The Punkers

Chapter One: Enter The Punkers

Author: Starless Night

Rating: PG

Disclaimer: Only the story is mine.  I'm not too sure who actually owns the rights to the Recess characters, but all the power to them.  And to Sum 41, who wrote the song used in this chapter.

                "Man, I am so bored," Spinelli mumbled from her sprawled out position on the ground.

                "Yeah, this whomps." T.J. Detweiler took his hat off and wiped his sweaty forehead with the back of his hand. "What the heck happened to spring?"

                "Well, T.J.," Gretchen Grundler began, her eyes brightening behind her horn-rimmed glasses. "Due to the increasing population and the large amount of chemical waste being produced by us, the ozone layer has been thinning considerably, and the hole in that very layer is growing wider by the year. In fact, according to my research, by the time we reach the 12th grade, the hole will be so large - "

                "That's great, Gretch," T.J. interrupted. "Really, it is. But that doesn't stop it from being so hot!"

                The sun was indeed beating down hard on the playground of 3rd Street Elementary School, and T.J. and his friends had sought solace, and shade, behind the old dumpster in the corner of the yard. All over the playground, children were sluggishly playing kickball or tetherball,  and Randal Weems was hiding in the shade of Ms. Finster's huge shadow. Even Swinger Girl was swinging slowly, savoring the little breeze she could stir up. Only the Ashley's seemed to be enjoying and taking advantage of the sudden heat wave.

                "Look at those Ashley's over there," Spinelli grumbled enviously. "Lying under those umbrellas and drinking that lemonade." She paused, her brow furrowed in deep thought. "Hey! Where did they get that lemonade, anyway?"

                Everyone shrugged. Vince LeSalle licked his lips hungrily.

                "I dunno," he said. "But it sure does look refreshing!"

                "Well, I say we go over there and demand they give us some!" Spinelli pounded a fist into the palm of her hand. "Beat it out of `em!"

                "But." Gus Griswold spoke up. "The Ashley's are so far across the playground." They all looked over at the Ashley's, the playground transforming into sand dunes and a long stretch of desert as a result of overactive imaginations and most likely a touch of heat stroke. A sigh rippled through the six friends, and they stared longingly at the cool, fresh lemonade being sipped by the Ashley's.

                Mikey Blumburg let out a moan. "Oh, cruel Fate! Why hast thou forsaken us? Shall we perish at the hands of your sister, Nature? Or will we depart this life from love lost and pain so deep? Oh, woe is me!" He clutched his hands to his chest and sighed dramatically.

                "Hey, Mikey," Spinelli said sweetly.

                "Yes, Spinelli?"

                "Would you kindly.Shut your freaking trap before I come over there and shut it for you!" She jumped up, her fist ready, but T.J. grabbed her arm and tried to hold her back. Before she could think of any way to escape his grasp, he pulled her down again.

                "Calm down, Spinelli! It's just the heat getting to your head!"

                "Yeah, well the heat better think twice about getting in this head! Next time he tries it, I'll beat the crap out of him!" She pulled back a fist and tried to hit her other hand with it, but missed and got Vince in the arm instead.

                "Uh.yeah. Okay. Um, you do that. In the meantime," T.J. took off his hat and placed it on Spinelli's head. "Wear that."

                Everyone gaped at him. T.J. rarely took off his precious red hat, and never let anyone wear it! He looked around at his friends.

                "What? She was gonna pass out. I had to do something." Everyone was still staring at him really funny. "What the heck is wrong with you guys? So I let Spinelli wear my hat. Big deal! If one of you was ready to faint, I'd give the hat to you, too!" No one looked convinced.

                Then, Spinelli sat straight up and glared at T.J. "Excuse me, but I do not faint. Girls faint. I do not faint."

                T.J. snorted. "Oh, I'm so sorry. Please, forgive me, and God forbid I should ever confuse you with a girl. How stupid of me."

                "Are you being sarcastic? You are, aren't you! Well, let me tell you what Spinelli's do to people who are sarcastic!" She stood up and loomed over T.J., her fist ready for another jab.

                She pulled it back and just as she was about to let the punch fly, a loud blaring noise and children yelling broke her concentration.

                "What the guacamole is that?" Gus cried, leaping to his feet.

                Gretchen pushed at her glasses, which were threatening to slip down her nose, and replied, "I believe the sound in question is a form of music, though not one I've heard before."

                Spinelli rolled her eyes. "It's punk, Gretch. Sum 41."

                "Ah, yes. I've heard of them. Are they not the ones with strange names like Cone..."

                "C'mon! The guys are leaving!" Spinelli grabbed Gretchen's arm and raced after T.J., Mikey, Gus and Vince, who were headed toward the origin of the music.

                As they rounded the corner, the noise got louder and louder, and the playground became even more deserted. The kindergartners were the only living souls in the yard, and even that could be debated. They were still tucked away in their cage in the far corner of the playground, and T.J. and his friends could hear their gibberish chanting and yelling from as far away as they were.

                "Where is everyone?" he asked, completely puzzled.

                Then Vince spotted everyone crowded around the other far corner of the playground, and pointed. "They're over there. What're the looking at?"

                Spinelli punched Vince in the arm again. "Well, why don't we go over there and see, genius?" She ran to where the kids were all standing, assuming that everyone else was right behind her. As she got closer, she recognized the sound of live music. Could it be.no, it couldn't. Could it?

                She pushed her way through the crowd, jabbing many people out of the way.

                "Hey! Watch it!" One girl cried as Spinelli elbowed her in the side.

                "Bite me!" She yelled back, and continued on her journey through the mass of kids.

                Then she reached the front, and gaped. Before her was the most magnificent sight her young eyes had ever seen.

                Boys her own age, playing real instruments, and sounding exactly like her favorite band! There was the drummer, and the really skinny guitarist, and.

                Spinelli stared in wonder at the bass guitarist. He looked like a dark angel fallen from the sky. His hair was thick and dark like midnight. His eyes were downcast, and his fingers.oh, his fingers.

                Spinelli's young heart sighed at the sight of those long fingers caressing the neck of the guitar, and flying at an amazing speed across the strings.

                Those three boys slammed away at their instruments, and made the playground come alive.

                The blood rushed to her head, making her feel light and airy. Unbeknownst to her, Spinelli's foot began tapping along with the beat, and she began mouthing the words to the song she knew off by heart.

"I don't want to waste my time, become another casualty of society.

I'll never fall in line, become another victim of your conformity.

And back down."

                The song finished, and the crowd erupted with applause and cheering, causing the boys who had been playing to look up, completely stunned and unaware that they'd had an audience.

                Spinelli laughed. Their expressions were priceless: The drummer looking completely out of it, like his brains had been rattled each time he had hit a beat; the thin guitarist gazing out across the playground at all the kids like he had no idea what the heck was going on; and the other guitarist, the one Spinelli had decided she would call the Fine One, just smirked like he'd known they were there the whole time.

                Before anyone else could think of it, Spinelli raced up to the boys and grinned at them. They were all a full foot or two taller than her, but she didn't care. They were the coolest people she'd ever seen before in her entire life.

                "Hey," she said, trying to act casual. "Great playing."

                The Fine One looked at her, let his eyes trail down her body and back up, then leaned on his guitar. "Thanks." He smiled at her, a smile that made her think of a hungry wolf. "I'm Chad."

                Spinelli stared at the hand he offered her, and shook it. "Spinelli." She'd never shook a real guitar player's hand before. It was a completely new feeling. His fingers were all callused and hard.

                "Spinelli, huh? Interesting name."

                "Uh," There was no way she was telling Chad her real name. "Yeah. My parent's are pretty interesting people."

                "Yeah, mine too." Chad turned around and started packing up his guitar.

                "So." Spinelli looked longingly at the guitar. "You guys in a band or something?"

                Chad laughed. "Yeah, or something."

                Spinelli frowned. "What do you mean, or something?"

                "Well, technically we are a band, but we just do cover songs, and we don't have a lead singer."

                "Oh. Well what do you guys call yourselves then?"

                The guy at the drums snickered. "The Punkers."

                "The Punkers?" Spinelli looked at Chad quizzically.

                He grinned. "Yeah. Pretty original, huh?"

                Drummer Guy spoke up again. "Mouse here, he don't talk much, but when he does.well, he came up with the name, anyway."

                "So, you're Mouse." Spinelli looked at the skinny guy. "And you're Chad." Chad nodded. "And that would make you..."

                Drummer guy grinned and stood up to his full height, which was much, much taller than Spinelli. She had to crane her neck to see his face. "Bruiser Mackenzie at your service, ma'am." He bowed, and made Spinelli giggle. Inwardly, of course.

                "Nice to meet you, Bruiser. So did you guys just move here?"

                Chad hefted his guitar case onto his shoulders. "You could say that," he replied.

                "Um.okay." She decided to just skip that question. "Do you guys go to 3rd Street now, or what?"

                Chad shook his head. "Nope."

                "Alright," she drew out the word, obviously not catching something he was saying. "Why were you practicing here then?"

                His face became blank, and he looked like he was searching for an answer. "Uh.we were.waiting for Bruiser's aunt! Yeah, that's it. Bruiser's aunt."

                "What? My aunt?" Bruiser looked totally mortified. "She's not my aunt, she's - "

                "Chad! Chad Williams, where are you?"

                Spinelli's jaw dropped as the voice echoed through the playground. "Miss Grotke is your aunt?" she asked Chad, completely stunned.

                Chad appeared to be completely uncomfortable caught in this situation. "Well, you see."

                Miss Grotke emerged around the side of the building and stood in front of the four of them, hands on her hips and a very irritated expression on her face. "Chad, I've been looking for you all over the school!"

                "Sorry, Aunt Alordyne." He looked down at his shoes.

                Spinelli stiffled back a laugh. "Alordyne?!"

                And Miss Ashley Spinelli, aren't you supposed to be in class?" Miss Grotke rounded on Spinelli.

                Chad smirked. "Ashley?!"

                Spinelli shot him a death look. "But the bell hasn't even rung yet!"

                Miss Grotke, pointed at the large clock above the front doors, and the bell sounded, making Spinelli, Chad and the other two jump.

                "How'd she do that?" Bruiser whispered in awe.

                "Get to class." Spinelli didn't move. "Now!"

                "Okay, okay! I'm going!" With one last sympathy glance at Chad and his band, she sped off toward the front doors.

                "What's with her?" Spinelli muttered to herself. Usually Miss Grotke was a carefree, live-for-peace-and-love kind of teacher. But today she was just plain old grumpy!

                Probably forgot to feed her goldfish this morning, Spinelli thought. The notion that her new friend Chad might have something to do with Miss Grotke's bad mood never even entered her mind. But before the end of the year, Spinelli and the rest of the 6th grade class at 3rd Street Elementary School would have a pretty good idea of Chad Williams' real reason for being there.