A/N: Kristen, you asked about the connections between the characters. I do like to make connections between my characters in fics, but catching all of those connections isn't required to follow the storyline. But just to clear things up, here it is:

Jenna is Claire's friend and Nate sits at Andy's table; Jenna and Nate's "adventures" from the night before will come up again in future chapters. Anthony is the guy that Heather and Claire were talking about, but Jack, whom you haven't met, is the guy Claire likes. Anthony was just the middleman between Jack and Heather and was basically just a link in the gossip chain. Chris, who showed up at the jock table with brownies, is the guy that stole them from the Latin Club's bake sale table. Damien is indeed the guy who wanted Claire's mints (just one) and Billy, the skateboarder, is the guy that messed up Heather's car that morning in the parking lot. Last but not least, Bender (you may remember him from the movie) is the "lone figure" Claire saw walking out to the bleachers.

Man, I think I've confused even myself. What's MY name again? Anyway, hope that helps. : )

Chapter Six: The Outside Looking In

12:00 P.M.

At noon, Vernon left the comfort of his desk (and the discomfort of his lunch, which consisted of turkey on wheat for the fourth time in a row, despite the fact that he told his wife, as politely as he knew how, that he hated turkey and wheat and that he hated them twice as much when they were put together) to make his rounds. He started just outside of the cafeteria and worked his way through the halls outside of the gym, then exited the double doors leading out to the faculty parking lot.

Vernon was halfway finished with his circuit when he ended up in the student parking lot by the football fields. Looking up at the bleachers, he could see a few of the thugs and drug addicts lounging around on the top steps, a couple of them smoking cigarettes. They hung out up there everyday, but Vernon never approached them, even though he knew that he should since no one was supposed to be up there unsupervised during school hours. For one, he would probably be killed if he tried to get them to come down. Kids like those were in gangs and they carried knives and guns to school along with their drugs. Besides, he didn't really want to have to deal with them. They weren't bothering anyone up there, which was a pleasant change from how they behaved during class. Dragging them all into the cafeteria and forcing them to sit next to the normal kids would be an unpleasant experience for everyone involved, especially himself.

Vernon was coming up to the ramp leading up to the second floor when something whizzed past him, nearly knocking him onto the ground. "Hey!"

The boy, a short, wiry kid on a skateboard, turned. "Yeah?"

"Yeah?" Vernon straightened his tie and took a step towards the boy. "Yeah?" He scoffed. "You nearly ran me over, you little punk!"

The boy paused. "Uh, sorry."

Vernon let out a sharp chuckle. "You're sorry? Well, then I guess that makes it all better, doesn't it? I guess that makes up for the fact that you're whizzing around on school property--which doesn't belong to you, by the way--on a skateboard that you aren't even supposed to have, during lunch, when you're supposed to be in the cafeteria!" He glared at the boy, who hadn't made a sound. "And you nearly knocked me over!"

The boy didn't move, just stared at Vernon confusedly, as if he couldn't quite understand what all of the fuss was about. It was this display of overwhelming disrespect and stupidity that caused Vernon to blurt out, "That's it! Detention!"

The boy frowned, but didn't seem all that surprised or upset. Vernon, however, could hardly believe his own ears. "I mean… just get off the ramp!"

The skateboarder shot him another confused look. "I am off the ramp."

Vernon looked down at the ground. It was true. He was standing on the sidewalk. "Well, get inside then!"

"What about detention?"

Vernon took a deep breath. "I'll let you off with a warning this time… just because I'm in a good mood."

The boy didn't say anything, just kept staring at the vice principal. It was almost enough to make him reconsider the pardon… almost. "Well, go on! Get inside!"

The boy shrugged and walked towards the entrance of the building, holding his skateboard against his hip. Vernon watched him leave, then let out a huge breath. That could have been bad. Very bad. He would have to be more careful about his little outbursts. He was so used to giving detentions that it was actually harder to hold his tongue than to hand out punishment.

Vernon sighed and checked his watch. Less than three hours to go until the final bell rang. Three hours free from discipline and detention slips and he was headed for the golf course.

He could almost smell the fresh-cut grass.

12:19 P.M.

When Allison got to her fifth period art class, she found the room almost empty, which was good since the best seats tended to get snatched up rather quickly. Allison preferred the table in the back, where most of the real artists sat. She didn't belong to their "group", partially because she didn't consider herself a real artist and partially because they didn't really have a group. Most of the serious artists liked to sit by themselves so that they wouldn't be bothered and Allison felt roughly the same way, though for what she assumed were different reasons. Most of the time, they didn't even speak to one another, much less the other students. Allison wasn't even sure if any of them knew her name.

At the table next to hers, two of the "pretty girls" were chatting idly as they waited for class to start. Allison didn't like either of them since they ignored virtually everyone else in the class, but she did have to admit that they were good artists. She'd peeked at their work when they weren't looking and had been impressed by the quality of the work, especially the blonde girl's. She was maybe even better at drawing than the people Allison sat with.

"She swore nothing happened, Charlotte."

"Well, of course she swore, Mel," said the blonde. "What is she gonna do, come out and admit that they did it? They aren't even dating."

"I don't know. I heard Nate really likes her."

"Dating and liking are two very different things."

The girl next her nodded. "True."

The blonde sighed and pulled out a tube of lip gloss. "He had to have been expecting it. Jenna's got a reputation now and it isn't like she doesn't deserve it."

"You mean that thing with Charlie last year?"

"And Jeff. And Vince. And Stuart." The blonde smeared a layer of pink gloss over her lips and screwed the cap back on. "I know why she does it and I feel bad for her, but screwing every guy she sees isn't going to make her feel any better about herself. If anything, it's going to make things worse."

The other girl considered this for a moment before speaking. "Should we say something to her?"

The blonde shook her head. "No, definitely not. It'll just embarrass her."

"So, what are we going to do?"

"We're not going to do anything."

"But-"

"Jenna's a big girl. She makes her own decisions. Maybe one day, she'll realize that sleeping around won't get her anywhere. Maybe she'll find the right guy or whatever. But it's going to have to be her decision, not ours."

The blonde's friend sat back in her seat and frowned. "I heard some of Nate's teammates talking about her today. They called her a sl-"

"I know what they called her, Mel." The blonde girl was growing frustrated, though whether it was with her worried friend or her own inability to help the situation, Allison couldn't be sure. "Just… just don't worry about it, okay?"

The other girl hesitated, then nodded and settled back into her seat. The blonde girl reopened her lip gloss and absently applied another layer to her already sparkling lips. After a moment, the art teacher walked into the room and shut the door behind her. Allison watched the two girls for a few more seconds before tearing her eyes away and opening her sketchbook.

12: 21 P.M.

After lunch, Bender trudged up the stairs to the second floor where his English class was located. He really hated English and had considered skipping, but the other guys had, for reasons unknown to him, decided to go to class for once. So, instead of sitting out there all alone, Bender had opted to take his chances with Mrs. Baker and her friends Mark Twain and Nathaniel Hawthorne.

Bender plopped down on the back row and, like a pitcher digging in at the mound, started shifting around in his seat to find the best position for sleep. He'd just settled in and closed his eyes when a conversation between a group of girls a couple of rows over caught his attention.

"…left on Tuesday, but they won't be back for another week. My brother was talking about throwing a party tomorrow night, but then he found out about Stubby's, so he called it off."

Bender opened his eyes and looked over at the girls, who were sitting just to his right. One of them, a small girl with dark, curly hair, nodded excitedly. "Yeah, I heard Stubby's thing is going to be big. His parents are on vacation, too."

"Where did your parents go, Abby?"

The first girl adjusted her ponytail holder and settled back into her seat. "Barbados, I think. But the ship takes them all over the Caribbean, so I don't know exactly."

"Why didn't they take you with them? I'd be so mad if my parents went on vacation without me."

The girl scoffed. "Not me. I hate family trips. I'd rather stay home alone."

"Why?"

"What am I going to do while I'm there? Sit around while my mom knocks back margaritas and my dad gropes the serving girls?" The girl rolled her eyes. "I think I'd rather study."

A couple of the girls made faces at this, but all of them offered sympathetic looks… though for what, Bender wasn't entirely sure. Seemed pretty damn perfect to him. Lots of cash, parents that were polite enough to drown their sorrows in affairs and alcohol instead of letting out their frustrations on their kids. What the hell was this chick complaining about anyway? Was there such a thing as too much money, too much freedom?

Horseshit.

"But it's not all that bad. My dad left me his credit card for emergencies." The girl grinned and looked around the circle. "Anyone up for a trip to the mall?"

As the other girls started giggling excitedly and making arrangements, Bender closed his eyes and tucked his forehead into the crook of his arm.

Where was a gun when you needed one?

12:22 P.M.

Brian walked into his fifth period health class about one minute before the bell rang and took a seat on the back row. Normally, he grabbed a seat near the front, but on Friday he was too distracted to think about things like that. Plus, he only sat on the front row so that he could see the chalkboard better and he wasn't very concerned about that just then.

So there he was, on the back row with the stoners and the misfits. Well, not entirely. A couple of the jocks sat back there, too. He supposed that the back row was a good place to sit if you didn't really feel like engaging in classroom discussions or having the teacher call on you to answer questions. Brian, for one, had never really understood the point in going to class if you weren't going participate.

Until now.

Brian opened up his backpack, pulling out his binder and a loose stack of papers he'd stuffed into his bag the day before. The bell rang, announcing the start of class, but their teacher Mr. Wilbur was too busy messing around with wires and extension cords at the front of the room to notice. Brian opened his binder and started arranging a the papers by subject. Most of the papers, which he filed under their respective subjects, were worksheets or lecture outlines. But not all.

At the bottom of the stack was a piece of paper that his shop teacher Mr. Willis had handed him at the end of class the day before. It was a grade sheet for his most recent project, a lamp that he'd created in the shape of an elephant. Mr. Willis had broken up the grade by components and had tallied the score at the bottom. Even though he already knew what it said, Brian scanned the list one more time.

Creativity, 15/15 points.

Classroom participation, 15/15 points.

Quality of construction, 13/15 points.

Fulfilling material requirements, 15/15 points.

Final product, 0/40 points.

Notes: Overall construction was well done, but the wiring was incomplete and the lamp doesn't turn on. Final Grade: 58/100 points. F.

Brian kept staring at the piece of paper until the words became blurry with unshed tears. He had shop next period. In less than one hour. How on earth was he going to walk into that room and sit down at that table and listen to Mr. Willis hand out the instructions for their next assignment, which he was sure to fail? He couldn't. Not only did the idea of doing so make him squirm with anxiety, but there also didn't seem to be a point. Why put himself through another period of worry if he didn't have to?

"Alright, we're about ready to begin."

Brian looked up at Mr. Wilbur, who was standing at the front of the classroom, holding his hand up in a call for silence. A few people quieted down, but most of the students, except Brian, kept talking.

"Please, I need everyone to be quiet. We're about to start the video."

After a few seconds, the classroom started quieting down. Mr. Wilbur smiled and adjusted his glasses. "Thank you. Now, as I mentioned, we'll be watching a video. Please pay very close attention." With that, he turned to the television monitor and pushed play.

Brian looked back down at the paper in his hand. He let his eyes drift over the words and numbers, finally settling over the most important one… the F. He remembered sitting at his desk that morning, staring at his progress report, at the F. He remembered his mother bursting in, her mouth firm with impatience, her voice hard with anger. He thought about his father and his little sister, waiting for him in the front hallway, watching him expectantly as they always did. Always watching. Always expecting.

Someone on the other side of the room flicked the light switch and the room suddenly became very dark except for a beam of flickering light from the television monitor. The F disappeared from Brian's vision, but he could still see it, even when he closed his eyes. His fingers tightened around the paper in his hand and he crumpled it into a tight ball.

"I just always felt like I wasn't good enough. Like everyone expected me to be something I just couldn't be."

Brian's eyes flew open and he glanced up at the television screen, where a pretty girl with blonde hair was addressing the camera. "And I knew that suicide was the only way out."

Brian let the paper ball drop from his hand as he stood up abruptly and walked down the aisle to where his teacher was sitting watching the video. "Uh, Mr. Wilbur? Can I have the pass?"

A/N: Thanks so much for reading and reviewing.