Chapter Two

The Connection

Journal: Carter Horton

I'm sitting outside school, in the back seat of my own car, because I don't want anoyone to see me writing in my journal.

I mean, how many actually do this? Keep a journal, I mean?

I just need a way to figure things out. Keep track, ya know? Because right now, Terry's totally confusing me.

First of all, she messaged me last night about two hours after dinner and told me that sex is boring. I was kinda wierded, like "Boring, period, or boring with me?" She told me that what we're doing is boring and we're being too cheesy and immature.

I'm sorry, but I'm sure EVERY GUY my age that's just starting to get into it full swing is beeing a little immature.

Or maybe I really do suck, timing-wise who knows?

If I know Terry, she likes excitement. That gives me something to work with.

So right now I've got a condom in my back pocket, a key in my front pocket, and one huge hope for a miracle.

~~~

Terry and Carter burst into the theatre storage room, laughing hard. Classes were doing nothing all day - just doing useless things like returning books and going over airport procedures. Total junk. No one noticed when both of them snuck out, but just in case, Carter had said he was going to go help Coach Griffin with something.

Now, Carter was stuck in the moment. The storage room was nice and cold, black cinderblock walls with only a few lights, and the same red carpet as was in the auditorium. Except for some scenery from the drama club's last production, it was pretty 'in the mood.' In fact, if it weren't so immasculating, Carter would have hummed the song 'In The Mood,' as he was getting pretty excited. He nearly danced over to get the chair and stuffed it under the doorknob.

"What's so exciting about sex in the school?" Terry asked, grinning.

Carter turned back to her. "The sex part," he laughed.

***

"Oh, sweet Jesus," Carter moaned. Not quite "there," but almost. He groped Terry's clothed chest. He had already removed her baggy white sweater, and was working on unbuttoning her pink blouse. He slid it off her shoulders as they made out against the wall. He opened his eyes and in slight dissapointment, saw Terry's white camisol, as well as a bra underneeth.

"Fuck, Terry," he mumbled, trying to be heard clearly, "How many layers of clothes do you wear?"

"I think... three?" she asked with a silly skip in her voice.

"What the fuck," someone was grumbling outside.

"Shit," he muttered, trying to pull away from Terry. She didn't sense any commotion, though.

She only jumped up when the sound of Carter's 'safety chair' was pushed aside by the opening door.

"Oh, shit!" they both heard the disgusted voice.

The voice belonged to none other than Billy Hitchcock.

"Now I've seen it all," Billy was mumbling, attempting not to look at the excited couple as he searched through the shelves for something. Still, the two were wandering into his periferal vision, as Carter had observed.

"Hi, Billy," Terry said meekly.

"Yeah, hey," he said as if he were rushed, though he wasn't getting out of the storage room any faster.

Terry knew she had left Billy broken-hearted back in tenth grade, but that was tenth grade. He HAD to be over it. That didn't mean he had to be polite to her, but...

He acted the way people did when she was still the Fat Kid.

Yes, almost everyone had forgotten about ninth grade. Terry was zitty, fat, and in dire need of some fashion advice. But she lost weight, and gotten, as people referred to as, 'hot.'

Billy hadn't forgotten about her past though. That was the reason he fell for her. She was a loser just like him.

He must have found what he was looking for, because the door slammed and Carter and Terry were alone again, not quite 'in the mood' anymore.

What had happened?

With Billy, that was.

***

'What happened?' Billy thought to himself.

He wanted to know what happened to his shoe. It was in perfect condition yesterday, and now his sweaty toes had finally worn through the front. Time to get a new pair.

He knocked on the music room door again, trying to shake the image of Terry and Carter, hot and heavy, six feet away from him. Totally disturbing. It made him hate Terry, Carter, and himself. Ha! Like he would admit that to anyone though.

Finally, Mr. Ciccone, the eccentric music teacher who's droopy eyes reminded him of Paul McCartney's (translation: burnout) answered the door.

"Billy!" he exclaimed cheerfully, in a fashion that gave Billy the creeps, "Did you find that box of reeds?"

"Yes, sir," he said, trying not to let on that he had a sneaking suspicion that the music teacher was a peadophile.

"Come on in, and help me stack the chairs."

Billy followed Mr. Ciccone in. The music room looked different without all the clutter. The other grades in the school didn't have to go while the seniors were in Paris, so teachers were majorly sorting through things today. Billy went to work right away, and began stacking the black chairs against the wall.

It didn't exactly make him sweat, but it WAS a boring activity. He wished ge could hang out with Alex or the twins, but duty called. He looked up the wall at the tiny window which projected out of the basement and showed the outside world. It shed light on the wall which held pictures of past music students. With nothing to do but watch Mr. Ciccone play his trumpet, he ventured over to the wall with the pictures.

Clear was the only one of them who had ever taken music. She played piano and guitar, not to mention she sang. Billy remembered hearing her sing once or twice at the lake where they had met, but she was always too shy to sing in front of class. Still, there was probably a picture of her hangin out with her guitar.

Sure enough, there was a picture of Clear, looking the same as always - no, not the same. In fact, her smile was genuine. She wasn't using a tight, fake smile, or her automatic scowl. It figured. That was before her mom's remarriage.

He glanced around. Ciccone was lost in some old jazz tune, and no one would notice if the picture were to dissapeared... 'I should give it to Alex,' he mused. Nay, he WOULD give it to Alex.

'After all,' he thought while he shoved the picture into his sweater pocket, 'He could use some cheering up.'

***

"You're bringing your portable stereo, right? It's pointless if the two of us bring it."

Shania leaned on Tod's shoulder, her hair blocking out the shining sun. A tad of spring dew was beading on the grass, so she had taken off her platform sandals and was skimming her toes along the surface of the ground.

"Yeah, I'm bringin' it," she said slowly with the lazy drawl that was so casual it reminded Tod Southern farmer, "Look at us, sharing everything. It's like we're married."

Tod smirked Tod-ishly. "Well now that you mention it," he began jokingly. Shania laughed, rolled her eyes, and gave him a smack.

"You're such a cheezeball!" she squealed while running her hand along the grass, imitating her foot.

"Only with you," Tod admitted, almost like he was the slightest bit guilty.

Shania blushed. Was that a good thing? That he was different around her?

"George is letting me use his camper matress if you stay in my room too late and you don't wanna get caught sneaking back," Tod told her suggestively.

"Guys and girls aren't even allowed in the same room!" Shania reminded him, putting her suddenly cold hands and feet to rest. Even though Tod made a point of bringing up the "different bed" rule, one that she had set the first time she spent the night at Tod's house, the fact that he was even bringing it up worried her. Was Tod ready for sex? If he was that meant he was a whole lot more sure of himself than she was.

"Puh-leez," Tod egged on with a roll of his big eyes, "You think Lewton and Murneau can keep their hands off each other during that trip?"

Shania burst out laughing. Tod, as well as half the other seniors at MAHS believed that Valerie Lewton, the 31-year-old newly hired English teacher, was totally hot and heavy with Mr. Larry Murneau, the 50-something French-Canadian head of the Foreign languages department. Tod, however, took the story to new heights. He told such funny stories that even Shania began to see a spark between the mismatched couple.

"We'd better get going in," Shania said dreamily as the sun soaked in and the wind hung in the air, "I think I heard the bell for third."

"Third?" A new voice was now ringing. "Third started fifteen minutes ago. Murneau didn't even show up."

Shania flicked her head to see who the voice had come from, even though there was no denying, it was from her best friend in the world, Kimberly Corman.

Kimberly looked sweet and innocent, and compared to Shania, she was. The two had met in the same kindergarten school and been friends since, of course back then they were oblivious to their differences. Shania liked to joke around and be totally in someone's face, but never cruel. Kimberly was reserved and polite, but turn your back and she would light up or steal something. Perhaps their opposites were due to how they dealed with situations. Shania's parents had been divorced since she was born, probably before. Since she knew nothing else, splitting time between her mother and father didn't affect her.

Kimberly, on the other hand, had a lawyer for a father and her mom owned a coffee shop/bookstore. She was used to the finer things in life, and though she was trained to be a lady, was really, truly, anything but. Sure, she was a nice girl, but Tod couldn't stand her.

"Good to know," Shania said, louder than her 'with-Tod' voice. She slipped into her other sandle and walked over to Kimberly, who was liting up a cigarette. Personally, Shania couldn't stand cigarette smoke, but since Kimberly was her best friend, as well as the fact that her friends Dano and Frankie smoked more than regular cigarettes, she had no choice but to let it slide.

"Guess what," Kimberly began to groan in the way she always whined. It made Tod sick. "Frankie told me that he can't take me out for pool tonight beause he has to PACK. Yeah right! The guy owns about three t-shirts and all he has to do is bunch them up and toss them in a bag, but can he spend time with his own girlfriend on their last night in North America? I don't think so. It's just like..."

Tod, sensing that Shania would be there awhile, gave his girlfriend a wink and slowly walked through the back doors into the school.

The bright common area was just as toasty as outside was. He walked through the dragon doors, passing under the bridge linking the language wing to the business wing, and up the half-flight of stairs to a set of lunch tables. Alex and Billy were sitting there, making small talk. Alex had a picture of a slightly younger Clear holding her guitar next to him.

"Hey, Alex," Tod chirped as he slid into the seat.

"Waggner," Alex mumbled, examining his cinnamon bun.

"Y'alright?" Tod asked him, remembering last night's episode all too well.

"I'm fine," Alex assured his best friend, actually looking away from his desert, "I just can't help thinking that something doesn't feel like I'm GOING to France."

Tod shrugged and cocked an eyebrow. "That's just nerves, man."

Alex shook his head. "You don't get it... I don't get it..." Tod braced himself for one of Alex's speeches on his 'feelings,' not the ones in his heart but his weird vibes that he got, when Alex groaned.

Suddenly Tod was reliving last night at the mini-mart, watching Alex hold his hands to his temples in a fit of pain.

"Not again," Billy mumbled, searching through his lunch bag. He handed Tod a cold plastic ice pack that he used to keep his food cold. Alex accepted it, and shaking, he held it to his head. Slowly, Alex breathed in until he opened his eyes to see Billy and Tod staring at him expectantly.

"Sorry," he mumbled, still in pain.

***

"Sorry," Clear said to a heavyset woman that she had just bumped into. The woman didn't even say anything. Clear found that so rude. She kept walking until she saw her mom, tall and thin with brown hair so curly it reminded her of Terry's. Her mom was smiling, something Clear barely ever saw.

"I just payed the bill," Clear's mom told her, poised to leave the truck stop where they had eaten a good, hot lunch.

"How much longer until we get to Mount Aberham?" Clear asked her mom, anxious for her return to Alex, Billy, and the rest of her friends.

"I'd say six or seven hours if we leave right now..." she looked outside the large bay window. "We certainly won't have a lot of company on the road."

Clear felt herself returning her mom's smile. Clear was happy that she was seeing her friends. Clear's mom was happy that Clear was happy. Which made Clear extremely happy.

"Let's get outa here," her mom coaxed. Without a word, Clear followed her mom out the heavy steel door.

The gravel in the parking lot made a crunching under Clear's brown sandals. Clear suddenly remembered she had forgotten to pack her favourite pair of knee boots. She tried to think of everything she had taken with her, but she knew, aside from those tacky boots, everything was in the car.

"Come on, Clear," her mom called to her, already in the car. But Clear stood still.

She was feeling a throbbing in her head... she remembered feeling the same thing last night. She moved her foot, but the second it hit the ground, it sent shockwaves into her. On impulse, she dropped her backpack from her hand.

"Are you alright, hon?" her mom asked, peeking up from the car.

Clear looked at her mother, and not wanting to delay their trip, forced a strained smile. "I'm alright!" She watched a tiny blue car leave the lot. She followed it a bit until she made her way to her mom's car, which suddenly seemed a whole hell of a lot further.

Her mom took a slower, closer peer at her daughter. "Clear, you don't look too well."

Clear bit her lip. Her mom always knew what was going down.

"Go inside and buy a pack of Tylenol!" her mom instructed, holding out a five dollar bill. Clear snatched it, and, not bothering to stay upbeat, walked back into the store.

Making her purchas was a breeze, but she couldn't help but become distracted during the payment process... she looked out the window, her headache still roaring, if anything, getting more and more intense, and...

BOOM!

In the same motion that the man handed her her change and the pills, the dirty old window was highlighted with orange and red balls of flames. Clear, her mouth agape, ran to the door and burst through it, just in time to see a pickup truck skid into the flames and hear another boom.

Her headache had magically lifted, but it wasn't half as straining as watching the accident. Her mom joined her and they ran to the side of the rode together.

The blue car that had just left the lot was among the flaming mess.

Clear knew that only meant one thing.

Her headache saved her life.