Yay for chapter two…thanks to Nanners-77 and the lovely Miss Riley for reviewing! I'm so glad you think it's good! (Yes, I do need that kind of reassurance in my life…haha….) Maybe you could tell other people to read my story? (shameless self-promotion) Well, start telling me what you all think of Cara in these next few chapters…. Hope you enjoy this installment! :)

Thanks again to Lyn!

-Sienna

P.S.: I don't own School of Rock. I'm not making any money, so don't sue me. (Always forget the disclaimer.)

Chapter Two

pinhead78: hey

ONotAStarX: hi whats up

pinhead78: nothing u?

ONotAStarX: same…I'm bored

pinhead78: me too

pinhead78: how do u think practice went today?

ONotAStarX: ok…we need some new stuff tho

pinhead78: yeah

ONotAStarX: if Dewey tells Alicia and Marta to listen to the bass one more time I'm gonna scream

pinhead78: haha i know

pinhead78: at least they're listening to u instead of Freddy

ONotAStarX: ya it's nice to be listened to…

ONotAStarX: I have an idea though

ONotAStarX: want to hear it?

ONotAStarX: hello?

ONotAStarX: Zack!

"ZACHARY!"

"WHAT?"

"COME HERE!"

Reluctantly Zack made his way down the steps, through the living room and into the glittering kitchen. Mrs. Mooneyham was scrubbing away at the sink.

Arthur Mooneyham looked uncharacteristically tired, sitting at the table with his hand on his graying temple. His voice, however, was strong, and his tone firm as ever.

"I need your practice schedule for the rest of the week. We've got another appointment with Dr. Whitford on Thursday at four, so you should bring a change of clothes with you to school…and, er, something to occupy yourself, in case your mother and I talk alone, like before."

"No tie?" asked Zack, thinking about what "a change of clothes" might mean.

Mr. Mooneyham winced visibly. "Jeans are fine."

"Okay. Is that it?"

Shrugging, his father looked to his mother. Zack moved to leave, but Mrs. Mooneyham jerked up.

"Sweetie, there was some mischief on Columbus Road the other night. You wouldn't happen to have heard anything about it, have you?"

"Mischief?" Zack repeated.

"Probably just some kids from Creekside, Cheryl," Mr. Mooneyham dismissed.

Columbus Road was only two streets away in Zack's neighborhood. He lived on Narrow Hill Court, which linked to Tollgate Street, which ended on Oak Road. One of the nice things (or bad things, depending on how you looked at it) about the housing situation was that half the children who attended Horace Green lived within walking distance of the school, and each other. The other two major neighborhoods lay on the other side of Oak Road.

But the further south you went on Oak Road, the worse the neighborhoods on either side became. Creekside was a local set of developments—average, middle-class houses—and below that by some six miles was the town of Abery, which was nothing more than projects and trailer parks. Kids were always sneaking up and down Oak Road to see the other side of the social spectrum.

"You don't know that," said Mrs. Mooneyham. "You can't blame someone else for everything."

Zack looked at his disheveled mother, up to her elbows in yellow latex gloves, a smudge of Comet on her cheek. Her hair was falling out of its ponytail, too.

And she yells at me for hanging around in T-shirts?

"Are you asking if I know who did it?" he said, "or do you think I had something to do with it?"

"Darling, I just want to know what you know—"

He wished she would quit it with the pet names. "I don't even know what happened."

"Someone spray painted a couple garage doors with satanic symbols and inane language," said Mr. Mooneyham. "I think they egged a few places, too."

"Weird. Sounds like someone with nothing better to do," said Zack. Honestly, I don't really care.

"Well, if you hear anything…I know you're so popular with the other kids in the neighborhood. It was probably a kid who did it, you know."

Internally, Zack rolled his eyes. "Mom, if I do hear anything, it'll be from one of my friends, because they're the only ones I talk to. And I'm not going to rat out any of my friends." Especially to you.

"Okay, Zachary sweetie," Mrs. Mooneyham said, fixing a big smile on her face.

"That's all, son."

Zack left the kitchen quickly, but after a moment's thought, slowed his pace and took a seat on the dark stairs. He had a feeling there would be a fight—and not that he especially wanted to hear it, but he wanted to understand just how his parents were thinking. Isn't this what therapy is supposed to help with?

"What was that, Cheryl?" came his father's voice, distant.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, you practically just accused our son of vandalizing the neighbors's houses. Do you have some evidence? 'Cause I'd sure as hell like to hear it."

"I just asked, Arthur. There's no harm in asking questions, Dr. Whitford says so."

"He didn't say to ask them in such an accusatory way."

"I wasn't—"

"And we were just making progress—letting him dress down, planning the appointments around his band time, showing that we approve just like Dr. Whitford said—"

"You call that progress?" Something crashed to the floor, and Zack jumped despite himself. Had his father pushed his mother? But no, Mrs. Mooneyham must have dropped a pot or something, because there was a low cuss and then her voice came back loud.

"Did you hear how you called him? Like he was in trouble! And now I'm the accusatory one?"

"I did not—"

"Yes you did, Arthur! He came down here ready to pee his pants!" (What the hell, thought Zack. I was annoyed, not scared!) "Your son is so afraid of you he doesn't know how to accept it when you're decent, rare as that is."

Now there was a thud, like Mr. Mooneyham pounding his fist on the table. "Zachary is NOT afraid of me! He respects me! Which is more than I can say for how he feels about you!"

That was all Zack could take. They sound like six-year-olds…'You're stupid!' 'Well, you smell bad!'

He went back to his room and checked his computer.

ONotAStarX: ok your not there

ONotAStarX: fine

pinhead78: sorry

pinhead78: what was ur idea

ONotAStarX: never mind

pinhead78: no really, what was it?

ONotAStarX: forget it

pinhead78: Katie, tell me

ONotAStarX signed off at 8:34:42 PM.

On Thursday, Freddy and Frankie hung out with Zack for a few minutes after school while he got changed. Freddy clearly knew where Zack was going, but he played along with Zack's excuse of "doctor's appointment". He amused himself by making wads of wet toilet paper and sticking them to the ceiling.

"Go online tonight," Zack said as they parted. "I'll tell you about it."

Frankie just shrugged, but Freddy nodded. "I'll make sure you're not dying."

In the car, his parents talked idly about nothing in particular. They arrived at the State's Bay Psychiatry building soon and found Dr. Whitford once again, waiting for them in the empty waiting room.

"I'm going to start by just talking to your parents today, Zachary," said Dr. Whitford in the voice most people save for children under five. "Is that okay?"

"Sure, whatever."

The doctor smiled knowingly, and led his patients into his office.

Zack scanned his choices for seats. The black chair looked inviting, but for some reason, he really didn't want to sit in it. So after a moment he sat in the same spot as the other day, on one of the tan sofas, slightly near the black chair but not too close. He put on his headphones and selected a track he thought fit—Psycho Therapy by the Ramones.

I should have tried to talk to Katie today, he thought. Is she mad at me? She seemed okay in school, but didn't talk to me much…and she did seem annoyed online. Maybe Freddy knows what's up, maybe she told him her idea. Whatever it was.

Can I go over Freddy's this weekend? Is he grounded?

Hey, it's that girl from last week.

"Hi, Zack," Cara said, sitting down right away in the big black chair. She came from the back, where the offices were.

"Hey," said Zack. "Did you just get out of there?"

"Yeah," she said, selecting Dracula from her assortment of books. "Now I have to stay here until five thirty, when my grandmother comes to pick me up."

"Oh, that sucks."

She tilted her head, biting a strand of mousy brown hair. "I dunno. I'd just be reading at home anyway."

"That's cool, then."

"It works…what are you listening to?"

"This?" He held up his CD player. "The Ramones." He could tell by her blank nod that she had no idea who they were.

"That's nice."

"Yeah."

They were quiet for a minute. Zack couldn't tell if she wanted to be left alone—she looked at her book halfheartedly—but he was kind of curious to talk to someone. Someone else who went to a shrink.

"How old are you?" he asked.

"Ten," Cara answered. She closed her book and sat up a little. "How old are you?"

"Almost eleven. But still ten."

"What school do you go to?"

"O'Brian Elementary. You go to Horace Green, right? I saw your uniform the other day."

"Yeah. I hate uniforms."

"Why are you here? You're perfectly normal."

Zack laughed at little at being called "perfectly normal". As though you can perfect normalcy…oh, that sounds kinda cool. I should remember that.

"My parents and I don't get along," was how he put it. "We see Dr. Whitford."

"I know Dr. Whitford," Cara said, nodding. "I used to see him and Dr. Malone. But a couple of months ago I stopped going to him and switched to Dr. Malone entirely."

"That's…wait, how many months have you been going to a shrink?"

"Shrink is a weird word…I don't get it…oh and," she counted on all her fingers, then paused, "about a year and a month."

"Jeez! Why?"

"Stuff happened."

"Obviously—" Zack began, but dropped out when it occurred to him the kinds of things kids went to therapy for, without their parents. She might have been hit, or abused some other way, like the kids on the news. Maybe she was kidnapped. Maybe—

"No one hurt me," Cara said. "They never touched me." She looked down at her closed book, outlining the bloodsucking monster's picture with her index finger. Her shirt was too big for her; its faded blue stripes hung over her hands.

There was something disturbing about the weight with which she said the pronoun "they". Someone did something, he reasoned. I won't ask anymore though…but I wanna know…no, this is one of those privacy things. I think. She's definitely not "perfectly normal" though.

Dr. Whitford's door opened, and Mr. and Mrs. Mooneyham stepped out.

"Zachary?" Dr. Whitford called. "Ready to come talk to me alone?"