Title: Be My Escape

Chapter: One

Rating: PG-13

Disclaimer: I own nothing. Rob Thomas, CW, and whoever else are in full rights of this amazing show. I do not own the quotes or songs. I do however own a few characters and a goldfish named House.

Summary: The story is in the future-almost 20 years-and takes place after the events of S2. Thanks for all the reviews and feedback. I am trying to get this story out of my head and in doing so, I end up writing exactly what I am thinking- grammar and spelling be damned. I should also note for the most part this story will be told in first person through the eyes of January but in order to show where the characters are 20 years later I need to do some omniscient writing. This part is short, the next part won't be and will re-introduce our old friends.

Journalism 101

"Ladies and gentlemen, we have a new student to welcome…January Grant." Miss Blenda spoke cheerily. From what "little experience" I have had with the journalism profession, very feweditors or sponsors were allowed to be happy. The news was not always a happy thing. This was my first clue that Mr. Fennel had not been kidding when he mentioned the decline of the paper. I gave her a slightly annoyed look as I stood.

Here we go… the obligatory new student welcome speech. For most of my other classes, I had been curt and snarky and simply replied- Go Yankees! However, I was facing the same group I had dis'd and dismissed at lunch. Yeah, there where a few faces I hadn't seen but for the most part it seemed the 09ers loved journalism.

"Hi. I'm January Grant and yes that is my real name. I am from New York, not that you couldn't tell by the accent and attitude. I have worked on the school paper and worked a summer job at the New York Times. I am the crime beat. I imagine that by the looks on some of your faces you don't particularly like me- and I don't particularly care. I am a firm believer in the equal opportunity offender program, so don't worry- if I haven't pissed you off yet, I will before the day is over. Go Yankees!"

Okay, like I would really say that. Yes, I can be a bit cruel- but that's where the "bit.." ends. I stood up and faced them all and replied, "Go Yankees." I then sat back down.

"Thank you Miss Grant, I think." Miss Blenda replied, unsure of what to make of me. Maybe I should have gone with my first speech. "Since we are in the middle of the issue and assignments are already given why don't you use this opportunity to shadow some of our more experienced staffers? Any volunteers?"

Cue crickets. The 09ers crossed their arms, made rude comments, or just generally ignored Miss Blenda. Even Hannah Kane, the editor, mumbled something about too busy to baby-sit. This should have perturbed me more but three hands rose just as I was readying my reply.

"We'll help." Came a strong female voice from the back. I turned and looked at the corner. There sat three very different individuals.

The girl, belonging to the voice, was sitting at a Mac. She was tall, a little husky, with brown-olive skin. Her hair fell to her shoulders, in a wavy fashion. She wore large pink hoops, an eye-brow ring, a tee shirt that read, "You're overrated." and loose khaki pants. On her nose, lay think black-rimmed glasses.

The boy sitting next to her shifting bags and books to make room for me was even more different from his friend. He was slightly pale, thick black hair that was spiked, and definitely of Asian descent, to be as PC as I possibly can. He seemed to scream computer geek-Asian nerd stereotype. He wore a t-shirt with a computer formula written all over it and jeans and worn out tennis shoes. I could see three jump drives clipped to his front pocket of his jeans.

The last of three was moving to get another chair. He was medium height, good build, and dark blue eyes. (What can I say? I'm a sucker for the eyes.) His hair was blonde, neatly cut, and he worse a mischievous grin. He was a part of the t-shirt brigade, wearing a RLV (The best band ever…) dark red shirt and jeans.

I grabbed my bag, gave Scott Kane a withering look, and sat down in the corner. "Big Yankees fans?" I asked, wondering why they volunteered.

"No, but I liked your shirt." The girl said with a smile. She pushed her hair behind her ears. "I'm Isa, as in Isabella. This is Alex, as in Alexander…" She pointed to the computer geek. "And this is Heathe, as in Heathcliffe." She laughed as she punched the blonde guy's arm. "Do people call you Jan or Jane?"

"Neither unless they want their ass kicked. But I'll go along with game, Jane is fine." I replied. No one ever shortened my name; I was serious about the butt-whooping. January was more than my name, it was the blood line to my parents. They didn't give me birth but they did give me a name and ever since I discovered the adoption, I wore the name proudly. So, I'm not sure why I let three people I didn't know begin calling me Jane other than deep down it would be nice to belong to group, a group that I could latch onto for the next 2 years 354 days 25 minutes and 32 seconds.

"Listen, here's how this newspaper works. The Brat Pack gets the choice front page fluff pieces and the sports section. Tamara Marley, 09er groupie extraordinaire gets the arts and drama pieces. This is fine with us. Isa takes care of the music. Alex is our layout man. And I am the resident photographer. When it's all said and done, only Ms. Kane, actually helps make the paper readable; excludin' the three of us." Heathe quipped as he pulled out his camera.

While I should have been paying attention to the underground organization of the paper, I was enthralled with Heathe's accent. He was not from California and not the surfer boy image I had imagined. His accent was laced with Southern Comfort. How did a guy from Dixie end up in the land of 90210? I forced myself to nod that I heard him and understood. There was a mild uncomfortable pause when I realized they were waiting for me to say something.

"Oh, you want to know about me?"

"That would be swell." Isa jabbed sarcastically.

"I'll state the obvious, first. From New York City where I attended St. Andrew's Prep. Dad is a judge, was the District Attorney. Mom is a housewife, the not so desperate kind. Two younger brothers- Fritz and Brock. The not so obvious: I work the crime beat. The harder the case, the more intrigued and intense I get. My grandmother was a reporter for the Times working the crime section. She was good and I have a chair waiting for me in the Times office and place ready for me to fill her shoes. I love alternative music, I drive a Hummer, and I will always wear my pink sneakers. Oh and one more thing, I live in the 09 district." Crap! Why did I add that last part? Did sound like I was bragging or did sound like I believed I was living in hell- which was I had meant. I looked at their faces and Alex sighed and gave a half-grin.

"You may live in the 09 code but I doubt you live by it. We are the lower middle class and we aspire to nothing more than to getting out of town and past this age old caste system. Me, I am the next Bill Gates. My ultimate goal is to turn Kane Software into parking garage."

I couldn't help but laugh and breathe a sigh of relief. Alex was right. This, where I was, was where I belonged. Time to change subjects- the whole "right/wrong side of the tracks" shtick was tired or uncomfortable- both, really.

"I can say this- you're not going to have trouble working crimes and mysteries here. Neptune draws the crazy people like a full moon. Last month, Lara Turnbow, a junior cheerleader at Neptune's rival school, Pan went missing. There was no note. No car. Nothing left behind, except the necklace Lara's mom gave her. Three days later, Michelle Overpere, a sophomore cheerleader here at Neptune also went missing. Again, no note, no car, nothing left except another piece of jewelry: her boyfriend's class ring. At first, they thought maybe it was just two runaways. The following week, Kami and Kara Peterson, twin sisters and also cheerleaders here at Neptune vanished. Same M.O. as the first two missing girls. One more girl, another cheerleader from Pan, has gone missing. Four girls gone, all cheerleaders and all leaving behind one piece of jewelry." Isa told the story in hushed tones as she played with the mouse on the computer screen which she never tore her eyes from.

"What have the police done?"

"Besides try'n to calm over-anxious parents and work in conjunction with Pan's department, they've found very little. My mom is tak'n it in the gut over this." Heathe answered.

"Your mom?"

"My mom's the local sheriff. No PD here, just sheriff's department. Last week, the C.B.I. finally stepped in but you know the statistics, I imagine."

"72 hours and no clue and possible kidnapping implied---all four are dead." I did know the statistics. My first piece for our paper, my first real take on writing about crime had been the Ellis Kidnappings. A whole family, just outside the city, had disappeared. Their oldest daughter went to St. Andrew's Academy, the elementary school of St. Andrew's Prep. I used old contacts my grandparents had and a few I had made thanks to my dad's position. I followed every lead the police had and I had been there the day they found the bodies of the family on the shores of Ellis Island. It had been 74 hours after their kidnapping. My dad found out I had been at the crime scene courtesy of my uncle, who worked for the NYPD and my police scanner, and flipped. He took my scanner away and hit my uncle in the jaw. It was the only time I had seen him angry or concerned about me. But I digress… I wrote the article up and continued it in installments as they prosecuted the man charged for the murder. He had been arrested driving their mini-van in New Jersey. It was a case of a car-jacking gone horribly wrong. The piece earned me my first journalism award and my summer job and the assurance I was going to be a crime reporter.

"Newspaper here covering any of it?"

"Not really. They don't like to get their hands dirty and I mean, talk to the hired help." Isa seethed. "Listen, Kami, Kara and Shell, while being cheerers of the jocks, live in the wrong zip code. Shell lives next to me and her parents are hysterical. Kami and Kara are Alex's cousins and no one here in this town with the dollars to fund the search parties is stepping up. Mr. Kane and Mrs. Casablancas have given to the cause but two out too many doesn't say much for Neptune."

"Okay, let's say Iwrite the case, I need sources."

"I'll get you an interview with my mom. Just be prepared for family dinner and for 100 questions about yourself." Heathe offered.

I smiled. "I'll take it. This town have any "dicks" in it working the case?"

"By "dicks" I assume you mean a P.I. and yeah. The best source would be Mars Investigations and Keith Mars runs that show."

Keith Mars? "Keith Mars? As in the Keith Mars? Author of Murder in a Small Town, Not Pictured, and The Sacrificial Lamb?"

Heathe looked at me like I was a crack addict or stalker. "Yeah, that's the one. If you read his books, you knew he was a P.I. here."

"I thought he would retire- you know, hang the hat, put out the cigar, and run off with his girl Friday."

All three of them laughed, as if I had actually said something funny. "We're sorry; it's just hard picturing Inga as a girl Friday. Inga was the receptionist at the Sheriff's department till Keith Mars swept her off her feet. She's just not exactly the girl Friday type, more like the Wednesday type." Heathe explained. "So I take it you're a fan of Keith's?"

Fan? No. Fanatic? Quite possibly. "Groupie would be more like it. I read Murder in a Small Town when I was seven. After that I went and Googled everything I could about the Lily Kane murder case. I was fascinated that he managed to solve the very case that put him out of office. I'm a sucker for the underdog."

"He's not quite the underdog he once was. He has another P.I. working for him, Eli Navarro. Eli or Weevil, was a part of the PCH Biker Gang."

"Yeah…I remember. The PCHwere first accused of involvement in the bus crash and later on in Sheriff Lamb's murder. Weevil Navarro was also accused of murdering Lily Kane. Keith Mars' daughter managed to give him an alibi and free him."

I noticed a twinge in Alex's face at the end of my statement. What would make a sweet-deep computer-geek irk at the mention of Keith Mars' daughter? From what I knew and had read, she was close friends with Lily Kane and dating Lily's brother Duncan- another suspect in the case. Later on, his daughter's name had been written on the hand of one of the men responsible for the Neptune High Bus Crash. Rumor also stated that she faced down the mastermind behind the Crash and the murder of the pervert-mayor. I had two choices I could go ahead and ask Alex what was with the twitch or wait it out…

The bell rung giving me my answer. I picked-up my bag and threw my notebook into it. I began to head out of class, when a hand grabbed my arm. Before I could jerk it away I looked up to see Scott Kane's hand.

"Listen, I overheard you talking about the Cheerleader Kidnappings. I also heard you're going to Mars Investigations for leads. Just remember journalism is not about taking sides, but presenting all sides of the truth." His voice was deep and charged.

I looked straight at him. What was with the Ethics 101? Why did he care? "Thank you Senator McCarthy, but I'll stick with the truth no matter what side it takes. Good night, and good luck." And with that I walked out the door to Coach Casablacas health class.