Chapter 7
Mindless chatter flooded the corridor as the school bell clanged. The blue sky seemed a world away from the recent storms as the gentle breeze shook the trees outside. The nerd king blundered down the corridor with as much grace as a greyhound on rollerblades, looking over his shoulder to check for jocks or certain three preps. Wanting to get his homework out of the way, he fiddled with my locker, a shred of white paper catching his eye as it fluttered to the floor like a dying butterfly.
Crabblesnitch didn't listen. If we want justice, we have to do it ourselves. If you want to help, meet me at the library at four tonight. If not, please don't tell anyone about this.
B
That bastard- how bad did things have to get before the headmaster took things seriously? More importantly, what was Beatrice expecting them to do? Unless they bombed Aquaberry, little would faze the preps. In as much as helping would be noble, it wouldn't acheive much- to assume that people will stop beating us would be cruelly inaccurate. Besides, what if they hurt him like Bucky?
Like Bucky. Thinking of the boy, remembering him pale, bruised, battered and broken, any doubt in Earnest's mind evaporated like boiling water, raw fury replacing it. A perilous ocean of memories flooded into his mind; being beaten by Tad, shoved into bins, having cruel jokes played on him- memories that continued until he almost drowned in them, gulping and gasping for breath. Finally, he remembered Bucky, how tiny he looked, how frail, how out of place he looked in a hospital bed as opposed to a mortuary slab. His crime? Being out a little bit past curfew and not doing homework that wasn't his. Beatrice was completely right to be furious, especially since it was her Bucky had known the longest, her who had introduced us to him in first year, her he loved like his own family (something he had, at one point, confused with infatuation, an episode their friendship recovered from almost immediately). That was probably a more appropriate term for us than a clique- a family. Cliques seemed more like people who were expected to stay together for no other reason than similar appearance or status. The nerds, on the other hand, each knew every detail of each other's lives as though they were paintings each of them had studied for years. They all knew each other's locker combinations, birthdays, dreams, fears, thoughts and ambitions- no subject was taboo. Nothing was for show- they said what they thought, acted how they wanted, and could even forget whatever atrocity was tossed their way by superficial jocks, because there was always at least seven people who loved them regardless.
Adament, Earnest read the note one last time before pacing towards the library, knowing that Bucky would do cheer him on if he knew.
Nearly five minutes later, Earnest bounced through the door after what seemed like eternity.
"Sorry I'm late," he gushed ,flopping into the seat between Algernon and Francis. Praying that Algie had went to the toilet before he came, he leaned back, looking like a dandellion between two rocks observing the room. Radiating gratitude, Beatrice stood up, smiling at the now fully assembled table. Well, not quite fully- Bucky's regular chair remained empty.
"First of all, thanks so much for coming, guys. I knew I could count on you to help." Beatrice said, brown eyes glowing gratefully even after she put on a slightly more businesslike expression. "Anyway, judging from the lack of questions, I'm guessing you all got my note. Unfortunately, it seems that if we want to get back for Bucky, we're going to have to think of anyone got any ideas?" Immediately a few hands went up- it seems that vicious plans were becoming contagious.
"Right, we'll go clockwise. Algie?"she asked expectantly, pen in hand.
"We could throw stink bombs at the fans in Harrington House,"
"Hmm... not too bad, but only three of the preps are responsible, so if we could refrain from hurting the others, please? We don't need anyone else critical. Fatty?"
"We could inform the local paper. That would scandalise the Preps a bit."
"Right, that's a 'maybe'. Thad?"
"Why don't we get a chainsaw and-"
"Absolutely not! Cornelius?" she asked expentantly, pushing her glasses back up her nose.
"Well... perhaps we could get the Greasers to help us? They're not exactly allies, so we wouldn't need to do much, and Crabblesnitch would just put it down to clique rivalry. They're like Capulets and Montagues." Grins lit up his friends' faces at this idea, probably picturing the offending preps with bruises as bad as Bucky's.
"That's actually brilliant, Cornelius. Does anyone have any ideas or should someone speak to Johnny Vincent tomorrow?" Beatrice asked, throwing an admiring glance at Cornelius. They stayed silent, nodding in agreement like the cat ornaments you can buy with the bobbing heads.
"It's engendered, then. Now that's settled, off to the hospital."