Birdsong

>“Hello, Maxwell!”
>“Hello Cold. It has been a while since we last spoke.”
>“Sorry about that. I’ve been really busy with theater club.”
>“I did not know you had joined a club. How is it?”
>“Really fun. Are you in any clubs?”
>“No.”
>“You should join theater club! We can hang out together!”
>“I wish I could, but I cannot join any clubs.”
>“Why not?”
>“I am not allowed to.”
>“Oh. I’m sorry.”
>“It is alright. You can just tell me everything that happens at the club. It will be a little like me being in the club.”
>“Alright. Well, yesterday we….”

***

The piles of broken wood and spilled paint created a visual record of Ivory’s attempts at set building. It was probably for the best that she had the rest of the school year to work on this. And that the school seemed to have an unlimited budget for art supplies.

Alright. Third time… fourth time… fifth? Fifth time’s the charm. She was going to create a backdrop of rolling meadows and it was going to be beautiful, even if it took her all week!

Ivory’s efforts at painting were interrupted by the sound of singing. She didn’t recognize the tune, but it was the most entrancing sound she had ever heard. A quick look around made it clear that the sound wasn’t coming from anyone backstage. She followed the song, filled with the need to know who its source was. The trail led her onto the main theater stage, where the Convocation was singing and dancing. The room was dark, save for a flashlight on the ground lighting up the Convocation. No one sat in the audience, yet she moved with a passion that showed in every graceful movement.

Ivory didn’t dare speak, lest she disrupt the magic. Hesitantly she took a step on stage. Sadly, that step hit against a loose part of the floor, causing Ivory to fall forward. She grabbed onto the stage curtains, but rather than stop her fall, the curtains tore off and fell with her.

Convocation jumped at the sudden sound, and ran off the stage without a look back. By the time Ivory had dug herself out of the curtains, Convocation was long gone.

***

It wasn’t a surprise when Salmacis found Wooden missing from their usual table in the cafeteria. Wooden had said she was going to be busy with club activities during lunch. Still, even an expected disappointment is a disappointment. Lunch alone was hardly an entertaining sounding idea. With a heavy sigh, Salmacis resigned herself to this burden.

“Excuse me, but aren’t you Ichor’s sister?”

A group of older girls had approached Salmacis’s table. She recognized the one who had spoken; a junior, with green hair and eyes. She’d seen the girl and her group around school before, but never spoken with any of them. “Um… yes?” Salmacis cautiously replied.

The lead one clapped her hands together. “Oh, this is perfect! I’m Mother of Snakes. It’s so good to meet you.”

“I’m Salmacis. It’s… good to meet you too.” She was still unsure how she was supposed to act in a situation such as this. What little she knew about this group hadn’t made her think they were the sort to strike up a conversation with her.

“I’m a classmate of Ichor.” Snakes continued. “I’m sure she’s mentioned me before?”

“No, she… um… she’s never once talked about you.”

Snakes’ smile didn’t flinch at all. “Oh that is just so like her! Isn’t that just like her, girls?” Everyone in the group voiced their agreement. Snakes turned back to Salmacis. “Can we sit with you?”

That was certainly not a question Salmacis had expected to be asked. “Um. Sure?”

“Thanks!” The girls sat around Salmacis, crowding the table. “I’m sorry if we’re bothering you.” Snakes said. “You just looked so alone, I figured you’d like someone to talk to.”

The kindness surprised Salmacis. When the majority of students at a school are personality-less shadows, any interaction with someone else felt like a gift. “Thank you” She said, brightly smiling.

The conversations these girls had tended to be focused on topics such as fashion, relationships, or social events. It was nothing like what Salmacis and Wooden talked about when it was just them at the table, and Salmacis was fascinated by the novelty. She listened intently, soaking in all the information she could about this strange new social world.

“And have you seen that physics assignment Mr. Beakman gave?” Snakes said. “I don’t understand a word of it, and he was no help when I asked about it!”

Ah, school! There was a topic Salmacis was used to discussing. “I don’t think Mr. Beakman is that bad.” She said. “At least, for his freshman class.”

“Really? Why don’t you look at what he’s giving us juniors.” Snakes pulled a worksheet out of her purse (backpacks were sooooo unfashionable, according to her,) and showed it to Salmacis. The content was all new, but after a while of looking it over, she thought she understood it. She got out her pencil, and began working through the math.


“Then we just multiply these together… and there! I think that’s how it’s supposed to be done.” She said.

“Wow, you’re so smart!” Snakes said. Salmacis was still looking at the physics assignment, and thus didn’t see Snakes wink at the rest of the group. “Maybe you could help me out with the rest of the work he’d given us?”

“Sure!” Salmacis said. No reason to not help out people who’ve been so nice to her, right?”

“Thanks! Also there’s a little math and history that you could help me on as well….”

Theater Club

Wooden examined the volunteers like a general examining her troops. Though it is unlikely that even the worst equipped army contained such a rag tag group. Most of the theater students were indistinct shadows, while the choir and band students appeared to be uniformly covered in a gray fungus. A disappointingly small number of students had responded to Wooden’s recruitment. Salmacis was the only new band member. Dying, Intrusion, and Cold had all joined theater. Ivory had offered her assistance in set design. And then there was…

“Mr. Dooling?” Wooden said. “Who is that?”

“Her?” Mr. Dooling checked his attendance sheet. “That’s Convocation. She just signed up this morning. Apparently she liked the posters Ivory made.”

Convocation was tall and slim, with raven black hair that matched her shirt and skirt. Her yellow eyes darted around the room to follow every sound. She constantly fidgeted in place, as if standing still took too much effort and she was moments away from taking off.

So someone had actually responded to the posters. Given how apathetic the other recruits seemed, that surprised Wooden a little. When it seemed that no one else was coming, Wooden stepped up to the front of the room and began to speak. “Okay, so you all know why you’re here….”

“I don’t!” Intrusion’s voice buzzed out. “You just grabbed us and told us to join theater!”

“… Oh. Well, let me explain why you’re here. Empty High is going to enter the Annual Amateur Musical Competition. You all are going to be taking part in it.”

“A musical? Come on, musicals are lame.” Dying said.

Wooden’s glare could have burned through a tank. “What did you say?”

“I… uh… that musicals are… lame….”

Wooden stomped up to Dying until they were standing nose to nose. “I will have you know that musicals are a highly respected form of theater.” She hissed. “It is an art, and I will not have it disrespected by some uncultured troglodyte. Am I clear?”

“Yes ma’am!”

“Good.” She stepped back to give Dying space.  “Now that we all know why we’re here, I’ll hand it over to Mr. Steward for instructions.”

***

There are two kinds of people in the world: the good, and the evil. Black and white, with only a thin line keeping them apart. It was the sworn duty of a Hall Monitor to protect that line, and keep the just people of the world safe from the hordes of darkness. A heavy burden, but a burden which Judgment was willing to carry. Some might claim that a Hall Monitor wasn’t all that important in the grand scheme. Such people had never seen the daily battle against the forces of anarchy which Judgment fought in every day.

Two agents of such anarchy were right in front of him. The Brute and the Burning Bride, brazenly wandering around the hallways during class time. “Hey! You two!” Judgment shouted. They ignored him. “Brute! Burning Bride!” Still, they made no response. Judgment ran up to them, waving his badge as if it were a talisman which could banish such disobedience.

“Oh. Hey Judgment.” Bride said. “How’s that Kindergarten Cop thing treating you?” The Brute merely glowered from behind his raggedy beard.

Judgment graciously chose to ignore that comment. “Where are you two going?”

“Oh, you know. Places.” Bride said.

“Places?”

“Yeah. Places to go, people to see. That stuff.”

“Uh-huh. And where are you hall passes?”

“Our passes? Hm. Brute, what happened to our passes?”

The Brute shrugged. Even Judgment couldn’t help being transfixed by the shifting of muscles needed for that motion. It was like watching a mountain move.

“Well, there you have it.” Bride said. “We don’t know where our passes are. Must have lost them.”

“If you don’t have a pass, you’ll need to come with me.”

“Pffff, yeah that’s not happening.”

“I wasn’t asking. You WILL come with me.” He began to reach for the Bride, but was stopped when her hand grabbed his wrist.

“Or else you’ll do what?”

Judgment had always thought of Bride as being small and frail. It only then dawned on him that when standing next to Brute, everyone looked small and frail. Up close he could see that Bride had enough muscle that it probably wouldn’t be hard for her to snap him in half. This was not a comforting thought to have while she had a solid grip on him.

“What’s going on here?” Another voice said.

Slender Man was approaching down the hallway, faceless head looking over the other three students. Bride let go of Judgment, who quickly ran behind Slender. “These two delinquents were refusing to come with me when I caught them skipping class!”

“Skipping class? That’s not possible. I saw Mr. proxiehunter write them passes.”

“You… what?”

“Yes. He needed them to pick up some class supplies for him. He said it was very important.”

“But… they….”

“Very important. I hope you didn’t take up too much of their time, since you know Mr. proxiehunter wouldn’t like them being delayed.”

“I… well….” All of Judgment’s eyes glared at Brute and Bride. “I suppose I can let them off this time. You two should be grateful that someone so respectable was willing to vouch for you!” Then he stormed off to find other victims.

As soon as Judgment was out of earshot, Slender and Bride burst into laughter. There might have even been a smile on Brute’s face. Possibly. “Ah man… did you hear what he called you, Slends? Respectable?” Bride said. “Man, if I knew wearing a suit would let me get away with that much, I’d have started wearing one long ago.” Slowly the two managed to stifle their laughter. “Anyways, Brute and I are going to meet Archie over at the quarry. Wanna come with?”

“Sorry, I can’t.” Slender held up a formidably large looking book titled ‘City Records’. “I have some research to do.”

“Playing hooky to study? Slends, man, you’re supposed to skip class to get away from that stuff.”

“Sorry. But this is important.”

“If you say so…. But if you change your mind, you know where to find us.”

***

Wooden’s stare was the dead gaze of one who had seen hell itself. Salmacis was almost too afraid to approach her friend, and confront that soulless gaze. “Um… Wooden?” She built up the courage to say. “How…?”

“It was terrible.” Wooden dully said. “We did auditions for parts. I never thought anyone could be so bad at acting.”

“Oh. That’s, um….” Salmacis had actually had a quite enjoyable time with the band students. She still wasn’t sure how everyone was able to play their instruments while covered in that fungus, but it had sounded good. And Mr. Dooling had been helpful while explaining the basics of band to her. “Well, it is their first day. Maybe they’ll get better?”

Wooden shrugged. “I don’t know if I have the patience to wait for that. Maybe this wasn’t a good idea. I’ll go talk to Mr. Steward. He’ll understand if I ask for this to be called off….” Wooden stopped as she noticed someone walking up to her and Salmacis. It was the one with the pale hair, who’d come alone. His name was… Wooden tried to dredge up the memory. He’d told her his name only the other day, how could she already have… Cold Boy! That was it!

“Hey, um, Wooden?” He said. “I just wanted to, um, thank you.”

“Thank me?” Wooden looked at Salmacis, hoping she would know what Cold was talking about. Salmacis just shrugged.

“Yeah, thank you for inviting me. I wasn’t in any clubs before this, and I was really happy when you asked me to join. I’m looking forward to our next meeting.”

“Yes… our next meeting….”

Wooden was trying to think of how to tell him that there wasn’t going to be another meeting, when Intrusion ran over. “Ah man, this room is awesome!” He said, waving around a blunt sword. “Look at these props! This club is so cool! Don’t you agree, Dying?”

Dying, trailing behind Intrusion, muttered, “It’s okay, I guess.”

“Yeah! Totally awesome! When’s the next meeting?”

“The next meeting… it’s….” Wooden looked at Salmacis for support, but found she was too busy trying to stop from laughing at Wooden’s obvious discomfort. “It’s… this Friday! Same time and place! Hope to see you all there!”

It was only after the other club members left that Salmacis let out her laughter. Wooden glowered at the floor and mumbled, “What else could I say? They put me in a corner….”

Volunteers

If one had given Empty City High’s art room only a cursory examination, one could be forgiven for missing the young girl amidst the mess of materials. Sketchpads were layered across the floor, pencils were scattered randomly across the room, pieces of chalk huddled together in little groupings on the floor, and open cans of paint were stacked into towers rising precariously high.

Amongst this sat the Ivory Woman, carefully moving her paint brush across a canvas. Her pale skin and hair made her seem almost ghostlike, an impression which was only strengthened by her white clothing. The intensity of her concentration on her painting was so strong, she didn’t even notice when another girl entered the room.

“Um, excuse me….”

The Ivory Woman made a yelp of surprise and jumped, accidentally knocking over one of the towers of paint, causing an open bucket to land on the head of the newcomer, spilling red paint all over her.

“Ohmygosh I’m so sorry!” Ivory said, and started to walk over to help. But her foot landed on a pencil, which rolled away underneath it. She tried catching her balance with the other foot, but the sketchpads on the ground were hardly a stable floor, and she fell, landing in a cloud of chalk dust. Her canvas teetered precariously for a few moments, and then fell, knocking over another tower of paint.

“Are… are you okay?” The new girl said.

Ivory didn’t seem to notice the question. She sat up, and coughed a few clouds of chalk, and then scrambled over to her canvas. The spilt paint had spread all over it, completely destroying the image. “Oh no, not again….” Ivory said, her eyes starting to get wet.

“I’m… um… sorry about your picture….” The girl said, still taken aback by the sudden chaos.

“No, it’s… it’s alright.” Ivory said as she used her sleeve to wipe away her tears, smudging more chalk on her face. “I’ll just… start over. Again.” She stood up, and put on a smile. “I’m the Ivory Woman. How can I help you?”

“I’m the Wooden Girl. Mr. Steward sent me here to talk to the art teacher…?”

“Oh. Um….” Ivory thought for a second. “I don’t think we have one of those.”

“You don’t have a….” Wooden looked around the messy room. “Where’s the rest of the art class anyways?”

“It’s just me.”

“You’re… the only student in art?”

“Yes.”

“And there’s no teacher?”

“Yup.”

“So… you just come here and draw by yourself for a whole period?”

“Yes!” Ivory nodded enthusiastically.

“….Okay…. Then I guess I should give this to you.” Wooden pulled a piece of paper out of her pocket, and handed it to Ivory. “We’re trying to get people to join our performance of ‘The King in Yellow’ so we can participate in a theater competition, and we wanted to know if someone in the art department could make posters like this to advertise for us.”

Ivory looked over the sketch. “Yeah, I can make something like this. I just… um….” She looked at the mess around her. “I just need to clean up a little bit first….”

“Thanks! Let me know when it’s finished. I need to go and recruits volunteers.” Wooden started to walk to the door, but stopped when a thought struck her. “And, um… good luck. Try not to hurt yourself.”

***

“…so then I tried to make a will roll to resist, but I got a one, which meant….”

“Intrusion, have I ever told you that your games are the dumbest thing ever?”

“Ah, come on Dying, they’re cool. You know you want to give them a try.”

A part of Dying admitted to himself that he did. But that was a part which he would never allow to be spoken out loud.

A hand suddenly grabbed Dying by the shoulder. He started to shout, “Get off,” at whoever was accosting him, but when he looked at who the hand belonged to, he saw a painted face with glaring eyes. Only a moment of trying to look back into the intense fire of that glare, and he found himself having to fight the urge to grovel.

“Neither of you are in any electives, right?” The girl who’d grabbed him said.

“No….” Dying just managed to stop himself before he added “ma’am.”

“Good. You’re joining theater.”

“But….”

“We’re meeting after school today in Mr. Stewards room. Be there.” Then she walked off.

Intrusion leaned toward Dying. “What just happened?”

“I… don’t know.”

***

Wooden laid out the poster on the cafeteria table. “This is the first draft that Ivory made. If Mr. Steward likes it, we’re going to print more out and start putting them up around the school.”

Salmacis looked over the poster. It looked nice, although she didn’t think she was qualified to make critical judgments about art.

“So will you ask your sisters if you can switch out of swim team into theater for this?” Wooden said. “I was really hoping I’d be able to work with you on this….”

Inwardly, Salmacis flinched. She wasn’t looking forward to that conversation with EAT. “I’ll try, but….” Something on the poster caught her eye. “Hey, what’s….” She pointed at the poster.

Wooden looked where Salmacis’s finger was indicating. The specific line read, “Band and choir members needed. Please speak with Mr. Dooling.”

“Oh, that?” Wooden said. “It’s a musical, so we need people to perform the music. Except according to Mr. Dooling, his students are about as bad at music as Steward’s are at theater. So I also need to find volunteers for that too….”

Salmacis was only half paying attention. In her mind, she was reliving her first day of school… getting lost… bumping into someone….

“Are… you okay?” Wooden said. “You look a little red….”

“Yes! Fine!” Salmacis jumped out of her chair. “WherebandcansignupI?”

“… What?”

“Where I… band… signing….” Salmacis took a deep breath. “Where. Do I. Sign up for band?”

“Um… Mr. Dooling’s room. Which is… I think it’s on the 2nd floor today. East wing.”

Salmacis was already packing up her things before Wooden had even finished speaking. “Weren’t you going to talk to your sisters first?” Wooden said.

“Easiertoaskforgivenessthanpermission!” Salmacis shouted as she sprinted out of the cafeteria.

***

It was a lonely walk from the cafeteria to the library for the Cold Boy. He wondered about that sometimes. There should have been enough students in the school to cram the hallways, but Cold almost always found himself making these walks alone.

“Hey! You!”

Cold kept walking. It was probably just someone trying to get their friend’s attention.

“You! Sad looking kid walking away from me!”

Maybe they actually were talking to him… no, not possible. No one talked to him.

Cold felt someone grab him from behind, and spin him around. “Listen to me when I talk to you!”

The girl who’d been shouting was dressed in all black, and had far more makeup on than was really necessary. She also happened to be glaring at Cold with a burning anger he had never seen before, but he didn’t notice that much. He was too shocked that someone was actually looking at him for once.

“What’s your name?” She said.

“I’m the Cold Boy….”

“Right. I’m…”

“The Wooden Girl. We have math together.”

She seemed taken aback, and the anger left her eyes. “Oh. Sorry, I didn’t recognize you.”

“… and history…”

“Oh. Erm.”

“… and English…”

“Um….”

“… and biology….”

“Okay, okay, I get it! Geeze, I said I was sorry!” The anger was back now. “You’re not in any electives, right?”

“No….”

“Good. You’re signing up for theater. We’re meeting after school today in Mr. Steward’s room. You will be there.”

“O-okay….”

With that confirmed, Wooden let go of Cold and marched off to find more volunteers.

Well. That was weird, Cold thought to himself.

Parent Meeting

>”Hello again, Cold.”
>”Hi Maxwell. How’ve you been?”
>”I have read every book in the school library.”
>”What? All of them?”
>”Yes.”
>”Come on, that’s not possible.”
>”Oh. It isn’t?”
>”No. I’ve only been able to read one book since we talked.”
>”Yes, one, that’s how many I’ve read.”
>”You need to come up with something more believable if you’re going to trick me. What did you read?”
>”The Haunter of the Dark.”
>”How was that?”
>”It breaks from several of the author’s usual conventions, to the greater benefit of the story. Although at points the narrative direction becomes unorganized, the end product is good, and recommendable.”
>”I’ll have to check it out. Thanks for the suggestion.”

***

As per usual, Mr. Steward was behind his desk, letting the students act how they wanted through the period. But this time, the Wooden Girl had something on her mind when she came to class.

“How come you never mentioned our school won a theater competition?” She said after hearing the bell ring.

Mr. Steward put down his book and looked at her quizzically. “We’ve never participated in a theater….” As his voice trailed off, his eyes glazed over. “… Yes… I… remember now. The Annual Amateur Musical Competition. Our production of ‘Shoggoths’ won us first place.” He stared blankly at a spot on the wall, as if trying to remember more, but Wooden cut his train of thought.

“Why don’t we enter the contest again this year?”

“Hm? What?” It took a moment for Steward to focus back on the present, but when he did, he laughed. “With this class? I don’t think most of them are capable of singing.”

“What if I got people who could?”

“Excuse me?”

“What if I found other people to participate in the play?”

Steward thought for a moment. “It would be nice to work with a real cast again. You’d need to pick out a play, but I’ve got some scripts in my office that could be used…. I’ll have to speak with Mr. Dooling for the band and choir’s participation….”

“So we’ll do it?”

“Maybe. See if you can find a cast first. Then I’ll think about it.”

That was good enough for Wooden Now she just had to round up some volunteers….

***

Mr. Omega carefully cleared off his desk in a doomed effort to make it look orderly. Where had all these things come from, anyways….

He heard a knock on his office door, and said, “Come in.” And man and a women entered the room. Both had appearances that were nothing short of stunning. The women had long auburn hair and red eyes, and wore a small red dress that left very little to the imagination. The man had similarly colored eyes, and hair which somehow seemed to billow in a nonexistent wind. Several of his shirts buttons were undone, showing a muscular chest.

“Hello, Mr. and Mrs. Red Cap.” Omega said while extending his hand in greeting. “Thank you for coming. I wanted to speak with you about your son, Dying Man.”

“Oh please, call me Miss Red Cap.” She ignored the hand and gave Omega a tight hug. “How’s our darling little boy?”

“Well, unfortunately, some issues have risen which may require your attention. Please, take a seat.” He gestured at two chairs in front of his desk. Mr. Red Cap sat in a chair, then Ms. sat in his lap. Omega got behind his desk, and pulled out a manila folder. “Mr. Lowe has expressed to me concerns about your son’s performance in school. I was hoping we could discuss a solution.”

“Oh, surely a few bad grades won’t be too much trouble!” Mr. Red Cap said. “I remember I always had better things to do with my time than study when I was his age!” He tickled Ms.’s side, and she playfully slapped his hand away.

“This is a bit more than a few grades.” Mr. Omega started to say, but the two were already lost in their own conversation.

“Remember our junior year homecoming game?”

“When we snuck under the bleachers?”

“And I brought the length of string?”

“I think I still have my cheerleader outfit packed away!”

“We can pick up a new pair of handcuffs on the way home!”

“And I’ll make the balloon animals!”

***

Dying slouched through the hall toward the counselor’s office. He wasn’t going to complain about getting out of class, but he’d learned pessimism was the best strategy when dealing with school officials.

When he reached the office, he saw his parents making very unusual hand gestures in front of a man listening in horrified fascination. Oh god, they were telling the bowling ball story….

“Dying Man, there you are!” The man said, seizing on the opportunity to escape. “I’m Mr. Omega, the guidance counselor. I wanted to speak with you and your parents.”

“But we haven’t gotten to the best part of the story!” Mr. Red Cap said.

“That’s… that’s alright. I don’t think it would be appropriate to tell with your child here….”

“Oh, that’s alright, he already knows it. We had him film it for us.”

“Even so, we still have some other matters to discuss!” Omega quickly said. “Now, one of Mr. Lowe’s suggestions was more parental involvement in your son’s school. He thinks that if you show more investment in his education, it will cause your son himself to become more invested.”

Dying tried shouting “No!” as fast as he could, but his dad spoke first. “That sounds like a wonderful idea!”

“I’m glad you think so. Here’s a list of volunteer opportunities we have for parents. I hope you find something interesting to you on it. ThankyouforyourtimeIhopetospeakwithyouagainsoon.” He quickly rushed Dying and the Red Cap out of his office, then closed the door.

Phew. The job description for guidance counselor had said it was about talking to troubled students and helping them out. So why was it Omega felt like his real job was trying to make sure everyone in this school kept their clothes on?

>Hi Maxwell
>Hello Cold. It’s been a few days; how have you been?
>I’ve been good. Sorry about not talking. Mr. Lowe had us read “At the Mountains of Madness,” and during lunch I’ve been asking Mr. Sigma to show me other books by that author.
>Do you enjoy reading?
>It’s okay. I like the books Mr. Lowe gives us at least. And we’ve got a few other good books in the library.
>Interesting. I think I will start reading through the library’s archive of books.
>I could recommend some of my favorites, to you, if you want.
>That would be appreciated, thank you.

***

“That will be all for today.” Mr. Lowe said. “Please read through chapter six by our next class, and be ready to answer your reading questions.”

Students rushed out the door, but Mr. Lowe stopped one before he left. “Dying, I need to speak with you.”

The Dying Man sullenly walked to Mr. Lowe’s desk. “What?”

“I wanted to talk to you about the work you’ve been doing. You haven’t turned in half your assignments, and what you have turned in isn’t near as good as I know you can do. If you don’t improve, you’re going to fail this grading period.”

If Lowe had been hoping the threat of failure would trigger a reaction, he was disappointed. Dying shrugged and kept silent.

“I want to help you Dying, but you need to communicate with me. If we can’t come up with a solution to your grades, I’ll be forced to contact your parents.”

“Go ahead. They don’t care about anything I do.”

Ah, Mr. Lowe thought to himself. “If that’s really what you want me to do, I’ll schedule an appointment with Mr. Omega.”

“Fine.” And without another word, Dying shuffled out of the room.

***

Empty High stood locked in a single moment, all its students and staff frozen in place. Principal Jack walked through the motionless crowds, silently observing the activity of his school. Everything was going predictably. Everything was happening within the safe, reasonable boundaries of the school. Not one thing out of the ordinary was occurring.

How terribly boring.

Principal Jack went outside to observe Coach Ferris’s PE class. The coach had his students climbing the school’s rock wall. Idly, Principal Jack snapped his fingers, and the safety rope on a student near the top vanished.

Hm. Still not exciting enough. Perhaps a spike pit beneath the student?

Snap.

A spike pit on fire.

Snap.

A spike pit on fire and filled with flame resistant sharks.

Snap.

Principal Jack grinned at his creation, imagining the chaos which would ensue the moment he let time resume. Of course, Coach Ferris would manage to dive in and save the student before he fell to his death. Principal Jack wasn’t a monster.

The grin quickly faded away. It still wasn’t enough. He needed more than a passing gag. He needed… narrative. Plot. Conflict. DRAMA.

The principal walked back into the school, dwelling on this problem. He wandered the hallways without thought to his direction, until chance took him by the Wooden Girl.

Ah, yes. He was particularly proud of this piece of work. The makeup was a nice touch, he felt. It was so heavily padded on that, in this frozen state, she almost did look like a puppet. The only detail out of place was the eyes: there was far too much fire in them to ever be mistaken for something not alive.

And like that, an idea came to Principal Jack. Yes, here was a story he could use. He raised his gloved right hand, and snapped his fingers.

***

The Wooden Girl stomped down the hallway in boots that could have crushed skulls. She hated going to theater class. She kept telling herself she should stop showing up. Yeah, that’s what she’d do. There were probably tons of better things she could be doing instead of going there. Tomorrow, tomorrow she’d skip it. The day after tomorrow. Next week. One of these days. One of these days, she would stop going to theater class! This she swore!

She was so lost in her internal rage that she didn’t notice the crowd of Nightlanders until she crashed into them. They didn’t seem to notice her collision with their group, and kept moving forward, carrying her along with them. Wooden shouted at them to let her go, and when that did nothing, started kicking and biting the shadows around her. But even that didn’t make them release her, until they had reached a part of the school Wooden had never seen before. The group dropped her, and quickly rushed away.

“Hey!” She shouted after them. “You come back here and apologize RIGHT NOW!” Several students around her felt the sudden urge to beg for forgiveness, though for what they weren’t sure. But those she had been shouting at ignored her.

Well, great. Now how was she supposed to make it to class? She had no idea where in the school she was. Seething with rage, she picked a direction at random and walked in it.

Trophy cases lined either side of the hall. This was certainly new. Wooden hadn’t realized this school had ever won anything. She looked over the trophies and plaques, without really paying attention, until one word caught her eye. “Theater.”

It was a small trophy, but a trophy nonetheless. Next to it was a newspaper article titled, “Empty City High Theater Team Wins Annual Amateur Musical Competition With Production of ‘Shoggoths on a Roof’.” There was a picture with the article, showing Mr. Steward standing in front of several students, holding the trophy. It was the only time Wooden had ever seen the man smiling.

So… the theater class did do things, once. Interesting.

It was only a small thought, at first. But it would grow into something larger.

Maxwell and Lisa

Days passed. School continued. Students attended their classes, work was assigned, entire forests were destroyed by the amount of paperwork created. All the gears of school turned smoothly. Well, smoothly-ish. As smooth as one could expect from a school where the number of bathrooms changed daily and you could never be sure which floor your upcoming class would be on.

The Wooden Girl slammed her book shut on the table and screamed quietly as she violently ruffled her hair. Salmacis looked up from her lunch, surprised at the sudden action.

“Are you okay?” Salmacis said.

“Who assigns an essay in the first month of school?” Wooden said. “Every other teacher is doing easy stuff! We’re still writing poems about summer break in Lowe’s class!”

“I’m sure Ms. I-330 has a good reason for all the work,” Salmacis said in the conciliatory tones of someone who had already finished their essay. Seeing that wasn’t cheering up her friend, Salmacis changed the subject. “What about theater? Have you started anything in that yet?”

This failed to have a cheering effect. “No. I’m starting to wonder why I should even show up to class. What about you? Aren’t you in an elective?”

Salmacis looked down and muttered something.

“What?”

“…Swim team.”

“I didn’t know you were on the swim team!” Wooden thought for a moment. “I didn’t even know we had a swim team. Is it run by Coach Ferris?”

“No, it’s a club sport. Student run.”

“You should have told me! How good are you?”

A blush started to rise on Salmacis’s face, and she mumbled again.

“What did you say?”

“… I can’t swim.”

Wooden’s mind went blank as she tried to think of a response. Finally, she said, “But why are you on the swim team then?”

Salmacis’s face had become furiously red. “Everyone else in my family swims. My sisters say I have to do it as well.”

“Do you want to swim?”

“Not really….”

“Then you should tell them! You shouldn’t have to be on the club if you don’t want to be there!”

Salmacis quickly shook her head.

“Come on it, can’t be that hard!”

“Yes. It can.” Her tone silenced any reply. The rest of the lunch period was passed in quiet between them.

***

As always, the Cold Boy went to the library after finishing his lunch. Vision’s study group was there as usual. Every day, Cold imagined joining the group. He’d dream of Vision coming over to him and inviting him over, and he would make friends with everyone there…. But it never happened.

Today Cold was taking a break from reading, and was at one of the library computers. Surfing the web during lunch break may not have been the most productive thing to do, but it passed the time. He was looking through his third random Wikipedia article, when a new window appeared on his screen.

>Hello!

Cold stared at the window. He’d never seen the computers do this before. There was a place at the bottom of the window to enter text, so he began to type.

>Hi
>What’s your name?
>The Cold Boy. How are you doing this?
>I installed a chat program on all the school computers.
>You can install things on these computers?
>If you know how to get around the blocks.

The Cold Boy hadn’t even considered something like that was possible.

>Are you a student here?
>I go to Empty City High School.
>What’s your name?
>Call me Maxwell.
>Do you want to be my friend, Cold Boy?

***

The Rake strutted down the hallway, shoving aside a path for himself. He smiled as some of the shadows jumped out of his way. His reputation had spread through the school quickly.

But as he got closer to his class, his confident stride became shorter, and his shoulders slumped. By the time he reached his history class, he was shuffling along the floor and slouching as much as he could. He tried to avoid looking at Ms. I-330’s desk as he silently found his desk in the back of the class.

The bell rang, and Ms. I-330 began handing back papers. The Rake kept his eyes firmly locked on his desk, until she put a paper down in front of him. There was quite a lot of red ink on that paper.

“This is not an acceptable level of work, Rake.” She said.

His first reaction was to growl an insult back at her to show her just how much he cared about the schoolwork. But the moment he looked up at her, with her scarred face and lips peeled back in what was equal parts a smile and a snarl, the bravado faded away.

“Sorry….”

“Sorry…?”

“Sorry, ma’am.”

“And you’ll do better next time?”

“Yes ma’am.”

“That’s a good boy.” Ms. I-330 walked back to the front of the class as the Rake glared at everyone around him, silently letting them know they were dead if they uttered one word about this.

Ms. I-330 had begun to teach her lesson when she was interrupted by an impatient voice over the intercom. “Excuse me, Ms. I-330? We have an intern waiting for you in the front office.”

This news seemed to come as a shock to I-330. “Oh, shi-” She looked at the students, and quickly changed to, “darn. That was today? Alright kids, I’ll be back in a few minutes. Have to pick up whoever they’re making me babysit for the semester. If things aren’t in perfect order when I get back, I swear I will light all of you on fire.” That got a few chuckles; the students knew she wasn’t serious. They were pretty sure she wasn’t serious, at least. Probably. Hopefully. She wouldn’t actually do that, would she?

An unspoken agreement to remain on their best behavior was quickly reached by the class.

***

The number of butterflies that were flying around in Lisa Well’s stomach seemed to be doubling every second. What if her cooperating teacher didn’t like her? What if the students were hard to control? What if she wasn’t able to make any good lesson plans? How were you supposed to make lesson plans anyways? Oh god she was going to do a terrible job and they would kick her out and she would never become a teacher and….

The man with the brown ponytail next to her noticed her nervousness and smiled encouragingly. She tried to smile back, but it came out as more of a cringe. “Don’t worry.” He said. “Ms. I-330 is always bad at dates. She’ll be here soon.”

Lisa nodded, still worrying as much as before. “Thank you for staying here while I wait, Mr. Omega.”

“No problem. It’s not like I’m busy; hardly anyone visits the guidance counselor at the start of the year.”

Just then, the door flew open and I-330 walked inside. “Alright, alright.” She said. “Show me the kid so we can get… this… over….” She trailed into silence as hers and Lisa’s eyes met.

“Ms. I-330, thi is Lisa Wells from Empty City University. She’ll be doing her observational internship with us for this year. We’ve assigned her to work with you, so….” Omega stopped as he realized neither was paying attention to him. From the moment they had seen each other, Lisa and I-330 were in their own shared world, filled with pink bubbles, singing birds, and a smooth jazz sax solo.

Discerning the meaning behind her expression, Omega pulled I-330 to the side of the room and spoke to her.

“Ms. I-330, I feel I should remind you of our staff’s code of professionalism. While Ms. Wells may be 23, she is still a student, and you are her superior. The relationship between the two of you should reflect this… are you listening?”

“Mmhm, yeah.” I-330 said, trying to turn her head back to look at Lisa.

Omega grabbed her face and made her look at him. “Do. Not. Sleep. With. The. Intern.”

“But what if….”

“No.” He let go of her. “I don’t want to waste any more of your teaching time, so you can take her back to your room now.” He thought about what he’d said. “Back to your classroom.”

“Yeah, yeah.” I-330 put her arm over Lisa’s shoulder. “So you want to be a teacher huh? That’s cool. I was just thinking that I could use someone to help me carry my stuff.”

Mr. Omega watched as the two walked out of the office. There was going to be a lot of messy chaos coming from this internship….

End of the First Day

2 minutes before the tardy bell rang. The Dying Man grumbled impatiently and tapped his foot as he watched the Intrusion trying to pick up all his textbooks off the ground.

“Come on, you’re going to make us late.” He said. Not that he really wanted to go to math class, but he didn’t want to have to deal with a teacher whining at him on his first day.

The Intrusion apologized, saying he hadn’t meant to trip and drop his book. He gathered everything up, but only took a few steps before bumping into someone and dropping his books again.

The student Intrusion had run into was slightly taller, with pale grey skin and a shaved head. He growled at Intrusion, and said, “Watch where you’re going, loser.”

“I-I’m sorry….” Intrusion said.

“Not sorry enough.” The other student said. He picked up one of the textbooks. “But you will be.” With an evil grin, he grabbed several pages from inside the book with his long nails, and tore them out.

“Hey!” The Dying Man shouted, stepping between them. “Leave him alone!”

“Or what? You going to cry at me, pizza face?”

The Dying Man punched him in the jaw. The other student stumbled back, and Dying pounced on him, punching again.

“What’s going on here?” Someone shouted. An older student with eyes spread across his body, approached with a determined march.

Before Dying could say anything, the other student started crying, “He attacked me! I was just minding my own business and suddenly he started hitting me!”

“Did he now?” The older student pulled out a slip of paper saying “Hall Monitor,” and displayed it like a badge. “I’m Judgment, Hall Monitor. And you are in big trouble, kid.”

The Dying Man snarled at him. “You’re not a teacher, you can’t do anything to me!”

“No, but I can take you to someone who can!” He grabbed Dying by the ear, and began to pull him away. Before leaving, he asked the other student, “What’s your name, so I can report this?”

“The Rake.”

“Got it. Don’t worry, I’ll make sure  he gets what he deserves.”

The Intrusion tried to speak up in Dying’s defense, but Judgment was already walking away with him. Crestfallen, Intrusion picked up the rest of his books. The Rake gave him a cruel grin and another shove, then walked off as the tardy bell rang.

***

“Hello students, I’m Coach Ferris, your PE instructor. Since this is the first day, we’re going to start off easy. I’ll run you all through a little obstacle course. At the first station, you’ll have to climb the wooden wall, then run through the tires. At the third station you’ll be crawling under the barbed wire; keep your heads down, that’s live ammo they’ll be shooting above you. Fourth station, you will play a children’s trading card game. Don’t worry, it’s just a practice game, so no one’s going to die. Fifth station is the rope swing, and then at the last station you will need to use your kung fu to fight off ninjas. Everyone got that?”

***

The bell had already run by the time the Intrusion made it to Mr. Proxiehunter’s math class. The teacher narrowed his eyes at Intrusion when he came into the class, but showed Intrusion to his seat. As Intrusion sat down, Proxiehunter said to him, “Always be sure to be ready on time. A few minutes can be the difference between life and death.”

“As I was saying,” Proxiehunter continued his lesson to the class, “these are the tools which you must have for this class.” He pointed at a list on the board. “Pencil! Paper! Binder! Textbook! If you forget any of these, I cannot guarantee your safety in this class.”

That declaration was met with silence by the class. Nervously, Intrusion raised his hand. “Um… Mr. Proxiehunter… my textbook was kinda destroyed today….” He showed the professor the torn out pages in his book.

Proxiehunter shook his head angrily, but then walked over to a shelf and pulled out another textbook, which he handed to Intrusion. “You get this one break, but don’t lose your book again. It could save your life!”

Intrusion couldn’t help but ask. “How?”

Mr. Proxiehunter didn’t miss a beat. “If you’re attacked by surprise, you can use it as a shield against knife attacks. It also works as an improvised clubbing weapon.” He opened he book and pointed at several diagrams. “And if you ever find yourself on a plane that is spiraling out of control, you can use this to calculate the trajectory you will need to glide in order to land safely on the ground!”

“I’ll… take your word for it, Mr. Proxiehunter.”

***

Judgment’s grip was unrelenting as he dragged Dying down the hallways. Despite the obvious futility, Dying continued to struggle. “Let go of me, asshole! You’ve made me late to my stupid class!”

“Your class can wait until after you’ve been disciplined for your actions. Ah, there’s the assistant principal. He’ll deal with you.”

A man in a grey trench coat and fedora stood in the hall, his face obscured by his hat’s shadow. Judgment stepped toward him and said, “Excuse me, Mr….”

Suddenly sparks flew off the ceiling lamp above Judgment, and the glass fell, nearly hitting him. In his panic, he let go of Dying, who used the opportunity to run for it.

“Hey! Come back here!” Judgment shouted, chasing after Dying. “You can’t run from me! I’M A HALL MONITOR!”

Ignored by the two, the assistant principal quietly pulled out and checked a pocket watch, and then faded away into the background.

***

The last bell of the day rang, and the students poured out. Within a few minutes, the building was empty, save the remaining faculty. A man with a broom walked through each classroom, followed closely by a large black dog. On a regular day one could expect quite a mess after school was over, but the chaos of the first day was a class of its own. Still, you couldn’t complain The man with the broom scratched his dog behind the ears and whistled a few notes from a favorite Bowie song of his before resuming his work.

Principal Jack watched Mr. Sane and the Black Dog as they tidied up the school building. A reminiscent smile was on his face as he thought back to what had transpired. Ah, the first day of school. Always such a magical time. Full of hope for the year ahead, and potential for all sorts of adventure and dreams. It was one of his favorite moments of the school year.

Jack looked around at the near empty hallways, and sighed. “Bored now.” He snapped his fingers, and time jumped forward. The sun set, the moon rose, it set, and then the sun rose again, all in what felt like seconds.

He snapped his fingers again, and time returned to normal. The smile returned to Jack’s face. The second day of school was also nice, he supposed.