Disclaimer: I do not claim ownership of any of the characters from Higher Ground. I made up Janey, Keith, and Mrs. Morgan. As usual, thank you for your reviews. You readers are groovy!

It was three days later that Janey finally unpacked. Before, she had lived out of her suitcases. Now, she realized that she would be here for a while. It was free time, and the dorm was empty. She pulled out her bags, one at a time, and took her clothes, placing them neatly into the drawers of her small allotted dresser. Then she placed a framed newspaper cutout of the USA women's soccer team winning the world championships on top of the dresser. Her mother hadn't shoved much else into the bag.

She could distinctly remember the packing. Her mother had been throwing clothes and toiletries into the bag, yelling the entire time about ungrateful daughters bringing shame upon the whole family. Janey had been sitting silently in a chair nearby, watching and listening, all the while pretending she was elsewhere.

Now, shaking her head clear of the memories, Janey pulled out her walkman and tape collection. She had Beach Boys, Bee Gees, the Monkees, the Turtles, and those other ones. Carefully, she selected the Turtles. Putting the headphones on, she could hear the familiar chords of "Happy Together," one of her favorite songs. She knew all the words, but she didn't sing. Instead, the homemade tapes caught her eye.

There were three. One she had made of entirely old jazz songs when she went through her jazz phase at age twelve. She winced now, remembering that. The next one had been made from the radio, random songs including "I Got You Babe" by Sonny and Cher, and "My Boyfriend's Back" by the Angels. The third…she'd never listened to that one. Not since making it.

Slowly, reflecting, she lifted that one. And she stuck it in her breast pocket. She was wearing a shirt that she'd stolen from Scott's closet a long time ago, a button-down, plaid one. The breast pocket seemed a safe place for the tape. For now.

Removing the headphones, she packed the walkman and the other tapes back into her suitcase, which she then shoved under her bed. Looking over her work, she almost smiled. But the tape in her pocket stopped her.

Now was no time for smiling. There was something she had to do. Janey left the dorm with a purpose.

It was eleven-thirty in the morning. Peter was behind on his paper work and had just spilled coffee on several documents. As he was mopping it up, his intercom buzzed.

"Peter, you got a phone call on line two."

"Thanks, Janine," he replied. Dropping the dripping paper towel in the garbage, he picked up the phone.

"Hello, Horizon High, Peter Scarbrow speaking."

"Mr. Scarbrow? It's John…Lipenowski."

"Mr. Lipenowski," Peter said, feeling relieved. "Been trying to reach you for the last three days."

"Is it about Daisy?" he asked. Was that concern in his voice? "Is she okay?"

"Daisy's fine," Peter answered quickly. "I was calling to find out if you wanted to pay a visit. We think that Daisy's at a time when that could be very beneficial."

"Me? Visit there?" John wanted to know. "At that school?"

"Yes," Peter responded patiently. "Dais' said that she would be more comfortable if you came here than if she went home."

"She wants me to come?" Suspicion hardened Daisy's father's tone.

"I think she's ready," Peter said, sidestepping the question.

"Okay," John said. "When should I come? I have a week off in a week. Should I come up then?"

"That'd work well," Peter said.

His intercom went off again as Janine's voice broke his conversation. "Peter, the new people are here to see you."

"Thanks, send 'em in," Peter called back, then returned to his phone call. "Listen, Mr. Lipenowski…"

"John," John corrected. "I understand; you're busy. I'll see you in a couple of weeks, right?"

"Yeah, that's perfect," Peter said.

"Bye," John said.

"Bye," Peter replied, hanging up the phone.

A sixteen-year-old boy and his mother stood in the doorway. The boy was lanky, fairly tall and had green eyes and straight light brown hair that flopped slightly into his eyes and down his neck—a moptop that made Peter think of the Beatles. He wore a black T-shirt and baggy jeans. Peter made a mental note to confiscate the metal chain from around his neck. It could be used as a weapon. Peter rose and shook hands, first with the mother, then with the boy, who seemed rather polite.

"I'm Peter Scarbrow," he said.

"I'm Tracy Morgan, and this is my son Keith," the woman said, gesturing at herself, then at her son. Then she nudged her son. "Keith, manners."

"How do you do, Mr. Scarbrow?" Keith mumbled, looking at his hands nervously.

"Peter, please," Peter said. "We're pretty informal here. And I'm feeling great today, Keith. How about you?"

"Fine," he said unintelligibly, but at least he was talking.

"All right," Peter said. "I'm going to hand you over to Sophie, your counselor, and she'll check your bags and stuff, get you processed. She should be here any second."

"Why does she need to check?" Keith asked, his eyes flashing suddenly. "I'm not on drugs or anything."

"Just a precautionary thing," Peter assured him.

The door swung open then, and Peter looked up, expecting to see Sophie. Instead, Janey stood there. Peter faintly heard someone calling after here, asking her to stop, but Janey looked like she was on a mission.

"Janey?" His voice formed the question, but it also held a slight reprimand. "I'm busy right now. Can you wait?" The last part wasn't really a question, Janey could tell, but it didn't matter to her.

"No," she said firmly. Her eyes swept across the room, taking in the boy and his mother.

"Excuse me for just a sec," Peter said apologetically, catching Janey's wrist and leading her from the room. In the hallway, he turned on her. "Janey, when I'm busy with other people, you aren't supposed to come in my office."

This seemed to go in one ear and out the other. "This can't wait anymore, Peter," she said firmly. "I need to talk to you right now. It's an emergency."

"What's an emergency?" Sophie asked, coming up.

"Ah, Soph," Peter said, relaxing a bit. "Could you take Keith for his check?"

"Sure thing," she said, disappearing into the office.

Peter bent slightly, putting his hands on each of Janey's shoulders. "Is anyone hurt?"

"No."

"Are you in pain?"

"No."

"Did someone tell you to get me for help?"

"No."

"This is not an emergency," Peter said levelly. "Sit down." She slid down, her back against the wall. He crouched down in front of her, looking directly into her face. "Janey, hold your thought for just a minute. I've got to talk to Keith's mom for a while…"

"You don't understand," Janey insisted in a whisper. She pulled the tape out of her pocket and shoved it at him.

"What's this?" Peter asked, taking the tape from her. He read the label. "Oldies Mix number three. Janey…"

"Please, Peter," she pleaded, almost inaudible.

Peter's office door opened, and the two looked up from the ground to see Sophie leading Keith off to the check-in room. Sophie raised her eyebrows at her husband, who was looking back up at her grimly, squatting on his heels.

"Mrs. Morgan's in there waiting, Peter."

"I know," he said. He stood and nodded to Sophie, who left with Keith. Janey watched Peter from the floor.

"What's on this tape?" Peter asked. Janey was silent. Giving her a look, he said, "I'm talking to Mrs. Morgan for a minute, then you and I are going to have a long discussion. Got it?"

Janey couldn't tell whether she was supposed to feel happy or threatened by that. She settled for a short nod, leaning against the wall

Peter reentered his office and was given an understanding smile by Mrs. Morgan.

"Sorry about that. She needs to talk," he explained.

"I understand," she replied. "That just makes me feel all the more comfortable about leaving Keith here."

"You want to tell me a little about Keith? I read his file, but I want your input."

"Sure," she said. "Let's see. He used to be such a friendly, happy boy, but lately…I don't know. I think he's been hanging out with the wrong people. He's sullen, hard to talk to, withdrawn. I barely recognize him."

"Do you think it's drugs?" Peter asked. "There's no record of it, but…"

"No," she said quickly. "Not Keith. His grandfather was killed by lung cancer. Keith knows better than to smoke or do drugs. It's just a period of rebellion, right?"

"I hope so," Peter said. He jotted down a few notes.

"I hate to rush this," Mrs. Morgan said. "But I need to get going. I left my other son and my daughter alone in the hotel room. Keith didn't want them to come."

"Okay," Peter said. He put his notepad down and stood, shaking the woman's hand. "You want to say goodbye to Keith? A quick tour?"

"No, thanks. I saw the virtual tour on your website, and Keith…we already said goodbye. I think he doesn't want me to embarrass him. If I have to say goodbye, I'll start crying. And that always embarrasses him." She gave Peter a weak smile.

"I completely understand," Peter said, smiling back. He didn't think that it was the parents—or not the mother at least—that were causing Keith issues. She seemed very kind and understanding of her son's feelings. Still, Peter hesitated to jump to conclusions.

Peter moved to hold the door for her, and she left. Peter stared down at Janey, still sitting on the hall floor, looking set and resolved. "All right, your turn," he said, gesturing her in.

Sophie sat in a chair across from Keith, meeting his eyes with her own experimentally. He watched her.

"The rules here are pretty strict, but there aren't a lot of 'em. No violence, sex, drugs, or inappropriate touching. Chores are shared by everyone, including staff. Talking to any counselor is safe. Whatever you say stays between us, unless we suspect violence or illegal activity, which we have to report to the authorities."

Keith nodded, his hair flopping a bit.

Sophie sifted through his bags. She hadn't found anything.

"There's no drugs," Keith said softly. "I'm not on anything."

"It's just a precautionary measure," she said. "Legal stuff." She removed several rolls of toilet paper and a can of silly string from one bag. He looked slightly ashamed.

"I haven't unpacked from spending the night at my friend's last night."

"I see," Sophie said. "There's to be no vandalism here, Keith. Toilet paper belongs in the bathroom. Silly string doesn't belong."

He nodded shamefacedly, looking like a dog with its tail between its legs.

Finishing her search, Sophie put his bags down. She had confiscated the toilet paper, silly string, a few water balloons, a carton of eggs, and his heavy chain necklace. "You've been put in the Cliffhanger group. That's my group. After your physical, come on back to Peter's office, and I'll get someone to be your buddy for a couple of days." She stood and walked toward the door.

Turning back, she caught his eye. "Keith, it's normal to be a little scared. Everyone is at first. But we're all here for you. Got it?" A nod. "Okay. Get undressed and a doctor'll come in for your physical. I'll see you in Peter's office in a bit, okay?"

"Yeah."

She left, and Keith began pulling off his socks. She had already made him take off his shoes. This was degrading. He wasn't on drugs. If this was a druggie school, he didn't belong here. Biting his lip, he threw one of his shoes across the room, noting the black mark it made on the wall. He'd acted like a crybaby in front of that counselor. And she was pretty cute too. It was okay to be scared? Whatever. Fear was weakness. Fear was for babies. Keith was no baby. And he wasn't scared.