Disclaimer: Yeah. The Phantom of the Opera is not mine. Never was, never will be. Sadly.

Chapter Eight

-The Hayfield Times- Volume 21, Special Report. November 2, 2005

Missing Student Returns!

by Sam Marjon

The recently kidnapped Christine Daae, tenth grade student and reporter for the Hayfield Times, has suddenly and unexpectedly been returned to the Journalism classroom.

Daae was present in school for the first half of the day that she disappeared. She was last seen by popular sophomore quarterback Raoul Chagny, who insisted he had nothing to do with Daae's disappearance. Chagny says that he and Daae were in the Journalism classroom during lunch, and she asked him to buy her something from the cafeteria.

"I left her alone for five minutes and she disappeared," a distressed Chagny said.

However, sophomore Meg Giry, a friend of Daae's, was the one to report Daae missing. "I don't know what Raoul was thinking. He's so stupid, not telling anyone. I was so freaked out when I couldn't find Christine," Giry told the Times.

The first period Journalism class was shocked when Daae fell out of the ceiling yesterday morning. Daae seemed to be in a state of shock, but one of the first things she did upon arriving was to berate the editors, seniors Richard Firmin and Giles Andre, for not giving her a space in the upcoming edition of the school newspaper. Apparently, not even being kidnapped will keep this reporter from doing her job.

Daae claims to have hit her head and supposedly can't remember anything about her disappearance. A letter she delivered to Principal Lynda Spurke from the infamous Opera Ghost has made school security officials very wary about the safety of the school. The heightened security policy has not been dropped as Hayfield administrators continue to investigate the matter of the Opera Ghost.

Christine drummed her fingers on her desk, frowning at the screen saver on her computer. Writer's Block was a truly terrible thing. If only she actually had writer's block, instead of the terrible dilemma of not even having something to write about.

Deciding to procrastinate a bit, she got up and walked over to Meg's cubicle.

"Hey, Meg," she said cheerfully. "Whatcha doing?"

Meg didn't look up from her computer screen. "Writing, like you should be doing," she replied irritably.

"Want to go get something to eat?" Christine asked hopefully. "The lunch ladies never fail to sell us something between classes, even if it's against the rules."

Meg looked up at her with a reprimanding look in her eyes. "Christine, I've seen this attitude before. You're procrastinating, and it only leads to severe crisis. Go get to work." She turned back to her computer.

Christine pouted. "Aw, Meg…"

"Scram!"

As she scowled and turned to leave, Christine noticed Meg's purse hanging on a hook by the doorway. A quick look told her Meg was still absorbed with her work. Christine plunged her hand into the depths of Meg's purse and rummaged around until her fingers closed on a cell phone. Grinning evilly, she swiped it and replaced it with her own phone, thinking that she might call it later and force Meg to come visit to get her beloved electronic back.

Sticking the camera phone into her hoodie pocket, Christine strolled back to her cubicle, whistling merrily. Then she sat at her desk for another ten minutes, staring at her screen saver again. She started debating whether or not to pull off her cell phone prank, wondering if Meg would kill her. Meg was quite possessive of her phone.

The telephone on her desk rang. Christine quickly snatched it up. "Hayfield Times, this is Christine speaking."

"Hey, girl! Guess who it is!"

Christine dropped the telephone, gasping. She grabbed it off the floor. "Well, it had better not be Meg playing a trick on me. Please say you're not Meg!"

"Whoever Meg is, nope."

Christine squealed like the fangirl she was. "Bee Diddy! I can't believe you're calling me!"

Bee chuckled. "Don't sound so surprised. How's it going?"

"As well as it could be going when I've supposedly just gotten back from being kidnapped and have an upcoming deadline with nothing to write about," Christine said wryly, playing the part of the clueless victim.

"Nothing to write about. What a crime for a writer," Bee sighed. "It's like one of those days when I'm trying to write a song, but no lyrics spring to my fingertips."

"You write your own lyrics?" Christine gawked. "No way."

"Way." Bee insisted.

"That is so cool!" Christine giggled. "I never knew that all your songs were Bee Diddy originals."

"Well, they are. All my songs come from something I've felt or experienced in my life," Bee told her. "I started writing in middle school, seventh grade to be exact. The ideas started spinning when my friend took some class, Creative Writing, I think… She had to write a song, and even though it was pretty dorky, it sparked my imagination."

"That is so awesome!" Christine gushed. "Not just a pretty face or a pretty voice… Bee Diddy even writes her own lyrics. If only I could be like-"

"Daae! If you're not doing legitimate journalism work, hang up the phone!" Sandy shouted over the top of Christine's cubicle. "We can't afford to pay for all your ditzy conversations!"

Christine glared at her. "Go join the Journalism Club, Sandy." She turned her attention back to the phone. "Bee, I gotta go. One of the editors is being a complete biotch."

Sandy stomped away.

"Hey, why don't you come see me?" Bee sounded very excited all of a sudden.

"Um, I'm not exactly allowed to leave the campus," Christine told her, biting her lip.

"We can work around that," Bee said briskly. "I'm doing absolutely nothing because the concert thingy I was supposed to do today got cancelled. Tell me, all-knowing journalist, are there any trailers open during first period?"

Christine rolled her chair to the other side of the cubicle and picked a thick reference binder off of a shelf. She skipped over the section of student schedules and flipped through the various schedules of all the teachers in the school. "Well, Mrs. Flipski has first period off. I got an A on her grammar test yesterday, so I'm sure I can work out something…"

Fifteen minutes later, Christine was walking across the misty school grounds, expertly dodging a bulldozer that rumbled by. She approached Mrs. Flipski's trailer, but found her way was barred by a huge, hefty hunk of a guy, with enormous, well-muscled arms that were covered with black hair. The hair on his head, however, was showing obvious signs of thinning.

"Excuse me, but I'm here to see Bee Diddy," Christine said tentatively, craning her head back to look the man in the eye.

The man grunted. "No press allowed."

Christine frowned. "I'm not with the press. I'm just here as a…" She looked down and saw that her press pass was sticking out of her hoodie pocket, just enough so that the word "PRESS" could be seen. "Ah."

Christine looked up at the enormous man, plastering a huge grin across her face. "You see, I'm only carrying my press pass so I can get out of class. I'm not doing an article on Bee. Look, here's my reporter's notebook. I've got nothing in there about her."

She handed the man her notebook to inspect, but he ripped the entire thing in half and tossed it away. "You're pitiful, paparazzi wannabe."

Christine stared in horror at the sheets of paper drifting to the ground. "That was my notebook! It cost me seven dollars!"

The man scowled. "Tough. Buy a new one."

Christine glared up at him. "Well, maybe I don't have seven dollars to spare! Maybe money's a little tight at home. Maybe I had seven dollars but had to use it to pay for lunch. Exactly who do you think you are, Mister?"

The man leaned down close to her, scowling angrily. She could feel his garlic-tinted breath on her face. "Matthew Blackout, Ace Bodyguard of International Superstar Bee Diddy. Have you ever tasted a knuckle sandwich?"

Christine stepped back, eyes wide. "Um…no."

Matthew cracked his knuckles. "Well, if you don't back off right now, you're going to taste the best one this side of Pittsburgh."

The hefty bodyguard towered over the frightened reporter. Christine shook in her shoes, mouthing wordlessly. Then she swallowed and tried to look defiant. When in doubt, refer to the law.

"Excuse me, but you aren't allowed to threaten me like that. I'm guaranteed a safe learning environment, and you are infringing my rights. I could report you to the school administration and get your Ace Bodyguard ass fired!" Feeling bold, she added, "What now, Matty? Huh?" She smirked rebelliously at him.

Matthew's eyes narrowed, and a low growling sound emitted from his throat. Christine took a step back, having just learned a very important life lesson: Unless you want your limbs torn off of your body, don't go insulting an angry bodyguard.

Roaring loudly, Matthew lunged forward. Christine screamed and ran for her life, circling around the trailer. "Help! Somebody help me! Stranger danger! Fire! Murder! Rape! Tsunami!" She ran out of emergencies to scream, and so resorted to shrieking wordlessly. Matthew appeared around the other side of the trailer and charged toward her. Christine skidded to a halt and ran around the other way. "Help me!"

She dared to look back, but only to find that the enraged bodyguard was ten feet behind her and gaining ground quickly. On a desperate whim, Christine pulled Meg's cell phone out of her pocket and whipped it open, blazing through the toolbox section.

Just as Matthew was about to tackle her, Christine spun around and snapped a picture of him, the flash blasting out like lightning.

Temporarily dazed by the flash, Matthew stopped in his tracks. Christine ran ahead. "Bee! Help me!"

A pounding of feet on the pavement told her Matthew was catching up. Christine screeched and tried to run faster, circling once more around the trailer. Just as she was sure she was about to be tackled, she heard a loud thump, accompanied by a groan from Matthew. She wheeled around to see the ace bodyguard sprawled on the ground and a black boot disappearing under the trailer. Not pausing to ponder this, Christine ran to the trailer door and banged on it. "Bee, let me in! Your bodyguard's gonna kill me!"

"Damn straight he is!" the bodyguard in question bellowed, running up behind her.

The door banged open. Bee Diddy peered out, looking alarmed, and then rolled her eyes. "For crying out loud… Matthew! Heel!"

The bodyguard froze, expression turning sour.

Bee's eyes flashed. "Matthew!" she called in a warning tone.

Matthew trudged angrily up the stairs to stand next to his employer.

Bee glared at him. "Bad boy, Matthew. Sit!"

Rolling his eyes, Matthew plopped down onto the damp wood stairs. He looked quite irritated with the pop star's degrading attitude.

"Stay," Bee ordered. "Come on in, Christine."

Christine tiptoed past the fuming Matthew and entered the trailer.

Bee slammed the door and sat down on a desk with an apologetic grin on her face. "Sorry about him," she said, jerking her head toward the door. "Matthew takes his job a little too seriously. He does come in handy, though."

"Like when?"

Bee thought about this. "Like…when he has to hold back a multitude of screaming fans, or when he has to beat someone up because they tried to steal my hat to hawk off on EBay. I also find him extremely useful when my dorky friend won't answer her phone, email, or IM."

Christine stared at her. "I'm not even going to ask."

Bee picked up a Starbucks cup. "So, you said you were having some writer's block issues," she said between sips of frappucino.

"Yeah," Christine sighed, making herself comfortable on a desk. "I can't find a topic to write about. It seems like there's nothing going on!"

Bee raised an eyebrow at her. "Nothing going on? You just get kidnapped by some ghost that's haunting your school and you say there's nothing going on?"

"I was trying to forget that, thanks," Christine muttered. "That would be nice, but other people already have that covered."

Bee twisted a lock of red hair around her finger. "Well…what about stuff that isn't so major? Like…renovation?"

Christine shook her head. "There's an update once a week on our website. And nobody cares."

"How about celebrity gossip? You could dig up some dirt on some of your school athletes' personal lives," Bee suggested.

"We're not supposed to do that," Christine said thoughtfully, thinking of the Hayfield Reporter's Code of Conduct she had signed upon entering the class. "And I wouldn't have enough time to dig up satisfactory dirt. Our articles are due after school today."

Bee frowned. "That's not good, is it?"

"No, it most certainly is not." Christine shook her head, a feeling of doom settling over her.

Outside the trailer, someone started shrieking very loudly in either Spanish or Italian; Christine couldn't tell which.

"What on earth…?" Bee looked out the window.

Christine looked as well. "Ah. Carlotta Guidicelli, the reigning diva of Hayfield's gallant theatre. Rehearsals must not be going so well." She chuckled as the drama teacher who was running after Carlotta got a very baffled expression on her face. Obviously she couldn't understand Italian. Or Spanish. Whichever language it was.

"Which play are they doing?" Bee asked, shaking her head at the diva.

"Rumor says it's The Sound of Music," Christine informed her. "They all must be pretty stressed, what with opening night coming up soon."

"Aha!" Bee cried, a finger shooting into the air. "There's your article. You go down there and scope out the news on the drama front! Not only will you have a mucho-interesting article, you'll advertise the production. It's brilliant!"

"That is brilliant," Christine remarked, wondering why she hadn't thought of it before. "Bee, you're a genius!"

"I know I am," Bee said smugly. "I'm also very modest, in case you hadn't noticed."

Christine's hoodie pocket started vibrating, and then a pop song started playing loudly. Bee gasped and squealed, obviously delighted. "That's one of my songs!" she giggled, starting to dance a bit.

Christine wasn't quite as happy as she pulled Meg's cell phone out of her pocket. Her feeling of dread increased as she saw the name on the caller id- Christine. She tentatively flipped open the cell phone.

"Um…hi, Meg."

"Christine, I'm giving you three seconds to explain where you are and where you've taken my cell phone," Meg said in a forced calm tone. Her voice that suggested she was about to blow up.

Christine cringed. "Well, you see…"

"GET YOUR SKINNY LITTLE BUTT AND MY CELL PHONE BACK HERE NOW!"

Christine held the phone away from her ear as Meg continued to rant.

"I was busy working on my article, like you should be right now! Imagine my surprise when my cell phone started ringing with some weird ringtone that I've never heard in my life," Meg growled. "So I pulled out the phone and looked at the caller id. It says 'Dad'. Imagine how confused I was then, seeing as my dad has been dead for years. But then I looked at the phone again and realized…it wasn't mine. Where is it, Christine? Where's my phone?"

Christine took a deep breath. "Okay, before you say anything, I want you to know that your cell saved my life."

Meg snorted. "It saved your life. Yeah, it just came flying through the air with its little cape and mask and defeated the bad guy with its laser vision. I wasn't born yesterday, Christine!"

"Actually, you weren't too far off from the truth," Christine said wryly. "But Meg, you'll never guess who I'm sitting with right now."

"Who?"

"Bee Diddy!"

Christine could almost see Meg roll her eyes. "Good God, Christine, you're a terrible liar."

"It's true!" Christine insisted. "Here, I'll put her on!"

"Christine, I don't want to waste my minutes listening to you pretending to be Bee Diddy."

"Just trust me." Christine handed the phone to a very amused Bee. "Here. Talk to Meg."

Bee turned the speakerphone on. "Hi, Meg. What's kickin'?"

Meg chuckled on the other end of the line. "Wow, Christine. That's a pretty good impression."

"No, I'm seriously Bee Diddy," Bee insisted. "The one and only."

"I'm not falling for that," Meg said, sounding very exasperated. "Just get back to the classroom before our dearest, darlingest editor Sandy freaks out."

Bee glared at the phone. "That's not funny, girl. Do you need me to sing for you?"

They heard Meg snort in amusement. "Okay, Christine. Go ahead, try to imitate the world's favorite superstar. Have at it. Do 'Free Girl,' that's a good one."

Bee shot an amused look at Christine. "Okay. I hope a cappella's okay, because my band's still at the hotel." With that, Bee Diddy, the world's favorite superstar, burst into song.

"Drivin' on the road to stardom, freedom,

And never once looking back.

I never thought-"

A loud shriek erupted from the phone. Bee dropped it in alarm. Meg's voice squealed up at them from the floor. "Oh-emmm-geeeeeeeee! It's Bee Diddy!"

"Told you," Christine said, picking up the phone.

"Where are you, Christine? Why isn't the entire school mobbing her?"

"I can't tell you; otherwise, the entire school will be mobbing her," Christine said wryly.

"Are you interviewing her?" Meg inquired. "As cool as it sounds, you've already done that."

"No, we're just chatting," Christine told her. "She gave me an idea for an article."

There was silence on the other end of the phone.

"Meg?"

"I can't believe you're on speaking terms with Bee Diddy," Meg gushed in awed tones. "You have to get me an autograph!"

"I'll see what I can do." Christine saw Bee rolling her eyes. "I gotta go, Meg. If Sandy asks, I'm conducting an interview."

"Okay, but class ends in about two minutes," Meg warned her.

"I'll see you in second period. Bye." Christine hung up and shoved the cell phone into her hoodie pocket. "I'm not going to ask you for an autograph," she told Bee.

The pop star sighed in relief. "Thanks. You have no idea how old that's gotten."

Christine stood up. "I need to get back to class. You'd better leave, too, before Meg lets the cat out of the bag and the school tracks you down… or the administration finds out, arrests you, and suspends me. Thanks for the help."

Bee grinned a thousand-watt smile. "No problem, Christine."

Christine exited the trailer, then jumped as Matthew cleared his throat, glaring up at her from his position on the porch.

"I'm leaving!" she yelped, leaping off the tiny porch. "See? I'm not doing anything."

Christine knew she wasn't going to get back to Journalism on time. But her second-period teacher had started giving out detentions for being late to class, so she decided to put a little spring in her step. She ran through the remodeled main hallway of the school, veering off to take a detour through a dusty, dimly-lit hallway that people seldom used except to access their lockers.

A rattling noise made her pause. She looked around at the rusty lockers to her left. It had almost sounded as though someone was knocking from the inside of one of them…

"Christine."

Bangbangbang!

Christine inched closer to the locker that seemed to be the source of the ruckus. "Erik, is that you?"

The locker swung open, and the school's resident ghost stepped out of it. "Indeed it is."

Christine's eyes bugged out of her head. "How did you-"

"Never mind," Erik interrupted smoothly, the unmasked half of his face looking deadly serious. "Are you all right? That stupid oaf didn't hurt you, did he?"

"No, I'm fine," Christine assured him. "That was you who tripped him, wasn't it? I didn't know you lurked under trailers in your free time. Ah! Speaking of time, I really need to go."

"You don't," Erik told her. "The bell won't be ringing for another five minutes. Trust me."

Christine raised an eyebrow at him. "All right, then."

"You've been procrastinating again," Erik reprimanded her. "Do you at least have a topic to write about yet?"

"Oh, yeah. Definitely." Christine nodded. "I'm doing something about the production in drama class. Except class is almost over and I can't get over there to interview people, which is a problem."

"They rehearse during lunch. You can interview them then." Erik stared at her with very little emotion in his green eyes, and Christine felt pangs of guilt stab at her, remembering how she had betrayed the trust he once had in her.

"Okay, then. I forgot lunch money, anyway." Christine shrugged. "I guess I'd better get back to class."

"Not without this." Erik held out a new reporter's notebook.

Christine grinned, taking it from his gloved hand. "Thanks, I really appreciate that."

She thought she saw something, perhaps a ghost of a smile, flit across his face. "It was no trouble at all." He stepped back into the locker, stooping uncomfortably, and shut the door, disappearing once again.

And so, Christine set off for class again resolutely. Not all was lost- she could still fix the damage and tear down the wall that stood between Erik and her. She would do anything and everything he instructed her to, push every limit possible, show him through her boundless effort that she was sorry and really did need him. After all, if it hadn't been for Erik, she would have very likely still been folding newspapers miserably after school. Christine decided that would skip lunch every day if she had to, but she was going to become the best damn reporter Hayfield had ever seen.

A/N: Hi, all... I know, it's been forever since I've updated. But here's a list of issues I've been having lately:

Schoolwork. A shortened summer vacation. Computer issues. A cross-country move. Evil people at my new school.

Not to mention lack of inspiration. And it's past midnight right now, so I apologize for any typos that may have slipped through my revision screening. While I'm here, I must also note that the brief song lyrics Bee Diddy sang are not mine; in fact, they belong to the real Bee Diddy, on whom the character is based.

I implore you to review. Cheer me up after facing the evil people.