Continued from yesterday:
Sara found Kitty on the way to her next class, and literally picked up the Freshman girl and shook her vigorously.
“What the living heck?” said Kitty. “What’d you do that for?"
"I just wanted to see if there were any brains rattling around in there, or if you’d completely lost them all."
"Like, *huh*?"
"Did you have the Froshtie tradition at your old school?"
"No…?” Kitty blinked at the string of non-sequiteurs.
“And Lance originally went to your school, yes?"
”…yeah?“
"So what could possibly make you think he’s been indoctrinated into Bayville traditions?"
”…uh…“ said Kitty.
Sara patted her on the head. "You can’t look a foo’ if think things through…"
Kitty was left staring in the direction she’d gone. "But I like, thought I *had*…"
+
They officially had study hall. What they usually *un*officially did was hang out at the bleachers and huck random objects at the jocks when nobody was looking.
Only this time, Lance was disinterested to the point of near coma.
"Heh. Got another one,” crowed Todd[1].
“Blam! Right in the kisser!” Tabby laughed.
“…eh…” said Lance. “What’s the point?"
"Kitty dissed yo’ again?"
"Pretty much permanently,” said Lance. “Made it clear she didn’t care if I lived or died."
"So shock, her, yo. Keep on livin’."
"Yeah? And what, exactly, is there to live for?"
"Dinner?” said Fred.
“Fashion,” said Pietro.
“Meaningless fucks?” suggested Tabby.
“Shuddup,” said Todd. “Look, if Kitty’s all you got to live fo’, yo, then maybe you aughta think about gettin’ another hobby."
"Name one that won’t cost me a fuckin’ fortune."
"Zen,” said Todd.
[1] No prizes for guessing where this line came from
~
Duncan Matthews could feel his heartbeat in his ribcage. He’d be out of here in a split second if it wasn’t for the hot-tempered redhead looming over him in the next chair.
“There’s no need to worry,” said Jean in her dangerously friendly tones. “I’ll be *right* with you for moral support."
_…yipe…_
~
They met while Sara was on her way to Drama.
"Janine."
"Thara."
"How’s life?"
"Thuckth pretty much bad,” Janine summarised. “I got a D-minuth in English."
"Start reading those books I gave you. You’ll find them helpful."
Janine looked extremely helpless. "Could you… give them to me again? I… kinda threw them out the last time…"
Sara grimaced and fished for a wallet. She produced a card. "Here. This place sells them. I don’t re-give non-perishable gifts."
"It'th gonna be painful, isn’t it?"
"I’m not exactly economically advantaged at the moment, either, dear. Life for some may be a box of chocolates, but ours–"
Janine joined the chorus, ”–ith a box full of wrappers.“ She sighed. "I get it. Thankth."
"I’ll appreciate it if you show learning,” Sara called over her shoulder as she made her way to Drama class.
“You’re late,” said Ms Terwillager.
“First time finding the place,” said Sara. “This particular area’s a labyrinth."
"Nevertheless, latecomers pay the penalty. Pick a task from the Tardy Jar."
As she walked up to it, some students began chanting, "Tar-dy, tar-dy, tar-dy…"
"And the winner is…” Sara unfolded the paper. “Create and sing lyrics to the Hornpipe with a finishing qualifyer. One minute."
"You have one minute to think it up, then you have to perform,” supplied Jean.
Sara concentrated. Her tongue slid out between her teeth and her brow lowered as she stared at nothing.
“Ding,” said an anonymous wag.
“Fries are done,” laughed his compatriot.
Sara shook her head. “I can’t do it. It’s almost lewd."
"You must perform the task,” said Ms Terwillager.
Sara cleared her throat. “I appologise in advance for my supreme lack of voice.” She took the pose. “It’s the hornpipe dance and I’ll show you how it goes/ Gents you stand up on one leg/ Ladies take off all your clothes/ And then you hop/ And then you bop/ And don’t you stop/ Until you drop/ And that’s the hornpipe that you’re dancing when you’ve got a runny nose."
Blushing from her toes, Sara took her seat.
The rest of the class was deathly quiet.
"Dude,” said the wag.
“Whoah,” said Jean.
Sara curled in her chair. Supplicant’s pose. Hands under her thighs, both feet firmly on the floor, knees jammed together… head down, shoulders supporting the weight of her upper frame… and elbows spiritedly attempting to meet in the middle.
Awful. Awful. Awful. Awful. Awful…
Someone started clapping. Someone else joined. Then the whole class…
What?
Ms Terwillager lifted Sara’s chin up with her pinkie. “It’s called ‘applause’, darling. A sign of appreciation. You, my dear, are the first Tardy to *ever* accomplish a Tardy Task."
"But… it was awful…"
Ms Terwillager produced a tissue and daubed gently at Sara’s proto-tears. "I see you’re here for confidence issues,” she said, just above the noise of the class. “You’ll be *fine*.” She turned, slamming her cane on the bare wood floor. “Enough! We shall commence, today… roleplay.”
~~
Todd found her after class, completely croggled, and actually lead her halfway towards detention before she spoke.
“I think I’ve been through the singularly most surreal experience of my life… and I get to do it again on Thursday."
Todd nodded. He’d seen her schedule. Crowded was not the word. In order to compensate for Sara’s… information capacity, the school had juggled some of her lessons. Today’s English class was supposed to be Study Hall, but since her study materials had yet to arrive, she was free to go where she whist.
She still got the homework, of course, every day; but the classes she attended were spread across the board.
_And tomorrow, she’s taking Art with me,_ he thought, and practically glowed. Aloud, he said, "So what was this surreal thing, yo?"
"I think it distils as LARPing through time and space,” said Sara. “We were given… pieces. Artifacts. The task was to become the character they belonged to for twenty minutes."
Todd could just picture fifteen or so kids dressed up from the Drama department’s rag-bag of leftover costumery. "Yo?"
"Military jacket and a sort of beret thingy with a medal on it. I became the very model of a tinpot dictator supreme.” A brief, pained look crossed her features. “The character was male and… very crude. I swear he spent fifteen of those twenty minutes *flirting* with Jean beause she was playing -er- a lady of negotiable affections."
Todd noticed the very subtle distinction between Sara and the person she’d been for a space of time. "You okay?"
"Mostly. The perverse little man tried to follow me home, but I sealed him firmly in his box."
His face must have projected the _Uh oh…_ for a mile and a half.
"No, darling. An actual cardboard box. In the storage room.” Her eloquent hands sketched the dimensions, but never let go of his hand.
He sighed. “Don’t *scare* me like that, yo."
"I swore off boxes, darling. They’re bad for me. Except the physical kind.” She broke off holding his hand, but only to give him a hug.
_Mmmm… head at breast level…_ Todd felt better about his place in the world. “C'mon. We don’t wanna be late fo’ detention."
"O yes,” Sara agreed. “We can’t miss the whirlwind excitement of completely random, yet boring tasks."
"Should we both do the 'what ho’ stuff this time?"
"Please?”
~
Jean caught the edge of it when she came to pick them up.
“What, hoe?"
"Hoe."
”*HO-ooooooo*…“
"Hoe, ho!"
They were tilling soil under the supervision of Mr Kian, who seemed to be the one teacher immune to the Tolensky-Adrien comedy duo.
"Ho-ho, hoe."
"What?"
"Hoe."
Jean watched. Evidently, they’d used no more words than variants of 'what’ and 'ho’ for half an hour. She was personally amazed that Kian wasn’t a twitching wreck by now.
"Are they done, yet?” she asked.
“What ho, 'ho?” said Todd.
_Gah…_
“Hoe, what?” said Sara.
“Oh, ho ho…"
Mr Kian sighed. "I’d hoped ignoring it would work… but evidently not, m'kay."
"Hoe, hoe, hoe, hoho, hoe hoe, hoho, hoe hoe - ho[1]…"
{Bedeep.}
”*Now* their time is up,“ said Kian. "Do you know how to make them *stop*?"
"Joke’s over; both of you."
”'Ho, ho!“
Sara leaned over to kiss Todd. "Enough, darling. The aim is to make the punishment reverse. Not spread."
They handed their hoes in and then indicated the egress with a final, "Ho!"
Mr Kian shook his head. "At least they’re not destroying property…” he muttered.
[1] To the tune of the Anvil Chorus.
~~