way, or if Sloane knows about his side venture. Will's heading a team of analysts back in L.A. who are working on establishing any leads they can on this subject. For now, though, we must continue on as if nothing has happened. Keep investigating your respective leads. But always be on alert: we have no idea if the KGB, Triad, or even Sloane have sleeper agents in this school." Administering an admonitory glance at each agent in turn, he nodded shortly. "Dismissed. Leave alone or in pairs at intervals. Sydney, I'd like to speak with you, please."
She had been practically out the door when her father signaled her out, Vaughn not far behind. He gave her hand a quick squeeze before trooping down the hidden stairs with Weiss. Syd approached her father cautiously. "Yes?"
"Sydney," He started, then stopped and swallowed as if he did not know quite how to word what he wanted to say. After locking gazes with the dirty wall behind her he tried again. "Sydney, you need to be the most careful. Any minor slip-ups in protocol or appearances could spell disaster for the entire mission. You never know who could be watching you."
He was being condescending and patronizing; she knew that. He was hinting that he had seen her and Vaughn together, or at least heard rumors about them; she knew that as well. But what she could not understand was why he was telling this to her and not Vaughn; the majority of the time he was the one who received the "Keep Your Hands/Other Body Parts to Yourself" lecture. At that moment, though, she was much too tired to think about anything too extensively, except how warm and inviting the concept of a bed seemed to be all of a sudden. She merely nodded in response, filing away a note to search for hidden innuendoes later, and strolled aimlessly down the stairs.
Weiss and Vaughn were both waiting for her at the foot of the staircase, hands thrust deep into their pockets and miles away in their own separate worlds. Only her clumsy descent upon the last two stairs pulled them from their reveries.
"So we get the shaft yet again," Weiss commented, allowing a small grin to lift a corner of his mouth. "You think they'll ever get tired of screwing us over? It's gotta get boring after a while Right?"
"I hope to God so," Vaughn replied, leaning against the dirty wall and cringing involuntarily. "Otherwise I don't want think about it. All I want to do is go home and sleep away the weekend. Thank God Michel Tibot is morally opposed to doing homework. I don't know how you're going to get through this weekend, Syd."
"With bags under my eyes and a twenty-four pack of Jolt, I suggest," Eric threw out.
A weary grin spread slowly across her stretched lips. "Yeah, I guess."
Vaughn narrowed his eyes and studied her. "What's up, Syd? Do you need to talk?"
She subconsciously wet her lips with her tongue as she searched for the right words. "I can't help but think that "
"That we could be in way over our heads, here?"
"Exactly."
"No freaking shit."
"'"The time has come," the walrus said, "to talk of many things. Of shoes, of ships, of ceiling wax; of cabbages and kings. And why the sea is boiling hot, and whether pigs have wings." Alice in Wonderland by Lewis Carrol."
"'There she weaves by night and day a magic web of colors gay. She has heard a whisper say a curse is on her if she stay to look down on Camelot.' 'The Lady of Shallot' by Alfred Tennyson."
"'Water, water everywhere but not a drop to drink.' 'The Rime of the Ancient Mariner' by Samuel Taylor Coleridge."
"Ooh! Good one! How about 'Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary, Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore — While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping, As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.' 'The Raven' by Edgar Allen Poe."
"'Faith is a fine intervention For gentlemen who see, But microscopes are prudent In an emergency.' Emily Dickinson."
"She's one of my favorites; I've got books on her. How's: 'Some say the world will end in fire, Some say in ice. From what I've tasted of desire I hold with those who favor fire. But if it had to perish twice, I think I know enough of hate To say that for destruction ice Is also great And would suffice.' 'Fire and Ice' by Robert Frost."
"'Hark! What light through yonder window breaks? It is the east and Juliet is the sun. Arise fair sun, and kill the envious moon—'"
"Oh, we're done now! Once you start breakin' out the Shakespeare — especially Romeo and Juliet — then you know you've reached the end of the line."
"Come on, Anne! It's one of my favorite plays!"
"No, Jane. You're just mad because you were losing. Now be quiet and let me wheeze in peace."
The one thing Syd hated most about Jane Porter was that the girl did not do track, therefore she was not a good runner, and therefore she did not like to run. So she was stuck in seven/eight gym on a beautiful September Friday afternoon walking at a pace that reminded her of glue dripping down a vertical piece of paper. It drove her absolutely insane. They had to complete six laps (one and a half miles) in about forty minutes; she could do it in about six, five and a half if she was really trying. But as of that moment, she and Anne plugged dutifully around the track at the laziest pace allowed by Mrs. Clark, planning to lie about the number of laps they had done. They had been chatting about pretty much anything that flitted across their minds: their quoting game, the airheads in English, the latest band jokes.
" And that's why Henry thinks I perpetually want to rape him," Anne concluded after a lengthy and rather crazy story. She shrugged her shoulders as she studied her ratty gym shoes. "After three years, it still hasn't gotten old."
"Good. I was beginning to think that you two were serious about that whole thing."
"Are you kidding me?" Anne exclaimed incredulously. "I wouldn't touch the boy with a ten foot pole, no matter how 'long' he says he is: two drumstick lengths is a little not possible."
Sydney laughed shortly and pondered for a moment. All the other girls she had socialized with always figured out some way to drag one of their past boyfriends into the conversation. Anne did no such thing, although she did tend to bring up a random band 'thing' to share, usually having nothing to do with their train of thought whatsoever. Curiosity got the best of her, and before she could check the question she found herself asking, "Whom have you touched with a ten-foot pole?"
Her friend stared at her blankly for a moment before comprehending. "Oh! You mean who have I gone out with? No one. I think I'm one of the two people in this world who have pretty much gone through a public high school without having one single date."
This only served to pique Syd's curiosity further. She had also never had a date in high school, but that might have owed to the fact that she went to an all-girl boarding school, and any dating that went on there would have constituted a major lifestyle change. This girl was smart, funny, and extremely entertaining; she even enjoyed watching most sports. What guy would not want to date her? "Why not?"
Anne shrugged indifferently. "I don't know, but I bet ninety percent of it has to do with my appearance. Guys these days don't want much to do with a non-whore who isn't a size zero, and therefore no potential for turning them into a whore. Plus," She added as an afterthought, "I'm really shy."
Syd's eyebrow lifted in involuntary disbelief.
"Yeah, yeah, no one believes me, but it's true. All this—" She motioned wildly in the air "—isn't real. Get me alone with someone, and I clam up. I just don't talk. I've never really bothered to analyze it before; I guess it's just easier to believe that I haven't been looking hard enough for the right guy rather than there is no right guy for me."
'My God, how old is this kid?' She wondered, not for the first time. 'This is stuff I should be saying! If I hadn't found the right guy already.' All of this sounded painfully familiar to Syd; she knew all too well where her young friend was coming from. She shook her head sadly and started, "Oh Anne—"
"No. Don't," The young student replied firmly in a tone that the undercover agent had never heard from her before. It made Sydney look at her curiously. Anne stared straight ahead instead of down at the ground as usual, and in her eyes were a mixture of strength, determination, and sadness. "Don't burst my bubble. Let me live in my own fantasy world. And if no one wants to join me well, I guess I'll learn how to deal."
A decidedly lopsided silence gripped the pair as they continued at their slow pace. Anne's was a firm silence, one that secreted strength of mind and independence; so much so that most certainly hiding just on the other side was a scared and timid little girl. Sydney was still attempting to evaluate this girl. Her heart truly ached for her in a way that she never remembered it aching for another person. She knew what Anne was experiencing — had been going through it herself up until, oh, about a little day officially known to the government as the Takedown of SD-6. But Anne was only sixteenRight? Suddenly her father's face appeared clearly in her memory, her mind's eye trained on his mouth as he spoke those few poignant words:
"You never know who could be watching you."
Syd immediately dismissed the thought as radical and paranoid, and as she felt the discomfort float away on the brisk breeze, she sighed in contentment. The leaves were just starting to change, and the unmistakable scent of decomposing foliage permeated everywhere. Everything here was so different: there were actual seasons in Illinois compared to the perpetual state of summer in California. That morning was the first time she had unearthed a jacket before Christmas in practically forever. The anticipation of weather shifting was almost palpable. Perhaps that was what Sydney found so endearing and calming about being outside that afternoon.
After what seemed like an eternity, Sydney felt Anne's elbow dig into her ribs at a particularly sore spot (one too many butts with the end of a rifle will do that to a girl). She gave an involuntary wince before discreetly favouring the tender area and whispering a harsh, "What?"
"He keeps staring at you," Anne replied smoothly.
Immediately, Sydney's spy senses went into overdrive: her eyes gave a thorough once-over to the track, stands, and even the parking lot; her Sense of Intuition Antenna sprung up and began reaching out its invisible feelers to detect anything out of the ordinary.
Nothing. She came up with nothing.
"Where?" She stage-whispered hastily, fighting to keep her anxiety and apprehension below the surface of her skin.
A small smirk played over her friend's lips as she flicked her head behind them indicating the concession stand, now devoid and looking quite forlorn. "Michael. He's been staring at you for most of the period from around the corner. I think he'd like you to join him behind the concession stand A-S-A-P. Looks like he's got a little something on his mind, too."
Syd's heartbeat immediately stabilized, and she fell back into stride along her friend. But at the same time, another sense was piqued within her brain: why was Vaughn ditching class just to watch her? And how the hell did Anne see him before she did? The latter question was shoved aside in favor of the former, and a query sprung to her lips before she could think twice. "What the hell does he want in the middle of the day?"
"Does that really matter to you?" Anne deadpanned, her short legs practically jogging to keep up with Syd's long strides. "Now, what we have to do is figure out a way to distract Coach — I mean, Mrs. Clark so that you can go and have a forbidden rendezvous with your secret sexy French boyfriend."
"He's not my boyfriend," She countered, automatic and unconvincing. With a furtive glance over her shoulder she added, "And anyways, I can't just cut class for a few minutes to have a conversation with him."
"You can if my plan goes off without a hitch," Anne corrected, her smirk widening into a full-fledged smile. She began to slow her speed and limp noticeably, favoring her right leg. "All you have to do is double back on the track and you're scot-free. Have fun for me, okay?" Her face contorted in faux pain, and she started to change her course, drifting out towards the gate where their teacher stood surveying her class with a sharp eye. "Coach Clark! My knee's starting to act up again! I think it's gonna rain soon. Can I go see Pam and get some ice ?" Anne stood facing the track, forcing Clark to turn her back on the class. With an almost imperceptible wink at Syd, she supplemented her predicament with a groan of pain.
To her credit, she was very convincing.
Grabbing her window of opportunity, Sydney raced across the football field and hopped the fence that encircled the track, her feet carrying her over the chain link easily and effortlessly. Her fellow classmates barely gave her a second glance as she cut around the small building to the place that they had shared that heated kiss the night of the first football game. To her utter surprise, there was Vaughn clearing the dirt from under his fingernails while lounging nonchalantly on the portable metal staircase.
"Took ya long enough. I was beginning to think you'd never notice me, spy girl."
"I didn't," She replied a little shortly; what gave him the right to be so cocky all of a sudden? "What do you want, Vaughn?"
"To see you, of course. Do I need any other reason?"
"You do when it's the middle of the school day and both of us are risking blowing our covers by cutting class and meeting behind the concession stand while almost in plain view of my entire gym class!"
"Calm down, Syd!" He said, finishing with his nails and sitting up to face her. "It's seven/eight. It's my free period. I have off campus, so I can do and go wherever I want, and if it happens to be out on the track where I can watch my incredibly sexy girlfriend work out that's fine with me." She sighed huffily, but a hint of a smile and colour crept into her façade despite herself. "And technically you're the only one ditching class, here. But Anne looks like she's got everything pretty much under control."
They both risked a covert peek at the gate where Anne was attempting to walk without assistance from Clark and failing miserably.
"She's one good actress, I'll give her that," Syd muttered, more to herself than Vaughn. Tugging him back behind the stealthy staircase she pressed, "What do you want, Vaughn? I'm serious."
His smile slowly disappeared as his face hardened. The toying of his fingernails was now a stalling tactic instead of a cocky action. "I didn't want to have to tell you like this, but here goes. Jack sent me a coded note through the Dean's office saying that Kendall confirmed the existence of a bank account in Columbia owned by Southwest Shores, an Italian oil company that poses as a front for Sark and Sloane. The CIA reported that there had been a withdrawal about five days prior to last Friday, and a deposit that Saturday." He paused, locking eyes with her as the information sank into her skull.
"That means," She mused out loud, "that it really was Sark and that he really does run this drug ring. Wow. We wanted an answer, and we sure got one."
He nodded placidly in agreement. "That's not all of it, though. Will was analyzing satellite feeds from over Columbia on an anonymous tip. He found about a thousand acres of cleared farmland that hadn't been there last time we surveyed the area. Kendall sent a team yesterday to check it out."
"And?" Syd prodded hesitantly.
Vaughn sighed heavily, running a hand through his hair, resting his twitchy fingers on his earlobe. "Jack said they confirmed the farm grew cannabis for marijuana and poppies for heroin. It's owned by Sark."
She shook her head quickly. Every piece of information fit but one. Syd gazed at him intently, her eyes boring into his forehead as his head was bent. "But then he can't be running the drug ring here at this school. In briefing for this mission we were told that the dealers had been around for seven years, and well established for five. If the farm was recently built, it can't be the same one supplying the guys here." Despite her triumphant tone, there was a part of her that knew it was not true. Vaughn had not finished briefing her yet.
"Syd, our last detailed sweep of Columbia was over ten years ago. It's completely possible."
Sighing, she collapsed onto the staircase next to him and nuzzled her head onto his shoulder. He wrapped his left arm around her shoulders and rubbed them soothingly. Just being close to him — smelling the odor of cologne mixed with his sweat — made every one of her nerve endings hum with activity. She was tempted to take his now-red earlobe between her teeth, to complete some form of strenuous physical activity during her gym hour, but the perpetual presence of their problems coupled with the more-that-likely threat of getting caught dampened her mood. So instead she merely rested there, content to reside in his arms for as long as Anne could hold Clark's attention. For a time, those problems hung in the background instead of in the forefront of their minds.
As he placed a chaste kiss on the top of her head, though, she heard Anne's signature shriek, presumably from the gate of the track. 'God, that child's voice is piercing,' Syd thought as she reluctantly rose from her position. "Guess the period's almost over," She commented, offering a hand to her boyfriend, who only kissed it before regaining his feet unaided.
He gave her a sly smile and an exaggerated wink. "See ya next hour, baby."
"Shut up, you cheese ball."
"That's Mr. Cheese Ball to you, cracker."
"That's Mrs. Cracker to you," She mocked, laughing inwardly at the double-sided joke.
Vaughn crossed his arms haughtily over his chest. "Obviously Mr. Cheese Ball and Mrs. Cracker are married to different condiments; otherwise she'd be Mrs. Cracker-Cheese Ball. Or just Mrs. Cheese Ball."
"Mrs. Cracker-Cheese Ball," She confirmed, peering out around the stairs to make sure that Clark was indeed still occupied. "And I meant to say Miss Cracker, for you information, Mr. Cheese Ball. She has no intention of marrying a Mr. Cracker for fear of actually becoming a cracker in the slang sense."
"That's not cracker, that's a hick. Crackers are white people."
"Same difference," Syd remarked. "Anyways, Miss Cracker would like to tell Mr. Cheese Ball that she'll miss him, can't wait 'til their next debriefing, and sincerely hopes that his name belies his anatomy." Secure in the fact that she had left him utterly speechless, she added one more thing before she swung around the corner. "Oh, and Miss Cracker says that Mr. Cheese Ball can spread her any time he wants. Good day, sir."
Syd vaulted back over the fence and melted into a straggling group of girls as they cut across the field towards the gate and a hopping Anne. As soon as they engulfed the latter, her excessive movements ceased, and she tagged along beside Sydney at a normal rate. Suddenly Syd felt her hair being brushed aside from her neck, and she looked at her friend out of the corners of her eyes. "What're you doing?"
The hair fell back into place, and Anne sighed in exasperation. "I hop around pretending to have rheumatism so that you can have five minutes alone with your boyfriend — don'tyoudaretellmehe'snotyourboyfriend — and you don't even come back with so much as a hickey? Way to reciprocate!" She exclaimed sarcastically. "What the hell were y'all doin' up in there?"
"Talking," Sydney answered honestly, adding silently, 'about the hostile takeover of your small-town suburb by drugs and evil, life-destroying men.'
Anne narrowed her eyes in scrutiny, but said nothing. Instead she asked, "So does this mean there won't be any major make-out sessions on the bus tomorrow to make us all extremely uncomfortable?"
It was Syd's turn to narrow her eyes, and confusion shone through the thin slits. "What are you talking about?" She asked cautiously.
"Hel-lo!" Anne answered pointedly, not so patiently waiting for someone to open the locked doors to the girls' locker room. "Tomorrow we go down to U of I with the band to play at the Illini game! Band Day ring a bell? We get to play 'Stars and Stripes' and that American Medley crap before the game? The bus leaves at six AM, and we have to be here at five-thirty. I don't know if I can handle you two making out on a bus for three hours while Greg mercilessly teases you."
"Shit. I forgot about that."
"I'll take that as a no."
Just then the doors opened and a flood of girls stampeded inside to quickly change and then spend ten minutes retouching their hair and make-up. Syd internally groaned and rolled her eyes. Five-thirty? In Guter Speak that translated to five-fifteen, which meant that she woud have to get up at four forty-five at the least — and that was if she took a shower that night.
'Sleepover with Vaughn!'
She smirked subtly.
"Syd. Come on, it's time to get up."
"Just five more minutes, Mommy."
"Yeah, Syd. Rise and shine! You can't shine if you're low!"
Sydney bolted upright, her eyelids as far apart as humanly possible. Before her stood both Weiss and Vaughn, their arms folded solidly over their dressed chests. They stared at her, unblinking, while she glared at Vaughn in disbelief. Completely disregarding Weiss's presence she exclaimed, "What the hell is he doing here, let alone in my bedroom?"
"And good morning to you, too, Miss Sunshine," Weiss replied cheerily as he prepared to yank the covers towards the foot of the bed. "Now. If you don't get out of bed in about two seconds, I'm going to see all that there is to see, and I don't think Vaughn wants me to see what you have to show."
Not wanting to wait for her mind to wrap itself around his statement, she motioned for Vaughn to toss her a robe begrudgingly. Weiss simply smirked smugly and turned his back on her, allowing Vaughn to help his girlfriend clothe herself. While she tied the belt she snapped, "Answer my goddamn question, Eric."
He recoiled as she began rooting around in her drawers for clothes. "No need to get snippy, Syd." She halted her search to toss him a scathing look, and he collapsed heavily onto the couch. "Let's just say that Greg, Michael, and Jane are car pooling today."
"And whose bright idea was that?" Sydney remarked sarcastically from the depths of her closet. The brand of silence that followed indicated Vaughn had concocted the plan. "Vaughn!" She groaned, muffled slightly by a shirt that had suddenly fallen onto her head. "Brilliant. You're fucking brilliant. Move over Einstein, 'cause Michael Vaughn's coming through!" Syd reemerged with a wrinkled band shirt; apparently she had not thought to hang it up after its last wash. Brandishing it at her boyfriend she admonished, "You call Eric Weiss over to my house at four thirty in the morning and then have him wake me up? Are you asking for a sex fast?"
While Vaughn's face fell, Weiss only laughed. "She's got a point, there, man," He stated, stretching exaggeratedly. "Why am I here so early?"
Vaughn blanched and looked lost. "Because Hey, wait a second! Man, you're the one who rang the doorbell at four o'clock, decided the break into her house yet again, and drag me naked out of bed! I didn't ask for any of that!"
"Four o'clock?"
"Man, did I learn my lesson! Naked and Angry Vaughn Not exactly what I want to see first thing in the morning. But it'll definitely wake a person up."
"Hold up. You broke into my house again? That's it. I'm getting myself a security system and attack dogs that recognize your ugly mug and nasty smell."
"That hurt, Syd. That really hurt."
"Shut up and get out of my room."
"Yeah!"
"You too, Vaughn. You encouraged him. And by the way, the sex fast starts now."
"Ouch. Come on, Mike. I'll show you something on the Internet that'll keep you busy 'til she lets up."
"Oh, dear God. Leave! Both of you! Now! And if lightning happens to strike you, I won't bother to shed a tear." She slammed the door behind their retreating backs and dressed as quickly as possible, afraid of what Weiss was doing to/showing her boyfriend. The last thing she needed was to piece together a broken Vaughn corrupted by his best friend.
When she finally slogged into the kitchen at four forty-one, she gratefully found both men seated soundly at the table. Successfully resisting the urge to take a gander at the sink in case there were smoking dishes, she gracefully slid into her boyfriend's lap. "So," She said, "what's for breakfast, boys?"
"Krispy Kremes for us," Weiss answered evenly, his hands folded on top of the table. "But for those who throw around talk of sex fasts like it's all a game Well, those people will just have to go without the best doughnuts in the world."
Syd sighed in exasperation, tiring of Weiss's early morning games. "Would it satisfy you to know that I was planning on a quickie in the car before we left?"
"No! I'd rather do without the mental image of you—"
"Whoa!" Vaughn interjected, pointing a menacing finger at his friend while snaking an arm around his girlfriend's waist. "Let's at least try to keep this non NC-17 for the kids."
"Kids? What kids? You two are gonna have kids? Oh, I'm so happy for you two! Congratulations! I guess there's no need for that quickie now, is there, Vaughn?"
"Shut up and get in the car."
"Yes, Daddy." Weiss groaned as he grabbed his travel mug from the table and banged out of the house.
Sydney rose slowly from Vaughn's lap. The moans her muscles issued seeming to travel straight out of her mouth. She gathered her keys, purse, and coat and began heading out the door. "I don't care what any of you say: we're stopping at Dunkin' Donuts on the way because I have no idea where the nearest Krispy Kreme is."
Vaughn nodded placidly, grabbing his own belongings as he followed her. "Fair enough," He replied, a bit preoccupied. Syd noticed this and spun around while standing on the threshold with her eyes narrowed. He cleared his throat and rubbed the back of his neck, eyes studying a nonexistent spot on the floor. "So, um were you, um, serious about the, uh, car? 'Cause Eric can always drive himself. Or walk."
She grinned and shook her head incredulously. "I was just yankin' your chain."
"Yeah, I wish." They smirked at one another and exited the house without another word. Weiss was waiting for them by Syd's car, leaning on the trunk nonchalantly.
He groaned as the keys clenched in her hand glinted in the small amount of light. "You're driving?" The other agents ignored him completely, climbing wordlessly into the car. "Does this thing come equipped with space shuttle seatbelts?"
"Get in the car now or Sydney will be forced to kick your ass twenty different ways."
"Referring to yourself in the third person Sydney means business. Weiss is shutting up now."
The car ride was made as short as humanly possible by Syd's impeccable driving. (She had decided to skip the entire doughnut debacle; she could survive without one of the most fattening substances on Earth for a morning.) By the time she screeched into the rapidly filing parking lot at five fourteen, both Vaughn and Eric were out of breath and clutching at their chests. "Oh, get over it," She snapped harshly, gliding out of her seat with her belongings. "At least I don't drag race like some of these teenagers."
"I think I lost a lung somewhere back there," was Weiss's smart reply. She merely slapped him upside the head when he closed his car door.
They entered the school as a group, followed by many other panting band students, some still clad in pajama pants and fuzzy slippers. (One girl wore blue cotton slacks with bright yellow ducks plastered every few inches; frog slippers enveloped her feet.) As they lightly jogged towards the band room, a flurry of faux flowers, eyeliner, flag bags, and the distinctly disabling smell of too much hairspray accosted them. Syd's suspicions were confirmed when, upon reaching the door to C-3, she was confronted with a sign that read, "CAUTION: whores at work." A cassette tape of the music played behind the door.
Upon entering the band room, Syd almost ran straight into the racks and their uniform bags. The towering hat boxes teetered precariously on top, threatening to crash down upon her head. With a lingering touch of her boyfriend's hand, the three parted ways and she went to go sit with her section. Anne was sitting rigidly in her usual spot, Katie Goode leaning against her and snoring lightly. As Syd slid into her chair, piccolo case in hand, Anne whispered, "I have no idea how she can sleep through all this commotion! I mean I can sleep anywhere and in any position if I'm tired enough — believe me, I know — but this? This is crazy?"
Syd merely nodded complacently, passively marveling at her young friend's early morning energy. "Why are we just sitting here?" She asked after a minute of silence.
"At last check, Guter was busy reaming out the bus company for not having the buses here by five fifteen. They're still not here, by the way. And before that, he was reaming out Madden for forgetting to start loading the vans exactly at five. Therefore the entire drum line was torn a new one for no apparent reason. But don't worry: since Mad Dog has no idea how to go about yelling at Michael, he probably won't."
"Good to know," The student/agent answered, preoccupied, as her eyes roved the vast gathering of sleepy students. They suddenly connected with Vaughn's, and they conversed silently from across the room for a time — until Anne exaggeratedly cleared her throat to remind Syd of her presence. As the former blushed, Anne merely smirked knowingly. "So," Sydney stalled in embarrassment, "who are we sitting with on the bus?"
"Everyone," Anne answered simply. "Just make sure you're on Guter's bus, about three or four seats back on the driver's side. We'll fill in. You'll see." When Syd questioned her with a look, Anne gave a blasé wave of her hand, stirring Katie to an upright position. "We've had a seating system since our trip to U of I in freshman year when Henry and Abby were going out. Just trust me."
Anne could say no more because Guter had waddled into the room, demanding everyone's attention. He gave short, sweet, to-the-point instructions about what was going to go on that day, and followed it up wit a lengthy speech about his expectations. ("If anyone puts a toe remotely out line you'll learn to fear God." "You mean Guter." "Shut up, Jason! They knew what I meant.")
There was a mad rush for the uniform racks, and more than one hatbox plummeted as hands grabbed at anything resembling a garment bag. Somehow Sydney made it out of the mosh pit and down the stairs with her sanity mostly in tact, only to run into a second cluster of teenagers trying to smash their cargo in the backs of two school-owned vans. Mr. Seabrook Madden, "assistant" band director and head choral/orchestra director (and yet another teacher younger than her), was attempting to organize the chaos, fruitlessly yelling at the young students to line up and hand everything to the parents. Of course that did not work. Hat boxes and garment bags seemed to sprout wings and fly through the air, occasionally flopping down on a random and unlucky freshman. Syd decided to follow suit: taking aim, she shot-putted the cursed black box she toted, and it landed with a thunk onto the rapidly growing pile. Congratulating herself internally, she began fighting her way back to the fringe of the crowd.
A voice raised itself over the others, reaching her ears and stimulating her interest. "C'est trés stupid. Je ne peux pas être ici. J'ai sommeil! Je peux dormir! Je peux revenir chez moi! J'y peux aller maintenant. Avec Jane et Greg"
"Comment?" Syd answered in French. Vaughn's head swiveled in her direction, struggling to maintain a deep and disdainful frown. "Est-ce que tu parles derrière mon dos? Qu'est-ce que tu dites?"
"Rien," He answered indifferently, passing off the bags he was carrying to a sophomore behind him. "Oú est-ce que nous—"
"Over here. C'mon." Syd latched onto his arm and dragged him over to the first bus in a line of three; they had pulled up while they were battling through the sea of students. "I'm too tired and too teenager to care about speaking French," She whispered into his ear, causing him to chuckle softly. "First bus, fourth seat back on the driver's side. Go. I'm tired, I need sleep, and your shoulder looks very inviting."
He chuckled lightly again as he ducked and climbed the stairs on the old bus. "Are you sure that's all that looks inviting?"
Before Syd could concoct a reply that was to her liking, the entire bus broke out into a chorus of oohs; apparently they had all heard him. Someone from the back called, "If the bus is a'rockin', don't come a'knockin'!"
"Whoo hoo! Frenchie's learned some useful English!" Someone else whistled.
"Shut up! All of you!" Anne's piercing voice exclaimed. Her head popped up over the back of a seat. "Go back to your boring little lives and leave these two alone. Now, sit down and stop blocking the aisle."
Syd quickly slid into the fourth seat with Vaughn close behind. Their "group" slogged on behind them, filing to their spots as if they were assigned. They toted everything from pillows and blankets to CD players and books. Soon enough the crowds around the school vans dissipated as they transferred to buses. Students ran from yellow beast to yellow beast, desperately searching for an open seat anywhere that they could find one. When everyone was ready, the convoy rolled out onto the road.
Despite their usual exuberance, the students on Bus One were practically silent for the first few hours of the trip. The soothing sway of the vehicle even managed to lull both Vaughn and Weiss to sleep. (Weiss had been snared by Anne and was sitting alone across the aisle from the couple.) Syd successfully fought sleep in order to watch the sun rise over the cornfields of Central Illinois. It was a calming, serene view — something completely opposite from what was sure to come in the next few hours.
Dead cornstalks stood stark still in order to bask in the early morning light. They glowed orange when the sun first reached its rosy beams up over the horizon. The thin wisps of clouds nearest the round orb were painted a pale pink while the denser ones deepened to a dark shade of purple. From time to time they happened upon a windbreaker, a lumpy black stripe that separated crops and acres. Abandoned farms, barns, sheds, and rusty tractors were sprinkled liberally across the landscape. When they chanced upon a working farm, pastures of cows and horses whizzed past, disallowing her a sufficient glance to indulge herself. The soreness in her muscles and the ache of her eyelids seemed to lessen as she gazed out the window at the picturesque setting. Her internal thoughts were quelled, allowing the rhythmic thumping of the wheels over the asphalt and Vaughn's deep breathing to resonate within her. In a word, she felt at peace.
But before Syd knew it, the quaint farms and pastures became less abundant as the sightings of other motorists and fast food restaurants became more frequent. Parallel to their reentrance into urbanization, students began to stir and strike up conversations. Pretty soon the entire bus was back up to its normal sound level and the only two still motionless were Weiss and Vaughn. Anne's head rose over the seatback in front of her, an evil grin marring her features. Syd shook her head in bemusement, certain of her friend's intentions. She held up a hand to halt her, assuring her with a look that she had it taken car of. Anne shrugged but disappeared behind the seat all the same.
A quick once-over for possible eavesdroppers produced nothing, and Syd's hand began casually crawling up her beau's thigh, nearing the juncture of his legs. He shifted in his slumber, and a dreamy smile drifted across his lips. "Syd, not now: I'm trying to sleep," He mumbled, his speech garbled by a fuzzy tongue.
Sydney's eyes widened and she clamped a hand over his mouth, sufficiently waking him. His legs kicked out across the aisle, making contact with Eric's legs and jolting him from his dreams as well. Both male agents bolted upright in surprise, and Anne's surprisingly melodious laughter rose above the background chatter. "What lit a fire under your ass, buddy?" She asked rhetorically, appearing around the seat this time with a book clutched in her hands. Eric laughed sarcastically along with her shortly before flicking her off, effectively sending her back to her reading.
Vaughn's eyes were still bugged out, and Syd's grip was still as snug as a vice. She yanked his ear to her mouth and whispered vehemently, "Watch your mouth. Do you want to get us killed? You know, I wasn't serious about that sex fast, but I can be if you're going to be that careless about our lives."
What was visible of her boyfriend's face remained contorted in confusion. Weiss must have caught on, because he leaned across the aisle and supplied quietly, "Pillow talk killed the agent, my friend. Or in your case, will sexually frustrate the agent."
"Exactly," She added slowly, raising an eyebrow pointedly.
She did not think it was possible for his eyes to get any wider, but somehow they did, stretching his face unnaturally. Jumbled jargon made its way between her fingers, and she quickly removed it in order to understand him. "What the hell did I say? And who the hell heard me?"
Anne rejoined them, her arms folded on the seat and her chin rested on them. "What're you talking about? Who said what and where and when and how and, goddamn it, why?"
"Nothing. And no one." Syd turned back to Vaughn, hoping to convey her hidden meaning. "Then he said: she yammers dramatically."
She could practically see the cogs turning in his brain, laboring to twist her words in order to squeeze out her real meaning. When it dawned upon him he gasped exaggeratedly, playing his part perfectly. "I must say, you all rat out rudely."
Syd nodded, forgiving him, but Anne's eyes darted back and forth between the seatmates, more than a bit confused. "Am I missing something here? Or are you two just talking in code?"
The three agents joined her in laughter, but they were secretly sweating beneath their collars.
Guter struggled to his feet as the convoy rolled to a jerky stop in front of a group of non-descript campus buildings. He issued haggard directions that included taking only their instrument with them, grabbing their garment bags and hat boxes, and keeping every hair in place. The students listened obediently, putting their instruments together silently under the concealment of the giant seats. When he finished lecturing he dismissed them, and they pushed their way off the bus and to the awaiting school vans.
It was a flurry of navy blue nylon, plastic boxes, and pictures of red dresses as the students clamored to find their own belongings. "The best part about being on Guter's bus," Anne muttered at one time, passing a crowd surfing hatbox on to the next person, "is that we get everywhere first." It was then that Sydney noticed that the rest of the buses were just then unloading their human cargo. She laughed inwardly, but continued her search without remarking.
She soon found her belongings and a spare stretch of grass, whereupon she quickly stripped down to her shorts and replaced them with those ugly painter's overalls. Guter wanted them to walk together to the stadium in full uniform regalia, so Syd began struggling with her gauntlets while trying to zip up her garment bag at the same time. She achieved closure with the left one and the bag, but continued to wrestle with the right until a familiar hand alighted upon her forearm. The hand was joined by its mate and made quick work of the troublesome cloth. "Is this going to be a regular occurrence? Because there are more interesting articles of clothing that I could have problems with."
He smiled slyly. "Je sais, je sais," Vaughn replied in French, his voice inadvertently dropping an octave. His fingers glided over her arm, chilling her despite the thick layer of wool and midday heat. She mirrored his smile, and their gaze was only broken when Weiss decided to launch himself onto Vaughn's back. The latter groaned and batted him away by threatening him with drumsticks. "Why do you always have to ruin the mood? You're like water on fire! Or children to a married couple."
"Or the bottom of a beer bottle when you're looking to get really drunk."
The two swiveled their heads and knotted their eyebrows incredulously. Eric merely shrugged his shoulders indifferently. Syd knocked his Sousaphone-specialized beret off his head, and the couple moseyed towards Vaughn's drum box while he chased it down.
"So," He stalled, taking both her garment bag and hatbox out of her hands and placing them on the ground next to his own. "What are we doing here?"
She gazed at him in confusion, resting the embouchure of her piccolo automatically in the palm of her hand to keep it warm. "What do you mean?"
He rolled his eyes. "What's our objective here? What's our motivation for this scene?"
Syd mirrored his previous action as she watched him put together and check his drum. "We're here to have fun, Vaughn, did you forget that? This is the one day this century that we get to sit back and not really think about work. Or school for that matter." They smiled at each other as they thought of the activities the night before. She began to assist him with checking for loose screws on the snare head and possible cracks in his drumsticks.
"I don't think that's possible, Syd," Weiss argued in a low voice, coming up behind the couple toting both his beret and Sousaphone. The glare off the shiny brass instrument caused Syd to shield her eyes. "We never get a day off. Didn't your dad tell you? We have to change halfway through and start looking around Champaign for drug dealers."
Both Syd and Vaughn openly gaped at him, their jaws slackened noticeably.
"Just kidding! Ha ha ha " Eric exclaimed, trailing off after focusing on Syd's murderous façade. He attempted to put his Sousaphone in between him and her.
"Oh, so we're planning on killing Greg again, are we?" Anne had suddenly sneaked up on them yet again, causing each agent to wonder exactly how much of the conversation she had heard. Her round, smiling face looked from person to person slightly bemused. "'Cause I know a few good men who can get the job done." She paused for a moment, analyzing her word choice. "That sounded wrong, didn't it?"
"Yep," All three replied shortly, nodding their heads in unison.
She shrugged. "Oh well. It happens. C'mon. Guter wants us to start walking. The band parents are going to pick up our stuff so we can go and get good seats. Let's just hope that we don't get stuffed in the corner again. That was hell." As she talked she had begun to drift down the sidewalk. The student/agents began to follow, melding into the solid line of navy blue that stretched down the block.
The band made their way down the streets of Champaign-Urbana, home of the University of Illinois. Cars zoomed past them, and college students toting books and smug looks filed past them, giving each band member a sweeping glance of disdain as they blew by. No one seemed to care; they continued sidling along calmly, conversing with friends and yawning at almost regular intervals. As they neared the stadium, they began to see other bands as well, some from as near as Peoria and Springfield and as far as Rockford and Galena. But none of them were in full uniform yet; the Glenfield High School band was the only one to be fully decked out. The only thing this revelation did was piss them off; they began asking everyone who would listen why they had to wear their uniforms on such a hot day. Their answer was immediately passed back from the front of the line:
Because Guter said so.
That effectively shut people up.
They entered the stadium, got their seats ("Damn it! The same place again!"), and were allowed to strip off their jackets while they ate lunch. Outraged by the insanely inflated prices ("Three bucks for a small drink? What am I, made of money?"), most merely bought a bag of chips and then split off into groups to mooch off richer students. Vaughn and Sydney were one of the few who bought hot dogs and a drink and, after leaving Weiss with his senior baby-sitters, decided to make their way towards the upper deck.
"Hey, what does this remind you of?" Vaughn asked, smearing mustard from his hot dog like lipstick around his mouth and dotting his nose.
She frowned playfully and swiped at his arm. "Shut up," She growled, taking a sip of her water bottle. "You know that guy bumped into my arm! I am not that clumsy with my food, Michel."
"Funny," He retorted, his voice slipping out of his exaggerated French accent as an eyebrow slid up towards his hairline, "I thought you were just really excited about the Zamboni."
"Well," She replied, dropping down to a whisper, "if I was that excited over a machine that cleans ice, imagine just how excited I was when I got to go home with you." Her grin melted away, and her eyes darkened with lust. They stopped walking, and Vaughn instinctively closed the gap between them. Syd leaned forward, her lips parted slightly, and his eyelids fluttered shut. But the kiss never happened. Instead Vaughn opened his eyes to see Sydney drinking lazily through the straw of his drink. He uttered something between a sigh and a groan as she pulled away, giving it one last sensuous lick.
"Syd, you suck."
"You would know." She winked mischievously, and this time he definitely groaned. "What?" She asked defensively, slapping on her innocent face. "What did I do?"
He rolled his eyes. "If this wasn't public and we weren't on a mission, I would so be groping you right about now."
"Well, what's stopping you?" Syd asked, raising an eyebrow suggestively. He mirrored her action skeptically and she continued, "We could ditch these clothes, find a nice bathroom somewhere, and just—"
"Go at it like rabbits on speed?" He finished. "I'm there."
They tossed the remnants of their lunch into the nearest trashcan and began trotting up a cement ramp, giggling and teasing the entire way. They reached the next platform, hands roving, and were side-winding down the hallway when they happened upon a familiar voice.
"After it was on the news about everybody in the Creedish District Colony being dead and all, the first thing I did was start smoking. The smartest thing I've ever done. Then this morning when the caseworker dropped by to say, rise and shine, and the only other surviving Creedish went south last night, then I sat myself in the kitchen and upped my suicide process with a good stiff drink.
"Church doctrine says I have to kill myself. They don't say it has to be a hurry-hurry instant quick death."
They stopped cold, hands frozen wherever they happened to be positioned. The voice was easily discernable, despite the malice and cynicism laced in with her speech.
It was Anne.
Syd and Vaughn immediately gravitated towards the wall and slid silently along the concrete, flattened against it as thinly as possible. Creeping towards the next hallway, they peered around the corner. At first, the brilliant midday light threw Syd for a loop, causing her to blink rapidly in order for her to regain her vision. When she did, she saw Anne perched precariously on the ledge over the stadium with her hunched back facing them. By the way her body was swaying, she could tell her friend was kicking her legs against the ledge.
"The smoke hot and dense inside me feels the way I would if I had a soul No! That's not it!" She exclaimed suddenly, spinning around and hopping to the ground. She began to pace the width of the corridor, gesticulating and talking to herself at a volume that made her voice echo incoherently off the cement.
Vaughn glanced at Sydney, his brow furrowed in confusion. They exchanged yet another silent conversation discussing their M.O. for handling the situation. Quickly, they came to the decision that the best course of action would be to slink away (possibly to that bathroom) and forget they ever heard anything—
A thunderous roar erupted from the seating on the floor. "GET BACK HERE NOW!" It was Guter, and he sounded pissed. Vaughn quickly checked his watch and blanched: they had been due back at their seats ten minutes ago.
Anne swore sharply and began charging down the hall towards their position. While Vaughn physically scrambled to secure a cover, Syd did the first thing that came to mind. Taking him by the straps of his uniform, she pulled the length of his body to hers, smashing their lips together with a passion that only adrenaline and the fear of getting caught could bring. Vaughn was unresponsive at first, quite surprised, but melded to her just as quickly. His hands found their way up her body to cup her face, tilting it upward for a new and better angle. For a moment, they both forgot where they were, who they were, and what they were supposed to be doing.
But they were reminded soon enough when Anne emerged from the corridor and gasped, possibly a bit exaggeratedly. They broke apart instantly but reluctantly, blushing and wiping their lips. Syd slathered on a rare guilty look as she glanced nervously at her friend. "What are you doing here?"
Anne raised her eyebrows, slightly bemused. "Practicing my prose piece for Forensics. How 'bout you?" She replied slowly, her eyes slipping from male to female agent and back again. Seeing that Vaughn could not keep a silly adolescent grin from his lips, she raised her hands in surrender. "Take it back; I don't want to know."
Syd laughed in relief, linked her arm through her boyfriend's, and the three of them proceeded back down to their seats. They only began to sprint when they reached the narrow stairs, and Anne split off to join Katie, Caty, and Summer, discretely slipping behind the multitudes of taller students.
Syd and Vaughn did not have that luxury. When they reached the spot where they had deposited their belongings, they found Eric standing there in full regalia with his pudgy fists shoved into his hips. Not wanting to deal with his comments and/or innuendo, Sydney sternly stared at him as she reached for her jacket and hat, consequently missing and only kept from falling by Vaughn's ever-present hand at her bare elbow.
Ignoring her glare completely, Weiss abandoned his stance and turned to Vaughn. "I learned how to hack; that Limp Bizkit is going the way of boyband music: total obscurity; and I asked random people how to hijack a skybox. What did you two do? Hands on research?"
Sydney rolled her eyes as she allowed Vaughn to velcro her gauntlets together. "Sure. Why not?" She replied flatly. Weiss stuck out his tongue at her childishly.
Anne abruptly appeared above Syd's left shoulder, stepping onto the metal bleacher bench and raising herself to the height of Weiss. One of her eyebrows rose as she stated matter-of-factly, "You two better get to your sections before Guter ass-rapes you. And—" Her volume increased as she stood on her toes "—according to Henry, that scars you for life!"
"Shut up!" The latter screamed up from the percussion section, shaking his fist menacingly.
Weiss, Vaughn, and Sydney laughed incredulously until they saw Anne's face. "Hello! I was serious! Go!" The guys left rather reluctantly, allowing the two girls time to talk. "So " Anne started.
Syd sighed heavily and shook her head lightly. "Don't even start, Anne. I already get enough crap from Greg; I don't need it from you, too—"
"Are you kidding me?" Her friend interrupted. "I know what hormones are like: I'm a teenager too!" Her glare pierced Sydney's skin and made it tingle unnervingly. "Come on, I'm your friend; you can tell me. Are you two together together?"
"DOWN ON THE FIELD NOW!"
Saved by the Guter.
"Does that man only speak in capital letters now?" Anne asked rhetorically, dropping her former line of questioning inexplicably. Sydney shrugged her shoulders, warily keeping an eye on her friend as they melded into the crowd slowly making its way towards the Astroturf. Such a loaded query should not have been shoved aside so easily. But Syd decided to drop the dropping of the subject she wanted to avoid, and to enjoy herself as much as she could.
The pre-game with about twenty other high and middle school bands went well, and the Marching Illini followed as the mass of students waddled back to their seats. The field was sweltering (at least one hundred and ten degrees Fahrenheit), and more than one toe was stepped on in the mad dash to get out of it. The students were given free rein during the first two quarters; they could go, sit, do, eat, and wear whatever they wanted as long as they were "properly representing and upholding the high standards of conduct of Glenfield High School." In other words, as long as one did not do something that made Guter look bad, one could do anything.
Weiss and Vaughn opted to remain in their respective sections, fearing backlash from their tardiness before.
So Syd was left to sit next to Anne, who was avidly watching the game, cheering and moaning with the rest of the crowd. Orange shirts surrounded the band; the traditional sound of keys clanging echoed around the stadium. Pictures of Vince Lombardi, Yogi Bera, and Mike Ditka coloured the blue, orange, and white scoreboard. The rhythmic chant of "I-L-L I-N-I" resonated through their very seats as the sideline cheerleaders lead them in rooting on their winning football team.
'This is what college should have been like,' Sydney thought suddenly. 'Not traveling to far-off countries and stealing weapons for a man I though was loyal to the U.S. government. Not lying to everyone I cared about. Not studying languages or foreign terrorist organizations 'til my brain bled.'
As if sensing Syd's thoughts, Anne sighed and turned away from the game. "Won't college be great? I mean, scheduling your classes whenever you want, doing whatever you want, sleeping, eating whenever you what! Just think of the immense freedom! I wonder what it's like living alone."
"Not that great," Syd mumbled into her chest. Perceiving Anne's confused gaze she expanded, "Or so I imagine. One of my friends in California had an older sister in college. She wasn't exactly raving about it." Anne nodded placidly, having nothing to respond with.
The first two quarters went slowly in the Indian Summer heat, making the students around her grow restless more quickly than anticipated. The Marching Illini put on a spectacular halftime show that almost no one in the band watched. Instead, they were all standing and straining their necks to see if Guter was of the right mood to send them home early. Apparently he was, because a ripple of excitement shivered up the stands, and soon everyone was clamoring for their belongings and souvenirs. (Some freshman had bought a gigantic foam finger. How he was going to get it home, Sydney had no idea.)
In the mass confusion, Vaughn somehow managed to make his way to Syd's side. She smiled at him shyly and bit her lip, feeling her heart drip down into her shoes at the sight of his sweaty brow and tousled hair. He flipped up his drum so that the snares and bottom were exposed, placed his hand discreetly at the small of her back, and guided her through the crowd.
"Tu peux aller chez moi après le match?" She asked quietly over her shoulder. If they were on time, they would arrive back at the school around seven; plenty of time to have "fun" at her house.
Vaughn averted his eyes and knotted his eyebrows. "Euh..." He stalled hastily.
Sydney shook her head as she brushed off her own suggestion. "C'est rien. Je sais pourquoi tu ne peux pas." He obviously had plans with them that night. And, as was the Company policy, work before pleasure. Which usually left no time for the latter.
As soon as they exited the stadium, everyone began running, sprinting towards the white Glenfield vans at the end of the block. People were shedding shoes, socks, pretty much anything that could be stripped off without slackening the pace. By the time the couple reached the vans, they were back into the clothes they had arrived in, being skilled in the art of changing identities while on the run. In less than twenty minutes, every band and colour guard member was changed, had their cargo stored, and was patiently waiting on the bus to leave. The word being thrown around the most often to describe the trip was "pointless."
"While the game was slammin'—" Syd overheard one teen complain to anyone who would listen "—I mean, come on! We played for a winning team! But that didn't mean we had to get up before the fuckin' crack a' dawn just to get here! It's so stupid!"
"Shut the fuck up, Buchanon!" A student in the back yelled. "At least Guter's letting us go after halftime. Maybe we'll even get home before seven!"
The high energy from the game carried over to the bus ride. When they departed, a roar overcame the bus as they jerked forward. All the talking melded together, registering in Sydney's brain as inane babble. Guter, only four or so rows up, made no effort to stop them, whether it be out of exhaustion or genuine indifference. So the babble progressed, punctuated occasionally by a freshman or sophomore shriek of laughter.
Just as Syd had decided to give into the sleep perpetually tugging at her eyelids, Anne's head popped into view over the seatback in front of her. Somehow she had managed to maintain her single seat, while almost everyone else's positioning had been shifted. Katie Goode and Mike Holcomb occupied Weiss's old seat while he had paired himself with the Cool Freshman, Dani Allen, who was unfortunately behind Syd and Vaughn. Henry and Abby Snowden, a colour guard "whore," were across the aisle while Caty Wagner and Summer were behind the latter two. The majority of "the guys" (both Johns, Joe Hall, and Tobi Morrison) had relocated to the back of the bus for reasons unknown.
"So " Anne addressed their group, duel sly smirks present on her face and in her voice. "We have three choices, here: theatre games, Jerry Springer, or sleep."
"Screw sleep!" Dani called out, reaching for a high-five over Syd's seat. "Jenny Springer all the way!"
"Rock on!" Henry mirrored her tone, also reaching across the aisle to slap hands with Anne.
"No way," Abby interjected, crossing her bare arms over her chest. "I will not be Henry's under-age mistress while he's married to Anne again! I vote theatre games."
"You forgot that I was also married to Joe Hall, thank you very much."
"Hey! I heard my name up there! What're you talking about?"
"Yer mom!" Six voices answered in unison, loud enough for the entire bus to overhear and ooh melodramatically. The response was quick and automatic, the way a hand swats away a buzzing mosquito from an ear.
Syd glanced at her boyfriend out of the corner of her eye. He stared back, allowing the gold specks in his irises to convey his mutual confusion in lieu of his patented forehead wrinkles. As discreetly as possible, she laid her head upon his shoulder, leaving just enough room between it and her ear so that his whisper could still be heard. "Are you as immensely confused as I am?"
"Probably more so," She whispered out the corner of her mouth before she sat up again.
A vote must have been taken because Anne reported, "Okay, so we have Jenny Springer up first, then theatre games if we have time. Agreed?" Assents followed with minimal groaning from Abby. Grinning broadly, Anne cocked her head to the side, struggling to keep the eminent laughter from her voice as she said, "Take it away, Miss Springer."
All eyes turned towards Dani, prompting the couple to twist in their seats as well. Syd struggled to hold in the laughter that bubbled up from the pit of her stomach. Though the girl was a freshman (practically twenty years his junior) and her shoulders barely cleared the seat back when she stood up, Weiss looked mildly horrified as she slid into control of half of the bus's attention. "Before we begin, I need a Steve, a main character, and a story line."
Her smile turning good-naturedly malicious Anne supplied, "Greg is a perfect Steve, and I'm likin' Jane for a main character. Anyone for Plot Number Three?"
As no one objected, Dani cleared her throat importantly. "Alright. Ladies and gentlemen, I am Jenny Springer, illegitimate daughter of Jerry Springer and Pamela Lee-Anderson. Today we have with us—" She threw a sidelong glance at Syd "—Jasmine Grant, wife of—" a glance at Anne, who flicked her eyes towards Vaughn "—Darryl Thompson. Now, we understand you have a little secret that you've been keeping from your husband?"
In the end, Sydney turned out to be a hooker who was being pimped out by and secretly in love with the newly Mexican Henry (A.K.A. Rudolpho Rudolph), while Vaughn was having affairs with both Anne (Vienna Hunter), a porn star, and Abby (Susie Johnson), an underage former child actor. Somewhere during this "episode," it was suggested that Sydney and Vaughn take the body fluid clean-up kit to the back of the bus and "put it to good use." After tiring of Jenny Springer, the group moved on to theatre games, or what was more commonly known as "those things those guys do on that one show." ("'Whose Line is it, Anyway?'" "Yeah, that's the one!")
They had gotten through two Irish Drinking Songs, three Hoe Downs, one attempted Party Quirks, and one extensive game of Scenes From a Non-Existent Hat (themes were suggested by even Guter) before people began to check their watches with the regularity of a student before the last bell of the day. It was dark now, and way past seven. No one knew where they were, and Summer's cell phone began making rounds among the ranks as the students began calling parents to let them know they would be "a little late." Every time the bus would pass a commercial building — a car dealership, municipal building, anything that would indicate their current township — multiple people would read the signs out loud.
The group continued to play their theatre games, admittedly half-assed as they kept at least one eye out the window. "This never happens," Anne confided to Sydney, who was again fighting off slumber. "This is Guter's bus. I'm surprised he hasn't taken over the wheel yet." Pausing for a second, she flattened her face against the window. "Plainfield! WE'RE IN PLAINFIELD?" The rest of the bus groaned horribly, a collective thump rising up over the noise of the motor as they all slumped against their seats at the same time. Seeing Syd's ever-present confusion she elaborated, "Plainfield is about an hour NORTH of Glenfield. We went too far. We're so lost."
Pretty soon, even the effervescent Katie Goode gave up her attempts at rallying everyone's spirits. When Syd pretended to call her own parents, an observer in the back of the bus supplied their current locale. "KANKAKEE!"
This, as Sydney learned promptly, was an hour south of Glenfield.
Vaughn and Weiss had been talking to each other with their heads stuck out into the aisle, but had lost interest along the way and fell asleep in a very unusual position. Sydney woke up Weiss so that Dani would not be crushed under his enormity, and, while he climbed over others' legs to sit next to Anne, she shifted her boyfriend so that he was lying on her shoulder. She had almost fallen asleep herself when another cry rose up from Abby. "We're in Kankakee again! We just made a gigantic circle! Are we ever going to get home?"
Sydney sighed, giving in to her body's urges and falling asleep herself.
She woke up with Weiss's face about an inch from hers. "Thank you for saving me the trouble of waking you like Vaughn does," He whispered before facing forward yet again.
Yawning and stretching carefully, Syd check the watch on Vaughn's wrist and nearly balked; it was almost eleven thirty.
'So much for "on time" '
At least they were in familiar territory, though. Their bus was the last to pull up to Entrance A, unloading its sleepy passengers at the speed of molasses in January. They retrieved their uniforms, stowed their instruments in the band room, and met by Sydney's car for the ride home.
"No Colonial tonight," Weiss muttered as they slid into the vehicle simultaneously.
"And no plans with the Negro/Azuls, either," added Syd, starting the car and beginning the journey home.
Vaughn swore sharply and slammed a fist down on the arm rest. "I forgot all about that. What am I going to do now?"
"Oh, who cares?" Weiss replied thickly, obviously suffering from a case of fuzzy tongue. "And plus, you get to spend the night at Syd's again. I never thought I'd see the day when you'd turn that down."
"Good point. We'll deal with it in the morning."
They reached Syd's house without an accident, Weiss left in his own car, and Syd and Vaughn stumbled like zombies into the house, throwing everything in a pile by the doorway. Vaughn continued on to the bedroom, but a flashing number on the answering machine caught Sydney's attention. Pressing the button, she did not bother to stifle a yawn as it played.
What it said immediately woke her up.
It was her father.
"Sydney, we have a situation."
TBC . . .
Chapter Fourteen: The EWE Party
Chapter Fifteen: Homecoming Part I
There's two parts to the Homecoming, and I've planned it that way from the beginning. Hope y'all don't hate me TOO much for being so late with this chapter. And if you don't, you will by the end of the next chapter. [evil laugh]
As always, feedback makes my day and earns you extra brownie points.
:D Becky, the Dream Writer 4 Life