Richie tried the combination on his locker for the third time as he juggled
the mountain of books that had been waiting for him in the office.
"Need some help?" a dark haired girl asked flashing him a smile that made Richie weak at the knees. He smiled back and didn't answer. She giggled a little. "Here, let me take those." She took his books. He just kept smiling. "You want to try that combo, now?" She nudged him and he seemed to snap out of his stupor.
"Oh, right," he blushed and turned his stare to the locker. After a few more tries he got it to open. "Thanks," he mumbled not wanting to risk saying something stupid by talking too much.
"You should really paper that," the girl told him.
"What does that mean?"
"Like this, you mind?" She ripped a small piece of paper out of his notebook before handing his books back. She stuffed it in the locker door blocking the locking mechanism. "See?" she closed the door and opened it without the combination. "Everyone does it around here."
"Stuff doesn't get stolen?" Richie asked impressed by the Rhode Islander's ingenuity.
"People are honest around here," she told him. "I'm Ginger."
Richie grinned. "As in Rodgers?"
Ginger rolled her eyes. "Don't remind me."
"I'm Richie," he grunted dropping the pile of books he had been holding into the locker before offering his hand.
"As in Cunningham?" Ginger asked.
"Real original," Richie drawled. "I've never heard that one before. Why don't you do a little song and dance routine for me?"
"Can't sing and I have no rhythm. Fate's idea of a joke I'm sure. You're new right?"
"Yeah. We just moved here."
"Can I see your schedule?" she asked. "Where did you move here from, Richard Noel-MacLeod?" She read his name off his schedule.
"Washington, Ginger Rodgers."
"Ginger Bradley," she corrected handing his schedule back. "We have the same first period and lunch."
"Really? I don't suppose you could at least point me in the right direction then."
"I'll do you one better. Come with me to my locker and I'll take you myself."
Richie followed Ginger to her locker and they chatted pleasantly all the way to history. They entered the room just before the tardy bell rang.
"Everyone take a seat!" the teacher, a stout graying woman, ordered over the start of semester greetings. Ginger led Richie to a seat toward the back corner. "We will start with role call. Mary Adams?"
"Here!"
"Blake Christopher?"
"Here!"
And so she ran down the list. "Richard Nool-MacLeeod?" she stumbled over the name.
Richie winced. "Noel-MacLeod," he corrected. "And I go by Richie."
The teacher looked at Richie over her wire-rimmed glasses. "You're new," she said.
Richie shifted in his seat. "Yeah."
"Come up here." By this time the class, which had mostly been chatting quietly and half heartedly listening for their names, was staring as the unfamiliar blonde boy walked to the front of the room. "Face the class," the teacher, for the life of him Richie couldn't remember her name, instructed. "Introduce yourself."
"Um, I'm Richie," he said then looked at her. A few girls in the front row giggled.
"From," the teacher prompted.
Richie turned to the class. "Washington." He turned back to the teacher.
"DC?"
Richie turned back to the class. "State." He turned back to the teacher who had caught onto his little game.
"Why did you move here? How old are you? Do you have any siblings, hobbies, car?" she rattled off.
Richie turned to the class grinning as they laughed. "My dad got a job at the university, 18, no, no, no, but I have a motorcycle." The class kept on laughing, louder as Richie answered each question until Richie's voice couldn't be heard over the noise.
"That will be enough!" the teacher snapped at the class.
"Yeah, you guys, settle down. I didn't say anything funny," Richie added.
"Take your seat."
"Gladly." Richie walked down the aisle and sat down whispering to Ginger: "Ten bucks says she never gets me up in front of the class again."
Second period was cultural studies. Richie hadn't the faintest interest in the subject but it was the only class with room for him in it when they registered. For this role call you had to answer with what nationality your names, first and last, were.
"Richard Noel-MacLeod?" the teacher called out with a smile.
Richie frowned. "Um.Richard's English, I think.Noel is French, and MacLeod is Scottish," he answered feeling proud that he could answer when most of the class came from the country of 'I don't know'.
"What generation?" the teacher asked.
"Huh?"
"What."
"Huh?"
"What."
Richie was at a loss. "Excuse me?"
"That works as well," the teacher nodded.
Richie paused a second. He was completely lost. "Huh?"
"The correct response when you don't understand a question would be 'Excuse me?', 'I beg your pardon?', or at the very least, 'What?'. Never 'Huh?'."
"Oh," Richie smiled. "Gotcha. what was the question again?"
"What generation are you?"
"Um. I don't understand the question?" Richie tried still a little dizzy from the last go round.
"How many generations has your family been in America," the teacher clarified with a smile as he leaned back against his desk.
"Oh, okay. Um. I'm the first born in America," he answered. "So I guess that makes me first generation."
"Correct. Which parent is from where?"
"My mom's from Paris and my dad's from Glen Finanana. something or another. I can't pronounce it. I can barely understand him when he says it."
"Glen Finnan?" the teacher supplied.
"Sure why not?"
"When was he born? I have a cousin from there."
"1592," Richie answered promptly. It took him a second to realize why the class was giving him such strange looks. "Uh. 1952," he corrected blushing. "Lysdexia that darn," he grinned under his breath.
"Well, now that we have that cleared up. Sara McCloud?" Upon hearing the name Richie perked up a bit.
"Hebrew and Irish," Sara answered.
Richie furrowed his brow. He made a metal note to ask Duncan about it later.
After third period Richie met Ginger by his locker and they went to lunch together where she introduced him to her friends.
"You're the huh? Guy from my second period!" a boy named Nathan exclaimed. "The French dude!"
"I'm American," Richie corrected. "Born and raised. But, yeah that's me."
"You don't play baseball do you?" Nathan asked.
"Oh, honestly," Ginger groaned. "He asks that to every guy he sees that isn't already on the team."
"Yeah, I play. Haven't in a while though. Why?" Richie took a bite of his soft taco then opened it to pick out the beans.
"We could use some more players, if you're interested."
Richie shrugged. "I probably have to ask my dad. He's kinda weird about stuff like that."
"Cool."
"Are you guys going to do the cultural fair?" Ginger asked changing the subject when someone put a flyer on their table.
"What's that?" Richie asked once again biting into this taco and making a face as he chewed on an elusive bean that he missed.
"School is cancelled for the day and your teachers give you extra credit for going to the fair and even more credit if you participate."
"What do you have to do?"
"Make a dish or dress up in a traditional costume and bring it to school," Nathan explained.
Richie thought about this. Tessa loved helping him cook. "Can I have that?" he asked gesturing to the flyer.
"Sure." Ginger handed it over.
. . . . . .
The teacher looked up as Richie opened the classroom door.
"Sorry, got lost," Richie apologized.
"You must be Noel-MacLeod."
"Yeah."
"We were afraid that the hall goblins had gotten you," she smiled at him.
Richie grinned; he was going to like English. "It was a close fight, but I showed 'em what's what."
"Good for you. You can take a seat right over there." She pointed to an empty desk. Richie nodded and began to move. "But first," the teacher stopped him. "Why don't you tell us about yourself?"
Richie made a face. "I was hoping you'd skip that part." He faced the class. "I'm Richie, I'm from Washington, we moved here because my dad got a job at the university, I'm an only child, eighteen, no hobbies, and I drive a motorcycle.when I'm not grounded." He turned to the teacher and flashed her a smile. "Did I forget anything?"
"You seem well rehearsed."
"This is sixth period," Richie pointed out. "I've been doing this all day."
She smiled. "Good point. Let's begin; take your seat, Richard."
"Richie," he automatically corrected.
"Sorry. Richie, take your seat. Now, who read the Stevenson novel I assigned?" The class all raised their hands. "Who can explain the plot?" she asked knowingly. And just as she expected a few hands went down. "Who can tell me David's uncle's name?" A few more hands went down. "What is the name of the clan who's land David washed up on.Three people know? That's it? Three people."
Abruptly Richie realized his hand was still up. 'Campbell,' he thought smiling to himself. 'I remember.'
. . . . . .
Walking across the university campus Richie stuffed his hands deeper in his coat pockets and hunched against the cold wind. "You should'a called," he told himself. He jogged the last twenty yards to the history building. He took the stairs to the third floor and made his way to Duncan's office. The door was slightly ajar so he just pushed it open and went in. Nobody was there. Richie took a seat behind Duncan's desk.
"So this is what a professor's desk feels like," he mused to himself. After a couple minutes Duncan showed up.
"Come on," he told him. "Get your stuff."
"Going home already?" Richie asked picking up his bag.
"No, I have a class."
"And me, too, I'm guessing."
"You got it." Duncan led him down the halls.
"Man, I've been in classes all day," Richie mumbled.
"It's only an hour and a half and you don't have to pay attention at all. You can sit in the back and do your homework."
Duncan lectured in the front of the stadium style lecture hall about medieval armor and Richie sat in the last row eyes glazed over and about to fall asleep. Somebody said something funny that Richie didn't understand and the class laughed, waking him from his near nap. A couple minutes later something started tickling his nose and despite his best effort let out a very loud sneeze. The people in front of him jumped and a few more turned around. Richie blushed.
"Bless you," Duncan said from the front of the room with a smile.
"Thanks," Richie mumbled sinking in his chair.
"That's the professor's kid," someone near him whispered. "I saw them coming into class."
Richie was suddenly very aware of the Rhode Island Prep sweater he was wearing and how young he looked compared to the graduate level students. A whisper rippled to the front of the room and every few rows someone would look back at him. Richie felt the heat rise in his cheeks and he slumped farther down into the chair.
Duncan stopped talking and got a very amused look on his face. "Since your attention has been lost I might as well join you before I bring you back. Yes, the boy in the back with the cold is my son. His name is Richie."
Richie suddenly wanted very much to disappear as the boy next to him held up his hand and pointed down at the top of Richie's very noticeable curls.
"He goes to."
"R.I. Prep?" the boy next to Richie supplied poking at the patch on his sweater.
"Yes. Any other questions?" A few hands went up. "I thought not. Now as I was saying solid armor."
Richie dug a piece of paper and pencil out of his pocket and began doodling so he had something to concentrate on other than the curious glances that were coming his way.
. . . . . .
"Hard at work, I see." Richie looked up from the doodle that had become an elaborate sketch of his old school. He had been so absorbed in what he was doing he hadn't notice the class end. "Let me guess." Duncan picked up the paper. "Art homework?"
"I don't have any homework," Richie told him. "I was just doodling."
"That's quite a doodle," Duncan said handing the paper back. "I didn't know you could draw."
"I'm not that good," Richie said folding the paper and putting it back in his pocket. "You should'a seen Natalie's stuff. She was great." He stood up and picked up his empty backpack. "I just do it when I'm bored."
Duncan let the subject drop for the time being. "How was school?"
"It was okay. My history teach is a major bore but everyone else seems pretty okay."
"Make any friends?"
Richie rolled his eyes as he followed Duncan down the halls. "Yeah. That reminds me can I go out for baseball?"
Duncan chuckled. "That came out of nowhere."
"Nathan asked me about it today at lunch. I told him I had to check."
"Who's Nathan?"
"Ginger's friend."
Duncan grinned. "Who's Ginger?" He could see Richie nervously tug at a curl at the base of his neck out of the corner of his eye. "Are you going to tell me?"
"Hey, I got a question," Richie changed the subject. "In cultural studies. which seems like it might be kinda cool. there was this girl something'er'other MacLeod, but she said it was Irish."
"Then it's probably McCloud not MacLeod," Duncan explained. If anything Richie got more confused. "It's spelled differently."
"Oh." Richie waited for Duncan to unlock the doors then got into the car. "And there's this other thing." Richie fumbled around trying to get the flyer out of his pocket but lost the fight to his seatbelt and coat, which were in the way. "Ah, I'll show you that later. It's a cultural fair at school. Students volunteer to make food from the countries where their families come from."
"You want to make something Scottish?" Duncan asked trying to hide his pride and excitement.
Richie shifted in his seat. "I was actually wondering if Mom had any recipes from her mother. but Scottish would be good, too. I just figured since Mom actually lived in France during this century that she might have something a little more modern to offer. No offence, but I don't think haggis would go over well with a bunch of teenagers."
"Very true," Duncan nodded. "Why don't you ask when we get home." They rode the rest of the way in comfortable silence.
"Need some help?" a dark haired girl asked flashing him a smile that made Richie weak at the knees. He smiled back and didn't answer. She giggled a little. "Here, let me take those." She took his books. He just kept smiling. "You want to try that combo, now?" She nudged him and he seemed to snap out of his stupor.
"Oh, right," he blushed and turned his stare to the locker. After a few more tries he got it to open. "Thanks," he mumbled not wanting to risk saying something stupid by talking too much.
"You should really paper that," the girl told him.
"What does that mean?"
"Like this, you mind?" She ripped a small piece of paper out of his notebook before handing his books back. She stuffed it in the locker door blocking the locking mechanism. "See?" she closed the door and opened it without the combination. "Everyone does it around here."
"Stuff doesn't get stolen?" Richie asked impressed by the Rhode Islander's ingenuity.
"People are honest around here," she told him. "I'm Ginger."
Richie grinned. "As in Rodgers?"
Ginger rolled her eyes. "Don't remind me."
"I'm Richie," he grunted dropping the pile of books he had been holding into the locker before offering his hand.
"As in Cunningham?" Ginger asked.
"Real original," Richie drawled. "I've never heard that one before. Why don't you do a little song and dance routine for me?"
"Can't sing and I have no rhythm. Fate's idea of a joke I'm sure. You're new right?"
"Yeah. We just moved here."
"Can I see your schedule?" she asked. "Where did you move here from, Richard Noel-MacLeod?" She read his name off his schedule.
"Washington, Ginger Rodgers."
"Ginger Bradley," she corrected handing his schedule back. "We have the same first period and lunch."
"Really? I don't suppose you could at least point me in the right direction then."
"I'll do you one better. Come with me to my locker and I'll take you myself."
Richie followed Ginger to her locker and they chatted pleasantly all the way to history. They entered the room just before the tardy bell rang.
"Everyone take a seat!" the teacher, a stout graying woman, ordered over the start of semester greetings. Ginger led Richie to a seat toward the back corner. "We will start with role call. Mary Adams?"
"Here!"
"Blake Christopher?"
"Here!"
And so she ran down the list. "Richard Nool-MacLeeod?" she stumbled over the name.
Richie winced. "Noel-MacLeod," he corrected. "And I go by Richie."
The teacher looked at Richie over her wire-rimmed glasses. "You're new," she said.
Richie shifted in his seat. "Yeah."
"Come up here." By this time the class, which had mostly been chatting quietly and half heartedly listening for their names, was staring as the unfamiliar blonde boy walked to the front of the room. "Face the class," the teacher, for the life of him Richie couldn't remember her name, instructed. "Introduce yourself."
"Um, I'm Richie," he said then looked at her. A few girls in the front row giggled.
"From," the teacher prompted.
Richie turned to the class. "Washington." He turned back to the teacher.
"DC?"
Richie turned back to the class. "State." He turned back to the teacher who had caught onto his little game.
"Why did you move here? How old are you? Do you have any siblings, hobbies, car?" she rattled off.
Richie turned to the class grinning as they laughed. "My dad got a job at the university, 18, no, no, no, but I have a motorcycle." The class kept on laughing, louder as Richie answered each question until Richie's voice couldn't be heard over the noise.
"That will be enough!" the teacher snapped at the class.
"Yeah, you guys, settle down. I didn't say anything funny," Richie added.
"Take your seat."
"Gladly." Richie walked down the aisle and sat down whispering to Ginger: "Ten bucks says she never gets me up in front of the class again."
Second period was cultural studies. Richie hadn't the faintest interest in the subject but it was the only class with room for him in it when they registered. For this role call you had to answer with what nationality your names, first and last, were.
"Richard Noel-MacLeod?" the teacher called out with a smile.
Richie frowned. "Um.Richard's English, I think.Noel is French, and MacLeod is Scottish," he answered feeling proud that he could answer when most of the class came from the country of 'I don't know'.
"What generation?" the teacher asked.
"Huh?"
"What."
"Huh?"
"What."
Richie was at a loss. "Excuse me?"
"That works as well," the teacher nodded.
Richie paused a second. He was completely lost. "Huh?"
"The correct response when you don't understand a question would be 'Excuse me?', 'I beg your pardon?', or at the very least, 'What?'. Never 'Huh?'."
"Oh," Richie smiled. "Gotcha. what was the question again?"
"What generation are you?"
"Um. I don't understand the question?" Richie tried still a little dizzy from the last go round.
"How many generations has your family been in America," the teacher clarified with a smile as he leaned back against his desk.
"Oh, okay. Um. I'm the first born in America," he answered. "So I guess that makes me first generation."
"Correct. Which parent is from where?"
"My mom's from Paris and my dad's from Glen Finanana. something or another. I can't pronounce it. I can barely understand him when he says it."
"Glen Finnan?" the teacher supplied.
"Sure why not?"
"When was he born? I have a cousin from there."
"1592," Richie answered promptly. It took him a second to realize why the class was giving him such strange looks. "Uh. 1952," he corrected blushing. "Lysdexia that darn," he grinned under his breath.
"Well, now that we have that cleared up. Sara McCloud?" Upon hearing the name Richie perked up a bit.
"Hebrew and Irish," Sara answered.
Richie furrowed his brow. He made a metal note to ask Duncan about it later.
After third period Richie met Ginger by his locker and they went to lunch together where she introduced him to her friends.
"You're the huh? Guy from my second period!" a boy named Nathan exclaimed. "The French dude!"
"I'm American," Richie corrected. "Born and raised. But, yeah that's me."
"You don't play baseball do you?" Nathan asked.
"Oh, honestly," Ginger groaned. "He asks that to every guy he sees that isn't already on the team."
"Yeah, I play. Haven't in a while though. Why?" Richie took a bite of his soft taco then opened it to pick out the beans.
"We could use some more players, if you're interested."
Richie shrugged. "I probably have to ask my dad. He's kinda weird about stuff like that."
"Cool."
"Are you guys going to do the cultural fair?" Ginger asked changing the subject when someone put a flyer on their table.
"What's that?" Richie asked once again biting into this taco and making a face as he chewed on an elusive bean that he missed.
"School is cancelled for the day and your teachers give you extra credit for going to the fair and even more credit if you participate."
"What do you have to do?"
"Make a dish or dress up in a traditional costume and bring it to school," Nathan explained.
Richie thought about this. Tessa loved helping him cook. "Can I have that?" he asked gesturing to the flyer.
"Sure." Ginger handed it over.
. . . . . .
The teacher looked up as Richie opened the classroom door.
"Sorry, got lost," Richie apologized.
"You must be Noel-MacLeod."
"Yeah."
"We were afraid that the hall goblins had gotten you," she smiled at him.
Richie grinned; he was going to like English. "It was a close fight, but I showed 'em what's what."
"Good for you. You can take a seat right over there." She pointed to an empty desk. Richie nodded and began to move. "But first," the teacher stopped him. "Why don't you tell us about yourself?"
Richie made a face. "I was hoping you'd skip that part." He faced the class. "I'm Richie, I'm from Washington, we moved here because my dad got a job at the university, I'm an only child, eighteen, no hobbies, and I drive a motorcycle.when I'm not grounded." He turned to the teacher and flashed her a smile. "Did I forget anything?"
"You seem well rehearsed."
"This is sixth period," Richie pointed out. "I've been doing this all day."
She smiled. "Good point. Let's begin; take your seat, Richard."
"Richie," he automatically corrected.
"Sorry. Richie, take your seat. Now, who read the Stevenson novel I assigned?" The class all raised their hands. "Who can explain the plot?" she asked knowingly. And just as she expected a few hands went down. "Who can tell me David's uncle's name?" A few more hands went down. "What is the name of the clan who's land David washed up on.Three people know? That's it? Three people."
Abruptly Richie realized his hand was still up. 'Campbell,' he thought smiling to himself. 'I remember.'
. . . . . .
Walking across the university campus Richie stuffed his hands deeper in his coat pockets and hunched against the cold wind. "You should'a called," he told himself. He jogged the last twenty yards to the history building. He took the stairs to the third floor and made his way to Duncan's office. The door was slightly ajar so he just pushed it open and went in. Nobody was there. Richie took a seat behind Duncan's desk.
"So this is what a professor's desk feels like," he mused to himself. After a couple minutes Duncan showed up.
"Come on," he told him. "Get your stuff."
"Going home already?" Richie asked picking up his bag.
"No, I have a class."
"And me, too, I'm guessing."
"You got it." Duncan led him down the halls.
"Man, I've been in classes all day," Richie mumbled.
"It's only an hour and a half and you don't have to pay attention at all. You can sit in the back and do your homework."
Duncan lectured in the front of the stadium style lecture hall about medieval armor and Richie sat in the last row eyes glazed over and about to fall asleep. Somebody said something funny that Richie didn't understand and the class laughed, waking him from his near nap. A couple minutes later something started tickling his nose and despite his best effort let out a very loud sneeze. The people in front of him jumped and a few more turned around. Richie blushed.
"Bless you," Duncan said from the front of the room with a smile.
"Thanks," Richie mumbled sinking in his chair.
"That's the professor's kid," someone near him whispered. "I saw them coming into class."
Richie was suddenly very aware of the Rhode Island Prep sweater he was wearing and how young he looked compared to the graduate level students. A whisper rippled to the front of the room and every few rows someone would look back at him. Richie felt the heat rise in his cheeks and he slumped farther down into the chair.
Duncan stopped talking and got a very amused look on his face. "Since your attention has been lost I might as well join you before I bring you back. Yes, the boy in the back with the cold is my son. His name is Richie."
Richie suddenly wanted very much to disappear as the boy next to him held up his hand and pointed down at the top of Richie's very noticeable curls.
"He goes to."
"R.I. Prep?" the boy next to Richie supplied poking at the patch on his sweater.
"Yes. Any other questions?" A few hands went up. "I thought not. Now as I was saying solid armor."
Richie dug a piece of paper and pencil out of his pocket and began doodling so he had something to concentrate on other than the curious glances that were coming his way.
. . . . . .
"Hard at work, I see." Richie looked up from the doodle that had become an elaborate sketch of his old school. He had been so absorbed in what he was doing he hadn't notice the class end. "Let me guess." Duncan picked up the paper. "Art homework?"
"I don't have any homework," Richie told him. "I was just doodling."
"That's quite a doodle," Duncan said handing the paper back. "I didn't know you could draw."
"I'm not that good," Richie said folding the paper and putting it back in his pocket. "You should'a seen Natalie's stuff. She was great." He stood up and picked up his empty backpack. "I just do it when I'm bored."
Duncan let the subject drop for the time being. "How was school?"
"It was okay. My history teach is a major bore but everyone else seems pretty okay."
"Make any friends?"
Richie rolled his eyes as he followed Duncan down the halls. "Yeah. That reminds me can I go out for baseball?"
Duncan chuckled. "That came out of nowhere."
"Nathan asked me about it today at lunch. I told him I had to check."
"Who's Nathan?"
"Ginger's friend."
Duncan grinned. "Who's Ginger?" He could see Richie nervously tug at a curl at the base of his neck out of the corner of his eye. "Are you going to tell me?"
"Hey, I got a question," Richie changed the subject. "In cultural studies. which seems like it might be kinda cool. there was this girl something'er'other MacLeod, but she said it was Irish."
"Then it's probably McCloud not MacLeod," Duncan explained. If anything Richie got more confused. "It's spelled differently."
"Oh." Richie waited for Duncan to unlock the doors then got into the car. "And there's this other thing." Richie fumbled around trying to get the flyer out of his pocket but lost the fight to his seatbelt and coat, which were in the way. "Ah, I'll show you that later. It's a cultural fair at school. Students volunteer to make food from the countries where their families come from."
"You want to make something Scottish?" Duncan asked trying to hide his pride and excitement.
Richie shifted in his seat. "I was actually wondering if Mom had any recipes from her mother. but Scottish would be good, too. I just figured since Mom actually lived in France during this century that she might have something a little more modern to offer. No offence, but I don't think haggis would go over well with a bunch of teenagers."
"Very true," Duncan nodded. "Why don't you ask when we get home." They rode the rest of the way in comfortable silence.