(03) Lee's Plan

"Always plan ahead. It wasn't raining when Noah built the ark." —Richard C. Cushing

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The weekend had passed by extremely slow for Ralph. He had accomplished nothing except to perhaps make one side of his living room couch more sunken than the other was. The days had passed uneventfully for him, as he had merely wasted the hours away by watching some TV.

He found himself quite glad that it was Monday, in which case he'd be able to follow his steadfast routine and not think about anything until the school day was over. His first class of the day was art, with Ms. Orville. She was an . . . interesting person overall, but Ralph never really had any affection for her. She was never exactly the pleasant type and seemed to enjoy scaring her students more than she did teaching them.

'Good morning, class!' she greeted them loudly as she swept into the room. Her dark, frizzled hair was in array as always, making her look very much like a porcupine with permed quills. 'Today, we are beginning our painting unit,' she said airily.

Ralph's mood perked up a little. He enjoyed painting . . . and any form of visual art, for that matter. It was something he was able to do freely, without any fear of mistakes. Unlike Jack, who had both acting and singing skills, Ralph's artistic expertise could only be "drawn" from art.

"Jack . . ." he thought wistfully.

'Everyone station himself behind a canvas!' Ms. Orville called. 'Mr. Macpherson! That means you, too.'

"Obviously." Ralph rolled his eyes and he—like the other students in his class—shifted his stool over to one of the canvases.

'Good. Now, the theme of your paintings is to be . . . abstract emotion!'

'What kind, miss?' someone asked.

'Any kind!' she snapped impatiently. 'Anger, sadness, happiness, love . . . Anything, Bradley!'

The teens reached for their brushes and palettes, which had been pre-prepared with paint by Ms. Orville earlier in the day. Almost instinctively, the majority of the class dipped their brushes into the red paint; Ralph was one of them.

With all intent to create a painting based on love, Ralph allowed his paintbrush to gracefully arch across the canvas.

'Oh, no!' Ms. Orville tutted, strutting over to him. 'That won't do at all.'

'What, miss?' Ralph asked, inwardly groaning. 'It's my abstract painting, so how can it be wrong? Besides, there's only one line on the canvas!'

'Yes, I know, but one horrid line will be the beginning of a horrid picture. The paint is not distributed properly on your brush,' she said. 'As you can see on the edges of your line, there are unsightly specks that are astray.' She pointed at said "mistakes".

'Well, this is how I paint. I always fix my mistakes later,' Ralph replied, not realizing that he had raised his voice and attracted the attention of the rest of the class. 'In the end, my paintings always turn out just fine.'

'Now, now, Mr. Macpherson. Let's not get cocky.' She not-so-gracefully shoved Ralph off of his stool and grabbed the paintbrush out of his hand. 'This is how you do it,' she said. She practically smothered paint on the brush and was about to streak his canvas in the ugly mustard yellow when he abruptly knocked it out of her hand. The paintbrush effectively painted a long streak across the floor, drawing shocked stares—and some appreciative smirks—from the rest of the class.

'Ooh,' the others said dramatically.

'If it's all the same to you, miss, I would rather complete this assignment on my own . . . without your help,' Ralph said through gritted teeth.

The class held their breath, expecting her to yell herself red at Ralph for his behaviour; they all knew that she enjoyed screaming her head off at the smallest bit of provocation. At the very least, they expected her to chastise him. But she did nothing of the sort. What the students didn't expect was the sudden smiled on her face as she slowly rose to her feet.

'Good,' she said gently, contrary to her usual stiff, loud tone. 'You have anger, Mr. Macpherson. Your passion speaks to me! Now, communicate these feelings onto your canvas for the world to behold!' That said, she swept away to annoy somebody else.

'What a freak,' Ralph muttered under his breath.

Some of his peers nearby heard him and snickered softly.

Sighing, Ralph resumed his seat and returned to his painting. He reached for a new brush and, this time, dipped it into the blot of white paint on his palette.

"Here we go . . ."

By the end of the class, he had completed another one of his masterpieces. This one was a Picasso-inspired person, with disproportional and discoloured features. A pulsing red hue was at the centre of its being, gently changing from crimson to pink as it flowed through the rest of the mangled body. A backdrop of dark blues and greens completed the complicated painting. And its title?

"Nos cedamus amori". Latin for "Let us surrender to love".

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After school that Monday, Lee, John, Terry, and Fred made their way to Brown Cow, as was habitual of them of late. Jack, of course, was still serving his detention with Lyori as consequences of the bet months prior. The teacher seemed to never want him to forget it.

Lee and his companions slipped into one of the brown booths and signaled for one of the waitresses to take their order.

'The usual, Dee,' he said with a grin. 'And make it fast, too! We're hungry men over here.'

'You know, if you weren't such loyal customers—and big tippers—' the brunette added as an afterthought, 'I would have beat your rude ass in a long time ago.' She sighed and distractedly blew her pink bubble gum into a lopsided bubble. Then she popped the bubble with her tongue, allowing the little blob of goo to return to the refuge of her mouth. 'It's a good thing you guys still come by, you know.'

'What? Why?' John asked.

'Well,' she leaned forward, as if she was about to release a big secret. 'The boss is in a rut. Apparently, someone left the freezer door open overnight. All the food is spoiled now, so we can't serve it to the customers.'

'So what exactly are you serving now?' John asked, glancing suspiciously at the menu, as if it was its fault.

'Just some stuff from the other freezer,' Dee replied knowingly. 'But it's a lot smaller and we're running out of supplies fast!'

'Oh, I get it!' Terry exclaimed knowingly, his eyes widening. 'No, wait, I don't.' His facial features returned to their usual dull appearance.

Dee ignored him.

'Well, Brown Cow is a privately owned business, right. It'll cost Mr. B a helluva lot of money to replace everything. The only thing is, he doesn't have that kind of money right now.'

'But I thought that the restaurant was doing well,' Fred said, seeming slightly put out that it was Dee—a fairly distant friend of theirs—telling them the gossip about Brown Cow and not his own girl, Wendy, who also worked at Brown Cow.

'I thought so, too,' Dee said, 'but I just found out yesterday that Mr. B has only just been making ends meet . . . for almost a year now! Running your own business is fucking expensive! ' Her dark brows furrowed together with anxiety. 'I'm worried, guys. I've worked here for, like, ever! I don't want to have to be let go.'

'Is there anything we can do about it?" John inquired.

'Not unless you have free money to give away.'

Lee thought about this for a moment.

'How much are we talking, here?'

Dee narrowed her eyes suspiciously.

'Why? No offense, babe, but you're not exactly known for gaining money. Word is, you lose more bets than you make.'

Lee flushed.

'Well, someone is obviously exaggerating. And I wasn't planning on giving you my money anyway.'

'So why did you want to know how much it was?'

'I think that I may just have an idea.'

Dee sighed.

'I don't know, Lee,' she said doubtfully. 'I don't think that you should get yourself involved in this. And why is this so important to you, anyway?'

Now it was the other teen's turn to sigh.

'This is going to sound pretty queer, but . . . it's because Brown Cow is more than just a restaurant to me. It's a place to chill, to hang out. It's a place where I can escape . . .' He trailed off, leaving them all to wonder what he had meant by that last part. 'Just . . . just trust me on this one, okay?' Lee replied with earnest. 'Just give me ten minutes to talk to your boss. If all goes well, things should be able to work out.'

'And when, exactly, did you want to put this plan of yours into action?' John inquired.

'If everything works out okay, then Friday evening is the best that I can hope for right now,' Lee responded. 'But, guys, I'm going to need your help on this one, to . . . advertise. It's going to take quite a bit of planning.'

'I'm in,' Fred said.

'Me, too,' was John's reply.

'Yeah, sure,' Terry said as well.

'Great,' Lee responded, grinning. 'Now, Dee, go get your boss and tell him that I have to talk to him. He'll know who I am . . . I think.'

'Yes, sir,' Dee said with a mocking tone. 'Is there anything else you want, sir?'

'Yeah, there is just one more thing . . . GO AND GET OUR FOOD!'

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Jack's hand felt like it was about to fall off. He had lost count long ago how many times Lyori had forced him to write lines, among other things. For some of his detentions, Jack had found himself marking grade nine test papers or tracing and cutting out fanciful letters from construction paper, which Lyori had "offered" to do for some of the other teachers in the English department as a favour.

He glanced down at his leaf of paper, not surprised to see that his writing had steadily became messier and messier as one went further down the page. All the lines said the same thing—I will never again be disrespectful towards Mr. Lyori or any other of my superiors.

"This is bullshit," Jack thought, glancing up to glare darkly at the teacher.

Mr. Lyori was sitting at his desk, calmly reading a rather thick novel. He had started the book series (of which all the volumes were almost equally as thick) when Jack had started serving his detentions. He was almost through the fourth book now. That could never be a good sign.

Making up his mind, Jack tentatively raised his hand.

'No, Mr. Merridew,' Mr. Lyori said, not bothering to look up from his book. 'Continue writing your lines.'

'Please, sir, I must use the restroom,' Jack said, hoping that he sounded convincing enough.

'And I already answered you. The answer is "no".'

'But I really have to go, and I'm almost halfway through my lines,' Jack said earnestly.

'The answer is still "no".'

'Yes, sir,' Jack replied, feigning defeat. 'But if a puddle appears on your floor in the next few minutes, I don't think the janitorial staff will be too pleased; nor will the principal, I presume. Say, isn't a clean classroom one of the requirements to be elected Teacher-of-the-Year by the rest of the faculty?'

The English professor finally glanced up from his novel.

'Fine. Out, Merridew. You have three minutes.'

'Thank you, sir.'

Mr. Lyori didn't respond, except to say, 'I'm timing you, Mr. Merridew. Best to be quick.'

Jack forced himself to smile as he made his way out of the classroom. As soon as the door was shut behind him, he screwed his face up and said (in a mocking, childish voice), 'I'm timing you, Mr. Merridew. I'd like to time you . . . to see how long you can stay conscious while I beat the shit out of you!' The teen went down the hallway to the water fountain, which was in the opposite direction of the restrooms. Obviously, he hadn't really had to go. He just didn't want to stay cooped up in that classroom for much longer with only a horrible git like Lyori for company.

When Jack arrived at the fountain, he obligingly took a few sips. Suddenly, he had an idea. Holding the button down with one hand to keep the flow going, he used his other hand to cup some water in his hand and splatter it over the front of his trousers. Then he attempted to hold the fabric as far away from himself as possible for inspection.

"Perfect," he thought. "I'd be convinced." Grinning wickedly, he made his way back to the classroom.

'Sir, I told you that I had to go,' was Jack's greeting to Mr. Lyori upon his return.

The strict teacher briefly glanced up from his book to observe the teen. His face turned an amusing shade of crimson and his hands started to tremble slightly.

'Mr. Merridew, you must enjoy punishment,' he said angrily, 'for you just earned yourself another week of detentions.'

"Meh," Jack thought, watching Lyori for a while when he knew the other wasn't looking. "I didn't know Lyori's face could become that red." The teen slipped into his chair to continue writing his lines. "This was so worth it."

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During the lunch hour, Ralph went to his usual table in the cafeteria. It was a rather secluded one along the edge of the room, but the teen quite liked it. It allowed him to be alone, to think quietly (or as quiet as was possible in the caf), or else work on some unfinished homework . . . Pfft! As if! He had hardly done anything productive since moving to Surrey. The best thing he'd probably done was not scurry back to London . . . to his heart.

Ralph sighed and retrieved his lunch from his backpack, but he wasn't really hungry. He merely unwrapped his sandwich and stared blankly at it for a while, as if he had forgotten what he was supposed to do with it. As was his habit of late, he allowed his mind to wander aimlessly and boredly picked at the food before him.

The teen was thinking about everything and nothing. His mindframe was, of course, centred mainly around Jack. His eyes dancing with laughter, his smiling face of reassurance, his casually tousled hair, his heart of gold . . . and his former life as a whore. Jack had spent a good deal of his high school life sleeping around with other people. It was doubtless that he had gotten to know his "victims" intimately, both physically and emotionally. And yet, it was Ralph who he chose in the end.

Ralph distractedly took a bite out of whatever was in his hand, which ended up being a bit of bread that he had picked off from his sandwich.

"But he's past all that now," the youth reassured himself. "He would never betray me like that, would he?" Ralph knew so little of Jack's life after the island. Upon their reunion, it appeared as if he hadn't changed at all. Though he was no longer the murderous child that he once was, he still seemed to have a lust for hurting people.

But . . . when he looked at Ralph, it was as if he was actually a person. Swirls of understanding and love would form in his sapphire eyes, and it was like there was no one else in the world but them. That was the Jack who Ralph had fallen for, that was the Jack who Ralph loved . . .

. . . That was the Jack who Ralph was missing . . .

The latter had been so caught up in his own thoughts that he didn't noticed the small group of teens approaching him.

'Hey, Ralph,' one of the females greeted, smiling kindly at him. 'Jackson told me that he had met you.'

'Oh? You know Jackson?'

'Yeah, I'm his girlfriend.' She held out her hand. 'I'm Kyra.'

He shyly took her hand and shook it.

'And this is Terence, Diego, and Kristina—Kiki, for short.'

Ralph's head reeled slightly as he tried to remember all their names.

'Well, this might sound a bit forward, but we were wondering if you wanted to chill with us for a bit,' Kyra said.

'What? Now?'

'Yeah,' Kiki said, smiling. 'It'll be fun. We're just on our way to meet Jackson and the others.'

"Well, these guys are friends of Jackson, so they can't be too bad," Ralph thought, but he was still rather curious.

'So . . . uh . . . kind of hate to ask this, but why the sudden interest in me?'

'We saw what you did in Orville's class, man,' Diego said. 'It's not that we're scared of her or anything, but you're, like, the only person who's ever stood up to her like that.'

'Don't kid yourself, Diego, you're scared,' Terence said.

'Speak for yourself.'

'Why, though?' Ralph inquired.

'She's strict, is all,' Kiki replied. 'She gives out detentions like neighbours give out candy on Halloween.'

"Sounds a lot like Lyori," Ralph thought.

'So, yeah, you want to come with us or not?' Kyra asked suddenly. 'I hate to push it, but we're already late.'

'Yeah, sure,' Ralph responded, tossing the mangled remains of his lunch into the trash bin. 'I'm in.'

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Well, Ralph went with Kyra and the others to meet Jackson and . . . more others. Then they all had a sudden, extravagant lust for each other and they had hot, naked group sex!

Haha, just kidding, this is what really happened . . .

There were already two people waiting for them by the front gate, the apparent meeting place for the group. One conclusion had formed in Ralph's mind the moment he saw the six friends together, and that was that they seemed to favour the gothic rock look, complete with black clothing and leather bracelets. Upon meeting Jackson at the post office, that was one of the last things he would have expected. Oh well. They seemed nice enough, and they had included him in their little gang. It couldn't be that bad.

'Hey, guys,' Diego called in greeting to their friends as they approached the others.

The two youths smiled kindly in reply. Ralph had recognized Jackson right away, for the latter had waved to him cheerfully upon their arrival. The girl standing with him soon introduced herself.

'Angelina,' she said shortly. (1)

'I'm Ralph,' the teen replied awkwardly.

She smiled at him, and he felt slightly more comfortable after that, until—

'Gosh, he's cute!' he heard her whisper rather loudly to Kyra after he had turned his attention away.

Ralph's face immediately grew hot and he nervously started shifting his weight from foot to foot.

'Hey, chillax, man,' Jackson said. 'We ain't gonna bite.'

'Sorry,' Ralph murmured, realizing that these guys were really nice people under their . . . style. It was rather odd. He would have expected them to have more of a negative attitude towards others and life in general (2).

'Don't be,' Terence reassured him gently.

'Yeah, maybe it's just nerves or something, but I noticed that you haven't really talked to anyone since you arrived here. And now a whole hoard of people is thrust into your face. It has to be a little intimidating,' Diego added.

'Yeah,' Ralph agreed offhandedly, wishing it was only his nerves that plagued him. 'Really, though, I should be used to it by now.'

'Why do you say that?' Jackson asked as the group started making their way down the street.

'I move around a lot,' was the other's reply. 'Because of my dad's job, we never really stay in one place for too long.'

'How long is "too long"?' Angelina asked curiously.

Ralph shrugged.

'I don't really know. It's hard to tell. Sometimes we stay for a few months, sometimes a few weeks . . . I think one year is the longest that that we've ever stayed in one place.'

'And the shortest?'

Ralph shrugged again.

'A week.'

'No!' Kyra exclaimed in disbelief. 'Pardon me for being so frank, but that must be awful!'

Ralph didn't reply; he didn't want to. He didn't really feel like talking about this, especially since it brought back such depressing memories of his past. The foremost ones, of course, were of Jack and their fleeting time together. That time had been extremely brief, for just after they had found each other, they were torn apart once more . . .

'So, Ralph,' Angelina said, seeming to read his discomfort, 'do you have a girlfriend?'

"Okay, the discomfort is back!" he thought bitterly.

'Uh . . . I . . .' he stuttered, wondering what he should say. Should he just tell them the truth and hope that they don't judge him? Or should he just keep that to himself, as his secret? Not a lot of people knew about him and Jack, and he knew too little about these people to be able to gauge a reaction from them yet.

'Well, hey, look who it is!' Kiki exclaimed suddenly, sparing him from answering.

'Hey, guys!' Diego called out in greeting.

'I thought that you had decided not to come. What? Couldn't you stand the ear-splitting noise of the caf any longer?' Jackson chuckled.

Ralph, who had been staring blankly at the sidewalk as he tried to think of a response to Angelina's question, raised his head to see what the commotion was about. His eyes almost popped out of their very sockets in shock when he saw what (or rather, who) was heading their way, twoextremely familiar people. They definitely looked older and more mature than the last time he had seen them, but there was no mistaking those two pairs of large hazel eyes—eyes that had seen much more than they should have by this age.

'I believe proper introductions are required,' Terence said nobly. 'Ralph . . . Meet Samneric.' (3)

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Dear Journal,

I had the strangest day today. You're never going to believe this, but I ran into Samneric!

I was just by myself in the caf (as usual) when some of Jackson's friends asked me to hang out with them. I agreed and went with them to meet him and whoever else. It started out all right for a while. We were just talking, you know.

Then wham! The twins suddenly appeared down the street! Needless to say, there was a lot that we needed to talk about. After mentioning to the others that we had met before (though we obviously didn't tell them where nor under what circumstances), they took me to a small park not too far away from our schools.

At first, we just talked about simple things, like how they were doing in school, where they worked (some restaurant downtown somewhere), what's been happening in their lives . . . They asked me pretty much the same questions, but I gave them pretty brief answers. I didn't mention Jack to them. I may have known them for longer than I had known the others combined, but they were like strangers to me now! I didn't know what I could expect.

After a while, it was obvious that we were all trying to avoid talking about the serious things. After being rescued from the island, we didn't really talk much on our ride back to the mainland, and I completely lost contact with them after that. But this was important!

We eventually found the courage to face those issues. They apologized for having followed Jack, earnestly saying that it was just because they didn't want to die on that "damn, fucking horrific island"! I silently agreed, though I still believed that killing people for one's own survival was one of the most awful things you could do.

And, after all these years, I finally thanked them for sparing my life. It's funny, isn't it, how you never appreciate people as much as you could until it really matters.

I don't know if our chance reunion will prove to be good luck or bad. I can just wait and hope it isn't the latter.

I've definitely had enough bad luck these past few months.

Ralph.

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The End. (Just Kidding!)

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(1) Sorry about all the names. I hope it isn't too confusing.

(2) Just trying to show that people usually judge others based on appearances only. Not cool, yo.

(3) "Samneric", for those of you who don't know or don't remember, are "Sam and Eric" (the twins from LotF).