Chuck Versus the BOOllies

By Steampunk . Chuckster

Summary: When high school bullies single out Top Nerd in School Chuck Bartowski and New Girl Sarah Walker for their Halloween prank, it means the two end up trapped in the haunted, condemned mansion of a long-dead Hollywood star who fell from the heights of popularity to the depths of obscurity. AU. High school Charah.

A/N: I know, Halloween passed two weeks ago but whatever. I wrote this when Halloween was still in style. It just took a while to edit because these last two weeks have sucked a lot. That said, I never really thought I'd be writing high school Chuck and Sarah. HERE I AM, writing Chuck and Sarah in high school. Look at me.

The first thing she learned was not to make eye contact. Not with anyone. Not with teachers or administrators, but especially not with other students.

Being a senior transfer student had made everything that much harder.

Walking onto the Creekwood High campus, without three whole years of Creekwood experience under her belt the way the other seniors had, had been intimidating. And it had been unfair.

All of this felt unfair.

But as always, she told herself that she only had one more year of this bullshit and then she'd go to college and be on her own path, a path she chose. When she turned eighteen in a few months, she could cut ties with everyone who'd told her what to do, who to be, how to live her life…and those who didn't care enough to even do that much. She'd move away from her father who'd used her blond pigtails and braces to make a buck, her mother who'd resented her for decisions she'd made as a child when she didn't know any better, and her grandmother who hadn't wanted a kid around after raising kids of her own and now didn't want a teen around and showed it by iron-fisting her granddaughter's existence in her home.

She'd leave it all behind and forge her own way.

She couldn't wait.

She just had to survive this a little longer.

That scholarship would've helped if she had any chance whatsoever at it. Still, she'd applied. She had the stellar grades for it, but she also knew it was a long shot. She had no extracurriculars besides orchestra. She rode a squeaky bike to school that she'd found in her grandma's shed. At the last school she'd attended, the students took to calling her "Squeaker" because of her damn bike. She knew it was only a matter of time before Creekwood's students did the same, or something similar.

Her grandma didn't like driving around the streets of LA so she wouldn't take her anywhere, and she wouldn't let Sarah drive herself using her car because "What if there's an emergency?! I'll be trapped here!" And riding her bike any further than school was basically torture, since school was already miles away. As it was, she had to practically leave at the crack of dawn to get there in time for zero period.

So she really wasn't going to get her hopes up about the scholarship…

But it'd be so nice to have the money necessary to actually apply for colleges, for starters. And that's what this scholarship would do. She knew she was already behind on sending out applications. But that money seriously added up.

She didn't even need a big fancy expensive school. She just wanted to be able to get out of here, get a degree, and move on with her life. She didn't want to be like her dad. God, please no.

Sarah Walker shifted her backpack strap on her right shoulder, knowing wearing it properly on both shoulders would be better for her posture and not caring. Everybody here wore it the same way. One strap on the right shoulder. She'd shifted to that on Day One.

They would all be notified today about whether they did or didn't get the scholarship. On a Friday, the day before the freaking weekend. She'd have a whole weekend of nothing but homework to keep her mind off of the fact that she'd have to find another way to pay for college applications. The paltry sum she made tutoring kids in languages wouldn't cut it. She'd have to get another job, with all of her free time she didn't have and with her nice car she didn't have.

Shaking herself a little bit, she reminded herself that the book she was reading about self-worth and defeating imposter syndrome would chide her for counting herself out where this scholarship was concerned. And she was working on doing away with the negativity, the cynicism. Sometimes she felt like it was eating away at her insides.

Maybe she'd get it! Maybe that scholarship was hers.

There were five Creekwood students up for it. One of them would be the finalist.

It was one thousand bucks. That was nothing to the rest of the students up for it, she knew. Bunch of rich kids whose parents knew how to use the system so that they could keep their millions. They'd be going to Ivy Leagues anyway, she thought to herself bitterly.

She didn't mind a Cal State, and a UC would be a reach at this point… She didn't need a whole-ass Ivy League. In fact, she was sure she wouldn't do well at one of those anyway.

Sarah rounded a corner, taking her usual route to second period she'd been taking for the almost three months now since she first got here, across the path, through the quad with the quintessential grassy knoll, past the arts building, and into Mrs. Sanderson's AP English Lit class.

But she stopped with a gasp when something burst past her practically at the speed of light.

"GO, GO, GO, GO!" a voice yelled.

"SHIT SHIT SHIT!" The short guy who burst past her was screeching, leaping up onto the three-foot brick wall that flanked the quad, hopping off of it again, and racing up the knoll. He was being chased by one of the lacrosse players, his bag bouncing on his back, the sticks with the little nets bouncing as well as he ran.

A taller student she recognized staggered after them. With one ham-fisted jump, he stood on top of the three-foot wall, his Converse sneakers nearly slipping off the other edge of it. He let out a nervous, "whooaa-ooaaa-ooaaa" and waved his arms a bit for balance, just barely keeping himself from falling. And then he cupped his hands around his mouth as he got his footing and belted, "YOU GOT THIS, BUDDY!"

Sarah had a feeling the shorter guy didn't…got this. The lacrosse player would catch him eventually. And he'd be pulverized.

But then three more lacrosse players closed in on the tall guy with a "Get him!"

And he was quickly manhandled off of the wall, back onto the cement under it. They wrestled his backpack off of his shoulders as he struggled, thrashing his arms to try to fight back.

But three on one?

And frankly, screw these guys. Even if she did recognize him as Chuck…Bartowski was it? Same guy who was up for the scholarship she'd applied for. And everyone knew he'd get it. Apparently he was going to be valedictorian and nobody was anywhere close.

That didn't protect him from having his ass kicked, though. Nor did how freaking tall he was.

Sure, he was her rival. Sure, she resented him for his privilege.

But she wasn't letting this shit go.

"Hey!" she snapped. The guys stopped tugging the back of his comic book T-shirt up over his head and looked at her, confused anyone would dare interrupt what they were doing. "Three against one?" she groused, feeling nerves spike. What the fuck was she thinking? Did she want to get attacked too? "Aren't you supposed to be tough or whatever?"

"Oooooooo," one of the lacrosse players sang, the others laughing. "New Girl geek wants to be a herooooo. Mind your own business. Unless you want that violin snapped in half."

She didn't want her violin snapped in half. It was the most valuable thing she owned and she didn't even own it, she was renting it.

So she took a step back.

"Yeah. S'what I thought," the douchebag snarked. But then he let go of Chuck with a push that sent the guy back onto his pants. "C'mon. Loser's not worth it. Maybe Brad got the other little freak."

Sarah kept her mouth shut and did what she did best as they walked past, blending into the wall behind her. It was like she'd ceased to exist altogether.

And then the "freak" cleared his throat from where he was slumped against the wall, looking almost like a Raggedy-Andy doll all splayed out with his long legs and arms akimbo, his head tilted. His shirt ran up still from where they'd yanked at it to pull it over his face, revealing a few inches of his flat abdomen.

"Um… th-thanks," he said.

In spite of her chameleon trick she'd perfected over the years, her scholarship rival was looking right at her. Did he…see her? He must see her.

Sarah blinked. "O-Oh. Yeah. They're assholes."

"Right?" He tugged on his shirt and climbed up to his feet, smacking dirt off of his pants, the back of his shirt, his backpack, a disgruntled look on his face. "Total assholes. Um…" He glanced over his shoulder.

"Your friend gonna be okay?" she asked quietly. "Should we get…help?"

He snorted. "Lotta good that'd do 'im. Nobody fuggin' cares as long as Creekwood lacrosse dudebros bring home the cup or whatever the hell."

Sarah gathered enough ire and courage then to mumble, "You'd think they would've played something normal like football…"

Her rival spun on his heel then, giving her a wide-eyed look. She gave him a wide-eyed look back. Had she just…said that?

A sudden burst of laughter came out of him then. She was a little pleased at that. She couldn't help it. It was the most non-sarcastic, non-cruel bit of interaction she'd had at this damn school that wasn't a teacher calling on her in class. He narrowed his eyes thoughtfully and then pointed at her. "You're…up for that Monroe scholarship, too, aren't you?"

Sarah shifted her weight. He knew she existed? What the hell? How?

"Um. Yes."

He nodded. "Thought that was you. Well… Good luck? Is that…something I should even say?" He made a doubtful face, amusement in his eyes.

She smiled a little. "Sure. Why not? Good luck." The two minute warning bell sounded then and she gestured around him. "I'm gonna—"

"Oh. Yeah yeah! Sure. Me, too. See ya."

Sarah lifted her hand in a shy wave, climbing up onto the wall next to him, stepping down on the other side, and rushing away. She couldn't help glancing back over her shoulder as she went.

/\^•.•^/\

Bored out of his mind after sitting in the chair outside of his counselor's office for ten whole minutes, maybe even longer than that, Chuck oh so slowly slumped further and further down in the chair, his elbows propped on the chipped wooden arms of the chair.

He puffed his cheeks and widened his eyes.

And suddenly the door opened.

He bolted up to sit properly in the chair, clearing his throat, the nerves he'd felt walking across campus to get here after being called out of physics lab exploding inside of him all fresh and new again. The boredom had dulled it slightly.

But now it was time.

He knew why he was called here.

Mr. Arros would be delivering the news.

Either he'd have one thousand dollars to help him with getting his applications out, or he wouldn't. That one thou would help so damn much.

And he usually didn't deem himself more worthy than others, but every other freakin' student who'd applied for this thing had money and…freaking parents. They didn't need a grand. They had everything they needed to live comfortably. They didn't have an after school job, they weren't taking every babysitting gig they could get, and their siblings weren't working two jobs, one of them a volunteer gig, going to college while applying to UCLA med school, just to keep them both eating and having a roof over their heads. He was positive none of them were sharing a fifteen year old Civic bought off of Craigslist with their siblings, either.

He really needed this.

Another student Chuck didn't recognize left Arros's office and Mr. Arros toddled out after him, smoothing a hand down his tie as he poked his head around and spotted Chuck. "Ah. Mister, uh…"

"Chuck." He realized what he'd just said and shook his head. "Bartowski," he corrected himself.

"That's right. Come through, kiddo."

He scrambled to his feet and rushed after the counselor. "S-So this is about the scholarship. Right? The Monroe scholarship."

Chuck was plunged right back into those hours he'd spent poring over scholarship options with his sister, the way she had a few years ago, only she'd been all alone when she was the one trying to get the money to apply for colleges, and then to go to college, and now for med school…

Mr. Arros snagged a tri-folded piece of paper and slapped it into Chuck's hand. "There you are, son."

"D-Did I get it?" he asked excitedly. Only, as he was asking, he hurriedly unfolded the letter. And the "we regret to inform you" was right there at the top of the page. Bold. Glaring.

"Sorry, Mr. Bartowski. Chuck." The man's voice faded to the background as his ears began to ring. He caught the beginning of something about other scholarships he could look for, but the rest of it was drowned out by a high-pitched, dizzying bweeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee.

/\^•.•^/\

Maybe it was foolish, playing this game with someone as smart as her grandma. Specifically, playing this game with the woman who raised Jack Burton, Phil Dougherty, Warren Morton, and the other names she knew her father had used over the years, but her grandma used Jack; Jack was the kid she'd raised, a bad kid by all accounts, rushing off at night with his friends, not coming home 'til the next morning or a day later than that even.

Grandma Betty had sworn over and over and over again that if Sarah showed even an inkling of the same traits as her father, it was out with her. She wouldn't be staying in her home. "I've dealt with that nonsense before and I won't do it again," she'd hissed as her TV blasted one of her soap operas she kept on during the day.

This woman had seen everything, and she'd heard everything.

So when the dubious look on the elderly woman's face faded, and instead the woman shrugged and turned back to her TV, taking a sip of her diet Pepsi, muttering, "Fine, but don't get into any trouble. I won't bail you outta jail, girlie", Sarah felt a strange ache in her chest.

Would she have preferred Betty Burton to refuse to allow her to leave? No. But the shrug had felt like…she didn't care. That was apparently where her grandma was now, as far as her affection for her son and her son's offspring went.

Sarah'd been so ready to bluff. At the most, she'd take a risk and offer to have the mother of her "friend" talk to her grandma on the phone. The hope was that her grandma would wave that off as unnecessary.

But it hadn't even gone that far.

She was just…allowed to go?

"Do you think it'd be all right if I used the car—?"

"No."

And that was how Sarah found herself leaning her shoulder against the plexiglass window of the bus rumbling its way towards what her father grandly called "The Hills of Beverly", snorting at his own joke.

She didn't know if she was stupid, crazy, or desperate—perhaps all three at once—but everything in her wanted to do this. She was tired of feeling subhuman at school. She was tired of being off to the side, slinking through shadows. She wanted to know how the other half lived, as they said.

So when Blaykleigh (pronounced Blake-Lee) Eckerstrom, one of the most popular girls in school, approached her at lunch to ask her to come to a party later that night, with an actual address of a parking lot where they'd all meet and everything, telling her it was just a fun little "Halloween excursion", Sarah felt a deep urge to tell the intelligent, logical voice in her head insisting she turn the opportunity down to shut the hell up.

After her counselor informed her she didn't get the scholarship earlier that day, something she'd been prepared for but still felt like utter shit, she searched for something, anything, to distract her from the sensation of deep hopelessness.

But going to a party with a bunch of Creekwood Populars? What the hell was she playing at?

The bus slowed, pulling up to the curb at her stop, and she climbed up to her feet, waving up at the driver with a "Thanks!", hopping off of the bus and onto the curb.

Sarah rounded the corner and headed for the parking lot, spotting about ten of her Creekwood peers loitering, two of the guys already pounding what looked like canned beer.

One of Blaykleigh's friends, some chick in a medieval gown, nudged the teens on either side of her as she spotted Sarah shyly coming nearer. A hush came over all of them as they turned to track her approach.

"Wowwww, if it isn't, um… Crap, what's your name? Sorry," one of Blaykleigh's other friends, dressed as a sexy cat, asked. They all smirked at each other.

"Sarah." Somebody snickered and masked it as a cough. Maybe one of the people in the serial killer masks. Was that funny for some reason?

With the smirks on everyone's faces she could see, Sarah Walker decided this was going to be a very long night, and she was already harboring a few regrets.

/\^•.•^/\

"You realize it's a trap, right?"

Chuck sighed, rubbing his temples. "Yes, I do realize it could very well be a trap."

"Great. We're agreed. So…why are you going?!" Morgan snapped, grabbing him by the shoulder and shaking it.

"What if we're wrong? What if it isn't a trap? What if it isn't a trap and Chad Setton actually just wants me to come hang out with him and his friends?" he asked, hearing how improbable, how impossible even, that sounded. "I'd regret not at least trying to go and see how the rich popular kids party. I'd regret it for the rest of my life, Morgan."

"Oh, come on. You're gonna be all successful and amazing and this stupid party isn't gonna mean shit to you. None of them will mean shit. This high school experience won't mean shit. When you're a millionaire, pal, nobody is gonna care whether you went to their bro and bro-ette Halloween bash."

Chuck snorted. "You might be right. But the Chuck who's here now does care. I'm ashamed to admit it, but I wanna at least know what it looks like. This might be my only chance, buddy."

"So you're going into a trap."

"With my eyes wide open."

"Well, do me a favor and don't put this night on your Stanford application, huh, dude?" Morgan clapped him on the back as he picked up the finishing touch of his costume. The pocket protector.

"Shut up, dude," he chuckled. He turned and thrusted his hands out. "Ta daaa. What do you think?"

"You look like you're headed out to the Buy More for a Nerd Herd shift."

"Good. That's all I got in me at the last minute."

"See, if they'd invited me too, we could go as Shai-Hulud, and we'd be the life of the party. But they didn't invite me which is how I know…"

They both barked in a garbled Admiral Akbar voice: "It's a TRAP!"

They laughed together, shaking their heads.

"No, but seriously, that's the best way to entrap people. Split them away from their people so that they're all alone. No ally. Nobody to have their back. They only invited one of us," he hissed, poking Chuck in the shoulder as he grabbed his black Buy More jacket and shrugged it on, stuffing his house key and his phone and wallet in his pockets.

"Well, if you wanna come, I'm sure they wouldn't—"

"No way, hell no. I'm not gonna die tonight. I'm staying here."

"You aren't staying here," came the voice of Ellie Bartowski as she strolled down the hall past Chuck's bedroom.

"Fine. I'm going home," Morgan said glumly.

He followed Chuck to the bedroom door and out into the hallway, emerging into the living room. "Ellie, tell our boy he's being crazy. These people are trying to trap him. They're gonna do something bad. There's precedent. They hate us."

"I'm not telling Chuck what to do. I think it's nice he's trying to spend time with people by going to a party instead of staring at the TV playing video games." She shrugged on her jacket. "Ready to go, Chuck?"

"Ready. Thanks for driving me, El. Means a lot."

"Yeah, no problem. It's just a little ways past my clinic anyway."

Ellie was doing volunteer shifts helping out at a medical clinic to prepare her for med school, and they'd started slotting her into overnight volunteer shifts. It made Chuck tired just thinking about it, but Ellie insisted it was preparing her for both med school and her future career. Apparently she was looking forward to being sleep deprived until retirement.

For Chuck's money, getting a foot in the door at a tech company and branching off to start his own business was where it was at.

As they reached the car, Morgan walked his bike up and sighed dramatically, putting his hand on his best friend's shoulder and giving him an emotional look. "If you die tonight, Chuck, I hope your last thought is that I was right. Oh, and that I love you. I'll never forget you, dude."

"Pedal safe, you little twerp," he laughed, shaking his head and pushing Morgan's hand off of his shoulder.

"I wiiiiiill!" Morgan called over his shoulder, leaping onto his bike and riding away, waving over his shoulder.

/\^•.•^/\

She couldn't help the dark frown that was inside of her even as she smiled and tried to fit in with the group. They climbed into different cars and started their city-wide Halloween escapade. As teens did, she…guessed?

Were they going to some kind of party house or something? She didn't know. But she was thankfully smushed in the furthest backseat of one of the vans between two of the other girls, Blaykleigh whom she would heretofore be thinking of as Lana del Rey thanks to her costume that looked like the pop star on that one album cover, and the girl dressed as a sexy cat or whatever she was.

She played with her tail the whole drive as she sang Smash Mouth at the top of her lungs, piercing Sarah's eardrums practically.

But most importantly…

What in the hell was that Chuck Bartowski guy doing with this group? Did he hang out with these people? If she'd known that, she probably wouldn't have come. Because she knew he'd gotten the scholarship she hadn't gotten. That thousand dollars he probably didn't even need—Mr. Brainiac Future Valedictorian—was now flowing into his packed bank account.

For his Ivy League education.

It wasn't really his fault, she guessed, and yet…she couldn't help the bitterness in her.

People like him shouldn't even be allowed to apply for scholarships other people actually needed.

And now he was in the seat right in front of her, all tall and dopey, wearing a half-assed costume that was apparently the same outfit he wore to his job, according to Lana del Rey next to her. She'd hissed it around Sarah's back to the sexy cat.

"Lazy," sexy cat groused back at her.

Well, apparently he had a job, which was surprising. And that also meant he wasn't "lazy", either. She doubted sexy cat had a job. Sexy cat probably wouldn't even have a job for years, not until she graduated from college to hop into her parents' law firm or something equally nepotistic.

The girls otherwise ignored Sarah, who'd thrown together a thrift store attempt as an alien for her own costume. She was in a silvery green long sleeve shirt with matching pants, silver gloves, scuffed old silver boots she bought for five bucks, and a silver belt. She'd attached pipe cleaners to a headband with tape for the antennas, curling them a little at the ends.

Did aliens wear braids? She didn't know. But she pulled her thick blond hair back into a braid that fell down her back.

"So, uh…where we goin' anyway?" the scholarship glutton finally asked, raising his voice over the music.

"Oh, just…around," Chad said from the front passenger seat. He exchanged a look with the driver, a guy named Paul who was apparently getting some kind of wrestling scholarship to Iowa. She heard him talking about it in the parking lot earlier.

But she didn't care about that right at that moment, because she didn't really like the wily grins they shot at each other.

"Uh… Okay…" Chuck muttered.

And then…much to her consternation…he turned and looked right at her, his brow furrowed. He pressed his lips together and spun back to face forward. What was that about?

Was he embarrassed or guilty or something maybe? Since he got what she'd wanted, what she'd actually needed?

She crossed her arms and frowned on the outside this time, watching the lights flit past the window, the two other cars flanking them filled with teenagers speeding up and slowing down, playing cat and mouse dangerously. Idiots.

But then the cars slowed and crawled onto what looked like an abandoned dirt road, no more streetlights or curbs, just gravel and bits and pieces of pavement that had weeds and other plant-life climbing up through the cracks.

The type of old road that looked like it'd be hell on tires. She really hoped they didn't get a flat tire. She really didn't want to be stranded here all night.

"Ooooooh here we goooooo," Chad sang over his shoulder, wiggling his fingers. "Up to the Ricketts maaansionnn bwaahhhhh bwaahhhhh!"

That was an absolutely terrible rendition of Count Dracula, but she'd…heard of the Ricketts mansion, hadn't she?

The place was a dump but the city couldn't do anything to get rid of it because it was some kind of historical site and belonged to some rich family. She'd seen an article headline in her grandma's copy of the LA Times at one point.

"Wait, seriously? That's where we're going?" Chuck asked, looking around the van at everyone. "Why are we going there?"

"You scared, Bro-Tasky?" Paul asked, exchanging another wily look with Chad.

"Heh. No…"

Were they partying at an abandoned historical house? That seemed…unwise. To say the least.

Places like that could crumble or go up in flames at any moment, crushing or burning them all to death. At best, there was mold and asbestos, or they could get lead poisoning.

There were rusted nails that could give them tetanus.

"Don't worry, dude, I'm sure there are only a couple of dead bodies there," the guy squished in next to Chuck said, patting his shoulder.

Virat. She'd admittedly thought he was cute when he was in her first period AP Euro class on Day One of her Creekwood High experience. He had swimmer shoulders and that wingspan, and dark wavy hair. But he was also dating the hottest girl in the school. And she was an influencer on TikTok or something with millions of followers.

Sarah stared at Virat's hair now, and his large hand on Chuck's shoulder.

She shivered a little bit and looked away again.

His girlfriend was in another car right now and as much as she didn't really like Rebecca Vasquez, or her shitty not-funny TikToks, she wasn't about to ogle her boy.

Or maybe she'd ogle a little?

Since nobody could really see her doing it in this dark car interior?

Especially with the lack of lighting out here. All they had were their headlights, and the headlights of the two cars behind them.

"So are we…um, we gonna party in the house? You sure that's safe? Pretty sure the building's condemned. I th-think I might've, like, read that somewhere. Or maybe somebody said it. Anybody else hear that? That it's condemned?" Chuck asked.

Well, at least someone was on her same page. Only he was confident enough to say it out loud.

"Lighten up, geek boy," Virat said, nudging him with his elbow. "Nobody comes up here for any reason these days. We aren't gonna get caught."

That didn't address the concern Scholarship Stealer had expressed, though…

"Except…for the ghosts of Wilma Ricketts' old beaus," sexy cat said in a deep voice, leaning forward to grab Chuck's shoulders with a, "Bwah!"

Sarah saw him jump a little, and he did his best to play it off but she was sure she wasn't the only one to see it.

The house loomed up on the hill and she bit her lip, a nervous trill in her chest. Shit. That was haunted if anything was. It was like a Spanish Victorian sort of house, a Mediterranean Mexican weird blend with the house from freaking Psycho.

Who in the hell had built this hodgepodge monstrosity.

"Dammmnnn, the nineteen-tens were fucked up," Lana del Rey breathed. "That place is ugly as shit."

"Don't say that too loud, babe, the ghosts will hear," Chad called from the front.

So apparently Chad and Lana were a thing. Good to know. She wouldn't be ogling Chad Setton anyway. He was a dickhead. That was clear from the start.

It took a few minutes for everyone to get out of the cars once they parked in the weeds-riddled front yard of the Ricketts mansion, and Sarah was the second last to disembark, shoved as far back in that van as she'd been.

Sarah tried not to blush as Virat stood there by the door watching her climb out, a smile on his face. But she couldn't help giving him a closed-mouth smile back.

She was so grateful she'd gotten her braces off the year before but she still didn't tend to show her teeth when she smiled. Old habits and all that.

She'd also learned how to use contacts, thank God. When she had her own money and a full-blown career, she was doing that eye surgery thing.

She could only sigh and shrug as Rebecca sidled up to him and took his arm, Virat wrapping her up in his embrace and kissing her head covered in a Cleopatra wig.

/\^•.•^/\

"So who's going in first?"

"Your mom," Paul snarked.

They all snickered as Chad socked him in the shoulder.

"I'm too scared," Blaykleigh admitted, playing with the long reddish brown wig she wore to make herself look more like Lana del Rey on the cover of that one album. "You guys might not believe in ghosts, but I do, and I'm not getting cursed."

"Yeah, count me out," another one of the guys added, holding up his hand. He'd pushed his Hulk mask to the top of his head. Oh. He didn't know Eric Ferris hung out with these people. He'd gotten an upgrade then. Interesting.

"Baaaabies," Paul sang mockingly. "I went in last year."

"Yeah, and you an' Mariah got freaky with all those ghosts watching," Rebecca added, making everyone laugh.

"Bullshit!" Chad called out. "I call bullshit. Nobody got laid in that house that night."

"Uh, yeah I did."

"That's bullshit. You're such a liar, bro."

Chuck ignored the banter, looking up at the Ricketts mansion. This place was seriously fucked up. He knew the lore, he knew the stories. He and Morgan used to be obsessed with it, and obsessed with watching all of Wilma Ricketts' silent movies she was in. They imagined they could see her madness in her eyes during her performances. They'd point it out together. And they'd come up with their own stories about who she'd killed and buried in her backyard. Mailmen and UPS delivery guys. Traveling salesmen.

Morgan was sure she captured bugs around her property and had one of those freaky bug collections where she stabbed them with pins while they were still alive, too. Where he got that, Chuck wasn't sure. His best friend's imagination was something else, though.

But Chuck definitely didn't want to be here at this moment. In fact, he'd rather be anywhere else.

"I'll tell you what," Rebecca spoke up from behind him. She stood kind of close to him actually, he realized as he turned to look at her. And then her long and elegant fingers with the black nail polish curled over his shoulder. He tried not to shiver so hard that she noticed. "Anybody who goes in there tonight is my hero. Under a full moon? Total hero…"

And sure, Rebecca Vasquez was the hottest person in school, but was he really about to get haunted for the rest of his life just to be her hero for a split second? Especially when she was in a known hot 'n heavy relationship with the second hottest person in school, Virat Agarwal.

There was literally nothing to gain here. Only there was plenty to lose.

And then his hand was up in the air, his other hand stuffed in his pants pocket all cool-like. "I'll go."

Fuck.

Fuck, why was he so stupid?

/\^•.•^/\

What an idiot.

God.

All Rebecca had to do was use that stupid my heerooooo voice and he volunteered to go into that seriously dilapidated, broken-down husk of a house. Who knew if even stepping foot in there would bring the roof down on his head?

Why were boys so predictably moronic?

And this guy had gotten the scholarship over her? Life was seriously jacked up.

"I think New Girl should go, too."

She smirked up at the house, not realizing who Virat meant at first.

Until she realized everyone was staring at her, Chuck with a disgruntled look on his face.

"Nah, she doesn't have to," he said, turning away from her. "I can just go in there alone. It's no big deal."

"Why not? It's a good idea to have someone to watch your back, bro," Chad said, thumping Chuck's upper back.

"I don't need her to watch my back," he said with a shrug. Well, fuck you too, Bro-Tasky, a voice in her head sassed as she glared at him. "I mean, like, if she's scared or whatever, I don't need—"

"I'm not," she cut in, unable to keep from sounding miffed. "It's a stupid old house. There's no such thing as ghosts. Only thing I'm worried about is if the structure's gonna hold."

"She's held for over a hundred years, New Girl," sexy cat said with a sexy cat smirk. "You two aren't gonna change that."

"Wait, wait. What d'you mean 'you two'?" Chuck asked, waving his hand through the air and shaking his head. "Why can't, um…Paul come with?"

"I did it last year. And I did Mariah. Hehe." Gross.

"Lying shit," Chad snarked, snickering with his friend.

"Okay, then Virat."

"Nah, I'm too scared."

Rebecca sent him a teasing look, leaving Chuck's side to press her chest into her boyfriend's, tilting her head back to bite her lip. "Even if it means you'll be my hero?"

"Wonder Boy over there can have the honors tonight. I know who you'll be with in the morning," he teased back.

Sarah turned away from the heavy make-out session. She didn't want to go in there with Chuck, either. Screw him. He was a money-grubbing, mean butthole. What did she do to him anyway? Didn't she step in and save his ass from getting the shit kicked out of him this morning?

And he was being like this?

They all started to coax Chuck towards the house, giving him gentle shoves. But then Sarah started getting guided after him, hands on her shoulders and arms and back.

"I'm not going in there with him," she argued back at them.

"Why not? I'm sure he doesn't bite. He's a harmless dweeb," Paul taunted.

"Dweeb?" Chuck asked. "Hey, I'm-I'm not…"

"You go in there, go to the third floor, the attic, grab something, and bring it back. That's the mission," Chad was saying as they finally got Chuck onto the bottom step of the small wooden staircase that led to the porch.

"Mission? I thought I just had to go inside."

Shit, now Sarah was standing on the same step. Even just this much felt like it would snap under their weight. This was so unsafe.

"Nope. Bring something to us from the attic," Rebecca said, shaking her head, having unwelded her lips from Virat's. "Something pretty…for me?" She batted her eyelashes.

Yeah, Sarah really didn't like her. That was decided.

"Okay fine. But again…I don't see why you need to force Sarah into this. She's new at Creekwood. Maybe we just—"

"So what if I'm new?" she cut in, giving him a fiery look. "Like I'm new so I can't do stuff that you can?"

"Not that you can't do it. But you don't need to. I can get it myself."

"You sure about that?" she challenged, crossing her arms at her chest.

The others let out, "Oooooooohhhhs" and hissed, thumping each other's shoulders with closed fists.

Chuck turned and gave them miffed looks, then turned the look on Sarah. "Yeah. I am. As a matter of fact."

"Tell him, Sarah!" Lana del Rey called out. "Go, girl!"

"Oh, one thing, before you go in? Part of the mission is no phones."

Sarah whirled around to regard them with narrowed eyes. "That's not happening. You aren't taking my phone."

"Why not? It's part of the mission," Virat piped up. He was smiling that stupidly dazzling smile of his, and he outstretched his hand. "C'mon, Sarah. Play the game."

"Going into a broken-down house with no phones seems dangerous, though," Chuck inserted. "What if something…?"

"We're just outside. You can scream and we'll run in and save you."

"Then what's the point of no phones?"

"We don't want anyone cheating, using flashlight apps and whatever. We all had to do it in the dark dark," Chad said. "You two are lucky there's a full moon. None of us had that privilege."

Fucking shit, she just wanted this over with. So she pawed her phone out of her silver-green pants and slapped it into Virat's palm, watching as he slipped it into his pocket.

"I'll keep it safe for ya, Sar."

Sar?

Oh.

Why'd that feel good?

"Th-Thanks," she muttered.

Chuck was handing over his phone, too. And he sent her a slightly annoyed look. "You don't hafta come. I can do this myself."

"Just drop it," she breathed, rolling her eyes.

"You don't hafta prove anything," he said, leading the way to the front door, their steps careful as they took each step up to the porch.

"Oh, me?" She snorted. "You'll be my heeeeroooo if you go into the spooky hooouse," she added under her breath. She didn't like Rebecca, but she also didn't want to be on the horrible girl's bad side either.

"Oh, shut up," he huffed, trying the door handle. It didn't budge. He turned back and shrugged. "Welp, it's locked! Guess this is over. Maybe we can get doughnuts at Flanagan's instead."

"I'll open it."

Virat came up beside them, his hands magic or something. Because with nothing but those hands and shoulders, he got the jammed door open, swinging it out towards them wide. "Dork," he chuckled. "You don't push, you pull."

"Well, that's shitty design. Why isn't the door opening in? All doors, especially front doors, open in," Chuck was whining.

A decrepit smell came from the house's inner foyer. Or maybe it was just her imagination.

"I…um…" she heard the scholarship stealer mumble beside her.

"Well? You first, hero," she groused sarcastically. He sent her a pissed look and stomped in.

She stomped after him, not sure why she was letting him freaking goad her like this. But he was acting like a jerk, and he had everything going for him, including an extra thousand dollar padding, and he had the guts to treat her like this?

Not wanting her to explore the creepy broken house with him?

"Have fuuuuuu-uuuuun!" Virat sang into the foyer, his voice echoing creepily.

Sarah turned to send him an amused smirk, but the smirk died the moment she saw mischief in his dark eyes. Because he grabbed the door, swinging it shut with a finality that sent fear coursing through her. "NO!" she yelled, springing for the door.

"What the—?"

She ignored Chuck, rushing the door and grabbing the handle as she heard the rest of her peers outside cackling. She pushed and shoved, but it wouldn't budge.

"Holy shit, I can't believe that worked!" she heard Paul say through laughter.

"Open the door!" Sarah hissed.

"Go around and secure the other doors at the back!" Virat was ordering.

She spun. "Chuck! The back! Get to the back door!" They were wedging something under the door handle to keep them in. She could hear it. "They're gonna block the back door, too!"

"I can't see!"

"Fucking—Oh my God!" She left the front door and staggered around the staircase towards where she assumed the back of the house would be. There was no lighting and she doubted any switches would work, but her eyes were starting to adjust.

By the time she crashed against the back door and tried to shove it open to escape, however, Chad and Paul had secured it, wedging something under that handle too. She moved to the window just beside the door, thick wood grilles cutting through the window panes. She spotted what they'd used to jam the door. It looked like a metal post or something.

They'd planned this.

Fucking hell.

Who did this kind of thing to other people? Dread was clawing at her chest. "Let us out!" she yelled through the thick glass, slapping her hand against it. They looked at her through the window flanking the door and laughed.

"Good luuuuuck! See you in the mooorninnggggg, New Chick!"

Fuck.

Fucking shit.

She was trapped.

Another body slammed into the door next to hers then, and he began to pound against it with an open palm. "FUCKING LET US OUT! LET US OUT!" he screeched, the same dread she felt reflected in his face.

She was trapped with Chuck Bartowski.

And she wasn't sure that wasn't worse than whatever hundred year mold lurked in the damp crevices of this shithole.

God damn it.

She hated it here.

A/N: Kids and teenagers are such dickheads and we all know it. We're all a bunch of nerds, we all went through it. Kids and teenagers are THE WORST. Hopefully I'm able to capture Chuck and Sarah in all their essence but...seventeen. This will be split between three parts, so two left! Please review. I'll eventually see them even though this site is broken. Thanks!

-SC