To Bophobean: I've had key points in ADPOV as well as about half of DG planned out for quite some time. I've tweaked some elements over the years, but most of the big stuff has stuck around. And yeah, I always meant for Francine to struggle with growing up. She can be stubborn, obstinate, and I figured she'd even be stubborn with herself in times of great change, especially if the change alarmed her. But there's still more for her to discover about herself (and struggle with). Personal change, in one form or another, is a prevalent theme throughout ADPOV. Not sure if I sat down to write with that intention or if it's just a by-product of the kinds of stories I'm trying to tell. I'm glad you appreciate my acknowledgement of it!

Chapter 26

Escape from the Autumn Ball

Fern's father had driven her and George to MCM Saturday afternoon, but not before taking what seemed like dozens of pictures shortly after George's arrival at the Walters family home. There was no doubt in Fern's mind that her father had followed her mother's instructions. Had it been left entirely up to him to take the pictures, her father would have snapped three or four, made sure they were of good quality, and then he would have called it an afternoon. Instead, he had taken some of Fern inside their house, some of Fern outside their house, some of Fern and George together, and some of George by himself. Just to be safe, he had taken each shot once with flash and once without. It felt like a race to see which happened first, whether Fern would go blind from the amount of flash she had to endure, or whether she would sustain major cheek cramps from faking a smile for so long. George, on the other hand, had been happy to accommodate, never relaxing his seemingly-genuine smile throughout the ordeal.

"I'm going to send some of those snapshots to your mom, Fernie, just as soon as I get home," her father said as he pulled up near the gymnasium. Since Muffy's limo sat idling right outside the entrance, he had to stop several feet short of it and let them out there. "She's still let down that she couldn't be here today. I know she misses you like crazy…and business travel usually wears her out. I think they'll be just the ticket to lift her spirits until she gets home." He gave her the warm smile she always loved to see. "Now, I'll be back here at six to pick you two up. Call me if you want to come home sooner, okay? Got your phone, George?"

"It's in my pocket, Mr. Walters," said George.

Fern had her phone with her, too, only it was held snugly in place against her outer thigh after she had tucked it into one of the legs of the thick gray leggings she wore under her dress.

"Great," her father said. "Looks like we're all set. Love you, Fernie. Have a blast, and I'll see you guys later!"

As Fern and George approached the gym, the first thing that caught her eye was the decorated entrance. One set of double doors was propped wide open and covered with orange butcher paper, heavily embellished with golden spray-on glitter. The entire door frame was draped in swagging garland comprised of fall leaves in various shades of yellow, brown, orange, and red, and the strands were studded with twinkling white fairy lights. It looked nice now, but Fern imagined it would look even better after sunset. She reminded herself to give it another look on her way home this evening. Next was Coach Sorrell, manning a podium that had been set up next to the left door. The podium had received the same butcher paper treatment as the doors, and a small mound of real pumpkins in many shapes and sizes were placed in a semi-circle around its base. Emblazoned on the podium was the word "TICKETS" in glittery black letters. Coach Sorrell was dressed in black, of course, in a cold shoulder dress with flared sleeves over sheer black tights and high-heeled ankle boots. The last thing that caught Fern's eye was Sue Ellen and Arthur, walking side by side and approaching the gym from the opposite direction. Arthur wore a dark suit and tie, and he walked stiffly as if he were uncomfortable to be in such attire. His eyes were wide and his mouth was a line. Sue Ellen, however, moved at ease in her light and flowing dress in a deep shade of red reminiscent of the leaves on the garland. She held her chin up, looking happy and content. They handed Coach Sorrell their tickets, and they each gave Fern and George a wave before walking into the gym, though Arthur's wave was short and limp while Sue Ellen's was full of cheer and vigor.

"Why, if it isn't Miss Marian and Marcellus," Coach Sorrell said when Fern and George reached the podium, calling them by the names of their respective Music Man characters. "You guys look great. Fern, your dress… It really suits you."

As Fern handed over her ticket, she searched for signs of insincerity or even sarcasm, but it was hard to find them on Coach Sorrell's face. But then again, Coach Sorrell taught drama, so perhaps she was good at keeping her true feelings hidden.

"Um, thanks, Coach Sorrell…" Fern said, and they, too, walked through the door. "That was weird…" she mumbled as she and George took their first steps into the gym's long vestibule that doubled as MCM's sports hall of fame, its walls covered with framed team photographs, key victories caught on camera, and Athlete of the Year pictures spanning multiple decades.

"I agree with Coach," George said, sounding timid. "You really do look…spiffy."

"Good one," she said. "Did Coach give you a cue to back her up?"

"No, I mean it. And I don't think your dress is hideous at all." His eyes, now bruise free, looked earnest, but that was George. Being earnest and nice were some of the things at which he excelled. He persisted. "Why do you think that?"

"Oh, I don't know…" she said, raising her voice slightly to talk above the song "Just Dance", which was loud enough to filter into the vestibule through another set of open doors at its end. She had no time to discuss style choices with George; she needed more info, and she needed it as soon as she could get it. "Coach Sorrell is one of the chaperones, I take it?"

"Yeah," he said. "We've got her up front, a chaperone on the inside of the gym entrance, one at the back of the gym, two on each side…and Brooks and MacMillan are the roamers."

"Two roamers?"

That was news. Fern thought only Principal Brooks would be patrolling the halls during the dance.

"Principal Brooks will oversee the halls, like always," George said, "and Vice Principal MacMillan will roam the gym to monitor the DJ and spot any bad behavior stationary chaperones might not notice."

Good to know.

That meant she would not have to alter her corridor plans, not unless she had a run-in with Brooks, but she should probably put her plan into action when MacMillan's back was turned. As well, identifying the remaining chaperones and their positions probably would not go amiss. Fern kept her eyes peeled as she and George walked into the gym. She did not have to search far to spy the first chaperone. Just right of the entrance stood Mr. Baxter, who looked quite different dressed in a suit, sandy-beige and accessorized with a tie thinly striped with azure and blueberry blues. His jacket bunched and flared where he had shoved both hands into his pockets, likely because he had not known what to do with them as he stood there looking benign and uncertain. Fern realized this may well be the first school event in which Mr. Baxter had ever participated. And she felt it. It was somewhat odd to see him around school rather than Mrs. Baxter. He withdrew one hand to wave at Fern when he saw her, smiling, and Fern returned it as she and George carried on. Mr. Baxter remembered her as "The Fern". That reminded her of something else, not that she cared all that much to see it.

To see them.

After a quick scan of the crowd, Fern had not been able to locate Luster. Perhaps they had not yet arrived. Ladonna had been missing from rehearsal yesterday evening, and Fern had neither known nor cared where she was. She had simply enjoyed her absence. If she could make it out of the gym before Luster showed up, that would be excellent. Of course, she would be subjected to all sorts of revolting behavior from the couple once she returned from Racoon Hill, but she would take her wins where she could get them in a predicament this awful.

Another noted absence was that of Muffy. Fern figured she would be easy to spot since she would be donning the purple "Lola" dress she had talked up so much, but she was nowhere in the crowd. And that was another odd thing. The crowd was just that, a crowd of students milling about and standing around in clusters, not dancing despite the song coming through the speakers, commanding them to do so. Everyone looked uncertain as to what they should be doing, and there was a palpable nervous tension in the air. Prom this was not; it was more like a fancy, awkward, upper-grade recess on a rainy day. Among the crowd was Binky, dressed, to Fern's surprise, in a sharp deep-blue three-piece and bow tie. Binky tugged at his collar with one finger, looking anxious and annoyed that no-one was dancing, that the famous Autumn Ball was amounting to this after all the committee's hard work.

Ugh, never mind all this! she told herself. You've got a mission to carry out. So far, she only knew about Coach Sorrell and Mr. Baxter. Two down, five to go. Time to finish playing Find the Chaperone…

"So…do you want to dance?"

Fern looked to George, who stared back at her expectantly. She needed to get out of here. How could she turn him down gently and make progress in her plan?

"Um…"

"Oh my gosh, Fern!" came a voice. It belonged to Jenna. Before Fern knew it, Jenna had appeared in front of her and George, wearing a grass-green dress. Maria was at her side, looking lovely and sweet in a pink dress the shade of bubble gum.

"What?" said Fern, startled by the sudden outburst.

"Your dress!" said Jenna. "From the way you hated on it, I was expecting a clown costume, but…too cuh-yoot, girl!"

"Really?"

"I like it, t-too," said Maria, giving Fern a thumbs-up.

"Eh…thanks… I like your dresses. They're very pretty."

"Where'd you get it?"

"My dress? Um, off some lady named Mabel, I think?"

Jenna and Maria shared a baffled look. Before wandering off, Jenna said, "Well, you guys have fun, or try to, at least!"

I intend to, Fern thought, then she remembered George's question. He was still looking at her for an answer.

"Why don't we have some punch first?" she said. She had been trying to stall, but as luck would have it, both Principal Brooks and Vice Principal MacMillan were standing at the refreshment table, just past the DJ booth, talking loudly. Four down. And if she could get close enough, perhaps she could gather more info.

"Yeah, um, punch is fine," George called out as he followed her to the table, trying to keep up with her hurried pace. Once she made it to the punch station, Fern picked up a small and clear plastic cup to make herself a drink. She was not interested in drinking anything, but she had to keep up the act if she wanted to get close to Brooks.

"Oh, hey—why don't you let me?" said George, motioning for her cup, pretending to do the gentlemanly thing. He was really dedicated to playing the part of her companion. Once she left him, he could be free to do whatever he wanted for a while.

Fern handed her cup to George, and he held it under one of the punch fountain's streams. The so-called "Golden Punch" was not really all that golden but rather a pale and cloudy yellow, like pineapple juice.

"Here you go," he said with a smile, and Fern thanked him.

It tasted a lot like pineapple juice, too, married with other flavors she could not quite decode at the moment. It was not a very autumn-like beverage, but it was tasty, easy to drink, and refreshingly cold in this stuffy gym. George made a pleased "Mmm…" noise as he sipped from his cup, and Fern turned from him, still trying to get closer to Brooks. "Hey, are those pinwheels?" she said, walking over toward the station filled with an assortment of snacks. Again, George followed. She grabbed a pinwheel sandwich, not caring about the ingredients that comprised it, and began inching toward Brooks and MacMillan, their loud voices growing clearer with every step, as she thought of a conversation she could strike up that would keep George busy and allow her to listen in. She decided to focus on the ball decorations, which she had to admit were pretty impressive. A few dozen wooden tree cut-outs were placed at the far end of the gym, forming a mock grove, and except for the apple trees, whose branches were filled with red fruit, all were painted to bear the changing colors of fall. The light in the gym was dimmer than usual. Only half of the overheads had been turned on, allowing for the soft glow of the golden-yellow lights that had been strategically placed behind the grove to shine through the trees' fake limbs, providing the effect of a setting sun. In the center of it all hung a banner:

MILL CREEK MIDDLE SCHOOL

AUTUMN BALL

2009

"You were absolutely right," she said to George. "The decorations are great. I especially like the apple trees. I couldn't imagine this set without the small touches of bright red to pop among the other colors. It was a good idea."

"You really think so?" he said happily. "I mean, I wanted to include a half dozen more, but it wasn't in the budget, and we wouldn't have had enough time to paint everything anyway. We made do, though, I guess. I told Sue Ellen that…"

As George prattled on about the decorations, Fern continued to look at him, only she was zeroing in on the voices of Principal Brooks and Vice Principal MacMillan.

"Well, this is certainly a lively bunch," Vice Principal MacMillan, a paunchy moose man in his forties, called over the music with dry sarcasm. He wore a suit today, just as he did every school day, but it would seem he had decided to really cut loose for the Autumn Ball and leave his tie at home. "I'd congratulate you on your security detail, Miriam, but given the enthusiasm we're seeing from this lot, I'm not sure you're going to need it. I didn't think anyone could beat last year's class, but here we are."

"Don't be so sure, Stan," said Brooks to her vice. "I've been doing this for quite some time, and things can go from humdrum to wild in a heartbeat. Sure, they are quiet now, but you never can be too safe. That's why I have four points covered in this gym. That's why you and I need to stick to the schedule and make our rounds, starting in…about five minutes? Just mill around and try to be inconspicuous. I plan on starting at the school entrance in the main corridor myself. It all circles back around. I can get a good look at the branch hallways that way. Then I can start the circuit all over again. Call me if there's an issue. Who knows…? If we're lucky, perhaps things will remain this boring."

Four points… Fern thought as she pretended to nod at George's anecdote. If Mr. Baxter was posted at the front of the gym, then someone was likely posted at the back of the gym as well as on either side. In her periphery, she could see Mr. Porter standing near the fake grove. Five down. On the side directly across from them stood Mrs. Barnes in a navy blue dress. Six. She briefly turned her head left and spied Jenna's mom on their side, not far beyond the refreshment stand. Seven. And five minutes until Brooks and MacMillan begin the hunt. It was time to act.

"That was such a good call," said Fern, having no clue what George had just said, but interrupting him all the same. "Walk with me?" She stuffed the pinwheel in her mouth and chewed furiously as she left the stand with George in her wake until they were out among the crowd and away from Brooks and MacMillan before she broke it to him. "Listen, George… I know this is going to sound incredibly, laughably strange, but I have to leave for a while."

"Leave?" George asked, looking dumbfounded. "You mean, as in, leave the ball? The school?"

She nodded.

George blinked. "But why? We just got here."

"There's a thing I really need to do, and right now is the only time I can do it. But my mom made me come here today, so I'm sort of struggling to do both things. Don't you hate it when you're in a bind like that?"

George thought for a moment. "Is the thing you've got to do something I can help you with? Maybe I could come along."

"No! Uh, I mean, no, thank you. It's nice of you to offer, but this really is the sort of thing I need to do on my own. I'll be back soon. I'll only need half an hour, forty-five minutes, tops. If you really want to help me, don't blow my cover, okay? If one of the chaperones asks, tell them I went home."

"Won't they know that when you walk out of here?"

"I'm not really walking out—more like sneaking out. And sneaking back in."

George looked confused, concerned. "Fern… Are you sure this is going to be okay?"

"Positive. I wouldn't panic if I were you, not until after dark." She had meant it as a joke, but George had not taken it that way. His eyes grew fearful. "I'm only kidding! Seriously, George, I'll be back before you know it. Just try not to have too much fun without me. Oh, and save a dance for me. Please?"

George's expression brightened at this. "Well…okay," he said. "Good luck with whatever it is."

With that, Fern left George behind, psyching herself up for the mission ahead of her.

The limo continued to idle in front of the MCM gymnasium.

"Muffy, we've been sitting out here for nearly fifteen minutes," said Buster after draining what remained of his Perrier. "Are we going in or not?"

"Yeah…" Muffy said, watching through her tinted window as student after student filed into the gym. "In just a second…"

"What are you waiting for?"

"I'm waiting for a break in the line. That way I don't have to field any awkward questions until it's absolutely necessary."

Buster shook his head, and Muffy could not believe it. After pulling this stupid stunt with the t-shirt, he actually had the nerve to be annoyed with her? She had half a mind to make him accompany her until the ball was over and not pay him. Buster peered through the window himself and watched quietly for a few seconds.

"Okay, he said, "line's gone. You ready now?"

No, but let's do this…

Fern entered the girls room that attached to the gymnasium, thankful that it was empty. As soon as the door swung shut behind her, she knew she had to move quickly, starting now until she made it back to this very spot. Thirty minutes was not a lot of time, and neither was forty-five. She needed to exit the bathroom before another girl or even a whole group of them wandered in and saw her.

The first thing Fern did was remove her flats. She needed to be silent as she wandered down the corridors. She held onto the shoes, however, for they were a part of her act. Fern had gone the extra mile and added Band-Aids to various parts of her feet where blisters might occur. She wanted to be able to play the part should Principal Brooks catch her and inquire as to why she was wandering the hallways barefoot.

"Oh, that? As you can see, these shoes really do a number on my feet. The price we pay for fashion… I'm sure you can relate, Principal Brooks."

She had prepared excuses for a number of scenarios in which she might be caught. What if it happened while in 200 hall?

"Sorry, Principal Brooks. I remembered I left my science text in my locker. I was hoping Mr. Baxter could hold it for me at the gym entrance until I go home this evening. I'd hate not to be able to finish my homework."

If she got caught while walking to the auditorium?

"Sorry, Principal Brooks. I forgot my boots backstage on Thursday, and I need them for my hike with Jenna tomorrow. She's really looking forward to it, and I'd hate to disappoint her."

What was the worst Principal Brooks could do, tell her she could not retrieve those items and force her to go back to the gym? Sure, Principal Brooks may be on her guard, expecting all hell to break loose at any moment, but Fern Walters was one of the good kids. Fern Walters had no record of bad behavior. Sometimes it paid to be the good kid, in very unexpected ways. She would take her chances. She doubted she would get caught anyway.

Fern wiggled her toes, feeling the cold tiles of the bathroom floor, mostly gray with an occasional royal blue or gold tile scattered here and there, under her feet. She approached the door that led to 200 hall. This particular bathroom had dual entrances from both the gym and the school on either side, which gave Fern an easy shortcut to the auditorium. She slowly pushed the door outward, cracking it slightly, and she listened carefully before pushing it even more. She stuck her head out first and gave a quick glance from left to right, then out came her torso as she clung to the door frame and held her breath, straining her ears for the sound of footsteps approaching or retreating, trying to discern whether anyone was headed her way or moving away from her. The hall seemed silent, but Fern could still hear muffled, thudding music coming from the DJ booth in the gym; she barely made out the lyrics of "Bulletproof" by La Roux. She stepped out into 200 hall, listened again, and when she heard nothing, she padded her way down toward the branch leading to the auditorium. It was about ten to fifteen feet away and to the left. She hurried, making little noise save for the soft rustling of her dress. Fern reached the mouth of the branch, then she turned and headed toward the auditorium.

The fluorescents were not on at all in this hall, just an emergency light at the end, which may as well have been a spotlight shining on the set of doors leading into the auditorium. Fern dashed along, her feet pattering softly, growing sweaty from nerves. Even barefoot, she was a fast sprinter. She stopped gracefully in front of the doors, taking a deep breath before trying the handle. It opened successfully, just as she had hoped it would. She had tried the handle before anyone else had at the beginning of last Saturday's rehearsal, and it had opened then without a hitch. Had it not opened today, she might have been able to access the backstage area via an alternate route, but it would have meant spending far more time in 200 hall, increasing her risk of being caught by Brooks. Fern stepped into the pitch-black auditorium and closed the door, and not a moment too soon, for clacking footsteps were approaching. Fern stepped away from the long and narrow windows of the double doors and watched silently until she saw Principal Brooks pass by the mouth of the branch hallway, looking like a petite and well-dressed officer on foot patrol, her spine rigid and her strides purposeful. She might have cut a glance in the auditorium's direction out of the corner of her eye. Fern was not sure. But if she had, she had not noticed anything, for she kept on walking without missing a beat.

"Yes," Fern whispered. "Now I need a change of clothes…"

She turned and sprinted for the stage but stopped herself as quickly as she had begun. The aisle had been clear yesterday, but she could not know that it was clear right now. She could barely see anything. She tried to hurry while still being cautious. The last thing she needed was to crash into something or fall and break one of her bones. It would cut into her time, but she needed to be careful. She could hurry once she made it out of the school and into the broad open daylight. Fern knew the stage was close. She began feeling around and walking slowly until she found the edge of the stage. She inched to her right until her foot bumped into the stair access. Proceeding carefully as she ascended, she counted all five of them, step by step, making sure she did not miss one and trip. She made it onto the stage and felt her way toward the edge of the curtain. Once there, she slipped behind it and lifted her skirt with her free hand. Her phone was slipping a little, but it had managed to hold this far. She retrieved it from her leggings and hastily used the flashlight function to light her way to her dressing room. She flipped the light switch as soon as the door had closed, squinting hard against the flood of light assaulting her eyes. She checked the time on her phone, blinking rapidly while she recovered. Getting to this point had taken her roughly three minutes. Time to speed things up.

Fern unceremoniously dropped her shoes and tossed her phone onto the loveseat. As she began undressing, she briefly regarded herself in the full-length mirror attached to the door. All in all, the dress was kind of nice. Under different circumstances, she might have even found it lovely. Oh, well, it was about to obtain all sorts of wrinkles. She hiked up the straps of her dress so she could reach over her shoulder and push the zipper down just enough to give herself a head start. She let the dress fall, then she reached behind with her right hand, just able to pinch the zipper and pull it halfway down. After wriggling her arms out of the straps, she pushed the bodice down. The dress slid down the rest of the way, pooling in a ring of fabric around her feet. Fern was free of the Magenta Menace, and now she was clad only in the leggings and fuchsia camisole she had worn underneath it. She stepped out of the ring and took the length of ribbon from her makeup table, then she threaded the ribbon through the eyelet of the zipper pull, formed one big loop and knotted it. When she made it back, it would be a lot easier to zip herself back inside her dress. All she would have to do is take hold of the long ribbon and pull the zipper up. Easy. Then she would sever the ribbon with the scissors she had also placed atop her makeup table. Fern crossed the room to the cubby where she had left her clothes and dressed as quickly as she could, pulling on the black thermal, her denim jacket and fingerless gloves. She wrapped the thin scarf around her neck and donned her socks and hiking boots.

Now for the tools of the trade. Fern climbed onto the arm of the loveseat then onto her makeup table. She pushed up the ceiling tile until she could hook a finger around the strap of her gray bag and pull. The bag landed in her arms with a soft plop! Fern hopped down with a controlled landing that made little sound. She opened her bag and peered inside. There was just one more thing, the final accessory her escape outfit needed. There it sat, small and green, among her lock pick kit, flashlight, and the Danger Girl notebook she had forgotten to leave behind in her bedroom. She withdrew Jenna's GymMaster from her bag. Fern had been the one responsible for Jenna losing her interval timer, having lifted it from her gym bag Thursday during change-out for PE. She had pocketed the timer and then played along during the resulting hullaballoo, going as far as offering to help Jenna report the item missing to the office. It was not exactly stealing, Fern had reasoned. After using it today, she would find a way to slip it back into Jenna's bag, just as easily as she had removed it. Jenna would likely feel as if she were losing her mind once she found it, especially since she had turned the bag inside out in search of the timer, but she would be too happy to have the device back in her possession to care very much. It would come in useful this evening. She needed to keep track of time, to ensure that she would not stay away from MCM for too long, but it might be too inconvenient to keep looking at her phone or even at a watch, not to mention a watch was a more difficult accessory to put on and take off. Fern clipped the GymMaster to her jacket a couple of inches underneath its collar, smiling at herself for having been so successful, so clever. She placed her phone inside her bag, which she shouldered, crossbody-style, and she turned off her dressing room light before exiting. She was ready. She could make her way to the band room.

Fern took the short route, which cut through the backstage and accessed the small hallway that led past Coach Sorrell's office and the office of the music director, into the hallway that led to the band room. This corridor also connected to one of the branching halls on the patrol path for Principal Brooks. She could pass by at any minute. Fern reached into her bag, unzipped her lock pick kit, and fumbled for the familiar shape of two particular tools. She found the tools she would need and held them in her hand at the ready. Fern reached the mouth in time to hear the same clacking footsteps in the distance and halted. She chanced a peek in time to catch a flash of heel as Principal Brooks just passed the intersection, then she gave it some time.

"One thousand one…" she breathed. "One thousand two… One thousand three… Right. Okay…"

She exited the connecting hall and hurried over to the band room door. This one was locked, but it should be a cinch. She knelt down, eyes level with the lock, and inserted the first tool. As soon as she was satisfied that it was in properly, she wiggled in the tool featuring several tiny crooks to go along with it. Once she was sure she had done the job correctly, Fern tried the handle, turning it first this way and then that way, before turning the handle in earnest. She had done it; she had actually picked a lock on school property.

Wow…

Fern entered the band room and locked the door behind her. She wanted to leave it pretty much as she had found it, and she did not want anyone to catch her in here. There was no need to turn on a light. Plenty of light streamed through the multiple windows running midway along the back wall. Fern looked through them, and she could see the edge of the woods, exactly where she was headed next. The band room was partially subterranean, and if one were to climb through one of the windows, the ground below it was less than a two-foot drop. Standing on the floor of the band room, Fern was not tall enough to reach one of the windows, but she was about to even things up. She climbed a couple of steps to the raised platform that sat directly under the windows, then she slid a chair over a few inches until it was positioned squarely underneath a window she was certain would open. She had been in this room last year, near the end of seventh grade, watching Sue Ellen rehearse for a saxophone recital while the air conditioning was broken. Fern hoisted herself up onto the windowsill, swung her legs around until they dangled over the edge, then allowed the weight of them to pull her to the ground, where she landed in a crouch. She stood and turned, closing the window until it was shut all the way but not locked. She would be able to slide her fingertips into the tiny gap, pry the window open and lift it up again when she returned. If for some reason they would not fit, her lock pick tools would.

Fern turned to face the woods, stealing herself with one gigantic calming breath. All her training had led to this. Let's see how fast you really are, Fernie, she thought, pressing the START button on Jenna's GymMaster. And then she ran, faster than she had ever run before, away from MCM, away from the Autumn Ball and Luster and her mother's insipid demands. She was flying, and with each crucial second that passed, she was drawing ever closer to Raccoon Hill.

As he watched the Autumn Ball attendees, Bo wondered how he would react when he saw Buster enter the gym with Ladonna on his arm, his girlfriend wearing the secret corsage he had made for her. He did not think he would cry, and he secretly hoped he would not, but the moment was going to be huge, and he could hardly wait for it. Bitzi would be a wreck if she were here, he thought, deciding to check in with her later to see how she was holding up. She had talked about it a lot lately, her struggle with adjusting to the idea that their little boy was not so little anymore, as if the fact that Buster was taller than his mother by almost an inch had not driven the notion home for her. She had also confessed that she wished Buster would wear something a little more appropriate to the dance, but if the school allowed it and Ladonna really got a kick out of it, she supposed there was no real harm in it, and she decided the battle would be better fought next year when homecoming came around. Bo smiled at the memory of their conversation. He continued watching the dance floor until, out of the corner of his eye, he saw Buster and Ladonna walk through the doors, only it took Bo a moment or two to process what was wrong with the picture. Buster hardly looked happy, and the girl at his side was not Ladonna Compson. She was… Bo gaped as his son passed, not bothering to look at him.

"Hey, Dad," Buster said flatly. "I'll explain later…"

Buster walked on with his date, and for the next few minutes that passed, Bo found it hard not to stare at them strictly out of curiosity. He should be manning his station, watching the crowd of young teens as they herded together out on the gym floor, barely moving and definitely not dancing, a stark contrast with the fast-paced dance-pop that played a bit too loudly. Did Bitzi know about this? Surely, she must. As if on cue, his phone chimed in his pocket with a text from his ex-wife.

How's everything going?

Bo typed out his reply.

Fine. Music is a little grating. My eye is already twitching.

He thought Bitzi might kid him a bit, but it seemed she was in no mood for jokes.

Is our son there by any chance?

Had she not seen him off?

Yeah. Why?

Is he alone?

Showed up with Ed's daughter. Muffy? What's with that?

Oh, dear.

What's wrong?

He is so incredibly dead.

To be continued…