Fulton didn't see Charlie for another day, until the day of Hans' funeral. But as it turned out, he had his own problems to keep him busy at that point.
The trouble started at 8.57am on Tuesday, when instead of picking up his biology book with his math book, thus saving himself a stop-off at his locker in the break between morning classes, he only remember his math book. He was a little irritated with himself because he'd already missed breakfast and was hoping to hunt down Julie, who – since her minor feud with Goldberg – had a habit of having fruit with her at all times in case she got hungry. Instead, he had to make a stop at his locker, which meant doubling back on himself, the lockers were near the main assembly hall, math classes were on the floor above, biology, however, was in a separate building on the other side of the campus.
Fulton was just rummaging in his locker when someone literally fell on him, bags went flying, Fulton's hand got a nasty scrape on the inside of the door and his locker spilled out pens, papers, books and folders in wild abandon. "What the…?" He grumbled as they fell.
"Ow, goddamnit!" An Irish voice squeaked indignantly. "Bloody Shona!" The owner of the voice was a small girl who, in all honesty, looked as if she should still be in middle school, but most interestingly, her hair was bright purple. The child got up, stepping on Fulton as she did so and launched herself forward. Fulton followed her trajectory, and watched in baffled bemusement as she brought down one of the JV cheerleaders.
"Would someone get this thing off me?" The cheerleader called in pained tones.
"That's what you get for pushing me, you big bully." The purple girl snapped, administering a strong slap to the cheerleader.
When it became clear that no help was coming, the cheerleader pushed the purple girl off. "You'll regret that slap, Theresa."
"The only regret I have is that it wasn't one of many, Shona!" Theresa responded. "And besides, don't start on me. If you hadn't pushed me, I wouldn't have hit you." She paused and thought. "Well, I might've done. But no doubt you would have deserved it."
"I didn't push you, Theresa. You fell. Would I, captain of the JV cheerleaders, top of the class and general favourite sophomore, stoop so low as to pick on a cripple? It's not my fault you're a clumsy oaf."
"What's going on here?" A stern voice cut through the commotion. Fulton winced internally and picked himself up. It was Mrs Madigan, the scariest teacher in the world.
"Nothing." Theresa said sullenly.
"Mrs Madigan, she hit me!" Shona wailed, clutching her face.
"She did, I saw her." Another cheerleader appeared out of nowhere and helped Shona to her feet.
"That one wasn't even here!" Theresa complained, pointing at the new cheerleader.
"Enough! You and –" she eyed Fulton's long hair, his bandana and ripped jeans. "You! You're both on detention. Run along, Shona."
"Come on, Shona, I'll get you some ice." The other cheerleader offered, leading her away with a comforting arm around Shona's shoulders.
"But she started it." Theresa said petulantly, picking herself up off the floor.
Fulton winced again. Arguing with Madigan was one thing, arguing with Madigan using a five-year-old's retort was another entirely. There was no way it would work.
"You, pick yourself up and get to class." She turned to Fulton again. "I'll see you both at four o'clock in room 14H."
"But I have hockey practice." Fulton protested.
Mrs Madigan intensified her ever-present glare. "You should have thought about that before jumping in the middle of a squabble then."
Theresa suddenly ran out of steam, she turned awkwardly and began picking up her things. "Sorry about that," Theresa said, in a quiet tone. "But she really did push me."
Fulton grinned. "Yeah, but you got her back, that was a hell of a slap." He said with genuine admiration.
"Are you going to get in trouble for missing hockey?" She asked.
He shrugged. "Probably. I'm used to it though."
"Me too. Things like this are always happening to me."
"In that case, I'm Fulton – just in case you need another crash pad, you can ask for me by name."
She smiled back. "I'm Terri, only Satan calls me Theresa, so don't go picking that habit up."
"And Satan is…" he gestured in the direction the cheerleader had left in.
"Well, it says Shona on her birth certificate, but I figured it was just, y'know, a typo."
"It should really be Satan?"
"She is evil. I've known her for years. She holds coven meetings and invites Beelzebub over for sleepovers. How do you think she got so popular? She traded her soul. I've heard she's even been dating the Anti-Christ."
"You did just say she was Satan, now she's dating him?"
"I know, but I have two plausible arguments. The first is that she's just a really big fan. There are girls out there who call themselves Axl and stuff like that – Satan's probably got a pretty big following too, though I doubt he could wail like Axl during 'Estranged' or 'November Rain' –
"Totally, he calls that his 'demon voice'." Fulton agreed.
"Ah, a fan. I like you." Terri nodded approvingly. "Although the Illusions shirt was a big hint too – though you can never tell who's just being trendy and who actually likes what they have on their tees."
"Or the other reason?" Fulton asked.
"The other reason is that the Anti-Christ is like the actual Christ, father, son and unholy spirit. She's the son. Or daughter. Whatever. Either way, that is the concrete proof that Shona is actually evil."
"Well, be sure to bring that up in religious studies."
Her eyes lit up. "Now there's an idea. Does this school have its own priest? My last one did. He wouldn't perform an exorcism on Shona though, she was in the bloody choir. He liked her. I tried to tell him that the devil has many guises and that he really should read Needful Things as research but… well, I got booted out of the choir after that conversation, so…"
"You know, I really have to get to class." Fulton said. The girl was amusing, but he didn't want her to go thinking that they were friends. She was a little strange.
"Oh, what's your next class?"
"Biology."
"Great, I'm going that way to the art block, I'll walk you."
Adam, too, was having problems. "No, Dad." He muttered into the phone, scanning the halls for any potential eavesdroppers. He'd cut class in order to use the pay phone while nobody was around, but his instinctive self-protection was still working overtime. "The guys are fine, I'm not being bullied at all. It's just tradition for Varsity to haze the freshmen, it's put everyone in an awkward spot to have me in a Varsity dorm while I'm still a freshman. The Ducks think I'm in on the pranks and the Varsity guys are worried they're letting me off too light." Lying to his father was easy when he told the truth in a creative way.
"So you're not being bullied."
"No, Dad. I just want to room with a freshman." He repeated for the umpteenth time. His voice lowered a little, he hated asking for this. "So please, can you make a call?"
"Are you sure –"
"Yes!"
"– this isn't going to be like last year?"
Adam sighed. After the Ducks beat the Hawks in the Pee Wee championship, Larson and McGill had felt a certain amount of animosity towards Adam. Larson had gotten over his momentary pang of conscience after he heard that Adam didn't even need to stay in hospital overnight after slamming neck-first into a goal post, and he and McGill made a habit of following Adam wherever he went, taunting him, slamming him into walls, messing him up a little. Nothing really bad, just enough to make every single day he saw them unpleasant. Eventually, Adam resigned himself to playing hockey on his own front drive, or only going out with his brother, Danny.
Danny had caught on pretty quickly and made a habit of inviting his younger brother out wherever he went. These offers were also peppered with threats of telling dad or suggestions that they go round and beat the crap out of Larson and McGill. It went on for quite awhile, but things finally came to a head after the Junior Goodwill Games when Adam, feeling confident with his recent success, waited outside one of their practices and started the biggest, bloodiest fist-fight the Hawks had seen since little Gordon Bombay called the captain of the opposing team a "stupid pansy" in 1973.
Philip Banks finally heard about this after Adam had been frog-marched home by Coach Reilly, nursing a black eye, a split lip and a big-ass smile.
Philip was still a little worried that his ignorance about this constituted parental neglect. It made things difficult for Adam when, once again, he was being hounded by morons and needed help without causing a fuss.
"Dad, I'm fine. I just want to room with someone my own age, y'know." Adam decided that promising his father that he wasn't being bullied was too big of a lie. It was the opposite of the truth. So he went back to his original plan, tell the truth. Creatively. "I just hate being different. When I joined the Ducks, they still thought of me as a Hawk, at the Goodwill Games everyone treated me like glass because of my wrist injury, now I'm the only freshman on Varsity. I just want something to be a little normal, ok?"
Philip Banks sighed. "If you're sure that's all it is. I'll call Dean Buckley later."
"Thanks, Dad."
He hung up the phone and checked his watch. There was no point going back to lessons, there was only fifteen minutes before lunch. He might as well go up to his dorm and start packing. In fact, he might as well go up to his dorm and finish packing. The Ducks wouldn't want him to eat with them and he couldn't face sitting with Varsity.
The news about Hans' death had filtered through to him by way of a note from Fulton pushed into his locker. He didn't know whether to be thankful that at least one Duck had bothered to keep him in the loop or be fuming that none of the Ducks had thought to tell him personally. The situation was making him crazy, he felt like punching something. Julie told him that when Portman had been kicked out of the Iceland game she had entered the locker room to find him pounding his fists on anything that didn't get out of the way. He hadn't understood that amount of anger and frustration at the time, but he certainly felt that way now.
It wasn't just one thing, it was the combination of everything. While it was true Adam wanted to be recognised as a good hockey player, he hadn't wanted to be put on Varsity and taken away from his friends. He hadn't wanted his friends to turn their backs on him because of it. He hadn't wanted Varsity to resent him for being a freshman on their team. He hadn't wanted to room with Jason Labine, who was fundamentally a nice guy, because it made life difficult for everyone. Varsity wanted Labine to prank Adam as much as possible, Labine didn't want to, Adam didn't want him to, but he didn't want Labine to lose his team over it. He knew from personal experience that losing your team absolutely and unequivocally sucked.
And, more than anything, he hadn't wanted Hans, the one person guaranteed to be able to see all sides of the equation, to pass away. It was just ridiculously unfair.
He sighed and made his way to his dorm to start packing.
Charlie was not an easy man to find, Fulton discovered as he set out on his lunch to find him. And neither was Adam. He had assumed that Casey would send Charlie back to school pronto, as his own mother had done. A couple of questions to the Ducks revealed that if Charlie was back at Eden Hall, nobody had seen him.
This set Fulton on his next mission. On reflection, a note in Banksie's locker was probably the most insensitive tactic in the world. He decided to find Adam – take on Varsity single-handedly, if need be – and have a decent conversation with him. He was probably lonely as hell, getting the cold shoulder from both his team and his friends.
With only twenty minutes before class, he finally resigned himself to the fact he was going to have to ask Varsity if they'd seen him. Which was even less fun than it sounded. Cole nearly took his head off before he even spoke for having the audacity to approach the Varsity table without an invitation. When he eventually was allowed to speak, Varsity made it clear that: a) JV should leave Banksie alone, he was a Varsity Warrior now, not a "little Duckie"; and b) that they didn't know where Banksie was, and what was more, he was in big trouble about it. Varsity were supposed to eat lunch together. Period.
Fulton realised dismally that now he had not only missed breakfast and a snack, but also lunch. Furthermore, he was on detention straight after his afternoon classes, which meant it was going to be a long time before he ate. Twice he had missed out on food on account of other people.
It was not a good day to be a nice guy.
Fulton was early to detention. Terri was twenty minutes late. Madigan was furious with both of them. She gave Terri a severe dressing-down that had Terri close to tears. Terri tried to explain herself several times, but after awhile it appeared she was only able to either respond or not cry, so she opted for the latter.
Eventually Madigan finished, gave their assignments (a letter of apology to Shona for Terri and lines for Fulton), and let Terri have a seat. Terri moved to take the seat next to Fulton and he realised that she was limping heavily. He assumed she'd hurt herself in the fight this morning and it had slowed her down and made her late.
Terri buried herself in her work, an arm curled protectively around her notepad. Fulton too turned to his lines, wondering if anyone in the world had actually successfully used the famous tie-lots-of-pens-together trick to get lines done quicker. Maybe someone like Portman might get away with it, his writing was terrible, even when he was trying his hardest to be neat, but Fulton had quite nice penmanship and anything like that would be easily noticeable.
About ten minutes into detention, Madigan sighed, announced that she had to run to the office to collect the next batch of pop quizzes she had to grade, and asked if she could trust them if she left them alone. The sight of Fulton obediently writing lines and Terri sniffling and snuffling into her notebook was probably more convincing than Fulton's wary nod.
Not ten seconds after the door clicked shut, Terri began to cry. "I'm sorry." She apologised. "I've just had a really bad day and I didn't want to cry in front of her."
Fulton could empathise.
Terri swiped at her tears and began to calm down almost as quickly as she'd started. "It's just Shona being rotten, followed by double phys ed., I told Ms Joy that I can't do cross-country running, but she wouldn't listen and my best friend's in the sick room – she usually stands up for me, and that stupid bitseach Madigan isn't helping!"
"Bit search?"
"Bitseach, it's Irish." She replied. "My dad hates it when I swear in English, so I keep it in a language he doesn't understand."
"And your mom doesn't mind?" He asked lightly, trying to cheer her up. Fulton didn't deal with girls, unless you counted his sister Liv, she was easy to please though. Brandish a chocolate chip cookie and she would forget any earlier mood, fit, or grudge. Teenage girls were different – and difficult, his mother said, give it eight or so years and Liv would be a terror – they needed to be talked to nicely. And that was a tricky thing, according to movies. Teenage guys were always messing something up by saying the wrong thing –
Terri started crying again.
– sort of like that.
"No, my Mum's dead." Terri wiped her eyes again, aggressively this time. "I'm sorry, I'm not usually such a girl, it's just I'm a little stressed, and then you said that and…" She sniffed and wiped her nose on her sleeve.
Fulton was strangely pleased by the gesture, it said to him that she wasn't that girly by nature. "It's ok. I'm having a day like that myself. A friend of mine passed away a couple of days ago."
Terri was instantly quiet and still. "I'm sorry." She said in a low voice. "You're probably sick of hearing it, but I am." She opened her mouth to add more, then closed it again.
Fulton realised that he hadn't heard anyone except his mother say they were sorry about Hans. Everyone who cared missed him too. Hans was a group loss, they all felt the pain. Nobody else at Eden Hall knew or cared about Hans. It was interesting (and kind of sweet) that an almost-stranger was genuinely moved by his loss.
Terri turned and reached in her bag. "Cookie?" She offered.
Fulton fell in love.
And that was how Terri integrated herself into Fulton's life. Given that his life was already semi-dominated by a small woman who knew how to talk Fulton into anything, it wasn't really surprising that his first and only girlfriend would be much the same.