Blah, blah, blah. You know the drill. Disclaimers in Chapter One, countless
thanks to everybody who has thus far offered feedback of any kind,
apologies for taking so long to get this one up... etc, etc. On with the
fic! Hope you enjoy.
Trial By Responsibility
*
Chapter Three
Glancing at her watch for what seemed to be the seven-thousandth time within the space of ten minutes, Gretchen sighed in acute aggravation; they had scarcely been travelling two hours, and--according to her calculations-- weren't even halfway towards their destination, despite the fact that it was already beginning to feel like they had been on the road for weeks. Shaking her head and struggling to remain sane, she allowed her gaze to wander to her companions, each of whom was engaged in some activity or another that made interaction rather impossible for the bored genius.
TJ and Vince were engaged in a spirited debate regarding which edition of their favourite comic was more action-packed and exciting. Though the argument seemed truly intriguing, Gretchen knew very little of the comic in question, and so lacked the knowledge to join in with their discussion. Gus and Spinelli seemed intent on catching up the slumber they had lost the previous night. Both were sound-asleep, the former snoring gently, and the latter mumbling delirious death-threats at random inanimate objects. Mikey, still awake, yet uninvolved in the conversation taking place between Vince and TJ, was working quietly in his own corner on what Gretchen assumed to be a new poem of some sort; knowing the gentle giant as well as she did, she had no intention of disturbing his intense concentration.
Of course, this solitude left her with something of a dilemma. Without any of her companions to engage in idle conversations with, Gretchen found herself with no company other than her own... and she had long since learned that her own company was neither pleasant nor enjoyable. Consequently, it was with some relief that she heard Miss Finster's cold voice cutting through the quiet discussions that were rippling from one end of the bus to the other, announcing that they would be taking a short rest- stop, so that the kids could stretch their legs, get something to eat, and generally replenish their faltering energy for the two and a half hours that remained of the seemingly endless journey.
Trying to conceal her unequalled relief at this idea, Gretchen turned her focus out of the window, and watched with no small amount of contentment as the bus shuddered to a halt outside what appeared to be a combined gas station/shopping mall. "All right, you little hooligans," Finster muttered as the children climbed eagerly to their feet before the bus had completely stopped moving. "You have exactly half an hour. I expect every last one of you to be back here by 8:30 *sharp*. Any stragglers *will* be left behind. Is that clear?" One look at her wrinkled face told Gretchen that she was not kidding, and as the young genius paused to nudge Spinelli back to consciousness--hearing Mikey perform the same task upon Gus--she made a mental note, not to defy this particular Rule, no matter what.
"Man... 'bout time they let us off this thing for a bit!" cried Vince as he and TJ moved to join the thronging crowd that raced to leave the bus for that precious half-hour. "Thought I was gonna go craze with cabin fever or something', not bein' able to stretch my legs."
"How much longer are we to endure this torture?" wailed Mikey as the six of them stepped down onto the cool tarmac of the parking lot. "Are we to forever suffer the slings and arrows of imprisonment behind yellow-painted bars of steel plate? Must we face this agony for the rest of our pitiful lives until we sink into the abyss of insanity, never again to return to Realm of the Rational?"
Gus yawned, rubbing his eyes drowsily as he struggled to focus his bleary eyes. "Could be worse, y'know, guys..." he said, ever the optimist. "When my family moved up here, we'd been on the road for three days straight before we even caught sight of civilisation." He shook his head slightly, apparently slipping into 'flashback' mode. "It was a road trip I'll never forget..."
"Yeah, yeah..." muttered Spinelli. "I'm sure it's a great story, but we've only got half an hour here, and I ain't about to waste it listenin' to you yappin' about The Road Trip That Time Forgot." She rolled her eyes as the small group stepped into the main shopping mall. "Stand here and yak all you guys want. *I'm* hittin' the arcades. I got a wallet full o' change that's burnin' a hole in my pocket. Follow if you want, ya wimps." And with that, she sauntered off in the general direction of an enormous, bright- pink neon sign that advertised none too subtly, an expansive amusement arcade.
TJ and Vince exchanged a glance for about three nanoseconds, before taking off in hot pursuit. Gretchen shook her head; video games had never been her forte, and she had no intention of wasting what scant precious money her parents had entrusted her with for the duration of the trip, on pointless computer graphics and cheap thrills. Clearly, Mikey and Gus shared her sentiments, as neither made any attempt to follow the others in the expensive endeavour.
"Oh, look!" Mikey exclaimed before Gretchen even had the chance to wonder aloud where the other two would like to go for the duration of their stay. The rotund poet pointed with a quivering finger towards a particularly elaborate-looking café, the window of which was adorned with cakes and sweets that made even Gretchen's indifferent mind remind her of how hungry she was.
"Sweets?" Gus asked, voice high with discomfort. "Before lunchtime? My dad would kill me if he thought I was eating sweets before lun--" He broke off, not having the time to finish as Mikey grabbed his arm with one hand-- taking Gretchen's with the other--and began sprinting towards the alluring shop; though she could understand Gus' concern, the young genius had no intention of allowing her qualms regarding her parents' responses to her actions, keep her from sampling the café's delicious bounty. Certainly, she was not about to let Mikey feel forced to dine alone.
Protesting all the way, Gus nonetheless accepted a chocolate milkshake that Mikey sportingly offered to buy him, as he refused to partake of the enormous ice-cream sundae that his two companions shared. In truth, Gretchen was internally cringing at the thought of what her beloved parents would think if they realised that she had gone against all of their dietary teachings, but in this rare instance--and going with the assumption that they would be offered only the most meagre of food portions for the duration of the week-long trip--she decided that there would be no harm in indulging.
"Well, I must observe," she heard herself murmuring through a mouthful of chocolate fudge, "that if the rules on this trip continue to be as lax as this, we shall indeed have a most enjoyable time." Pausing, she thought back to the other students she was forced to share a group with-- specifically, Kurst the Worst and Sue-Bob Murphy, neither of whom she had ever felt comfortable in the presence of. "Or perhaps," she added as an afterthought, "we will suffer most horribly."
"Do not despair, dear Gretchen," Mikey said in what he clearly assumed to be a consolatory tone. "I am certain Miss Finster will do her best to keep all foul-play to a minimum. Indeed, I suspect it will be a most difficult task for our heroic leader to be forming his mischievous plans for wreaking havock... and likewise, I doubt plucky Spinelli will be able to put into practise her dreams of violence against the Ashleys." He smiled, the expression aimed directly at his sundae. "It will be peaceful."
Gretchen and Gus looked at each other, and both shook their heads; as much as she would have liked to agree with Mikey's utopian vision, Gretchen was far too intelligent to expect, even for a moment, that things would pass smoothly. Deciding that the safest course of action would be to simply avoid passing comment upon Mikey's reassurance, she instead glanced at her watch. "Perhaps we should return to the bus," she stated quietly. "We wouldn't want to be late..."
Swinging by the arcade, they met up with a smug TJ, a sulking Vince, and a furious Spinelli; as they made their way back to the bus as a single unit, Gretchen learned that TJ's discontentment rested in his being defeated at Space Invaders by the smirking Vince, and that Spinelli's excessive rage was borne from a chance meeting with Ashley A., who had made deadly threats of a makeover. Trying not to laugh too hard at the simple causes of her friends' distempers, Gretchen boarded the bus first.
"Hey. Grundler." The origin of the rough voice wasn't difficult to determine, and as Gretchen turned, finding herself face-to-face with none other than Kurst the Worst, it took every ounce of effort she had not to break down into a babbling mass of jelly. "I hear we got stuck wit' *you* in our 'work group'," the bully went on, smirking dangerously. "Ain't that special..."
TJ and Spinelli had already stepped forwards, forming an effective barrier between Kurst and Gretchen, for which the intelligent girl was eternally grateful, though somewhat uneasy at the knowledge that she would not be able to count on the safety of numbers once they arrived in Velgon's Baudry. "Get lost, Kurst," growled Spinelli, raising both fists. "You lay *one hand* on Gretchen an' you'll have *me* to deal with!" The fact that Kurst stood a full three heads taller than she didn't seem to strike Spinelli as cause for concern, though Gretchen herself was internally quivering with fear.
"Oh yeah?" smirked the bully. "What are *you* gonna do about it, Short Stuff? Bite my knees?" Laughing, she flicked Spinelli's nose--only narrowly escaping a pummelling as TJ and Mikey struggled to hold back the livid hot- head, who was nearing an aggression overload--and returned her attention to Gretchen. "Jus' wait till we get there, Grundler," she said, a cruel grin playing at the edges of her lips. "We're gonna have all sorts of *fun*." This last was uttered with obvious malice.
Mikey stepped forwards, hands still firmly clamped down on Spinelli's shoulders to keep her from leaping at Kurst with both fists blazing. "Don't do something you'll regret, Kurst..." he begged, voice filled with nothing but sympathy. "I'm sure you would not wish to hurt fair Gretchen--"
"Shut it, Blumburger!" she replied. "I do what I wanna do. And if I wanna 'upset' your little genius when we get to this stupid place, then don't think you or your little friends are gonna stop me." This said, she turned and stomped away; glancing over her shoulder, Gretchen realised that this retreat had nothing to do with intimidation from her friends, but the sudden timely appearance of Miss Grotke and Miss Finster, who had chosen that moment to re-board the bus.
Miss Grotke only needed glance at the faces of her 'star pupils' to see that something was not quite right, and her inherent empathy kicked in within moments. "My goodness. Why do my leading enthusiasts seem so downtrodden and distraught? Is something wrong, my enlightened cherubs?"
"Not at all, Miss Grotke," sighed Gretchen. "Not at all."
*
As the bus revved its engines once again and crawled back onto the freeway, Mikey eased himself back into his seat, gazing dreamily out of the window and searching for poetic inspiration, even as he found his thoughts incessantly distracted by a rather loud conversation taking place between Spinelli and Gretchen. Not wanting to get personally involved in their 'disagreement', Mikey instead strove to focus his Inner Peace, and listen to the discussion from a safely dissociated distance.
"Not at all? NOT AT ALL!?" That was Spinelli; even from three miles away, the gentle giant would have heard and recognised the tough girl's voice. "What are you saying? There *is* somethin' wrong, and you know it! Why can't you just 'fess up for once?"
Mikey turned, watching in reserved silence as Gretchen sat lethargically, gazing up at her companion--who remained standing through the effects of anger that seemed to make it impossible for her to sit down. "If I thought it would do any good as a method of self-defence, I certainly would have," she said, her soft voice clashing painfully against Spinelli's yells. "However, being labelled a 'snitch' would hardly give Kurst reason to respect me. In fact, it would give her *more* reason to attack."
"Yeah, but Grotke would've helped!" Spinelli shouted in response. "You'd've gotten some adult backup! By sittin' there and doin' nothin', you're lettin' Kurst *win*!"
"She's right, Spin," Vince commented quietly. "Heck, if it'd been me, I'd've wanted to fight back too... but gettin' the teachers involved is never a good idea with stuff like this."
"Fine!" snarled the hot-head, dropping angrily back into her seat by way of showing defeat; Mikey smiled at her willingness to accept that she had been proved wrong, despite knowing that this acceptance would come at a price... usually one spoken in a very loud voice. "But I ain't happy about watchin' my friend let herself get whupped by that loser, Kurst. An' if she goes anywhere *near* Gretchen on *my* watch, she's gonna be goin' home in lots of really small boxes..."
"I appreciate the sentiment, Spinelli," Gretchen replied, shaking her head slightly, "but I doubt your... protection... will be necessary. I'm sure I will be able to handle Kurst myself."
After another brief round of expletives, Spinelli relinquished and forced herself into silence; breathing a sigh of relief, Mikey returned his attention to gazing restlessly out of the window and contemplating the theme for his latest creative masterpiece, a work of art currently unfinished and ingeniously entitled 'The Rise and Fall of Fredrick von Pinkelston the Butterfly'.
"I dream a dream..." he murmured to himself, scribbling the words down on the small notepad he held in front of him, ready for flashes of inspiration just like this. "A dream so extreme, it doth make me scream. Yon butterfly, his wings all pretty... engaging in a trifling ditty. Dearest Fredrick, antennae so bright! Go forth, my friend, into the night." He frowned, staring blindly down at the incomprehensible scrawl that was his handwriting as he tried to think up a second stanza.
He being the easily-distracted individual that he was, and the journey being so fraught with fascinating sights and reasons for his attention to be drawn from his poem, Mikey had not managed to develop his ideal beyond this point before he heard the authoritative bark of Miss Finster's voice demanding that they gather their things together and prepare to disembark.
Shaking his head in a futile attempt to gather his thoughts, Mikey turned his attention to the window, and saw with some surprise that the bus was pulling up into the gravel driveway of what appeared to be an enormous house of some kind. With some effort, he wiped the anticipation from his features and set to work collecting up the countless discarded balls of paper that lay strewn about him, evidence of the effort he had put into his failed attempt at poetry over the course of the journey.
Of course, had he not been so sidetracked, many of those discarded efforts would have resulted in true and genuine additions to his solitary finished stanza, but he had learned well enough in his time, not to dwell upon unfinished poetry, as it was all too probable that he would find the opportunity to continue the endeavour at various points during the trip.
These thoughts secure in his mind, he turned to offer Gus--who quivered nervously beside him--a warm and reassuring smile. Murmuring a quiet "Take it easy, little fella," in the military drop-out's direction, he climbed to his feet, scarcely waiting for the bus to cease moving before stepping out into the aisle, and beginning to make his way--head held high and proud-- towards the doors that creaked open, their gentle hiss marking the final beginning of a week that Mikey was certain he wouldn't forget.
*
As he stepped out into the aisle, moving to follow his friends as they began the seemingly endless walk to the front of the bus, Vince shifted uncomfortably; strong and confident in himself as he was, he couldn't deny the slight twinge of uncertainty that knotted around his stomach as he took that first painful step off the bus. "Well," he said, voice strong and oozing with his usual confidence to hide his inner unease. "Here we are... a whole week of total freedom!"
"Yeah! 'Bout time!" cried Spinelli, leaping down the well-worn stairs and onto the pavement below. "Let's dump our stuff and get started already! I'm itchin' for some action!"
"Calm yourself, Spinelli," said Gretchen, and Vince noted with some discomfiture the stiff formality of her tone; even for Gretchen, she was sounding reserved. "I sincerely doubt Miss Finster will allow us to begin our activities this soon after arrival anyway. It would be my hypothesis that we will be instructed to retire to our sleeping quarters to unpack first..."
As if reading the intellectual's mind, the grating voice of Miss Finster cut into their conversation, stating in no uncertain terms that they students were to do exactly that. "Don't loiter now. Boys, follow Miss Grotke to your rooms, girls follow me. No straggling, and *no* hooliganism."
"Yeah, yeah..." muttered TJ as he made the first move to follow the foreboding Finster into the enormous house; swallowing uneasily, Vince followed.
Waving to Gretchen and Spinelli as the girls were led over to a side- entrance to the house, Vince turned his attention to the front door, which Finster approached with stoic confidence. Rapping sharply on the door, she stepped back to wait for a response. Vince glanced at his friends, finding his puzzled expression mirrored in each of their countenances. "Now," Finster was lecturing, eyeing the door impatiently, "there are strict rules you're going to obey while you're here. The owners of the house will be here while we're staying, and I expect *all* of you to treat them with utmost respect..."
Before she had the chance to go on, the door was opened, and a handsome- looking young man offered the assembled kids a warm smile. "Right on time," he said, speaking in an accent that Vince couldn't quite place. "Muriel Finster, pleasure to see you again, ma'am, and may I say you look lovelier every time I see you? Your presence within these hallowed halls--"
"That will be quite enough flattery, thank you," snapped Finster. As Vince and the other Fourth-Graders struggled to stifle their giggles, she shot each of them a vicious glare, before turning to address the man. "Glad to see you've not lost your ability to lie through your teeth, Sullivan," she said, though her annoyed expression did seem to mask something of a smirk. "You know the drill. Fourth-Graders ready to be taken up to their rooms, just like last time, and the time before..." She shook her head.
The man grinned and nodded. "No problem, Muriel." He turned to face the assembled boys, still smiling widely; Vince was beginning to wonder if the man's expression was permanently fixed into some sort of smarmy grin. "All right. You all know what groups you're supposed to be in. I want you to get into your groups now, and follow me upstairs." This said, he stepped aside, allowing the throng to step into the house and take that first all- important look around.
As the rest of the Fourth-Grade shuffled into something resembling the groups they had been assigned to, Vince stepped aside with Gus, nervously eyeing the décor; the one thing that was painfully obvious from even that first glance was that this house was *not* designed for kids. Beautiful paintings and pieces of bone china hung upon expensive wallpaper, and everywhere Vince and his friends looked, there was a new item of value. Not exactly the safest place for prank-pulling.
This contemplation was cut short, however, as the strange young man that had greeted them was already beginning to ascend a beautifully-carpeted staircase to the upper part of the house. "C'mon... don't want you getting lost on your first day, now. I know you guys think being stuck in a room with four other kids, but the rooms are really big, so don't worry."
And big, they were. Vince's group was the first to be deposited in what was to be their bedroom for the upcoming week, and as he stepped inside, he couldn't keep the expression of acute awe from touching his features. The room was at least twice the size of his usual bedroom, and the beds seemed comfortable enough to live in. "Man!" he cried, his confidence returning. "We hit the jackpot!"
"Start getting your stuff unpacked, while I show the others to their rooms," said the man that Finster had addressed as Sullivan, "Miss Finster says that you're supposed to meet up with the rest of your posse in the main hall downstairs at precisely Thirteen-Hundred Hours. Try not to be late."
And with that, he left.
The room consisted of two bunk-beds and one single; each of which appeared positively luxurious by comparison to what Vince was used to. There were numerous closets, drawers, and other facilities for storing luggage, and as he looked around--taking in the crushed-velvet curtains, the perfect- quality navy-blue carpet, the soft lilac wallpaper--the self-assured jock had already decided that he and Gus had struck pure gold; he only hoped TJ and the others were as lucky in their room designation.
"Man, this is great!" Vince cried, diving headfirst onto the single bed; he remained consciously oblivious of the disgusted 'tsk' that escaped Menlo's lips as he watched this act of juvenile childishness. "These rooms are so *big*! And, man, this bed is comfy!"
"You said it, Vince!" Gus chirped, standing in the centre of the room beside his suitcase, and gazing at his surroundings, clearly impressed. "Maybe this trip *is* gonna be fun!"
"Yes, yes." This latter voice belonged to Menlo, who stood a short distance from Gus, running a critical eye over his surroundings. "As it appears, we have been lucky in the choice of room our host deemed us worthy of inhabiting. Therefore, I suggest we do his decision justice and begin unpacking and organising ourselves in a methodical and sensible fashion..."
Vince laughed; he couldn't help himself. "Yeah, *right*, Menlo!" he cried. "We got a whole *week* to get unpacked an' organised! I say we paaaaaaaaar- ty! Who's with me!?"
Gus, of course, being the loyal friend that he was, stepped immediately to his buddy's side; clearly the impressive surroundings had re-instated his faith in the potential Fun Factor of this trip, and he seemed ready now to take advantage of the freedom to the best of his--admittedly somewhat limited--ability. With a smug grin, Vince turned towards where Phil the Woodchuck Scout stood firmly beside Menlo, clearly of the belief that the office-boy's decision was preferable.
"Really, you guys," This latter voice belonged to Digger Dave, who stood in the centre of the room, one foot placed atop his suitcase. "Do I have to teach ya how to do *everything8?" With one swift movement, that even Vince's keen eye had to strain to catch, he flipped his suitcase open using the same foot as had been resting upon it, and stooped to draw out two parts to what looked like a shovel. "Watch and learn, amateurs," he said, his cool tone making Vince want to strangle him.
Attaching the shovel head to its handle, he paused only for as long as it took to pull open the nearest of the large collection of drawers that littered the room--clearly with the intention of being filled with what meagre belongings the Fourth-Graders had brought with them. Then, in one quick movement, he hoisted the shovel, and heaved the entire contents of his suitcase into the drawer. Unable to keep a smug smirk from touching his features, he leaned back.
"And *that* is how you unpack," he said, laying himself down on the nearest bed--namely the bottom bunk to the largest of the two bunk-beds, "but, of course, *you* wouldn't want *my* help unpackin', *would* you?" Clearly trying not to grin, he laid back and closed his eyes.
"Yeah, right..." muttered Vince, even as Phil and Gus begged Digger Dave to teach them his effective and oh-so-efficient method of unpacking. "Thanks but no thanks, *Dave*. I can handle my own stuff perfectly fine by myself." He shook his head in disgust and set to work.
Much to his surprise, Menlo agreed. "I concur wholeheartedly, my athletic companion," he stated in what he clearly assumed to be a friendly tone. "Unpacking and organising one's luggage single-handedly and without the aid of extraneous instruments gives one an air of self-satisfaction." Regarding Digger Dave with a scowl, he shook his head. "I shall organise *my* things the 'old-fashioned' way," he went on, then turned to face Vince once again. "Far more enjoyable, don't you agree?"
'Oh boy...' thought Vince, offering Menlo a weak smile that held little of the freaky young man's apparent enthusiasm. 'This is gonna be a *long* week...'
*
Rendezvous Hour could not have been any slower in arriving, as far as TJ Detweiller was concerned. In the short time that he had been given to unpack, organise himself, and mingle with his 'roomies' for the week, he had endured nothing short of torture. Threats from Randall, ominous warnings from Butch, and--possibly the worst--incomprehensible babble passing between Jimmy the Guru Kid and Mikey Blumberg so fast that TJ's head spun just trying to keep up with it all.
"Oh TJ!" cried Mikey as the two of them made their way down the flamboyant staircase towards the main hall where they had been instructed to meet up with the others. From the top of the staircase, TJ could see a small group had already assembled, but it was clear that the majority of the Fourth Grade were yet to arrive. "Isn't this inspirational?" the enthusiastic poet continued. "Our room is so very beautiful, and the Guru Kid has promised to coach me in attaining perfect spiritual enlightenment!" Pausing, he looked to his cap-wearing friend, a rapturous smile upon his face.
TJ rolled his eyes. "Yeah, Mikey," he said, expression void of emotion. "Real inspirational." He sighed, and added under his breath, "I just hope the others got better luck than I did..."
Mikey clearly didn't note the sarcasm in his friend's voice--or perhaps he simply chose to ignore it--as his grin grew ever wider. Shaking his head, TJ tuned out Mikey's voice as the overgrown poet broke into song right there, and turned his attention to the assembled kids below. It was clear that the vast majority of the group were yet to arrive at the rendezvous point, but even in the small collection of students that had already made their way down, TJ spotted immediately the familiar faces of Gretchen and Spinelli, and he picked up speed as he moved to greet them.
"Teej!" Almost before TJ and Mikey had descended that final step, Spinelli had thrown herself at them, grabbing TJ's shirt collar and shaking him so hard that he could feel his brains rattling. "Teej! Ya gotta do somethin'! It's horrible... *horrible*!" She continued this delirious ranting for some time before Mikey and Gretchen managed to extricate TJ from her vice-like grip. "Ya gotta help me!"
Steadying himself somewhat, TJ shook his head slightly as he stepped safely away from both the staircase and the ranting Spinelli. "Will you calm down?" he demanded, no small amount of aggravation showing through in his voice; the last thing he needed in his current frame of mind was to be shaken to death by one of his best friends. "What's so horrible?"
"The Ashleys!" cried Spinelli, and had it not been for Mikey's strong arms holding her back, she would have lunged at TJ again and resumed her prior act of throttling him. "The *Ashleys*, Teej! It's horrible! They threatened to... to..." She broke off, struggling for words.
Gretchen chuckled slightly, and completed the terrified tomboy's sentence. "According to Spinelli, the Ashleys threatened her with... a makeover."
TJ and Mikey looked at each other for a few seconds, both uncertain as to what to say in response to this revelation. "Well, uh... gee, Spinelli, that's rough..." TJ murmured eventually. "Wish there was somethin' we could do for ya, but, you know..." He shrugged, then lapsed into a perfect imitation of Miss Grotke's earlier warnings. "No complaining! Y'know... just gotta grin and bear it."
"Are you *listening* to me, TJ?" Spinelli yelled, struggling against Mikey's restraining hold. "The *Ashleys* threatened *me* with a *makeover*! Do you *know* what somethin' like that could do to my *rep*? Do you have any *idea* how *humiliating* it'd be?"
TJ shrugged; of course he wanted to help Spinelli out of her situation, but he had heard Grotke's warnings just as well as she had. No complaints, no arguments. There was nothing she or he, or anyone else would be able to do. So why try? "You'll get over it," he said with a sigh. "We'll all get over it." Turning to face Gretchen, he forced a smile. "How's it goin' on your side, Gretch?"
Clearly understanding TJ's resignation, Gretchen nodded. "Well enough, I think. Kurst the Worst and Sue-Bob Murphy seem to have 'plans' for me, but Swinger Girl and Upside-Down Girl appear to be on my side; I believe the bullies will have their hands full against all three of us." Returning her leader's forced smile, she paused for a moment. "And yourself?"
With Mikey in the vicinity, TJ didn't dare state how much he had loathed the short time he had been alone with his 'group'. Instead, he offered a careless shrug. "Yeah... fine, y'know?" Glancing uneasily at Mikey, he gritted his teeth and waited for the inevitable recited poetry.
The gentle giant had scarcely opened his mouth, however, before he was cut short by Spinelli. "I don't *believe* you guys! You expect me ta sit an' take this?" She turned, stabbing a finger at Gretchen. "You wanna jus sit there an' *take* whatever Kurst the Worst has got planned for ya? And *you*- -" moving to perform the same act against TJ "--you're gonna just 'get over' the stuff that Randall's gonna try and do to ya, the minute you close your eyes? Pathetic."
"...Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer the slings and arrows of outrageous Fortune, or to take arms against a sea of troubles..." quoted Mikey, his colourful language earning him a baffled stare from TJ and a murderous scowl from Spinelli, "...and by opposing, end them?"
Gretchen cleared her throat discreetly. "An interesting analogy, Mikey," she commented quietly. "But our friend Hamlet was questioning between life and death... not debating whether or not he should--" she glanced at Spinelli "--beat the Ashleys to a pulp."
Spinelli opened her mouth to respond, but hadn't even managed to utter a single expletive before Finster stepped forwards from shadows that TJ was certain had not been there moments earlier. "All right, you little hooligans," she snapped, voice carving through the chatter like a hot knife through butter. "Be quiet and pay attention. I'm not going to repeat myself..." Offering the assembled students a piercing glare, she glanced at the top of the staircase, where a handful of stragglers were making their way stealthily down towards the rendezvous point. "While you are here, you will abide by *strict* rules, enforced by *me*. Any breaking of these rules will result in a punishment the likes of which you miscreants dare not even *imagine*. Have I made myself clear? Good." This last was uttered without even waiting for a response from her assembled protégés, even as her eyes wandered over them.
"What Miss Finster is trying to say," offered Miss Grotke, who had been standing unobtrusively behind the towering form of the other teacher, "is that, there are rules that should be obeyed while you're here, but other than that, have fun, enjoy yourselves, and rock on!"
"You're a wimp, Grotke," muttered Finster. "A spineless tree-hugging wimp."
Biting back a smirk, Miss Grotke went on, returning her attention to the assembled students. "I hope you all had a long rest on the bus, because you have a busy afternoon ahead of you. Retire, if you would, to the kitchen, where you will prepare your own lunches, and then we will be going on a nice relaxing hike, so as to get acclimatised to the tai-chi of the surrounding area. Isn't that inspiring?" Clapping her hands together with obvious excitement, she was clearly unaware of the complete lack of enthusiasm that struck the faces of her young charges as they stared blankly at her.
"You heard your instructions," snapped Finster, rolling her eyes at Miss Grotke, yet still sustaining her deadly 'don't mess with me' air. "Kitchen. Now. March, you little hooligans."
And march they did, each student muttering aggravated expletives aimed in Finster's direction. "Man, this whomps!" TJ cried, voicing the opinion of all assembled. "We gotta make our own lunches, and go out an' get exercise before we've even got settled down?"
"It certainly appears that way," Gretchen observed as they trooped into the spacious kitchen, where a selection of sandwich-fillers lay spread out alongside loaves of bread, over an enormous work-surface. "I must admit," she went on, staring at the expanse of foodstuffs that met their gaze, "this does seem rather unfair, exposing young children to the complexities of food-preparation."
Spinelli was grinning widely. "Unfair, nothin'! Man, this is the best thing they could've done!!" she said, narrowing her eyes dangerously at the Ashleys, who had positioned themselves a short distance away. "Pass me that bread-knife, willya? The *really* big one..."
"Don't even think about it," said TJ, shaking his head in disgust as he struggled to adopt a sincere and mature tone of voice. "No knives. No threatening the Ashleys." He leaned in a little closer and whispered, "you got a better chance of getting 'em while they're asleep, anyway..."
"Who was gonna be *threatenin'* the Ashleys?" replied Spinelli with a smirk. "But you're right, Teej... no point takin' 'em out with the whole Grade as witnesses."
Making a quick mental note to keep Spinelli *far* away from all sharp objects for the duration of the trip, TJ then turned his attention to the others; Gretchen, of course, was having no problems in the complex science of sandwich-making. Her sandwiches were perfectly streamlined, cut with breathtaking precision, and contained exactly the right balance between bread and filling. Mikey's sandwiches were... large. Very large. TJ didn't want to know how the oversized poet was going to fit the things into his mouth, but he reminded himself that Mikey had consumed far larger delicacies in his time.
Vince and Spinelli seemed rather unable to comprehend the task that had been set before them; their attempts were not exactly 'sandwiches', but TJ was really at a loss to find another definition for them... other than alien life-forms. Gus, surprisingly, seemed to know exactly what he was doing; though his own sandwiches lacked Gretchen's perfect form, or Mikey's bulk, they nonetheless *looked* like sandwiches. Which was more than TJ could say for his own.
Occasionally, Miss Grotke or Miss Finster would pause to help out one of their charges, and, looking at the chaos surrounding them, TJ guessed that they were beginning to question how sensible it had been to force the students to make their own meals. However, it was only a few minutes before the entire ordeal was over, and they were once again called into silence as Miss Grotke once again began to lecture them in the next stage of their excursion. "All right, campers!" she said cheerfully, pausing to wipe a splotch of mustard from her forehead. "Let's get going! Miss Finster is going to be staying behind to prepare a tasty and healthy dinner for when we return, but we will be accompanied on our hike by one of the current dwellers of this beautiful house." She gestured towards the young man TJ and his friends had met on first entering the house--the one Finster had called 'Sullivan'--who had unobtrusively entered the room and had been watching the students in their sandwich-making struggles.
"Hey guys," he said in what he obviously assumed to be a cool teenagerish voice. "Name's Sullivan. I've got our route for this afternoon's hike all planned out, and I'm sure you'll all have a great time." Ignoring the sarcastic groans from the assembled kids, he gestured expansively towards the door, and set to work ushering the students from the kitchen and out into the real world. "C'mon, quit looking so miserable. The first step to having a good time is being optimistic about it, so stop looking so downhearted, and let's go out there and have some *fun*!"
"Oh great..." muttered Spinelli as they followed Sullivan outside. "Just what we need. Another Miss Grotke fillin' our heads with pretty flowers and fluffy little animals... fun, fun, fun."
There was no way of mistaking the sarcasm in her voice, and--loathe as he was to admit it--TJ couldn't help agreeing. One hippie-teacher was bad enough, but two? They would be lucky to endure this hike without barfing their badly-made sandwiches. "Well, guys," he said with a resigned sigh, knowing that there was no getting out of it. "Let's get this over with..."
* TBC.
Hopefully the next chapter's gonna be a little less boring. *Hopefully*
Trial By Responsibility
*
Chapter Three
Glancing at her watch for what seemed to be the seven-thousandth time within the space of ten minutes, Gretchen sighed in acute aggravation; they had scarcely been travelling two hours, and--according to her calculations-- weren't even halfway towards their destination, despite the fact that it was already beginning to feel like they had been on the road for weeks. Shaking her head and struggling to remain sane, she allowed her gaze to wander to her companions, each of whom was engaged in some activity or another that made interaction rather impossible for the bored genius.
TJ and Vince were engaged in a spirited debate regarding which edition of their favourite comic was more action-packed and exciting. Though the argument seemed truly intriguing, Gretchen knew very little of the comic in question, and so lacked the knowledge to join in with their discussion. Gus and Spinelli seemed intent on catching up the slumber they had lost the previous night. Both were sound-asleep, the former snoring gently, and the latter mumbling delirious death-threats at random inanimate objects. Mikey, still awake, yet uninvolved in the conversation taking place between Vince and TJ, was working quietly in his own corner on what Gretchen assumed to be a new poem of some sort; knowing the gentle giant as well as she did, she had no intention of disturbing his intense concentration.
Of course, this solitude left her with something of a dilemma. Without any of her companions to engage in idle conversations with, Gretchen found herself with no company other than her own... and she had long since learned that her own company was neither pleasant nor enjoyable. Consequently, it was with some relief that she heard Miss Finster's cold voice cutting through the quiet discussions that were rippling from one end of the bus to the other, announcing that they would be taking a short rest- stop, so that the kids could stretch their legs, get something to eat, and generally replenish their faltering energy for the two and a half hours that remained of the seemingly endless journey.
Trying to conceal her unequalled relief at this idea, Gretchen turned her focus out of the window, and watched with no small amount of contentment as the bus shuddered to a halt outside what appeared to be a combined gas station/shopping mall. "All right, you little hooligans," Finster muttered as the children climbed eagerly to their feet before the bus had completely stopped moving. "You have exactly half an hour. I expect every last one of you to be back here by 8:30 *sharp*. Any stragglers *will* be left behind. Is that clear?" One look at her wrinkled face told Gretchen that she was not kidding, and as the young genius paused to nudge Spinelli back to consciousness--hearing Mikey perform the same task upon Gus--she made a mental note, not to defy this particular Rule, no matter what.
"Man... 'bout time they let us off this thing for a bit!" cried Vince as he and TJ moved to join the thronging crowd that raced to leave the bus for that precious half-hour. "Thought I was gonna go craze with cabin fever or something', not bein' able to stretch my legs."
"How much longer are we to endure this torture?" wailed Mikey as the six of them stepped down onto the cool tarmac of the parking lot. "Are we to forever suffer the slings and arrows of imprisonment behind yellow-painted bars of steel plate? Must we face this agony for the rest of our pitiful lives until we sink into the abyss of insanity, never again to return to Realm of the Rational?"
Gus yawned, rubbing his eyes drowsily as he struggled to focus his bleary eyes. "Could be worse, y'know, guys..." he said, ever the optimist. "When my family moved up here, we'd been on the road for three days straight before we even caught sight of civilisation." He shook his head slightly, apparently slipping into 'flashback' mode. "It was a road trip I'll never forget..."
"Yeah, yeah..." muttered Spinelli. "I'm sure it's a great story, but we've only got half an hour here, and I ain't about to waste it listenin' to you yappin' about The Road Trip That Time Forgot." She rolled her eyes as the small group stepped into the main shopping mall. "Stand here and yak all you guys want. *I'm* hittin' the arcades. I got a wallet full o' change that's burnin' a hole in my pocket. Follow if you want, ya wimps." And with that, she sauntered off in the general direction of an enormous, bright- pink neon sign that advertised none too subtly, an expansive amusement arcade.
TJ and Vince exchanged a glance for about three nanoseconds, before taking off in hot pursuit. Gretchen shook her head; video games had never been her forte, and she had no intention of wasting what scant precious money her parents had entrusted her with for the duration of the trip, on pointless computer graphics and cheap thrills. Clearly, Mikey and Gus shared her sentiments, as neither made any attempt to follow the others in the expensive endeavour.
"Oh, look!" Mikey exclaimed before Gretchen even had the chance to wonder aloud where the other two would like to go for the duration of their stay. The rotund poet pointed with a quivering finger towards a particularly elaborate-looking café, the window of which was adorned with cakes and sweets that made even Gretchen's indifferent mind remind her of how hungry she was.
"Sweets?" Gus asked, voice high with discomfort. "Before lunchtime? My dad would kill me if he thought I was eating sweets before lun--" He broke off, not having the time to finish as Mikey grabbed his arm with one hand-- taking Gretchen's with the other--and began sprinting towards the alluring shop; though she could understand Gus' concern, the young genius had no intention of allowing her qualms regarding her parents' responses to her actions, keep her from sampling the café's delicious bounty. Certainly, she was not about to let Mikey feel forced to dine alone.
Protesting all the way, Gus nonetheless accepted a chocolate milkshake that Mikey sportingly offered to buy him, as he refused to partake of the enormous ice-cream sundae that his two companions shared. In truth, Gretchen was internally cringing at the thought of what her beloved parents would think if they realised that she had gone against all of their dietary teachings, but in this rare instance--and going with the assumption that they would be offered only the most meagre of food portions for the duration of the week-long trip--she decided that there would be no harm in indulging.
"Well, I must observe," she heard herself murmuring through a mouthful of chocolate fudge, "that if the rules on this trip continue to be as lax as this, we shall indeed have a most enjoyable time." Pausing, she thought back to the other students she was forced to share a group with-- specifically, Kurst the Worst and Sue-Bob Murphy, neither of whom she had ever felt comfortable in the presence of. "Or perhaps," she added as an afterthought, "we will suffer most horribly."
"Do not despair, dear Gretchen," Mikey said in what he clearly assumed to be a consolatory tone. "I am certain Miss Finster will do her best to keep all foul-play to a minimum. Indeed, I suspect it will be a most difficult task for our heroic leader to be forming his mischievous plans for wreaking havock... and likewise, I doubt plucky Spinelli will be able to put into practise her dreams of violence against the Ashleys." He smiled, the expression aimed directly at his sundae. "It will be peaceful."
Gretchen and Gus looked at each other, and both shook their heads; as much as she would have liked to agree with Mikey's utopian vision, Gretchen was far too intelligent to expect, even for a moment, that things would pass smoothly. Deciding that the safest course of action would be to simply avoid passing comment upon Mikey's reassurance, she instead glanced at her watch. "Perhaps we should return to the bus," she stated quietly. "We wouldn't want to be late..."
Swinging by the arcade, they met up with a smug TJ, a sulking Vince, and a furious Spinelli; as they made their way back to the bus as a single unit, Gretchen learned that TJ's discontentment rested in his being defeated at Space Invaders by the smirking Vince, and that Spinelli's excessive rage was borne from a chance meeting with Ashley A., who had made deadly threats of a makeover. Trying not to laugh too hard at the simple causes of her friends' distempers, Gretchen boarded the bus first.
"Hey. Grundler." The origin of the rough voice wasn't difficult to determine, and as Gretchen turned, finding herself face-to-face with none other than Kurst the Worst, it took every ounce of effort she had not to break down into a babbling mass of jelly. "I hear we got stuck wit' *you* in our 'work group'," the bully went on, smirking dangerously. "Ain't that special..."
TJ and Spinelli had already stepped forwards, forming an effective barrier between Kurst and Gretchen, for which the intelligent girl was eternally grateful, though somewhat uneasy at the knowledge that she would not be able to count on the safety of numbers once they arrived in Velgon's Baudry. "Get lost, Kurst," growled Spinelli, raising both fists. "You lay *one hand* on Gretchen an' you'll have *me* to deal with!" The fact that Kurst stood a full three heads taller than she didn't seem to strike Spinelli as cause for concern, though Gretchen herself was internally quivering with fear.
"Oh yeah?" smirked the bully. "What are *you* gonna do about it, Short Stuff? Bite my knees?" Laughing, she flicked Spinelli's nose--only narrowly escaping a pummelling as TJ and Mikey struggled to hold back the livid hot- head, who was nearing an aggression overload--and returned her attention to Gretchen. "Jus' wait till we get there, Grundler," she said, a cruel grin playing at the edges of her lips. "We're gonna have all sorts of *fun*." This last was uttered with obvious malice.
Mikey stepped forwards, hands still firmly clamped down on Spinelli's shoulders to keep her from leaping at Kurst with both fists blazing. "Don't do something you'll regret, Kurst..." he begged, voice filled with nothing but sympathy. "I'm sure you would not wish to hurt fair Gretchen--"
"Shut it, Blumburger!" she replied. "I do what I wanna do. And if I wanna 'upset' your little genius when we get to this stupid place, then don't think you or your little friends are gonna stop me." This said, she turned and stomped away; glancing over her shoulder, Gretchen realised that this retreat had nothing to do with intimidation from her friends, but the sudden timely appearance of Miss Grotke and Miss Finster, who had chosen that moment to re-board the bus.
Miss Grotke only needed glance at the faces of her 'star pupils' to see that something was not quite right, and her inherent empathy kicked in within moments. "My goodness. Why do my leading enthusiasts seem so downtrodden and distraught? Is something wrong, my enlightened cherubs?"
"Not at all, Miss Grotke," sighed Gretchen. "Not at all."
*
As the bus revved its engines once again and crawled back onto the freeway, Mikey eased himself back into his seat, gazing dreamily out of the window and searching for poetic inspiration, even as he found his thoughts incessantly distracted by a rather loud conversation taking place between Spinelli and Gretchen. Not wanting to get personally involved in their 'disagreement', Mikey instead strove to focus his Inner Peace, and listen to the discussion from a safely dissociated distance.
"Not at all? NOT AT ALL!?" That was Spinelli; even from three miles away, the gentle giant would have heard and recognised the tough girl's voice. "What are you saying? There *is* somethin' wrong, and you know it! Why can't you just 'fess up for once?"
Mikey turned, watching in reserved silence as Gretchen sat lethargically, gazing up at her companion--who remained standing through the effects of anger that seemed to make it impossible for her to sit down. "If I thought it would do any good as a method of self-defence, I certainly would have," she said, her soft voice clashing painfully against Spinelli's yells. "However, being labelled a 'snitch' would hardly give Kurst reason to respect me. In fact, it would give her *more* reason to attack."
"Yeah, but Grotke would've helped!" Spinelli shouted in response. "You'd've gotten some adult backup! By sittin' there and doin' nothin', you're lettin' Kurst *win*!"
"She's right, Spin," Vince commented quietly. "Heck, if it'd been me, I'd've wanted to fight back too... but gettin' the teachers involved is never a good idea with stuff like this."
"Fine!" snarled the hot-head, dropping angrily back into her seat by way of showing defeat; Mikey smiled at her willingness to accept that she had been proved wrong, despite knowing that this acceptance would come at a price... usually one spoken in a very loud voice. "But I ain't happy about watchin' my friend let herself get whupped by that loser, Kurst. An' if she goes anywhere *near* Gretchen on *my* watch, she's gonna be goin' home in lots of really small boxes..."
"I appreciate the sentiment, Spinelli," Gretchen replied, shaking her head slightly, "but I doubt your... protection... will be necessary. I'm sure I will be able to handle Kurst myself."
After another brief round of expletives, Spinelli relinquished and forced herself into silence; breathing a sigh of relief, Mikey returned his attention to gazing restlessly out of the window and contemplating the theme for his latest creative masterpiece, a work of art currently unfinished and ingeniously entitled 'The Rise and Fall of Fredrick von Pinkelston the Butterfly'.
"I dream a dream..." he murmured to himself, scribbling the words down on the small notepad he held in front of him, ready for flashes of inspiration just like this. "A dream so extreme, it doth make me scream. Yon butterfly, his wings all pretty... engaging in a trifling ditty. Dearest Fredrick, antennae so bright! Go forth, my friend, into the night." He frowned, staring blindly down at the incomprehensible scrawl that was his handwriting as he tried to think up a second stanza.
He being the easily-distracted individual that he was, and the journey being so fraught with fascinating sights and reasons for his attention to be drawn from his poem, Mikey had not managed to develop his ideal beyond this point before he heard the authoritative bark of Miss Finster's voice demanding that they gather their things together and prepare to disembark.
Shaking his head in a futile attempt to gather his thoughts, Mikey turned his attention to the window, and saw with some surprise that the bus was pulling up into the gravel driveway of what appeared to be an enormous house of some kind. With some effort, he wiped the anticipation from his features and set to work collecting up the countless discarded balls of paper that lay strewn about him, evidence of the effort he had put into his failed attempt at poetry over the course of the journey.
Of course, had he not been so sidetracked, many of those discarded efforts would have resulted in true and genuine additions to his solitary finished stanza, but he had learned well enough in his time, not to dwell upon unfinished poetry, as it was all too probable that he would find the opportunity to continue the endeavour at various points during the trip.
These thoughts secure in his mind, he turned to offer Gus--who quivered nervously beside him--a warm and reassuring smile. Murmuring a quiet "Take it easy, little fella," in the military drop-out's direction, he climbed to his feet, scarcely waiting for the bus to cease moving before stepping out into the aisle, and beginning to make his way--head held high and proud-- towards the doors that creaked open, their gentle hiss marking the final beginning of a week that Mikey was certain he wouldn't forget.
*
As he stepped out into the aisle, moving to follow his friends as they began the seemingly endless walk to the front of the bus, Vince shifted uncomfortably; strong and confident in himself as he was, he couldn't deny the slight twinge of uncertainty that knotted around his stomach as he took that first painful step off the bus. "Well," he said, voice strong and oozing with his usual confidence to hide his inner unease. "Here we are... a whole week of total freedom!"
"Yeah! 'Bout time!" cried Spinelli, leaping down the well-worn stairs and onto the pavement below. "Let's dump our stuff and get started already! I'm itchin' for some action!"
"Calm yourself, Spinelli," said Gretchen, and Vince noted with some discomfiture the stiff formality of her tone; even for Gretchen, she was sounding reserved. "I sincerely doubt Miss Finster will allow us to begin our activities this soon after arrival anyway. It would be my hypothesis that we will be instructed to retire to our sleeping quarters to unpack first..."
As if reading the intellectual's mind, the grating voice of Miss Finster cut into their conversation, stating in no uncertain terms that they students were to do exactly that. "Don't loiter now. Boys, follow Miss Grotke to your rooms, girls follow me. No straggling, and *no* hooliganism."
"Yeah, yeah..." muttered TJ as he made the first move to follow the foreboding Finster into the enormous house; swallowing uneasily, Vince followed.
Waving to Gretchen and Spinelli as the girls were led over to a side- entrance to the house, Vince turned his attention to the front door, which Finster approached with stoic confidence. Rapping sharply on the door, she stepped back to wait for a response. Vince glanced at his friends, finding his puzzled expression mirrored in each of their countenances. "Now," Finster was lecturing, eyeing the door impatiently, "there are strict rules you're going to obey while you're here. The owners of the house will be here while we're staying, and I expect *all* of you to treat them with utmost respect..."
Before she had the chance to go on, the door was opened, and a handsome- looking young man offered the assembled kids a warm smile. "Right on time," he said, speaking in an accent that Vince couldn't quite place. "Muriel Finster, pleasure to see you again, ma'am, and may I say you look lovelier every time I see you? Your presence within these hallowed halls--"
"That will be quite enough flattery, thank you," snapped Finster. As Vince and the other Fourth-Graders struggled to stifle their giggles, she shot each of them a vicious glare, before turning to address the man. "Glad to see you've not lost your ability to lie through your teeth, Sullivan," she said, though her annoyed expression did seem to mask something of a smirk. "You know the drill. Fourth-Graders ready to be taken up to their rooms, just like last time, and the time before..." She shook her head.
The man grinned and nodded. "No problem, Muriel." He turned to face the assembled boys, still smiling widely; Vince was beginning to wonder if the man's expression was permanently fixed into some sort of smarmy grin. "All right. You all know what groups you're supposed to be in. I want you to get into your groups now, and follow me upstairs." This said, he stepped aside, allowing the throng to step into the house and take that first all- important look around.
As the rest of the Fourth-Grade shuffled into something resembling the groups they had been assigned to, Vince stepped aside with Gus, nervously eyeing the décor; the one thing that was painfully obvious from even that first glance was that this house was *not* designed for kids. Beautiful paintings and pieces of bone china hung upon expensive wallpaper, and everywhere Vince and his friends looked, there was a new item of value. Not exactly the safest place for prank-pulling.
This contemplation was cut short, however, as the strange young man that had greeted them was already beginning to ascend a beautifully-carpeted staircase to the upper part of the house. "C'mon... don't want you getting lost on your first day, now. I know you guys think being stuck in a room with four other kids, but the rooms are really big, so don't worry."
And big, they were. Vince's group was the first to be deposited in what was to be their bedroom for the upcoming week, and as he stepped inside, he couldn't keep the expression of acute awe from touching his features. The room was at least twice the size of his usual bedroom, and the beds seemed comfortable enough to live in. "Man!" he cried, his confidence returning. "We hit the jackpot!"
"Start getting your stuff unpacked, while I show the others to their rooms," said the man that Finster had addressed as Sullivan, "Miss Finster says that you're supposed to meet up with the rest of your posse in the main hall downstairs at precisely Thirteen-Hundred Hours. Try not to be late."
And with that, he left.
The room consisted of two bunk-beds and one single; each of which appeared positively luxurious by comparison to what Vince was used to. There were numerous closets, drawers, and other facilities for storing luggage, and as he looked around--taking in the crushed-velvet curtains, the perfect- quality navy-blue carpet, the soft lilac wallpaper--the self-assured jock had already decided that he and Gus had struck pure gold; he only hoped TJ and the others were as lucky in their room designation.
"Man, this is great!" Vince cried, diving headfirst onto the single bed; he remained consciously oblivious of the disgusted 'tsk' that escaped Menlo's lips as he watched this act of juvenile childishness. "These rooms are so *big*! And, man, this bed is comfy!"
"You said it, Vince!" Gus chirped, standing in the centre of the room beside his suitcase, and gazing at his surroundings, clearly impressed. "Maybe this trip *is* gonna be fun!"
"Yes, yes." This latter voice belonged to Menlo, who stood a short distance from Gus, running a critical eye over his surroundings. "As it appears, we have been lucky in the choice of room our host deemed us worthy of inhabiting. Therefore, I suggest we do his decision justice and begin unpacking and organising ourselves in a methodical and sensible fashion..."
Vince laughed; he couldn't help himself. "Yeah, *right*, Menlo!" he cried. "We got a whole *week* to get unpacked an' organised! I say we paaaaaaaaar- ty! Who's with me!?"
Gus, of course, being the loyal friend that he was, stepped immediately to his buddy's side; clearly the impressive surroundings had re-instated his faith in the potential Fun Factor of this trip, and he seemed ready now to take advantage of the freedom to the best of his--admittedly somewhat limited--ability. With a smug grin, Vince turned towards where Phil the Woodchuck Scout stood firmly beside Menlo, clearly of the belief that the office-boy's decision was preferable.
"Really, you guys," This latter voice belonged to Digger Dave, who stood in the centre of the room, one foot placed atop his suitcase. "Do I have to teach ya how to do *everything8?" With one swift movement, that even Vince's keen eye had to strain to catch, he flipped his suitcase open using the same foot as had been resting upon it, and stooped to draw out two parts to what looked like a shovel. "Watch and learn, amateurs," he said, his cool tone making Vince want to strangle him.
Attaching the shovel head to its handle, he paused only for as long as it took to pull open the nearest of the large collection of drawers that littered the room--clearly with the intention of being filled with what meagre belongings the Fourth-Graders had brought with them. Then, in one quick movement, he hoisted the shovel, and heaved the entire contents of his suitcase into the drawer. Unable to keep a smug smirk from touching his features, he leaned back.
"And *that* is how you unpack," he said, laying himself down on the nearest bed--namely the bottom bunk to the largest of the two bunk-beds, "but, of course, *you* wouldn't want *my* help unpackin', *would* you?" Clearly trying not to grin, he laid back and closed his eyes.
"Yeah, right..." muttered Vince, even as Phil and Gus begged Digger Dave to teach them his effective and oh-so-efficient method of unpacking. "Thanks but no thanks, *Dave*. I can handle my own stuff perfectly fine by myself." He shook his head in disgust and set to work.
Much to his surprise, Menlo agreed. "I concur wholeheartedly, my athletic companion," he stated in what he clearly assumed to be a friendly tone. "Unpacking and organising one's luggage single-handedly and without the aid of extraneous instruments gives one an air of self-satisfaction." Regarding Digger Dave with a scowl, he shook his head. "I shall organise *my* things the 'old-fashioned' way," he went on, then turned to face Vince once again. "Far more enjoyable, don't you agree?"
'Oh boy...' thought Vince, offering Menlo a weak smile that held little of the freaky young man's apparent enthusiasm. 'This is gonna be a *long* week...'
*
Rendezvous Hour could not have been any slower in arriving, as far as TJ Detweiller was concerned. In the short time that he had been given to unpack, organise himself, and mingle with his 'roomies' for the week, he had endured nothing short of torture. Threats from Randall, ominous warnings from Butch, and--possibly the worst--incomprehensible babble passing between Jimmy the Guru Kid and Mikey Blumberg so fast that TJ's head spun just trying to keep up with it all.
"Oh TJ!" cried Mikey as the two of them made their way down the flamboyant staircase towards the main hall where they had been instructed to meet up with the others. From the top of the staircase, TJ could see a small group had already assembled, but it was clear that the majority of the Fourth Grade were yet to arrive. "Isn't this inspirational?" the enthusiastic poet continued. "Our room is so very beautiful, and the Guru Kid has promised to coach me in attaining perfect spiritual enlightenment!" Pausing, he looked to his cap-wearing friend, a rapturous smile upon his face.
TJ rolled his eyes. "Yeah, Mikey," he said, expression void of emotion. "Real inspirational." He sighed, and added under his breath, "I just hope the others got better luck than I did..."
Mikey clearly didn't note the sarcasm in his friend's voice--or perhaps he simply chose to ignore it--as his grin grew ever wider. Shaking his head, TJ tuned out Mikey's voice as the overgrown poet broke into song right there, and turned his attention to the assembled kids below. It was clear that the vast majority of the group were yet to arrive at the rendezvous point, but even in the small collection of students that had already made their way down, TJ spotted immediately the familiar faces of Gretchen and Spinelli, and he picked up speed as he moved to greet them.
"Teej!" Almost before TJ and Mikey had descended that final step, Spinelli had thrown herself at them, grabbing TJ's shirt collar and shaking him so hard that he could feel his brains rattling. "Teej! Ya gotta do somethin'! It's horrible... *horrible*!" She continued this delirious ranting for some time before Mikey and Gretchen managed to extricate TJ from her vice-like grip. "Ya gotta help me!"
Steadying himself somewhat, TJ shook his head slightly as he stepped safely away from both the staircase and the ranting Spinelli. "Will you calm down?" he demanded, no small amount of aggravation showing through in his voice; the last thing he needed in his current frame of mind was to be shaken to death by one of his best friends. "What's so horrible?"
"The Ashleys!" cried Spinelli, and had it not been for Mikey's strong arms holding her back, she would have lunged at TJ again and resumed her prior act of throttling him. "The *Ashleys*, Teej! It's horrible! They threatened to... to..." She broke off, struggling for words.
Gretchen chuckled slightly, and completed the terrified tomboy's sentence. "According to Spinelli, the Ashleys threatened her with... a makeover."
TJ and Mikey looked at each other for a few seconds, both uncertain as to what to say in response to this revelation. "Well, uh... gee, Spinelli, that's rough..." TJ murmured eventually. "Wish there was somethin' we could do for ya, but, you know..." He shrugged, then lapsed into a perfect imitation of Miss Grotke's earlier warnings. "No complaining! Y'know... just gotta grin and bear it."
"Are you *listening* to me, TJ?" Spinelli yelled, struggling against Mikey's restraining hold. "The *Ashleys* threatened *me* with a *makeover*! Do you *know* what somethin' like that could do to my *rep*? Do you have any *idea* how *humiliating* it'd be?"
TJ shrugged; of course he wanted to help Spinelli out of her situation, but he had heard Grotke's warnings just as well as she had. No complaints, no arguments. There was nothing she or he, or anyone else would be able to do. So why try? "You'll get over it," he said with a sigh. "We'll all get over it." Turning to face Gretchen, he forced a smile. "How's it goin' on your side, Gretch?"
Clearly understanding TJ's resignation, Gretchen nodded. "Well enough, I think. Kurst the Worst and Sue-Bob Murphy seem to have 'plans' for me, but Swinger Girl and Upside-Down Girl appear to be on my side; I believe the bullies will have their hands full against all three of us." Returning her leader's forced smile, she paused for a moment. "And yourself?"
With Mikey in the vicinity, TJ didn't dare state how much he had loathed the short time he had been alone with his 'group'. Instead, he offered a careless shrug. "Yeah... fine, y'know?" Glancing uneasily at Mikey, he gritted his teeth and waited for the inevitable recited poetry.
The gentle giant had scarcely opened his mouth, however, before he was cut short by Spinelli. "I don't *believe* you guys! You expect me ta sit an' take this?" She turned, stabbing a finger at Gretchen. "You wanna jus sit there an' *take* whatever Kurst the Worst has got planned for ya? And *you*- -" moving to perform the same act against TJ "--you're gonna just 'get over' the stuff that Randall's gonna try and do to ya, the minute you close your eyes? Pathetic."
"...Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer the slings and arrows of outrageous Fortune, or to take arms against a sea of troubles..." quoted Mikey, his colourful language earning him a baffled stare from TJ and a murderous scowl from Spinelli, "...and by opposing, end them?"
Gretchen cleared her throat discreetly. "An interesting analogy, Mikey," she commented quietly. "But our friend Hamlet was questioning between life and death... not debating whether or not he should--" she glanced at Spinelli "--beat the Ashleys to a pulp."
Spinelli opened her mouth to respond, but hadn't even managed to utter a single expletive before Finster stepped forwards from shadows that TJ was certain had not been there moments earlier. "All right, you little hooligans," she snapped, voice carving through the chatter like a hot knife through butter. "Be quiet and pay attention. I'm not going to repeat myself..." Offering the assembled students a piercing glare, she glanced at the top of the staircase, where a handful of stragglers were making their way stealthily down towards the rendezvous point. "While you are here, you will abide by *strict* rules, enforced by *me*. Any breaking of these rules will result in a punishment the likes of which you miscreants dare not even *imagine*. Have I made myself clear? Good." This last was uttered without even waiting for a response from her assembled protégés, even as her eyes wandered over them.
"What Miss Finster is trying to say," offered Miss Grotke, who had been standing unobtrusively behind the towering form of the other teacher, "is that, there are rules that should be obeyed while you're here, but other than that, have fun, enjoy yourselves, and rock on!"
"You're a wimp, Grotke," muttered Finster. "A spineless tree-hugging wimp."
Biting back a smirk, Miss Grotke went on, returning her attention to the assembled students. "I hope you all had a long rest on the bus, because you have a busy afternoon ahead of you. Retire, if you would, to the kitchen, where you will prepare your own lunches, and then we will be going on a nice relaxing hike, so as to get acclimatised to the tai-chi of the surrounding area. Isn't that inspiring?" Clapping her hands together with obvious excitement, she was clearly unaware of the complete lack of enthusiasm that struck the faces of her young charges as they stared blankly at her.
"You heard your instructions," snapped Finster, rolling her eyes at Miss Grotke, yet still sustaining her deadly 'don't mess with me' air. "Kitchen. Now. March, you little hooligans."
And march they did, each student muttering aggravated expletives aimed in Finster's direction. "Man, this whomps!" TJ cried, voicing the opinion of all assembled. "We gotta make our own lunches, and go out an' get exercise before we've even got settled down?"
"It certainly appears that way," Gretchen observed as they trooped into the spacious kitchen, where a selection of sandwich-fillers lay spread out alongside loaves of bread, over an enormous work-surface. "I must admit," she went on, staring at the expanse of foodstuffs that met their gaze, "this does seem rather unfair, exposing young children to the complexities of food-preparation."
Spinelli was grinning widely. "Unfair, nothin'! Man, this is the best thing they could've done!!" she said, narrowing her eyes dangerously at the Ashleys, who had positioned themselves a short distance away. "Pass me that bread-knife, willya? The *really* big one..."
"Don't even think about it," said TJ, shaking his head in disgust as he struggled to adopt a sincere and mature tone of voice. "No knives. No threatening the Ashleys." He leaned in a little closer and whispered, "you got a better chance of getting 'em while they're asleep, anyway..."
"Who was gonna be *threatenin'* the Ashleys?" replied Spinelli with a smirk. "But you're right, Teej... no point takin' 'em out with the whole Grade as witnesses."
Making a quick mental note to keep Spinelli *far* away from all sharp objects for the duration of the trip, TJ then turned his attention to the others; Gretchen, of course, was having no problems in the complex science of sandwich-making. Her sandwiches were perfectly streamlined, cut with breathtaking precision, and contained exactly the right balance between bread and filling. Mikey's sandwiches were... large. Very large. TJ didn't want to know how the oversized poet was going to fit the things into his mouth, but he reminded himself that Mikey had consumed far larger delicacies in his time.
Vince and Spinelli seemed rather unable to comprehend the task that had been set before them; their attempts were not exactly 'sandwiches', but TJ was really at a loss to find another definition for them... other than alien life-forms. Gus, surprisingly, seemed to know exactly what he was doing; though his own sandwiches lacked Gretchen's perfect form, or Mikey's bulk, they nonetheless *looked* like sandwiches. Which was more than TJ could say for his own.
Occasionally, Miss Grotke or Miss Finster would pause to help out one of their charges, and, looking at the chaos surrounding them, TJ guessed that they were beginning to question how sensible it had been to force the students to make their own meals. However, it was only a few minutes before the entire ordeal was over, and they were once again called into silence as Miss Grotke once again began to lecture them in the next stage of their excursion. "All right, campers!" she said cheerfully, pausing to wipe a splotch of mustard from her forehead. "Let's get going! Miss Finster is going to be staying behind to prepare a tasty and healthy dinner for when we return, but we will be accompanied on our hike by one of the current dwellers of this beautiful house." She gestured towards the young man TJ and his friends had met on first entering the house--the one Finster had called 'Sullivan'--who had unobtrusively entered the room and had been watching the students in their sandwich-making struggles.
"Hey guys," he said in what he obviously assumed to be a cool teenagerish voice. "Name's Sullivan. I've got our route for this afternoon's hike all planned out, and I'm sure you'll all have a great time." Ignoring the sarcastic groans from the assembled kids, he gestured expansively towards the door, and set to work ushering the students from the kitchen and out into the real world. "C'mon, quit looking so miserable. The first step to having a good time is being optimistic about it, so stop looking so downhearted, and let's go out there and have some *fun*!"
"Oh great..." muttered Spinelli as they followed Sullivan outside. "Just what we need. Another Miss Grotke fillin' our heads with pretty flowers and fluffy little animals... fun, fun, fun."
There was no way of mistaking the sarcasm in her voice, and--loathe as he was to admit it--TJ couldn't help agreeing. One hippie-teacher was bad enough, but two? They would be lucky to endure this hike without barfing their badly-made sandwiches. "Well, guys," he said with a resigned sigh, knowing that there was no getting out of it. "Let's get this over with..."
* TBC.
Hopefully the next chapter's gonna be a little less boring. *Hopefully*