A Brief History of Playtime

by Ebonie Rose

A oneshot story. One of the Recess gang returns to the fold after an extended absence.

A Brief History of Playtime: The Only Recess Fan-Fic I'll Ever Write by Ebonie Rose

The year: 2005.

The place: Washington High School in Southern California, north of Los Angeles. .

"I'm back," I said to myself as I walked into the main building. I hadn't actually been here before, but it still felt right to me. I looked down at my schedule, trying to figure out where my homeroom was. I noticed that a lot of people were looking at me strangely. My guess is that I probably should have known some of them; it sure seemed like they might know me. Of course, when you've been wandering the globe for most of your life, it's hard to know who you're supposed to know.

But I knew where I was. This was the only place that truly felt like home. No, I don't mean the school. I mean, here…this town. There were days I was still upset about having to leave seven years ago. I'd finally kept a group of friends for more than a year, but I shouldn't have expected it to last.

It really sucks being a military brat.

I still talked to T.J. and the others online occasionally, but it was maybe once a week at most. They were busy with their lives, and I was busy with mine. There was one point where I was shipped off to a boarding school in Germany because Dad went back on active duty. Sure it sounds cool, being able to drink if you can see over the counter, but everyone you wanted to tell about it was almost half a day back. When I got up at 6:00am for school, they were going to bed. When I got out of school at 4:00pm, they were getting on the bus. By the time they got home, I was asleep. It was a little easier on weekends, though.

"Room 105. This must be the place," I said as I walked in. It looked like a standard homeroom. The scent of chalk dust lingered in the air, reminding me that not everyone has switched to those dry erase boards yet. I took my seat somewhere near the middle, not taking an official position in the current social strata yet. Never heard of it? Let me give you the Cliff's Notes version. If you sit in the front, you're a nerd. If you sit in the back, you're a slacker. If you sit close to the teacher's desk, you're a brown-noser. See? Simple.

Not long after I sat down, I noticed that someone was looking at me harder than everyone else. She'd made it a point to turn completely around in an effort to get a good look at me…or for me to get a good look at her. Based on what I've just told you, it shouldn't be hard to figure out that she was in the front row. She seemed only slightly familiar to me. Her hair was in two very high ponytails which reached her shoulders, a strange mix of bright auburn and black. She had on these very thick Lisa Loeb glasses, which were strangely flattering on her. Behind the black frames was a pair of bright, cat-green eyes surrounded by violet eyeshadow. I couldn't see what she was wearing since she was sitting down, but her face was more important right now. I had to think about it for a few minutes before I realized who she was.

"Gretchen?" I finally said. She waved back at me, glad that I recognized her. Some things never change, even after seven years. Just as she was about to respond, our teacher came in.

"Morning, class," he said as he sat down at his desk. "The announcements will be on in a minute." The lack of interest on his face was obvious as he opened his morning paper to get about ten minutes of reading done before he actually had to work.

After the announcements, our illustrious teacher called roll. Not wishing to waste anymore of his paper-reading time, he simply called last names.

"Gilbert?"

"Grant?"

"Griffith?"

"Griswald?"

"Grobler?"

"Grundler?"

"Harcourt?"

"Harrison(2)?"

"Hazlett?"

By the time he finished, the bell to go to first period rang. Gretchen walked up to me and said, "Where's your class?" Now I finally had a good look at her. She had on a mesh top underneath a corset-type thing. Then there was this skirt that was a little below her knees, an amazing feat for her height. How do you expect me to describe it, I'm male, remember? The easy part is that it was all black. So apparently, Gretchen has gone Goth.

I pulled out my schedule, and I answered, "English IV in room 123. I assume it's down the hall?"

"Right. I'm going to be next door in AP Calculus," Gretchen said as we walked down the hall. "So, when did you get here?"

"Not long after New Year's. I didn't find out until Christmas Day, believe it or not. My old man thought it'd be a good Christmas present to spend my last semester in the place I miss the most. He's going to be out of the country until summer, so I'm staying here with my Grandma."

"But why didn't you do that back in fifth grade when you moved?" Gretchen asked.

"Grandma was still living in Boca Raton until the hurricanes made quick work of her retirement village. She took her insurance settlement and Grandpa's pension and moved here back in November. Between the two, she had enough to buy the house outright and furnish it. Pretty sweet deal, I must admit. There's a catch though. Look at seventh period."

Gretchen took the schedule from my hand and scanned it. "You have to take ROTC? A small trade-off when you look at the big picture."

"My thoughts exactly." I looked up at the room number. "So when did you go all Goth chick on me?"

"It was the first time I saw Abby on that show, NCIS. I can get away with a bit more makeup than she does, since she's supposed to be working. I guess it's been a year or two now. Any complaints?" she said smiling.

"Not at all. Well, I guess this is it. I'll see you after class?"

"Most likely," she answered. "But we'll see. Bye, Gus."

"Later, Gretch." I said as we walked into our classrooms. I found the first available seat that wasn't in the front and took it just as the bell rang. "Good morning, class," the English teacher said. In my experience there's only been two types of English teachers: the hot, idealistic college graduate in her 20's and the jaded old women they turn into. Which reminds me of a question I'll have to ask Gretchen later.

After English class, I met up with Gretchen in the hallway where she was already waiting for me. "How was English?" she asked.

"Not bad, about as interesting as British Lit could be," I answered. "What do you have next?"

"AP Physics, on the third floor. Today's supposed to be 'Fun with Fulcrums'," she answered, with a hint of excitement. That was when I noticed that her lisp was gone, too.

"What happened to your lisp, if I may be so blunt?" I asked her.

"The year after you left I got braces to ditch the buck teeth. My 'lisp' as you call it was actually displaced air that went between my front teeth when I talked. When my lisp disappeared, they knew that it was time to take them off."

"Well, I have to go to American History, which is right here," I said.

"Then I guess this is where we part ways then. Come find me at lunch. You do have lunch after fifth period, right?"

I raised an eyebrow in confusion and looked at my schedule. "I guess so, it says 5a by my class."

"Good, I have to go now. See you at lunch," Gretchen said, heading to the stairs.

It didn't take long for me to figure out the numbering pattern in the building. I went to my history class, managing to get there early somehow. If this history class is anything like the classes I took in San Diego, then there should be a coach walking in any…

"Hey," someone said as he jabbed me in the arm.

I turned and saw Vince sitting next to me. "Vince? What's up?" I said, enthusiastically.

"I could say the same for you. You barely look like yourself," he said.

"A lot can happen since 5th grade, you know. I mean, look at you. You've bulked up quite a bit. And what's with the hair?"

"Oh, my dreads? I started them junior year. I thought it'd be cool…and it is. And the muscle mass is all due to obscene amounts of soccer and basketball."

"Two things you've always been good at," I replied. "Let me guess, you're captain of the basketball team?"

"Nope," Vince answered. "Soccer."

"Would've been my next guess. So what else have you been doing?"

"Well, not much. I'm the Student Council VP, Homecoming King, and President of the Washington Culinary Society."

"I didn't think you'd give up on your whole cooking thing. Glad to see I was right," I said as the teacher walked in, proving my suspicions.

As to be expected, he talked about the actual lesson for fifteen minutes, then managed to make it relate to football. Makes me wonder what he's actually going to test us on.

When class was over, Vince said, "So what's been going on with you? I've barely talked to you for the past three or four years."

"Not much. I spent sophomore year in Germany, because Dad went back on active duty. Then I went to live in Texas for six months with my aunt. After that, we moved to San Diego, and that's where I've been since."

"Well, this is my stop," Vince said, standing outside of his Spanish class. "See you at lunch?"

"Definitely," I answered. "Later." I made my way to my third period Chemistry class. I was supposed to be in Physics, but I took that back in San Diego and skipped Chemistry.

I'd have to say that Germany was my second favorite place, here being the first. I wouldn't say that I didn't have any friends anywhere else, that'd be a lie. I'd meet a few people everywhere, but when I got attached, I end up moving. But there is no time to constantly go over this.

I went to the chemistry lab to look for an empty spot. While I stood at the door, there was someone waving at me and pointing to the empty seat next to her. "Hi," I said as I sat down. "Have we met?"

She had put her dark ash brown hair in a ponytail to keep it out of her way. She was almost a foot shorter than me, but being 6'4" had that kind of result. However, she was still moderately cute, especially with those blue eyes of hers which had a hint of disbelief in them currently.

"You don't recognize me?" she asked.

"Not right off, no," I answered apologetically.

"It's me, Theresa. Theresa LeMays."

"Corn Chip Girl?!"

"No one's called me that since 6th grade, but, yeah, that's me. How ya been, Gus?" Theresa said, setting up the equipment.

"I've been alright. I just came in from San Diego last week. How about you?"

"I got here back in September. Dad had to do a tour of duty in the Indian Ocean. Mom and I had to move to Maryland until he got back."

"How long were you gone?" I asked.

"Two years. It couldn't have happened at a better time, to be honest. Mikey and I had just broken up and…"

"What?! You and Mikey? I miss everything around here. Next thing you'll tell me is that Spinelli's a cheerleader." Good work, Gus, hide shock with sarcasm. Always works.

"Yeah, we dated for most of his freshman year. He asked me to the homecoming dance, and it went from there. It was actually pretty good."

"Then why did you break up?" I asked.

"There were a lot of reasons. Dad was one of them. We had that "Dharma and Greg" kind of relationship, only he got to be Dharma. Dad didn't like the fact that his little girl was dating a peace-loving, tree-hugging hippie." At that point, our Chemistry teacher came in and called roll, causing a pair of eyes to glance in my direction at the mention of my name. When we got the green light to start working, Theresa continued her story. "He did the same thing to Mikey as he did to you in elementary school. 'Stay away from him' and all that crap. He threatened on several occasions to pull me out of here and enroll me in a boarding school in England if I didn't stop seeing him. At that point, I did everything in my power to defy him. I'd sneak out at night, beg Mom to lie for me. Eventually, he got the call to ship out and it was over, like that. No, scratch that. We tried to keep going while I was in Maryland. It wasn't that bad for the first month, then it just fell apart. We stopped calling and IM'ing each other as much. So the Admiral got his wish."

"That really sucks, Theresa. If you were feeling that badly, then Mikey must have been crushed."

"Yeah, he was. He left not long after I did, too. His parents decided that the best thing for him was to move."

"Aw, lame. Where did he go?"

"They moved to an ashram outside of San Francisco, where they've been ever since," she answered. "No one's heard from him since, which isn't odd. Ashrams don't exactly have internet access. Pass me the potassium chloride." So I get to spend my last semester of school without my best friend.

"Sure," I said handing it to her. "I can't picture Mikey just uprooting himself like that and leaving. It's not like him at all."

"Love makes you do crazy things, Gus. Reason and emotion are at a constant war inside of us, you know," she said, lighting the Bunsen burner.

Chemistry class passed quickly since Theresa and I spent the entire period talking while we worked. I still can't believe Mikey left like that. And I can't believe that he dated Theresa. Little did I know that stranger things were in store for me today.

When I walked into Pre-Calculus, I should have known that red baseball cap anywhere. "Dude, rock on! I keep running into all of you. This just keeps getting better."

"Awesome, isn't it?" T.J. said. "I didn't even know you were coming, Gus, until Vince called me after second period. Why didn't you tell anyone?"

"I wanted it to be a surprise, it's that simple," I explained.

"So who've you run into so far?" T.J. asked.

"Gretchen, Vince, Theresa, and now you. There was this one girl staring at me last period, though. I'm not sure why."

"Not even here for a day and you've got a secret admirer. Not bad, sir, not bad at all," T.J. said, high-fiving me.

At the end of class, I told T.J. I'd see him at lunch as I went off to Fine Arts Survey. I never really understood the point of this class. I guess it was designed to be taken freshman year so you pick the next fine art class you'd take, a little late for me. I didn't see anyone I immediately recognized so I took my seat and hoped that this wouldn't be as boring as it has the potential to be.

Fortunately, it wasn't. The guy who taught it was very free-spirited, almost bohemian. We spent the entire class watching dance performances on video. He explained that that was pretty much the plan for the next nine weeks, except for the field trip to watch a matinee performance of a modern dance troupe. Apparently, they'd already covered art during the first nine weeks with a trip to the museum, and they'd done music by attending a performance of the local symphony. Our final trip was going to be in May when we watch Cirque du Soleil's Varekai tour. This officially goes on the list of the most expensive classes I've ever taken.

Finally. lunch came. By the time I got there, T.J., Vince, Gretchen, and Theresa had already sat down. Fortunately they saved a seat for me. They all waved at me in an attempt to get me over there. Once I got there with my plate of moderately edible lunch food, I decided to ask, "What's up, guys? Where's Spinelli?"

Everyone looked at each other, urging everyone else to answer but them. "Look, I already know Mikey's in an ashram, meditating his head off. You can't throw much more at me."

"Well, somebody's got to tell him," Theresa said. "I already told him about me and Mikey. It's someone else's turn now." Clearly, she'd washed her hands of the entire situation as she resumed eating her lunch.

"Fine, I'll tell him, if I must," T.J. groaned.

Now this was really getting strange. "Tell me what?"

T.J. leaned in a little closer. "Look to your right. No—no, not so fast or they'll know you're looking. They're like testy animals, they'll attack with the slightest provocation. Look, but don't make eye contact."

"Dude, this is not National Geographic," I said as I turned around.

"Don't say I didn't warn you," T.J. said, sitting back.

What I saw couldn't be real. It just couldn't. "Please tell me Gretchen had her cloned," I said.

"She wouldn't let me," Gretchen answered. "All I needed was a blood sample."

"Not now, Gretchen," Vince interrupted. "No, that's really her."

I guess I've kept you in suspense long enough. "Don't tell me that's really her," I kept saying, shaking my head in disbelief. "She's actually done the one thing I never expected her to do… She's an Ashley."

"Yeah, we know," T.J. said.

This is totally unreal. I looked over there again, just to make sure. "That's not Spinelli, can't be. Where's the combat boots and leather jacket?"

"Gone," Theresa said.

"And when did all this happen?" I finally asked.

"Freshman year," Gretchen answered.

"Well, that's when she started talking to the Ashleys. She stopped talking to us the following year," Vince said.

"But it all really started in sixth grade," Theresa answered, who put down her fork long enough to tell me this. "I was still in fifth grade, but word travels fast around here, you know. They filled me on the details, but I got the general story from Elise C who heard it from her sister Jessica C who heard it from Jessica U who heard it from Brittany U who heard it from Brittany Armbruster, Ashley A's little sister."

"And what scares me is that I followed that," I said. "I'm sorry, do go on."

"Thank you. Apparently, she bloomed a lot faster than most of the other sixth graders."

"Developed like a Polaroid," T.J. commented.

"Boy, I'll say," Vince added.

"She went to visit her Aunt Zola and her cousin Gina for the summer, and she came back a B-cup," Gretchen explained candidly. "And it wasn't tissue, either."

"We had a girl like that in Texas," I said. "Her name was Chelsea Sanders. Same thing happened to her; she disappeared for the summer and came back with them too."

"Anywho, this caused our dear Spinelli to get a lot of attention…and a new wardrobe. Her beloved leather jacket didn't fit like it used to, between her development and getting two inches taller," Theresa explained.

"She'd managed to hide behind it for about a month, until it wouldn't zip one day," Vince added. "It was all downhill from there. After that, her feet went up half a size, and she had to get rid of her boots. She tried to buy another pair and found out that they were discontinued the year before."

"Then there was the day that her favorite socks got a hole in them," T.J. continued.

"And she lost her hat when her family went to the Grand Canyon," Gretchen added.

"It's like the candy shell falling off of an M&M," Theresa explained further. "Life just kept chipping away at her. All that was left was this…girl."

"That was another part of the problem. None of us had really noticed she was a girl," T.J. said. "Until she got…those. Then we started opening doors for her, carrying books for her…treating her like a girl."

"She didn't like how everyone was treating her all weird," Theresa said. "Well, mainly the boys, especially when she'd run during kickball. She didn't really know what to do…until she talked to her cousin Gina during Thanksgiving. When she came back, she was a different person."

"She rarely threatened to punch people in the face anymore," Gretchen said.

"She fixed her hair."

"And the Ashleys tried to make nice with her, in that order."

"Then she realized it wasn't that bad, and we got scared. She didn't play kickball as much anymore. Instead, she'd jump rope with the Ashleys."

"Which, of course, was the reason for the Great Imprisonment of '99," T.J. said.

"What happened?" I asked.

"I believe you know it as the Gainax Bounce," Gretchen explained, at which point I started laughing, fully aware of what she meant.

"Someone got distracted and the kickball flew right through Prickly's window, onto his desk, and smashed his bonsai tree. Boy was he pissed. No one went outside for a week."

"Whatever happened to him?" I asked.

"Well, he eventually got that middle school job he wanted so badly," Vince answered.

"Except it was in Fairbanks, Alaska," T.J. answered. "But we're getting off-topic. After that, Spinelli was okay for a while. Realizing the damage she caused, she borrowed her brother's sweatshirts and old jeans for the rest of the winter."

"But why were the Ashleys even talking to her in the first place?" I asked.

"Well, first of all, her name's Ashley. That more or less meant that they would never leave her alone…ever."

"Then there's the time she won the Little Miss Blush pageant they tricked her into entering."

"And she had that thing for Baby Teeth, whose real name escapes me."

"I was there for all of that, remember? But keep going."

"Right, then. As a rule, the girl that gets her boobs first usually becomes the most popular girl in school. How could the Ashleys let a social commodity like Spinelli slip through their fingers yet again?"

"So they only wanted her because of the popularity associated with developing before everyone else?"

"Precisely. There's an equivalent for guys too. Remember when the first boy in our class got facial hair?"

"For us it was chest hair," I answered. "I was in Washington DC by then. The first guy with chest hair was automatically cool despite his exponential lameness. Speaking of exponential lameness, what happened to the weasel?"

"You mean…whispers Randall?" Theresa said quietly.

"Why so quiet? He's not dead is he?"

"No, he disappeared sometime junior year," Gretchen answered. "No one really explained what happened, mainly because no one liked him. No, let me take that back. He had a grand total of one friend...Menlo. The rumor is that he got recruited by the Feds to do some intelligence work."

"Strangely, that's not much of a stretch," I replied. "Wait. Menlo was his friend?"

"Yeah. Whatever Menlo didn't have on file, Randall knew. Not that it did the little weasel any good. Remember the time he blackmailed everyone in school? Well, it only works once. After that, everyone kind of ignored him. However, Menlo was a different story."

"We always knew he wasn't a slimeball, just a nerd. When we got to middle school, they didn't want students in the office, so he actually had to be social," T.J. explained. We decided to be his social halfway house, so to speak. When we felt he was ready, we sent him off…"

"Straight to Randall," Theresa added.

"Not on purpose, though," Gretchen said. "It just happened. You couldn't find one without the other, until he disappeared. Menlo wound up being FBLA president and Secretary on the Student Council, with our dear T.J. as President."

"Oh, I didn't tell you that, did I?" T.J. asked. "I beat Ashley A. by ten votes."

"Good work, sir," I said, congratulating him. "So you've explained part of the story. What happened next?"

"So Spinelli hid out her baggy clothes for a while, during the Ashleys' 'dress like Britney' phase. Everything seemed okay for the most part. Then I had to screw it up," T.J. said.

"What did you do?" I asked.

"I asked her to the Valentine's Day Dance in eighth grade. I know it seemed harmless enough, but it was only the beginning. We ended up going steady for the rest of the year. Then, over the summer, I went away to camp and met Shannon Appleby, one of the other junior counselors. Word eventually traveled to Spinelli, and she broke up with me…after breaking my nose."

"Did she punch you in the face that hard?" I asked, watching him rub his nose.

"No, she decked him with her new, extremely hard, clutch bag," Theresa answered.

"He had it coming," a girl's voice said from behind me. Standing behind me was the current subject of our conversation, one Ashley Spinelli. It didn't especially help matters that when I turned around, there was a pair of D-cups staring me in the face. "Hey, Gus, long time no see."

Tilting my head up, I replied, "Hey, Spinelli." I couldn't think of much else to say because a) we were talking about her without giving her a chance to defend herself, and b) she was totally hot.

"I have a first name, remember? Call me Ashley S. Everyone else does," she answered as the other Ashleys showed up. She didn't have the same semi-gravelly voice from elementary school. The accent was still there, though. "Hey, girls, remember Gus from elementary school?"

The Ashleys were apparently in year three of their Paris Hilton phase, which occurred after their short-lived Sex and the City phase, one of the rare moments when an Ashley was told no by her parents. There was also a brief interruption during which they had an Avril Lavigne moment for about a week, until they discovered that they were dressing like the so-called 'freaks'.

Anyway, they all had on these miniskirts and boatneck sweaters. Oh, to be a pair of stockings right now! Admittedly, the other Ashleys didn't fill out as well as Spinelli did, but Ashley B. was close. "Gus? Gus Griswald? The dorky-looking army brat with the Coke-bottle glasses? Where?" Ashley A. asked, and I waved in response. "I see. If I still ate refined carbohydrates, I'd give you a cookie for improvement. Nonetheless, I must admit, you're almost hot."

"Thanks," I said.

"I said 'almost'. You could certainly improve your market value by changing your affiliations…and your hair," she continued.

I ran my hand over my naturally light blond hair. "I'm only going to be here until graduation, princess. After that it's off to…somewhere, I dunno."

"Well, like, give me a call if you decide to make the move up the social ladder, 'kay?" Ashley A. said, handing me her business card. I know it's odd, but when you can go online and get 250 of them made for less than 20 bucks, it's not that uncommon. With that, the Ashleys left.

"And I thought I was doing pretty well, being friends with the Student Council President and Vice President and all," I commented, looking at Ashley A.'s card. She'd listed her name, home number, cell number, and email address.

"You have," T.J. replied. "She's just under the impression that being Homecoming Queen and Senior Class VP were better."

"I still can't believe that Spinelli's hanging with them now," I said, shaking my head.

"I should probably mention at this point that Ashley B. and I went out a few times," Vince said.

"You did what?" I asked.

"Dude, have you not noticed the severe lack of hot Black girls in this school?" he replied. "Ashley B. is pretty much it."

"Oh, come on," T.J. replied. "What about Amanda?"

"Who's Amanda?" I asked.

"Oh, that's right, you missed it. Remember our doppelgangers from across town?" Gretchen asked. "Well, we've been going to school together since 7th grade. You saw Greta Grobler, she's in our homeroom."

"I heard the name, but I didn't look for her," I replied.

Gretchen turned my head toward the other end of the cafeteria. "That's them," she said. "After the first year of middle school, they were significantly less similar to us. As they say on Highlander, there can be only one….at a time, anyway."

I looked over there at them, Greta Grobler still looked like Gretchen, if Gretchen hadn't changed. Greta had this stringy dark brown hair that was this awkward shoulder-length mop around her face, and her glasses were still swallowing the rest of her face whole. Vince's clone Vance was still blond and spiky-haired. Mickey, Mikey's Asian clone, appeared to have grown into his weight a little, rendering him more rectangular than egg-shaped. I spotted T.J.'s double, C.J. Rottweiler. I always thought it was a bit odd that T.J.'s mirror image would be female. She's kinda butchy, so I guess it balances out. She still had that Little Orphan Annie hair and the hat. Then there was Regalli, Spinelli's twin. She was pretty hot for a blonde in overalls, but she was latched on to Vance's arm. I finally spotted my doppelganger, Russ Rimple. He had Vince's old haircut and my old glasses. Looking at him reminded me of how much of a dork I used to be. I might have turned out like that if I never left.

"Okay, you see them, right?" Theresa asked. "Well, since we have our doubles to deal with, then everyone else did, too. The boy with the blonde hair? That's my double, Terry. Now if you'll look at the table over there, you'll see the Ashleys' rivals, the Amandas."

"Holy crap," I said, looking at the four girls at the opposite end of the table from the Ashleys. Theresa explained that, like Spinelli, Regalli has been courted by the Amandas because of her first name…unsuccessfully. The Amandas have spent the past five years playing second fiddle to the Ashleys. They competed against each other in everything: every pageant, every club office.

"Their leader is Amanda Bennett, the brunette in the green blazer," Theresa continued. "She's like Ashley A., only less intelligent and more bitter." Oddly enough, they all had blazers on: green, purple, red, and dark brown.

"I went out with Amanda Collins, the one with the purple blazer," Vince said. "Then she decided that she didn't want an Ashley's sloppy seconds and dumped me."

"Now is there anything else you want to surprise me with?" I was ready for anything at this point. Mikey's in an ashram, Spinelli's an Ashley, Randall's a fed, and Gretchen's a Goth chick.

Everyone else started thinking. They pulled up rather minor people to talk about as they thought. Lawson had gotten a basketball scholarship to U. Conn. Upside-down Girl, whose name was apparently Susan, was last year's valedictorian. It turns out that she was one of those secret geniuses who did odd things to detract attention from herself. As for Swinger Girl, whose real name was Francine, she was in the same class as Upside-Down Girl. She'd moved to Huntsville in 8th grade to train for the space program.

The kid we referred to as King Bob(now Robbie) managed to do great things; his amazing leadership skills got him elected class president for all four years. He became Student Council VP junior year, and President senior year. He went off to Stanford, not because of his grades, but because of his leadership quality. But even with all of that, it still left some questions unanswered.

"Whatever happened to Miss Grotke, our fourth grade teacher?" I asked. "I remember she followed us to fifth grade, but after that I don't know."

"Well, she kept up her magic act, and it's gotten even better. She realized when we were in sixth grade that it could go somewhere. She left mid-year and moved to Springfield for a larger audience. She became the Springfield Elementary(not the one from the Simpsons) 6th grade teacher, and kept up her act on the side. Eventually, the school board had her fired for her rendition of the first Thanksgiving," Gretchen explained. "She's a quarter Native American, you know."

"And that was after she turned the Easter pageant into an, and I'm using her words here, 'interpretation of life's emergence from our mother Earth'."

"Three words: giant cardboard vagina," Theresa said.

"Did she move into an ashram, too?" I opted to ask.

"Oddly enough, no. She moved to Seattle with her boyfriend Wyatt…"

"Whoa, when did she get a boyfriend?" I asked.

"He was a fellow teacher in Springfield. When she got fired, he quit. So, they moved to Seattle and opened a magic shop and café. He finally proposed to her in May and the wedding's going to be sometime this summer," Vince answered.

"How did you find out all of this?" I asked.

"Email," T.J. answered.

"Oh."

"Well, she said she's going to have two weddings: a traditional one for their more conservative friends and family, and a pagan handfasting for everyone else, including themselves."

"I thought she was a Tibetan Buddhist," I said.

"She was, until she moved. When she met Wyatt, and his friends, it all clicked together for her. So we've already started planning our trip there," Vince said. "Our parents said yes, as long as we have a chaperone."

"How are you going to manage that?" I asked.

"We haven't gotten that far. We're still trying to find out who has the least dorky parents," T.J. said.

"So far, I'm winning," Vince said.

"What about Gretchen's parents?" I asked. I figured if they let her out of the house dressed like that, then they must be moderately cool.

"No such luck," Gretchen answered, adjusting her spiked choker. "Both of my parents have conferences that week. Mom's going to Stockholm, and Dad's going to be in Key West. Neither of them can bring me along, so they claim."

"Because of how you're dressed?" I opted to ask.

"Oddly, no. They're ashamed that their genius daughter isn't going to be a doctor or a chemist like them," she said, flailing her arms in mock horror.

"What are you going to do then?" I again opted to ask.

"I told you I watch Navy NCIS. I'm going into forensics. Between that show and all three C.S.I. series, I'm set. Then and only then will I begin my quest for global domination under the guise of a forensics expert. (Insert maniacal laughter here.)"

Then the bell rang. I hated that lunch was so short, but that's life. "I guess that's the bell to go to 6th period, right?"

"Yeah, it is," Theresa said. "What do you have?"

"Intermediate Guitar. They ran out of space in Private Lesson."

"We all have Creative Writing together," Theresa said as everyone got up.

"That was full when I got here, too," I said. "Well, since I have ROTC last period, I guess I'll see you all tomorrow?"

"Yeah. I've got basketball practice after school," Vince said. "T.J. has debate practice, Gretchen has a Quiz Bowl competition, and Theresa has… What do you have to do again?"

"I think today's Drama Club," Theresa said, uncertain. "I'll have to check later."

"Bye, guys," I said as we parted ways. When I arrived back in the fine arts room, I looked around to see only 7 other people in the room. I went over to the back wall and retrieved my guitar. When I sat down, I realized quickly who I was sitting next to. "Hey, Spi—I mean, Ashley S."

She picked up her guitar from her case, and started tuning. "You act surprised to see me in here," she said, not looking up from her work.

"Well, I am. I didn't think you'd be interested, let alone know how to play," I replied. "You're an Ashley, after all."

She looked up from her guitar and turned to face me. I guess that got her attention. "Ashley S. doesn't take guitar, Spinelli does. Ashley S. doesn't go to rock concerts, Spinelli does." As she continued, she was rather calm about it. Her tone of voice was, though her brown eyes clearly betrayed her. This was apparently the first time anyone's called her on this. That probably had something to do with breaking T.J.'s nose, thus instilling (or possibly reinforcing) a great deal of fear in the populace. "See how this works?"

Snap.

"What are you doing in here anyway?" she asked. "Don't you already know how to play?"

"I think you popped a string," I said, matter-of-factly. "And yes, I already know how to play, but Private Lesson is full." For those of you who don't know, I've been playing the guitar since I was nine. I own one of everything: an electric, an acoustic, a classical with nylon strings, and a bass. It's a good way to channel your aggression.

That seemed to bring her out of her rant. "I'm sorry about that, Gus. I'm just glad to see you. I can't really talk to anyone about this."

"What about the others?" I asked, handing her a spare guitar string.

"I try to talk to T.J. as little as possible. I don't want to talk to Vince and end up ruining their friendship either. I occasionally say hi to Gretchen at Open Mike night at Kelso's, but we haven't been as close as we used to be," she explained.

"What about everyone else in here? Surely they figured out what's going on?" I offered.

Spinelli leaned in a little closer. "You see the redhead in the combat boots?"

"Yeah?"

"That's the girl formerly known as Kurst the Worst."

"Excuse me?" I looked at her again, this time studying her a little more. It was the same mass of curly copper-red hair and freckles, but that wasn't the girl I had nightmares about for three months in 5th grade. Kurst was the only girl who frightened me more than Spinelli. She still had quite a formidable appearance, especially since she was close to my height. Her growth spurt had caused her proportions to balance out somewhat, clearly evidenced by her black sweater.

The biggest change was her demeanor. She didn't look like she was trying to annihilate everyone in her path. She looked like she was just trying to stay out of everyone's way and go about her business…almost introspective. Kurst sat down and tuned her guitar with a great deal of intensity and concentration. "This isn't right. That can't be her," I whispered. "I should be feeling my impending death right now."

"It is. But don't call her Kurst anymore. Her first name's Elaine," Spinelli explained. "She kind of mellowed out when we hit junior high for some reason. I blame puberty…and the other kids for picking on her because of her weight. She didn't fight back because she'd finally realized all the hell she'd put everyone else through in elementary school. She just figured it was all karma; six years of torture for them, six for her."

I was amazed. Wasn't anything still the same? I looked around the room again. "Any other surprises?" I asked, suspiciously.

"None I can think of," Spinelli answered.

"Actually, I have one question that I think you'd know better than anyone else. Where's Finster?"

Spinelli's eyes began to look around the room, specifically at the floor. "Day after Christmas, natural causes," was all she said as she casually tucked a stray piece of black hair behind her ear.

For a brief instant, the universe stopped. Finster the Spinster had gone to the Great Beyond? I thought she'd live forever. Admittedly, being 85 was an accomplishment in the grand scheme of things, but she exercised daily and didn't eat the cafeteria food. She should've lived to be a hundred. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have asked," I finally said.

"It's okay," she said, putting a hand on my shoulder. "I had the rest of Christmas vacation to think, cry, mourn, celebrate, contemplate, and all of those other things you do when someone dies. The funeral was last Thursday, small and intimate. You'd think more of her old students would have shown up, but …"

"They probably thought like I did, that she'd live forever," I replied.

"I guess. She didn't have any children. There were a few nieces and nephews, their kids, and some friends. My mom and I went since she was in the U.S.O. with Grandma. Hell, even Prickly made it from the great white north. Then her lawyer walked up to us and said that we needed to be at the reading of her will the next day. It turned out that between her savings, her investments, and her property, she was worth about $2.5 million. And then there's the teacher's pension."

"$2.5 million? Holy crap, that's a lot of cash," I said.

"Yeah, I know. She left the house and $100,000 to her oldest niece who was living in an apartment. She'll be moving in this week with her daughter and grandkids. Then she left $50,000 here and there to assorted relatives. Then there was me and Mom. She gave Mom her Wedgwood blue china, named her as the beneficiary of her pension checks, and $10,000 in the meantime. As for me, she left me her exercise equipment because she knew I'd be the only one who'd actually use it. She also left me a trust fund."

"She did what?"

"Yeah, it's actually the bulk of her estate, around $2 million. Mom's in charge of it until I'm out of college. No specific age like the standard ones. If I get a Doctorate, I don't get to touch it until I'm almost 30. Of course, the money's supposed to pay for college anyway. I get what's left when I graduate. My favorite thing that she told me was that men were often intimidated by women of power like her and me. I guess that's why she did all of this for me. She said in her will that despite any differences we had, I was the closest she ever got to having a daughter. So she wanted to provide for me as she would provide for her own child."

It was strange to hear about this side of Ms. Finster. When you're a kid, she just seems like this big scary beast that wanted to take the fun out of everything. That's what all kids tend to think about adults. You don't realize that one day you'll end up where they are, having to exert some sense of order and authority over those younger than you. The surprise is that no one thinks about what these ogres of authority do outside of school. They have homes to go to, families they see on Christmas and Thanksgiving, lives to live after 3pm. After all, like it or not, they're human too.

"What are you doing after school?" Spinelli asked as our teacher came in.

"Nothing, why?" Naturally, I was curious as to what she wanted.

"I want to play around in the guitar shop for a while. The Ashleys won't find me there. So bored with them. If I'm going to hang out with a bunch of chicks with the same name, they ought to at least be able to play instruments like the Donnas."

"You do know that none of them are actually named Donna?" I asked.

"Damn shame," she replied.

Guitar class continued with little interruption, until the bell rang. Spinelli and I parted ways and I went to ROTC. I knew I was going to hate this. Maybe this won't be that bad, though. At least it substitutes for P.E. I walked into the classroom and there weren't that many people in there. There was this red-haired boy who waved at me and pointed at the seat next to him. "Thanks," I said.

"You don't remember me, do you?" he said. "I'm not surprised. It's me, Phil."

"Phil?" I should remember a Phil, shouldn't I? I don't, though.

"Phil, the Badger Scout."

"Oh, yeah. Now I remember. I see now," I responded. I swear, sometimes it's like waiting for the toast to pop out of the toaster. "So what happened to your uniform?"

"Well, you can only be a Badger Scout until you're 12. Since I was the only one in our troop, it was just easier to give up the whole thing after that. Now I've traded in the scout uniform for a military uniform. I'm joining up as soon as I graduate."

Oh, God.

So that ended my first day at school. I stepped out of the building and looked at the view of Mt. Baldy in the distance, reminding me to get our rock climbing equipment out of storage.

After going to the guitar shop with Spinelli.

God, she's hot!