\o/

Recoil

Part 1-8: Back to School

"Pritchard."

"Here!"

"Roberts."

"Here!"

"Ross."

"Here!"

"Scott."

"Here!"

"Snow."

There was a pause in the roll-call. People looked around. Mr Quinlan scanned the classroom. "Snow? Taylor Snow?"

I jumped. "Oh! Sorry. Here."

He fixed me with a glance of mild disapproval. "Do try to keep up, Ms Snow. Sturt."

"Here!"

Under cover of the roll-call, the giggling and whispering spread through the classroom. I felt my face heating, and I looked down at my desk. Monday morning, first day back at school, and I hadn't even made it out of home room before making an idiot out of myself.

And the day had been going so well, too.

-ooo-

Lisa and I reclined at our ease on the stone balcony overlooking the primeval rainforest. The greenery below us extended into the far distance, until it was swallowed by the hazy horizon. Without asking, I somehow knew that it spanned a great world-continent, a Pangea, the treetop canopy unbroken from one shore to the next.

Growls, shrieks, rumbles and roars sounded from beneath the endless greenery; pterodactyls lazily circled in the cloudless sky, far above.

Lisa lounged on her deck-chair; her broad-brimmed hat was tilted forward over her eyes, her jacket held more pockets than I had ever seen before in a single item of clothing, and her fringed buckskin pants were tucked into a pair of high-top boots made of an iridescent greenish leather that I did not recognise. A coiled bullwhip hung at her hip, and an efficient-looking shotgun leaned against her chair.

She sipped at her drink; I did likewise. It was chilled, and deliciously tart, with just a hint of sweetness. The taste was not familiar to me, but it was very nice.

"So, first day back at school," she commented.

There was a scrabbling sound, down toward the base of the tower to which the balcony was appended. I glanced at Lisa; she didn't seem to have noticed.

Yeah, I agreed, with a marked lack of enthusiasm.

"Not looking forward to it, huh?"

I snorted. Well, would you be?

She nodded. "Fair point. But we have the plan to follow. The world to save. All that stuff."

Oh, I'll do it. Just don't expect me to enjoy every second of it.

The scrabbling was a lot closer. Lisa picked up the shotgun.

"Hey, if saving the world was meant to be easy -"

Yeah, yeah, anyone could do it.

"Precisely." The scrabbling was directly under the balcony now. Coolly and professionally, Lisa racked the slide on the shotgun, chambering a round.

I'm not going to argue about going, I began. I just -

Abruptly, there was a triumphant screech as a large velociraptor leaped up on to the edge of the balcony, balancing precariously on the mossy stonework, its large toe-claw flexing rhythmically as if already disembowelling its prey. I just had time to register its iridescent green skin, and the feathers growing along its arms and spine, before Lisa almost negligently aimed the shotgun and fired. There was a stab of flame from the barrel of the gun, and the 'raptor was punched back off the balcony. It fell, twisting and writhing, a despairing screech wrenched from its jaws.

Holy shit, I muttered. Does that happen often, here?

Lisa worked the slide again; an empty shell popped out, skittering across the stone floor of the balcony, acrid smoke drifting from its interior. Another was chambered in its place.

"Often enough," she told me with a grin. "I use beanbag rounds so I don't discourage 'em too hard."

Beanbag?

She nodded. "Gel rounds. They hit like a freight train, but they're non-lethal."

Non-lethal? I exclaimed. The fall alone will kill it from this height.

"Eh, he's got feathers. Maybe he'll evolve the ability to fly before he hits the ground."

Evolution doesn't work that way, and you know it. I tried to put on a severe tone, but it was spoiled by my grin.

Lisa's voice was totally lacking in concern. "Huh. My bad." She brought the shotgun to bear again, as more scrabbling sounded from below. "Want a shotgun? I have another one around here somewhere."

My voice was regretful. Sorry. You know I'd love to, but I think I have to wake up soon.

"Darn." Lisa's voice was without heat. "You'll be missing the extreme hang-gliding later on, then."

I couldn't help myself. 'Extreme' hang-gliding?

She nodded and grinned, even as the next 'raptor to show its face got a mouthful of beanbag round for its trouble. "Yeah. It involves pterodactyls."

Ah. I should have known.

Lisa racked the slide and blasted another encroaching velociraptor from the balcony rail, then leaned in toward me. "Kiss before you go?"

I kissed her; her lips tasted of dust and blood. Her gun went off, dazzling me. I blinked ...

-ooo-

… and I was awake.

Extreme hang-gliding, I mused to myself as I rolled out of bed and put my feet on the floor. I hope she has fun. I wonder what part of my subconscious she dug that scenario up out of.

I dressed quietly, and crept down the stairs; once again, Danny was waiting, just lacing his shoes.

"Morning," he whispered, looking up.

"Morning, slowpoke," I replied with a grin, just as quietly.

He snorted softly. "Watch it, you," he retorted, but he returned the grin.

We let ourselves out the back door and set off. Danny was beginning to learn how to pace himself, but it would be a while before he acquired the stamina to keep up a steady pace over a long distance. We jogged and walked in turn, to let him get his breath back, so we did cover more of my chosen route, but still nowhere near what I would have liked to have done.

All the same, by the time we got back home, he was still panting heavily, and sweating profusely. I was breathing hard, and my underarms were damp, but that was about it. He gave me a disgusted look as we let ourselves in by the side gate,

"I don't believe it," he wheezed. "If I ran another step, I'd fall over. You look like you could do it all again."

"You'll get there," I assured him. "I doubt I'm naturally this fit, really. I must have worked hard to get this far." Which was all true; I had been doing this for a good five or six months.

"If I don't have a heart attack and die first," he retorted, but there was a grin on his face.

We climbed up the back steps and entered the kitchen. The delicious aromas told me that Dot was cooking breakfast before I ever saw her.

"Good morning, dears," she greeted us amiably. "Goodness, Taylor, what have you been doing to poor Danny? He looks as though he's dead on his feet."

"He's actually doing a lot better than he was, two days ago," I assured her.

She looked askance at him as he stumbled through the kitchen, en route to the stairs. "I just hope it doesn't affect his performance at work."

I grinned at her. "He'll be fine. A hot shower and a good meal, and he'll be a new man."

"I suppose." Her gaze turned to me. "Though I'm not at all sure that doing all this running is a fit hobby for a young lady such as yourself."

I kept my expression neutral, and merely shrugged slightly. "It feels like something I've been doing for a while, and Ms Veder did say that if I continued doing it, it might help bring back memories of my past."

It was the mention of Nina that did it. "Well, she is a very bright young lady, and rather respected in her field. I suppose I shall have to bow to her superior wisdom."

I smiled, and gave her a quick hug. "And I'm not sure if I've thanked you for signing up as my guardian. So thank you for that, and for taking me in."

She blushed a faint pink with pleasure. "I could do nothing else; it was my Christian duty. And even though you're not my daughter, it almost feels as though you are, sometimes."

Close, Grandmother, close, I thought, and set about assisting Dot with the breakfast things until the shower was free.

-ooo-

Principal Woodbine rose from behind his desk, carefully putting out his cigar in the ashtray. The acrid stink of it lingered in the office, but as he had been polite enough to put it out, there wasn't much we could say.

"Welcome to Winslow High, Ms Snow," he congratulated me, shaking my hand. He was a big man, and strong; I could tell he was being careful with the handshake, and thus my fingers were only bruised, not crushed, when I got my hand back.

"Thank you, Mr Woodbine," I replied; he beamed at me.

"The paperwork is all in order?" he asked Nina.

"Yes," she agreed. "Taylor's legal guardianship is split between myself and Dorothy Hebert."

"Ah, Danny's mother," he noted. "A fine woman. Very Christian. I can see no problem with that."

He walked us out of the office. "I took the liberty of assigning you a locker; it's just down this way."

I had a horrible presentiment that I was going to have to use the very same locker in which I had-been/would-be imprisoned, seven months ago … or twenty-one years in the future, whichever was more accurate. But this was not to be; to my relief, he indicated one quite a ways down the corridor. Inserting a key into the centre of the lock, he turned it, then told me to set my combination. I did so, choosing my father's birth date. Removing the key, he had me open the locker to make sure I'd gotten it right. The locker opened smoothly enough.

"Excellent," he told me, as I stored my books in the locker. I was glad to get rid of the weight off my arms. "I'll introduce you to your home room teacher, then you'll be on your own."

-ooo-

I blinked a couple of times when I first met my home room teacher. I knew him; or at least, I would know him.

"Taylor Snow, this is Mr Quinlan," Woodbine introduced us. "Quinlan, Taylor is joining the school today from out of town. She may need catching-up in a few subjects, but I'm told she's quite smart."

Mr Quinlan looked at me, and I at him. When I had known him, he had of course been twenty-two years older, much heavier, and in the final stages of what I presumed to be alcoholic depression. He had the habit, then, of leaving us to work on our own over the last fifteen minutes of a class period. Somehow, I didn't think he had that habit yet.

"Good morning, sir," I greeted him politely, holding out my hand. "I'm pleased to meet you."

He shook it briefly. "It's a little irregular, to bring a new student in after the year has started, isn't it?"

As the question was directed at Woodbine, not me, I kept quiet.

"As I said, she's been transferred in from out of town," Woodbine told him. "I'll tell you more about it over lunch. It's an interesting tale."

"I'm sure it is," Quinlan replied. "How are your math skills, young lady?"

"I'm good up to algebra and basic quadratics," I responded promptly. "After that, I need a little help."

"Hm." He eyed me speculatively. "Well, we'll see how you go. If you find yourself struggling, let me know."

"I will," I assured him. "Thank you, sir."

"Don't thank me until you need help," he advised me. "Until then, do your best."

Turning, he re-entered his classroom. I looked at Nina, then at Principal Woodbine.

"Uh, did I say something wrong?" I asked.

Woodbine smiled benignly and shook his head. "No, he's like that with everyone. He's a very good math teacher, though. He means nothing by it."

He looked up as the bell rang. "Well, you'd better get in there and find a seat. Good luck, Ms Snow."

I looked at Nina as he walked away. "Well, here goes nothing."

She gave me a brief hug. "Have fun at school, kiddo."

Kiddo. It was what Dad used to call me. I felt a sudden wave of nostalgia. "Thanks, Nina. Have fun at work."

"I always do." Giving me a grin and a wink, she strolled away.

I sighed and entered the classroom. Back to school. Yay.

-ooo-

Mr Quinlan wordlessly pointed me at a desk down toward the back of the room, then went on organising his lesson plan. He seemed quiet, intense, a little driven. Not the type to pass the time exchanging pleasantries with his students. At least he's not another Gladly.

I'd had my problems with Mr Gladly; not because he gave me problems, but because he didn't see the problems others gave me. Gladly had been too interested in being the popular teacher, too caught up with being friendly with the popular students. Mr Quinlan, here and now, seemed to be veering in the other direction. He didn't want to be anyone's friend; he just wanted to teach. Which was just fine with me.

As my fellow students filed into the classroom, I got a lot of curious looks. Quinlan didn't elaborate on who I was, which he would have had to do several times over anyway; he just ignored the students and kept doing what he was doing.

A girl with long blonde hair and a skinny frame sat down next to me. "Hi!" she whispered. "Gladys Harvey. Who are you?"

"Taylor Snow," I responded automatically, in the same low tone of voice. "I'm new."

She grinned. "Yeah, I know. I usually stash my extra books in that desk."

She seemed oddly familiar to me, but I couldn't place her. "So what's your first class?"

"Math. Yours?"

"Same. I'm probably going to get tested to see where I am. Yay tests."

She chuckled at my grimace. "You'll do fine. Quinlan's a tough teacher but a fair one."

I nodded. "I was beginning to get that -"

Mr Quinlan rapped the desk with a ruler; all the covert whispering fell silent. "As most of you may have noticed, we have a new student among us. You may socialise with her later. Right now, you need to pay attention."

He picked up a folder and began to read out names. "Adams."

A girl across the classroom called out, "Here!"

"Anson."

A boy replied, "Here!"

-ooo-

I sat in the cafeteria at the lunch break, picking at my meal. Gladys sat next to me, with about two pieces of lettuce and an apple on her tray. "Are you okay?"

I looked at the piece of carrot stuck on my fork, and ate it. "Peachy."

"Mr Quinlan isn't really mean," she tried again. "He'll warm up to you."

I snorted. Instead of testing me, it seemed that Mr Quinlan had delighted in making things as hard as possible for me. I'd had an idea of what the class was doing, but instead of giving me a chance to work it out, he had started calling on me immediately. I wished I could put on my headphones and ask Lisa how to work out the problems he had given me, but this was not on the cards. As it was, he had gotten me to stumble through most of a problem on the board, before calling up another student to fix my mistakes and finish the equation.

I had set out to figure out where I'd gone wrong, and I'd just about gotten there, when I was called on again. This problem seemed even harder, but I did my best. I was fairly sure I'd gotten out most of it before he called out another student once more.

"Sure he isn't the swimming coach?" I asked sarcastically. "Because it seemed to me that he was just throwing me in at the deep end."

She laughed out loud. "I think he was just finding out how good you are, and seeing how you work under pressure," she assured me.

I nodded thoughtfully. I had worked with people like that before; maybe I had been a little hard on Mr Quinlan, letting my memories of the man he might one day be cloud my perception of the man he was now.

"Huh," I mused. "I think you might be right. Thanks for that. Sometimes I forget that even if someone's not being nice to me, it doesn't mean that they're not doing something good for me."

She nodded earnestly. "That's true." A sigh. "Of course, then there are the ones who really aren't nice."

I turned my gaze to where she was looking; three girls were making their way across the cafeteria, in a pattern that was all too familiar to me. The leader, the second in charge and the follower. People made way for them; it wasn't as blatant as it would be in the Winslow of my day, but it was definitely there. And I could see the look on Gladys' face as she covertly watched them. I'd felt that expression on my own face, more than once.

"You've gotten on their bad side?"

She nodded toward them. "The tall blonde one is Larissa Green. The brunette is Melanie Caldwell, and the other blonde is Rachel Pritchard." A tiny shrug, a plaintive tone. "I don't know what I've done to offend them."

"Trust me," I assured her, "it doesn't need to be anything at all. Sometimes, you're just the victim of the week." I glanced about. "What do they do? Do the teachers listen if you tell them?"

"Only little things," she assured me. "Pushes, shoves. Sometimes my books are taken. Nothing I can prove, nothing I can point to. Sometimes they'll say mean things about me behind my back. But Larissa is Principal Woodbine's niece, and no-one's quite sure ..."

I nodded. "No-one's quite sure how fair he'll be if it's her on the other side." It was a familiar pattern. Only the playing pieces changed. Sophia Hess is a Ward; they don't want her to get in trouble.

"Yes," she agreed. "She's always careful to be good around the teachers, you see."

I eyed Larissa; she was tall, almost as tall as me. But while I was all lanky arms and legs, she had curves to spare. Emma Barnes, all over again. Only this one wasn't a redhead.

I thought about the sheer unadulterated hell I had been put through, for eighteen months, at the hands of Emma and company. And then I thought about what I had accomplished since. About the person I had become. And I made a decision.

If Larissa and her cronies decided to come after me, then they would learn, very quickly, that this was a very bad choice of action.

I'd had enough of bullies.

-ooo-

I sat in the principal's office, waiting for Nina to arrive. Well, that was fast.

Beside me sat Gladys, looking apprehensive; opposite us were Larissa and Melanie. We did not speak; Principal Woodbine's secretary had a gimlet eye on each of us, and her disapproval was almost palpable.

Eventually, Nina entered the office. She looked at me with an expression of mixed curiosity and disappointment, then moved to the secretary's desk.

"Nina Veder. I'm here to act as legal guardian for Ms Snow."

"Indeed," the secretary replied. "Very well, you may go in."

Nina disappeared through the door; it shut behind her. Some time passed.

The intercom on the secretary's desk buzzed; she picked up her phone. "Yes, sir," she replied, to something that was said to her. She looked at each of us. "You may go in now."

We rose; I stepped forward smartly, in order to prevent Larissa from cutting in front of me. She was slowed up, in any case, by Melanie, who was still limping.

There were six chairs in front of Woodbine's desk; Nina was sitting in one of them. I sat beside her, and Gladys beside me. The other two found their own chairs; Rachel's sat empty.

Principal Woodbine cleared his throat. "I am very disappointed," he began. "Fighting in this school is something which is strongly discouraged. Here at Winslow, we pride ourselves on non-violent solutions to disagreements." He took the time to look at each of us in turn. "Ms Snow, you are new here. Perhaps you consider physical violence to be an acceptable means to settle an argument; let me assure you, it is not."

I was roused to answer. "Sir, I -"

"I had not finished speaking, Ms Snow," he cut me off. "You will have your turn to speak."

I shut up. This was the side of Principal Woodbine that I had not seen before. I had seen the kindly-uncle version; this was the disciplinarian.

"Ms Harvey," he went on. "This is not the first time you have been in this office, sad to say. Other times, it has had to do with minor disruptions in class, and being chronically late with assignments. I hope that this does not mark an escalation in your activities."

Gladys looked miserable. I could read between the lines; the 'disruptions in class' and the late assignments had likely been due to bullying. Much the same had happened to me, once upon a time.

Woodbine took a breath. "Larissa; I don't know what to say. You're a good student, a popular girl. You're my niece, but there is family and then there is discipline. You know the rules; if you are found to have broken them, then there will be punishment, family or no."

Larissa opened her mouth; she was blonde and very pretty, and knew it. "Uncle, I -"

"Be quiet," he admonished her. Astonished, she closed her mouth again.

He spoke to Melanie Caldwell in much the same vein. Then he turned back to Gladys and myself.

"Ms Snow, I am told that you and Ms Harvey attacked Larissa and her friends, without provocation. If this is true, then I may have to consider suspension; this is a very serious punishment, especially on your first day here." He raised an eyebrow. "I would be interested in hearing your side of it."

I took a deep breath. "In the first place, sir, Gladys didn't attack anyone. She was just there."

Both his eyebrows hitched up now. "Is that so? They say differently."

"They also say I wasn't provoked, sir," I replied evenly. "That's a lie, too."

Larissa shifted, began to speak; without looking, he raised a finger. She quieted.

"Kindly tell me what happened, from your point of view, Ms Snow," he invited.

"Well, we'd just finished lunch," I began.

-ooo-

"So what is there to do after school?" I asked, as Gladys and I strolled along the corridor toward the stairwell. We had just paid a visit to the third floor girls' bathrooms, and I had found them much cleaner and tidier than previously experienced.

"Oh, there's -" she began, then cut off as three girls emerged from the stairwell. Larissa and her two friends.

"Keep walking," I advised her in an undertone. She shot me a frightened glance, but did as I said.

We steered to pass by the three, but they stopped and blocked our way.

"Excuse me," I addressed Larissa, "but we'd like to go downstairs now."

She tried to stare me down; this was difficult, because I was a little taller than her, and I didn't feel like being stared down.

"You know who I am?" she asked.

"Your name is Larissa, and the principal is your uncle," I recited. "Do you know who I am?"

"New girl," she replied dismissively. "Can't even remember your own name for roll call."

I took note of that; Rachel did look vaguely familiar. She had obviously been spreading tales.

"The name is Taylor Snow," I told her quietly. "And we still need to get past."

"Not until we've had a word," she responded.

"A word about what?"

"Are you a dyke?"

I blinked, somewhat surprised. "Are you serious?"

She glared at me. "Harvey's a dyke. Are you one too, or didn't you know?"

I laughed in her face. "You have to be kidding. Gladys is no more gay than I am. Than you are."

Her glare turned threatening. "Listen to me, new girl. I say she's a dyke, she's a dyke. And that sort of shit has to be kept down. And if you're a dyke too ..."

I'd heard enough. "Seriously? You're threatening me? Over what you think my sexuality might be? Even if I was gay, would it even matter? Get a fucking life." I went to push past her. "Come on, Gladys, let's get out of here."

Larissa grabbed my arm, arresting my forward motion. Without even thinking, I grabbed her little finger and bent it back, pulling her hand off me. She cried out; I bent the finger back a little farther, and leaned into her space. "You don't touch me. And you leave Gladys alone."

"Hey!" shouted Melanie, and swung a slap at me.

Without letting go of Larissa's hand, I blocked the slap and kicked Melanie under the kneecap. Brutal, yes, but it was how Brian had trained me, and how I had gone on since then. Hit them hard, hit them fast, and escalate before they can. She screamed and fell over backward, clutching her leg.

Rachel Pritchard grabbed me around the arms, or tried to. They were woefully under-equipped for any sort of brawl; I stamped on her foot, elbowed her in the ribs, then pulled free. I was wearing running shoes, while she had open-toed sandals. In the process, I had to let Larissa go, but she wasn't being aggressive, so it didn't really matter.

Turning, I lifted my leg and slammed my knee into Rachel's stomach; I could have pulled her head down and kneed her in the face, but I figured that the stomach worked well enough. It did; she fell to her knees and started puking.

I took a step toward Larissa; she backed up, cradling her hand. "Keep away from me!" she shouted. "Keep away!"

I rolled my eyes. "Took you long enough to get the message," I told her. Turning away from her, I looked at Gladys. "Sorry you had to see that," I began, then realised that her look of horror was not directed at me. It was directed at the teacher who had just come up the stairwell.

"What," enquired the teacher acidly, "is the meaning of this?"

"She started it!" screamed Larissa, pointing at me. "She started it!"

-ooo-

" … and that's about it," I concluded.

Principal Woodbine steepled his fingers and gazed at me over them. Then he switched to Gladys.

"Ms Harvey, do you concur with what Ms Snow has just said?" he asked.

"Um, basically," she agreed. "She didn't do anything until Larissa grabbed her arm. She was just defending me."

"Thank you, Ms Harvey," he replied.

He turned to Larissa and Melanie. "I've already heard your side of it, and to be honest, it sounds much more fanciful than what Ms Snow has just told me."

Larissa's blue eyes opened wide. "But, Uncle Paul -"

"That's enough, young lady," he snapped. "If you address me in this office, you address me as 'Principal Woodbine', or 'Mr Woodbine'. At school, I am not your uncle. Do you understand me?"

She wilted under his glare.

"I said, do you understand me?"

Faintly, she nodded. "Yes, Un – I mean, Principal Woodbine."

"Good. Larissa, get back to class. Melanie, go to the nurse and get that knee strapped. Tell the nurse that if Rachel's stopped throwing up, she can go back to class too."

The girls fled, Melanie still limping. Principal Woodbine turned to Gladys. "Ms Harvey, I am given to understand that this is not an isolated incident."

"I, uh, no, sir," she managed.

He frowned. "Well, now that they know my stance on the matter, that should be an end to it."

"Uh, thank you, sir."

He gestured. "Go on, back to class."

She got up and left, not without a grateful glance in my direction.

Woodbine sighed and leaned back in his chair. Nina and I waited.

"Ms Snow, you present a problem to me," he said at last.

"A problem?" I asked. "Uh, sir."

He sat forward. "Yes, a problem. I consider myself to be a reasonably good judge of character. This incident has all the hallmarks of a bullying attempt gone sadly wrong; as Ms Harvey takes your side in it, and she's not one of the popular girls, I have to presume that you and she were the butt of it. But you turned the tables on them, and rather neatly too."

I sat silent, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

"You strike me as someone who doesn't start problems, but when they arise, you deal with them as efficiently and effectively as possible. Aggressively, even."

He seemed to be waiting for a response. "I … suppose so, sir," I replied neutrally.

A dry smile crossed his face. "I would do more than suppose so. But therein lies the problem with which I am faced. You have obviously learned to face up to your problems in an aggressive fashion. I'm thinking that maybe you need a more productive outlet for that aggression."

"I'm not really one for sports, sir -" I began.

He shook his head. "I wasn't talking about sports."

"Then what are you talking about?" asked Nina.

"Tell me," Woodbine asked, addressing me directly. "Have you ever heard of the Junior Reserve Officers' Training Corps?"

End of Part 1-8