Special THANKS go out to Thomas Mikkelsen and Nemo Blank for their patience and assistance in beta reading these stories!
Note to you future kids who are reading this: Don't bother! Go back to watching TV or whatever the heck it is you're doing these days. Go scarf down some space age slurpee or something.
Reading this story is a waste of your time. It was a waste of my time to write it. Believe me, I should know. I was there after all.
This is where I'm supposed to write all about me being a cool, sophisticated high-school spy who smacks around some other fellas at school, gets Quinn to ask me out, gets conscripted to locate some schmoe called Dr. Evil No (what a stupid name that was – oh, that's right, it came from both Jeff and Joe since they couldn't decide on the name of the villain for the story), then proceeds to the date which also happens to coincide with my killing Dr. Evil No. Possibly with a 3-Stooges angle (and if you don't know who they are, your loss). Or an Indiana Jones style.
Puh-lease.
That story was as old as Hollywood, and besides, there wasn't any way I was going to copy Jeff or Joe's crappy work. Not even if coach said I needed to.
At least, not anymore.
Instead, I now get to write some friggin' lousy story for a friggin' nightmare of a principal of a friggin' low-end high school in a friggin' loser town.
Fine.
Nothing else to do in study hall today anyway. So I might as well as get this started.
My Date (And Not Jeff's or Joe's) With Quinn!
by Jamie White(Transcribed by Steve Brown)
I woke up to another lousy day.
It was raining when I left home and pouring when I got to school. Fortunately, my car didn't start and I only had to walk the near mile distance. I guess it could have been worse – I could have been wearing my shoes with the holes in the soles instead of the holes by the toes.
I got to school when the bell rang and was only slightly wet and late to my first class which, luck being on my side an all, was taught by a guest instructor, Ms. Barch for an ailing Mr. O'Neill. Some of you wouldn't know her, that is, if you were female. But all males in school knew her since she was a regular Hitler to the opposite chromosome. I'm not sure what set her off as I came in – did I mention I was late? – but she went for the jugular as I took my seat.
"You! Male! What are you doing coming into class late?"
There was no way to win this at all, so I didn't even bother. "I got caught in the storm," I said, taking my seat.
"Did I say you could sit down? In case you haven't noticed, there are still women standing! Males shouldn't sit until all women have sat first!"
Didn't I say there was no way to win this? I got out of my seat and stood, looking around. The only other person standing was Ms. Barch and I wasn't sure if she counted as a woman – I sometimes had my doubts. But needless to say, since she wasn't sitting, I didn't sit. So I stood there for the rest of the hour listening to her drone on and on, going over Mr. O'Neill's essay test scores which she rechecked and regraded this morning. Of course, I got a D vs. the regular B or C. Quinn got an A as did all the other girls in the class.
My day went downhill from there.
After class, I tried asking Quinn for a date but Joe and Jeff pushed past me and got there first.
My next class was Science with a certain man-hating teacher. Yes, you guess it, future reader. It was with Ms. Barch. And three guesses who stood through class again. But to be honest, all the "males" had to stand through class as she had liked the idea from an earlier class.
After that grueling hour, my knees where killing me and I wanted to sit down. I caught up with Quinn during the break between classes but she didn't want to talk, figuring to groom herself of whatever in the girls restroom. Since that could take a half hour or better (voice of experience here), I just went to my next class with some demented teacher whose eye bugged out constantly from a nervous tick.
I won the betting pool that day for how many times it bulged from its socket. Of course, when I was paid, Ms. Li happened to be nearby and confiscated my winnings saying it would be reported to the IRS and my parents pronto unless I wanted to make it a donation to the school fund. So I gave the 50 bucks to her sleazy blackmail scam.
Lunch came and went. The less said about that the better. I'll simply say that I won't be going back to that restroom anytime soon – at least, until they clean and disinfect it.
Afternoon classes, try to get with Quinn, Joe and Jeff start throwing punches, etc. Nothing out of the ordinary. Finally, though, as the school day is ending, I caught up with Quinn and asked her out. I managed to convince Jeff and Joe that she was in another hallway which was how I got to her without having to fight off the other two. And amazingly, she said she would go out with me. To her favorite restaurant – which cost a bundle and which is where the missing 50 bucks would have come in handy.
But the day was finally starting to look up.
Or so I thought. It was Wednesday. I went to football practice after school and promptly got clobbered by the defensive team horsing around. I should have known better than to let my guard down. They didn't hurt me too badly – but they did manage to break my nose.
As I was getting it bandaged, coach walked over and called me a wussy for not anticipating the tackle. Forget that I was on the sideline going over some plays with the assistant coach when the defensive squad decided it would be funny to gang tackle me to the turf. He didn't want to hear that. He wanted me to play football. Heck, I wanted to play football – but let's face it, it's just a game. You don't live or die if you don't play.
I went home, saw my sister one last time before she headed back to NYU. Pauline was her usual, scattered self, throwing clothes into bags at the last minute like always. She noticed the bandage, I told her what happened and she gave me the advice, "Aaaahhh, what's the coach know? He's a jerk. Go and have some fun on this date of yours."
The date with Quinn! I'd almost forgotten about that!
I raced upstairs, got cleaned up as best I could, jumped in my car and raced over to Quinn's house. I shouldn't have bothered because once she saw my face – bruising under the eyes from the broken nose – she cancelled the date saying, "Jamal…"
"Jamie."
"Whatever. I can't be seen with you looking like that. It would ruin my reputation. Let's reschedule."
I must have had a stunned look on my face as she whipped out her dayplanner and penciled me in for the following week – pending facial look improvements. She then closed the door. I walked back to my car and drove home, normally this time. Pauline was still there, having just finished stuffing her car with bags and all.
I told her what happened. She was sympathetic of course, but running late with a long drive in front of her. I told her to go on. She got in her car and drove off. I went back inside and had some cold pizza as my parents were out of town.
Two days later I played in the football game. I played good enough to get a compliment out of coach who said, "Jamie – good hustle out there! You don't stink like you normally do!"
I was really just looking to vent some frustration on the other team. It got so I was being double teamed when coach decided I should play defense on the line. That was good as I enjoyed the workout. The other team's QB wasn't so lucky as I sacked him four times.
The weekend came and went. I worked on my homework, my car, cooking something for once rather than calling for takeout. Monday the swelling went down some and Quinn made a note in her dayplanner for this Thursday, still pending my look status.
Tuesday was September 11, 2001. Four planes were hijacked. One plane hit the South Tower of the World Trade Center. Another hit the North Tower. A third slammed into the Pentagon. The fourth nose dived into a field in Pennsylvania, killing everyone on board but no one on the ground. Over 3,000 people died that day that shouldn't have died.
We were told the news at school and sent home. I drove home listening to the news. My parents weren't back from their trip yet, so I tried calling my sister. There was no answer.
I thought she was at school, but I had my doubts.
My parents finally called later that afternoon, saying they were stuck in Portland and would be driving home vs. flying. They asked if I'd gotten ahold of my sister. I told them I hadn't. They were sure she was okay and told me of this.
The next morning I got a call from Pauline's roommate at NYU. Pauline White, a part-time receptionist on the 105th floor of the North tower never made it out of the building.
She was officially among the missing.
Her body was found six days later.
I never did go on that date with Quinn. I never gave it a second thought until late in the following week when she confronted me for standing her up. I looked at her and didn't see anyone I wanted to go out with anymore. Maybe I'd grown up, maybe I'd just had a really bad day. It didn't matter.
There was no date.
The EndLocation: History 363.
Time: Now.
Nick: Discussion. What conclusions can you draw from this story? Nicole? Ben? What can you tell me about Jamie White?
Ben: There's not much to tell about him. We found that he graduated high school in June of 2003 and then disappeared. There weren't any tax records of him or anything.
Nick: Possibilities?
Nicole: He could have been a victim of a drive-by shooting.
Barry: What the heck is that?
Nicole: Apparently during the early part of the century, kids would hotwire a car, go for a joyride, and then shoot people when they got bored.
Dan: Didn't they ever hear of accountability?
Nicole: Apparently not. It appears that many of these people ended up in jail and probably died during the jail uprisings in the 30's.
Nick: Possibly a crime victim. What else?
Ben: He may have gone bankrupt.
Aaron: Oh, god.
Nick: Back then, going bankrupt didn't carry as much a stigma as it does now. Even if he'd gone bankrupt, he was only what, 18 or 19 when he disappeared? How solvent was a graduating teenager anyway? What else?
Nicole: He could have gone to college.
Nick: You find any records?
Nicole: No. We checked the number of times his transcript was requested. It never was.
Jim: How about a community college? Would transcripts have been requested there?
Nicole: I hadn't thought of that.
Nick: So what if he did go to college? Then what?
Nicole: I don't understand the question.
Nick: What could have happened to cause him to disappear?
Ben: Well, that's what we asked each other. Where could he have gone? We just don't know.
Mrs. Whitmore: Jamie White joined the Army out of high school. He never went to college. He went to basic in Mississippi and was stationed stateside for roughly six months before being shipped out to Sudan.
Mike: Sudan? There's no military presence in Sudan.
Mrs. Whitmore: Not now. But back in 2004 there was a major international outcry against terrorism of all kinds. And Sudan at the time harbored terrorists.
Jon: Why would they do that?
Bob: Money.
Jon: What?
Mrs. Whitmore: Bob's right. It was done for money. The terrorists greased enough official palms for them to look the other way while they plotted the destruction of the world. This was recognized at the time by the American government. They went into action and inserted an observation squad into the region. Jamie White was part of that squad.
Colin: So what happened?
Mrs. Whitmore: I won't go into specifics – we'll be covering that next year as part of your International History. But during the last days of American ops, a terror cell attacked a Sudan refugee camp. Sgt. James White had been in the region for a number of years by then and was part of the rearguard action to protect the Sudanees trying to escape. He was killed in action, May 10th, 2007 while protecting a convoy of refugees.
Geoff: That was dumb.
Nick: How so?
Geoff: He died protecting people who probably didn't appreciate his actions. Or could even pay for it. They were probably destitute.
Mrs. Whitmore: You are both right and wrong, Geoff. True, the people in that convoy were destitute and couldn't rub two cents together. But that didn't mean there wasn't someone there who didn't appreciate what he did.
Nick: Who would that be?
Mrs. Whitmore: James White's pregnant wife, Sangita. She was part of the convoy.
Debbie: Way to go, Geoff. You've got a big mouth.
Geoff: How was I to know?
Nick: What happened to his wife?
Mrs. Whitmore: Sangita White made it to an evac area and was given a transport ticket stateside.
Jane (quietly): What is she talking about?
Bridget (quietly): I have no idea. She always loses me when she starts in with her cultural slang.
Mrs. Whitmore: In the US, she made it to Lawndale and met her in-laws. They took her in and several months later, she gave birth to her daughter, Susan.
Rich: Susan White. That name sounds familiar.
Diane: Yeah, it does. Where have we heard it before?
Mrs. Whitmore: You all know her. You might know her better as Slashin' White. Your gym teacher. The same teacher who was very interested in today's class and has been logged in to hear what was found out about the father she never knew.
Barry: But why did he write that story?
Nick: Good question. Ben, Nicole, you care to answer that?
Ben: Um, we kind of figured he wrote the story because they had to based on what we saw in the last archived footage with him, Joe and Jeff. That their coach made them do it.
Nick: So that's why you didn't call me to research the Li database.
Nicole: Well, yeah. Their coach spelled it all out there.
Mrs. Whitmore: Then why do you suppose his story was different from the other two?
Nicole: Um, I'm not really sure. Maybe it was a way to get back at Mr. Barch's mother?
Mrs. Whitmore: Nick? Why do you think James wrote that story?
Nick: I think he wrote it as a tribute.
Mrs. Whitmore: To who?
Nicole: Not to Ms. Barch I hope.
Nick: No, Nicole. To his sister.
Mrs. Whitmore: How did you arrive at that conclusion?
Nick: His story was different from the other two. He could have copied it the original one but didn't. I did a little digging in the archives and found this. Loading… now.
The electronic blackboard flickered to life.
BEGIN VIDEODecember 2001.
Location: Lawndale High, hallways. Time: morning.
Daria is standing at her locker, reading. She finishes and puts the papers in her backpack. People coming down the hall make some noise. Daria looks towards them.
Off-camera
Quinn's voice: Okay, Jeffy. I'll let you carry my books. Thank you for the soda, Joey.
Off-camera
Joey's voice: Don't mention it, Quinn. I can't say how sorry I am that I wrote that story. It was all Jeffy's fault anyway.
Jeffy: My fault? You're the one who came up with the idea to use real people.
Joey: But not Quinn!
Quinn: Jamie? When can I read your story?
Daria: You won't, Quinn. I just found out that Ms. Li excused him from the assignment.
Quinn: Oh. Okay.
Quinn continues to walk on, Joey and Jeffy right behind her. Jamie stayed behind.
Jamie: But I turned in my story…
Daria: I know. Mr. O'Neill gave it to me yesterday to review and correct the spelling.
Jamie: I didn't think anyone was going to read it.
Daria: So I gathered. Why did you write it?
Jamie: I had to.
Daria: No. You had to write a story. You could have copied the same story as Joey and Jeffy's and called it yours. No one would have known. Yet you wrote something else.
Jamie: I… I didn't want to go there.
Daria: Go where?
Jamie: Go in for killing rag-heads. You know that's what they call them?
Daria: Who?
Jamie: Everyone in the locker room. That's what they call Muslims. Except Mack of course. He doesn't go in for stereotypes.
Daria: Jamie, not all Muslims wear turbans. And not only do some Muslims wear turbans, but also some Hindus, such as the Sikhs, wear them. But what do you feel about the stereotypes?
Jamie: I don't like it. I mean, I think about it and all, but I don't like it. And I didn't know other people than Muslims wore turbans. I guess just because someone wears a turban on their head doesn't mean they should be called a rag-head. I don't know. I just don't get it.
Daria: Get that people make fun of what they fear?
Jamie: Huh?
Daria: They make fun of what they fear. They don't understand Islamic beliefs, but they do see the turban so they make fun of it.
Jamie: I still don't get it.
Daria: This isn't about the turbans, is it?
Jamie: …no.
Daria: You know, you can't hold every Islamic person responsible for the attacks on 9/11.
Jamie: I know.
Daria: Nor what happened to your sister.
Jamie: I know that too. But…
Daria: Hmmm?
Jamie: It was my fault, don't you see? My fault she had to die.
Daria: Why?
Jamie: I encouraged her to get a job there.
VIDEO ENDS
Bob: That's it?
Nick: The video continued for a few more minutes but the audio couldn't be heard. They just stood there, talking quietly. Finally they went their separate direction towards class.
Mrs. Whitmore: So the sister he wrote about in his story…
Nick: Was his real sister. Different name, but same person. I found her death certificate on record.
Mrs. Whitmore: And to think, all that time he carried around a guilty feeling that he'd caused her death.
Nick: Maybe. Hard to say. I personally think he joined the Army out of high school because of that, and joining up back then was a way to not only honor her memory but also to make sure something like that never happened again.
Bob: That, or to engage in some serious revenge.
Diane: Geez, here we go again. When isn't something a revenge motif for you?
Mrs. Whitmore: People. We're getting off track here. What was in the time capsule from James White?
Ben: I'm not sure.
Nick: What do you mean, you're not sure.
Nicole: Well, we're certain at some point it was organic.
Nick: And?
Nicole: It sort of, um, decomposed over the past few decades. Good thing it was in a sealed box.
Nick: So what do you think it was?
Ben: Best guess? I'd say it was some old athletic socks. Probably dirty. Probably put in there after he'd played some football.
Mrs. Whitmore: So what is it now?
Nicole: Noxious vapors and bits of material. We've gone ahead and sent it on out to a gene-sink to see if they can sequence the DNA if there's any on it. We'll see what comes up.
Mrs. Whitmore: Why did you send it out for sequencing?
Ben: We were kind of thinking we had to since his story was so short. We felt that we might need some extra credit.
Nick (chuckles): Okay, you two, let me know if you find anything. I'm sure Mrs. White would like to know some genetic makeup of her father. Everyone, let's call it a day. Before we go, who wants to go next?
Two students raise their hands.
Nick: Thomas? Diana? You two ready to go? Good enough.
NEXT: Trent's story: The Snatch!Contact me if you want:
jwbandsb@cs.com
Disclaimer
Copyright (C) 2001 by Steven A. Brown, all rights reserved. No part of this work may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission from the author, with the exception of 1) brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews (yeah, like that's going to happen), and 2) the complete, unaltered text of this work, including this disclaimer (or an electronic document containing same and which has been data-compressed using a lossless algorithm) when used or reproduced for private and non-commercial use only (again, like that's going to happen).
Permission is granted to repost, republish, or retransmit this work in any way, shape, or form as long as these disclaimers remain intact, and no one except Glenn Eichler, Susie Lewis, MTV Studios, or Viacom, the parent of MTV receive financial remuneration.
The Characters of Daria Morgendorffer, Quinn Morgendorffer, Jane Lane, Trent Lane, Kevin Thompson, Michael Jordan "Mack" MacKenzie, Brittany Taylor, Jodie Landon, Sandi Griffin, Timothy O'Neill, Angela Li, Anthony DeMartino, and many more, even if not mentioned here, are the creation of Glenn Eichler and Susie Lewis and Copyright MTV Studios. This story is in no way to be construed as a challenge to said copyright.
The Characters of future students are entirely fictionalized and only sounds like the names of other fan fiction authors whose work I have read and enjoyed. Just wait until I start putting in other author's nam… er, that is, it's all a coincidence I tell you. A coincidence! To those of you who may be offended, remember: this is a cartoon. This is not and could never be real. Or could it? I leave questions like that to philosophers, or to OTR drivers who have experienced significant sleep deprivation.