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Thread: Wellspring High [M] IC

  1. #1
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    Default Wellspring High [M] IC

    It was an ordinary day at Wellspring High. Mrs Burgess still had her eye patch, though it was thoroughly black after a second day of wear, and her iron gray hair was not perfectly smooth anymore. Today's homeroom seemed to be even more muddled than usual, but all the right topics were at least touched on. There was supposed to be a huge charity bake sale at the end of the month, and Mrs Amelia vaguely reminded the students to donate.

    "Charity is the balm of the soul: It soothes the heart and mind, and chases back the burning of hell." the middle-aged teacher admonished almost gently. She gave a careless gesture when the bell rang, and many of the students got to go to the other classes, such as the cooking class Ms Theo was due to start.

    The student council was also supposed to meet to discuss the bake sale, and were exempt from other classes for the period. Mercy smiled and rolled her eyes, gathering up the papers that they would need for getting started on the actual mechanics of the bake sale. It wasn't like the class vice-president could count on anyone else (such as Ms. President Betty), to pitch in.

    Mercy would be stopped in the hallway on the way to the council office by none other than Principal Ellis. After all, he had no classes to teach, and so could involve himself in the details of the bake sale. The tall man wore one of his signature cobalt blue suits as he loomed over the slender teen and asked for details. The temperature was dropping in the hallway, meaning Mercy would soon be shivering and wide-eyed as she stammered out what she knew.

    Meanwhile, one of the senior cooking classes would be heating up with Ms Theo grinning ferally over the array of stoves and ovens that the students would be using to make various dishes hopefully well enough to be served with lunch.

    Mr. Calhoun's sophomore science class would be tackling the theory of radio waves. Which was relatively safe for one of Calhoun's projects, and likely didn't involve burns or cuts. Though an electrical shock was possible when they would start building their own rigs, not likely on that particular day.

    The juniors were meant to study drama with Miss Blanchard. It was to find out who would actually participate in the play they were slated to put on later in the year: a mystery by Agatha Christie. The lively teacher would be laughing and flitting about the auditorium to encourage groups of students to practice the dialog and extort extensive emoting.

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    Last edited by Krysis; 03-11-2017 at 01:42 PM.

  2. #2
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    Rather typically, Stephanie seemed one of the more focused students in her homeroom class that morning. While other students mumbled and muttered amongst themselves, complaining under their breath or trying to have conversations with their friends without drawing the teacher's attention, she kept her attention on the pencil in her hand, nod the notebook that lay open on her desk. Such a thing hardly seemed necessary at such a time, but rather predictably, the aspiring artist had hew own agenda. Far from being focused on the teacher's monologue, she was sketching idly, tattooing her drawing pad with an image of a bird. A small blue wren, specifically - seated on a small branch that seemed to spring from the edge of the page, with its beak open mid-chirp.

    Of course, there was some concern that she would be caught out by Mrs. Burgess, but that hardly seemed to bother Stephanie. While she drew with small and precise strokes, she made sure to glance upwards every now and then, hoping that it would help disguise her actions somewhat . If she was lucky, anyone who looked on would assume she was trying to squeeze in some study before classes actually began. It was a weak cover, and one that would easily be foiled by anyone who so much as glanced at her work, but it was better than nothing. Indeed, most of the other students and teachers probably knew her enough to tell what she was doing straight away, but that had never stopped her before, just like the risk of punishment.

    Finally, the bell for the first class of the day to begin rung out, and most of the class' students scrambled towards the door, under the dismissive gaze of a teacher who knew there was no hope of getting another word in now. Steph was a little more reserved than most of them, taking a few moments to continue her work, before finally letting out a soft sigh. She had wanted to finish the sketch while the image was fresh in her mind from the walk to school, but it seemed that she wasn't going to get that chance. Drawing from memory was something she was trying to get better at, and while the bird was a decent likeness, whether she would actually get back to it now was up in the air. With a soft thud, she would flip the book closed, before sweeping everything into her shoulder bag and rising. Then, inevitably, she joined the string of students forcing their way out into the hallway.

    Disappearing into the crowds, Stephanie reluctantly began to wander towards the school's auditorium. Her particular class of juniors was scheduled for drama class first thing that morning, much to her dismay. While she respected Miss Blanchard's artistic knowledge and talent, Stephanie regarded the teacher with some level of wariness. Her hyperactive attitude and the way she tried to encourage others to branch out generally didn't mesh well with the artist's more reserved and thoughtful nature. Even worse was that this was still a drama class, first and foremost, meaning she still wouldn't get the chance to finish off her drawing. Even the teacher's respect for her passion could not change that. Still, they had little choice in the matter, given that participation was mandatory, backed up by all the school's usual punishments for disobedience. Slowly, she marched onwards.

    "Seriously, what is the point of holding auditions for a play if you're going to force everyone to try out regardless? That's no way to gauge interest" She mumbled softly to herself, the displeasure clear in her voice. While she moved, the woman's left hand came up to toy with the maroon scarf that she wore wrapped loosely around her neck, feeling out one of its folds and rolling the material between her fingers absentmindedly. As much as she wished to delay the inevitable, though, there was little use in resisting any longer. Much too soon, the junior found herself at the entrance to the school's auditorium, where Miss Blanchard was undoubtedly waiting inside. A few of the other students from her class were already milling about, it seemed, but nobody particularly notable. None of them were close friends, really, or particularly interesting to her.

  3. #3
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    The ability to blend into masses had always been a close companion to Oliver, it was the way that he preferred things to be. He didn't want to be noticed and he was content with people overlooking him while in large groups, most noticeable being the mass of teenagers in the hallways. He had perfected the art of weaving in and out of the large mass of bodies that filled the somewhat narrow hallways to near claustrophobic proportions, or at least that was the way he saw it when he was in the midst of it all. It wasn't, nor should it have been, a surprise; he didn't like most people.

    Homeroom skated by uneventfully, he had his own personal nook in the back of the classroom which served his purpose of going about unnoticed. He'd been reading a new book. They gave him an escape from the reality around him, a place that he very much didn't want to be a part of. He wasn't the most social of creatures, no doubt influenced by his crippling social anxiety from past experiences of being bullied and teased. No one could escape that facet of reality, it was present everywhere and he was still subject to here at Wellspring, albeit not so often because he had spent years of his life perfecting his ability to blend in.

    Silver-blue eyes darted up in mild alarm as laughter reached his ears, faint but close. He carefully analyzed the direction and found where it was coming from, two teenage girls a couple rows away from him. It was his first instinct to believe that they were laughing at him, perhaps he had done something to give them amusement. He could feel the heat rising in his body, a sort of cold sweat beginning to form as his anxiety rose and he shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "Just got back to reading the book Oliver.", he chastised himself inwardly. They were not laughing at him, they were two rows away from him. He repeated this to himself in his mind, almost like a mantra and he could slowly feel his body regulating itself, that cool wash of relief flooding over him and allowing his body to release the tension and he held in his rigid form brought on by the anxiety. He sighed deeply, the relaxation thick in the breath that left his body.

    It was a godsend when the bell rang and the class spurned into action, the rows of kids rising and the chatter becoming deafening as they excitedly left their first class of the day for the next one. He waited until all others were gone before he rose from his seat and scooped up his backpack before exiting through the secondary door into the hallway, easily mixing into the crowd and navigating the various obstacles; whether they be kids stopping to talk to their friends, or others exiting to their intended classrooms. It was a somewhat fluid movement, making it a more comfortable action for the shy loner. However, that comfort was not to last because of the class that followed his homeroom; Drama.

    He dreaded the class, not only because of what it entailed, but the teacher herself. She was the bane of his existence, a hyperactive type. They usually encouraged exploration beyond your comfort zone and that was something that did not interest the loner in any way whatsoever. He was perfectly comfortable being in his own little world with his books and a quiet place to enjoy them. He sighed heavily as a looming sense of despair grew within him at the sight of the auditorium doors. It was useless to try to force him to take part in a play, he'd likely find a hiding spot and enjoy a good book until the class was over, preferably as far from the stage as possible. He carefully navigated the thinning crowd of people until he was out of it entirely and at the doors to the auditorium.

    He had noticed a group of other teenagers, all juniors, standing around outside the doors, but he wanted to go ahead inside and find a good quiet spot to wait out the class. It hadn't started yet, so the ideal time to do so would be now. He gently passed around the groups of kids into the auditorium and began looking for a place to wait out the class.

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  4. #4
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    Homeroom.

    Betsy primped. She curled her thick eyelashes and applied a fresh coat of mascara, swiped on a tad bit more of her dewy blush, then made sure her eyeliner and strategically applied eyeshadow hadn’t budged – she wouldn’t pay $25 for primer that didn’t work, after all – and lastly, touched up her neutral, matte pink lips. Giving her ash-blond curls a tussle, she gave an approving little grin to her reflection and then closed her crystal heart-shaped compact with a click and slipped it into the front compartment of her designer mini-backpack.

    Her folio lay open in front of her on her desk and already opened to the week in her planner. She tapped a manicured finger down the page, reviewing to-dos and have-dones and make-dos. Bake sale. Her finger slid over the words just as Mrs. Burgess droned on about it.

    “Phone, Miss Doyle,” she said almost as soon as Betsy had managed to pull out the device, unlock it and start typing.

    “Bake sale research, Mrs. Burgess! Strictly class president purposes,” the blond answered sweetly without looking up and the teacher waved off the subject like a bothersome fly. Teachers verses technology: the ongoing war. Technology: 1; Teachers: 0.

    As if she could sense it coming, Betsy closed her phone in her folio and slipped an arm through the strap of her backpack. She was standing as the bell rang and moments later out the door, only the soft floral scent of her perfume lingering as evidence she’d ever been in the classroom at all.

    Out in the hall a few minutes later, Betsy stood surrounded by a gaggle of girls mid-laugh. Her back was to the open door to the student council meeting room and she stood with one leg cocked, her folio resting against the thigh; she stood there with the comfortable, natural confidence that came with her status the way a credit card bill from Bergdorf Goodman came with an anvil dropping into the pit of your stomach.

    “And like I always say, why doing anything at all if you’re not going to do it well?” That sent the girls laughing again and Betsy raised a finger to wipe a little laugh-induced tear from the corner of her eye. Her attention was drawn to the looming figure mid-hallway not too far away and then beyond, at the other juniors gathered just outside the entrance to the auditorium with just enough time to spy Oliver and his signature hoodie dip into the drama auditions.

    “Almost a pity I have to miss out on my chance at stardom because of the bake sale,” she said to no one in particular and then strode forward, the girls who’d been about dispersing to head to their respective subjects. Goosebumps rose on her arm closest to Principal Ellis as she came to stand beside him.

    “Principal!” She raised her voice, enough to make him jump just a little. Even as she spoke, Betsy moved to grasp Mercy by the arm and steer her away from him. “Mind if I borrow America here? Lots of things to do, bake sale, sha-make sale, you know! Flour, eggs, cocoa…”

    The warning bell rang overhead, signaling that students should be in their assigned subject classes, as if on cue and Betsy pulled Mercy into the student council room where the treasurer and secretary awaited them.

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    Ed had already familiarized himself with all the different waves on the electromagnetic spectrum when he was tutoring an upperclassman last year who played football, yet hadn't the good sense to build himself a suitable academic schedule. So an introduction to radio waves seemed like a trite lecture given the numerous other tasks Ed had. The ambience of silence that follows whenever Calhoun asks the class if they have any questions annoys Ed because he knows his classmates, and thus he knows they really do have questions, so he asks those questions for them. Mr. Calhoun was pleased at first that Ed seemed enthusiastic even though she knew that he knew all of this, but her brow increasingly furrowed as the waves of Ed's came to her again and again, like a wave.

    Ed hated how apathetic everyone seemed about their grades, about something that could help determine their future, and even if not for that, there still should be a desire for understanding the mechanisms of the natural world. Whenever he gets frustrated like this there is a moment before everything comes rushing in that he receives insight, insight that he should calm down and focus on something away from the source of the problem. Ed is not sweating in the slightest, there is a slight tapping of a pen he's hearing now that he wasn't hearing before-- why didn't he hear that before?

    Ed had first met his sister, Angela, when he was 12 and she was 8. She had just lost both her mother and brother, and she wasn't up for a new brother. Ed had understood that for a while she would need time alone but eventually he felt like time was due that he got to knowing that strange being that occupied the room across from him. He knew he needed to do more than just be persistent with her, so her researched the other teams in Angie's soccer league and developed the strategy that she used to both win and make friends. There might've been all kinds of arguments that she could've used: talking about how it wasn't any of his business, that he was meddling, that her team would have won anyway. He was just so dang happy that day that she couldn't, however.

    Ed's concentration was arrested by the bell signaling the end of class: the sun is up, the time is right, you've got to go. Ed shuffled out of the room as if he'd lost some yet to be named object; it was that same "naked" feeling that accompanied him whenever he walked around without a backpack. Before heading to his next class Ed had an appointment with student council secretary so that he could receive recognition for his work. Because in Wellspring tutoring services are handled by the student council, and this is done so that they can properly allocate council resources to the groups that are doing the most for the student body.

    Having steeled himself for the confrontation, Ed wiped the sweat off his face to hide his distress and opened the student council room. He handed the secretary the sheet indicating the time he had put in and which had the signatures of these under his tutelage. He waited for her approval.

  6. #6
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    How can you see into my eyes, like open doors. Leading you down into my core, where I've become so numb.

    Ro's eyes struggled to stay open as the music played through her tiny earbuds. Mrs. Burgess had all but given up on telling her to take them out each morning. It was mostly the same thoughts when it came to Ro.

    What went wrong?

    She used to be such a sweet girl.

    It's just a phase.

    She's rebelling against her parents.


    Those were just a few that she had overheard when adults thought she wasn't listening. She was always listening. Ro didn't talk a lot, but that was not because she was shy. She mostly just preferred the company of her music and her books.

    It wasn't always like this. If you were to have seen a picture of Ro four years ago, you wouldn't believe it was the same person. As a matter of fact, her mom still kept a picture of her and Betsy in the 6th grade, both blonde and dressed in matching dresses. It was like a savored memory of the sweet girl Rowena used to be. That was a lifetime ago, though. She was no longer that girl.

    Rowena couldn't help but turn her brown eyes to watch the girl who used to be her best friend primping herself. It made her want to barf. That could have been her. There were lots of 'could of' scenarios in her world, but that's not how it turned out. Ro's life was not all sunshine, kittens, and bake sales. Life was shitty, and you could either stay in your bubble and try to cover up how ugly you are inside like Betsy, or you could open your eyes and embrace and try to cope with that ugliness in yourself, and in the world.

    Lost in her own thoughts, she hadn't even realized the bell had rung until nearly everyone had left the room. The song coming through her headphones, covered only by the hood of her black hoody had muffled the sound. As she stood, grabbing up her books quickly, she heard a voice over her music.

    "Hood down, Ms. Jennings." The tone in her voice almost seemed defeated or impassive. Something that she had said over and over to no avail. Just like the other times, Ro just continued walking. This was her favorite part of the song anyways.

    Don't let me die here.
    There must be something more.


    Ro chewed on her tongue ring as her arms wrapped around her books, trying to avoid all contact, including with the eyes, bobbing her head slightly to the more uptempo part of the song. Her feet moving faster, not only with the beat of the music but also to get into the auditorium before the best seats in the back corners were taken. Ro was good at being invisible, well she wasn't sure she was as invisible as much as people chose not to see her. She was definitely a sight with her short black spiky hair, streaks of red through it, and her all black attire. If she could get away with it, her face was riddled with piercings, and her dark black eyeliner may make her just a bit unapproachable.

    That was the point, though, if people were scared off simply by her outside appearance and weren't willing to see what was inside, they were not worth her time anyway.

    Her history book being jolted out of her hands and nearly being knocked onto her ass, caused her to once again be shaken from her thoughts. Her eyes immediately shooting upward with a glare at the boy she had just walked straight into. It was that football player guy, she couldn't remember his name. Something foreign-y, and he had the long hair that all the girls were ogling over.

    "Hey! Watch where you're going!" Her voice lacked the anger that her words seemed to hold though as she leaned over and picked it up the book that the other Juniors were now stomping on as they tried to get into the auditorium. Her eyes moved back up to Foreign Guy, and she rolled her eyes slightly. "Thanks for the help." Without any more to say, she brushed past him, maybe knocking into his shoulder a bit too hard as she brushed by and took the seat next to someone she knew wouldn't bother her - Oliver.

    Plopping down into her seat, she didn't even bother to say hello or remove her headphones, she just couldn't wait to get this over with. It wasn't like she was going to get a part in this stupid play, it wasn't likely the bubbly teacher would even actually make her try out, that's what she was hoping for at least.
    Last edited by .Karma.; 02-08-2017 at 04:23 AM.


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  7. #7
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    Just another boring day at school... for these Americans. Everything was still quite new to me albeit a month deep into this place after moving. All of the bathrooms have a repugnant mix of septic mixed with cheap store-brand fragrance and a hint of marijuana. Some students here try to look like models with face creams and other products caked on as if to hide the ugly truth that they're nothing more than some mortal coil like the rest. While I know I have great genes and haven't much to worry with acne, I'm the confident type who doesn't bother to hide that random pimple that does decide to randomly sprout.

    As I sit in this cramped and sterile homeroom, unwilling to do much else with my time, I start to judge those around me by their clothes, gestures, surroundings and accessories. The punks and goths are easiest to spot as they wear whatever to separate themselves from the common. Anything abstract in both color and piercings. Cute how they find safety in the shadows and hold humanity in contempt for angsty reasons. Life could be far worse for my peers, and yet they care little for such an enlightening thought. You always have to wonder if these dreary kids with the long sleeves are hiding cuts and bruises, or even the most taboo of tattoos.

    Then there are the jocks who openly express themselves with their jerseys and wolf-pack mentality. I've only been at this school for four weeks, and thanks to my early accomplishment with being put on the basketball team, I can easily join in their social circle-jerk of ego. Yet, I still sit here in fixation and wonderment at the contrast from how life was before I moved here. One must also admire the starved-for-attention popular girl stereotype. They are commonly found in the loving embrace of the jock or busying themselves with trivial projects to help support their school. They always have to leave a mark like that of some despot scared to lose power. Most of them haven't even felt the cold air that is reality which surrounds us all. No, not while their rich and overbearing parents have them in a protective bubble made of money.

    I continue to observe from the back of the classroom and dismiss whatever the teacher and her interested few are concerned with. A bake sale? I lack in everything but looks, athletic prowess and a sinister outlook on life. I think I'm going to do fine with concentrating on being that famed basketball player my family hopes I'll be some day. Besides, I can't bake a damn thing without first being overwhelmed with anxiety in that I'll burn the house down.

    A quick look at the clock shows the bell's toll is nigh and I'll yet again be on my way - away from Mrs. Burgess' inane charity agenda. I wonder if the hooded loner adjacent to me is enjoying his read or just deep in thought about other things that shapes him into who he is. I even wonder how much anyone here, being in such a small school, cares about the foreigners. I know my coach cared enough to put my forename on my jersey since Norstyyystrovski is too long and he didn't want to shorten it. Sven has become my nomenclature for the team.

    Well, enough of this introspective introduction of sorts. Much like everyone's story on this planet; it becomes dull the deeper you read into things. Besides, the bell is now sounding and adrenaline is kicking in as I must once again find my way to the next class. I'm surprised I'm still this anxious as I know where to find the auditorium.

    As I stand with my books at my side, I follow the herd out into the hall to immerse myself into the usual maelstrom of students and sounds. Something familiar to me like any crowded location where destinations must be met in a timely manner. Unless of course paths collide where some goth girl from my homeroom knocks into me because I paused for a second.

    "Hey! Watch where you're going!" She said in an unsavory yet apathetic tone at me as she went to retrieve her fallen book. I didn't care to help her. I mean, she did bump into me and already doesn't realize that?

    "Watch where I'm going? You knocked into me and I'm over six feet tall! Maybe doing away with those piercings on your face will allow you to see clearly." My English isn't the best, but I think she gets the point. She simply just looks up at me and spits sarcasm before continuing her way to the auditorium all the while I stand idly watching.

    While I would love to just skip this class and just shoot some hoops, I instead fold and quickly follow the goth. Her path leads me to an available seat conveniently placed behind her and the loner from homeroom. Now to just relax and hope not too much more drama comes out of this...

  8. #8
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    The morning bell was ringing, and, as usual, Nick was not in his homeroom class. However, he was not so far behind as he normally was on days- he had already parked his car in his de-facto reserved spot, and was now at his locker, pulling out his books that he probably should have brought home the night before and stuffing them in his back. Unrushed, he sauntered towards homeroom, arriving just moments before the bell rang dismissing him to first period. He waved cheerfully at the teacher and stayed around just long enough to watch the other sighing as they marked him present. Then, it was off to first period.

    The walk was not long, yet he managed to push at least two freshmen a little more forcefully than normal to tell them to get out of the way. Well- granted, he did not actually push either of them. Why should he do the work when some of his other friends would do it for him?

    Walking into class with his two other team buddies near him, he casually nodded at Ms. Theo. She probably disliked him some, but Nick did not really care. First of all, it was not like he would ever get expelled, and second of all, she was much to weird- She seemed nice enough, but there was just something about her... He could not put his finger on it. Maybe it was nothing necessarily wrong- maybe it was just the fact that he hated class in general. Heck, if it wasn't for the fact that college sports scholarships required passing grades, he would probably be skipping. But he was here, and since he was, those grades would not be that hard to get... After all, cooking was almost always held as a group activity. And, as usual, Nick pretty much got his pick of group.

    And there they were. A pair of the senior cheerleaders, giggling near one of the prep tables, looking in his direction every so often before looking down again. As he almost always did, Nick walked over in their direction, ditching his fellow players to the less attractive girls, and spoke a few words before the class actually began.

    "Well girls," he said, smiling, "What shall we make for the freshman lunch today?"

    In response, they giggled. After all, it was a well known fact that Nick almost never stayed on campus for lunch. Besides, if they were lucky enough, he might ask them to go with him, and they could avoid whatever the class managed to make and hang out with the dashing boy.

    However, before they got any chance to verbally respond, Ms Theo decided to begin the class. Nick leaned lazily against a refrigerator as she began her usual spiel.
    If the gold does not stay in this world,
    then I will chase it till I find my home

  9. #9
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    Home Economics, 1st Period
    In the kitchen, the ingredients for the day's main task were already in long metal pans on the work stations, along with the recipe of the day attached with magnets to the splash 'board' of the long steel tables. Behind the barrier of cellophane, one could see raw chicken breasts, celery stalks, carrots and peas, and a dish full of egg noodles. Since they had mastered the art of cooking noodles last month, Ms Theo had kindly provided them with precooked noodles this time.

    "Gloves and aprons!" She announced, not having to lift her voice from her usual 'drill sargent' quality tenor to get the attention of the class. Of course, the home ec teacher was already in her trademark heavy rubber gloves, with a disposable plastic apron over her stained cloth one. "Today, we are making chicken noodle soup. This is a deceptively simple dish, and no, we don't just open cans here. Remember your cross contamination rules! I need teams of two. One to handle the chicken, the other to peel and dice the vegetables."

    Ms Theo moved around the kitchen like she usually did, to make sure all the teams were paired properly. There was an uneven number of teens in the class, and usually she did have them work in teams of three, so splitting them into pairs was bound to cause friction (which she could settle with a toothy grin or a flash of temper). Today, her normally brown eyes seemed lighter, almost amber colored, as they flashed moodily. "You have thirty minutes to get the soup on the boil, and then we need to get to work on the rolls that go with it, so get to it, people!"

    Her yellow rubber gloved hands pulled the two girls away from Nick and shoved the pair towards another station when the cheerleaders started to argue about who would get to partner the jock. They were the last set of squabblers, so then she turned towards Nick ominously. "Well aren't you a lucky boy, Statton. Looks like you get to work with me. Get that chicken out of the pan and start chopping."



    Drama, Special Session, 1st & 2nd Period
    "Now, I don't expect acting to be everyone's passion, but you really do need to give it a try! Playing 'make-believe' is one of the first group creative activities that we all engage in as children, and stage acting is a natural extension of that feeling!" Miss Blanchard sang out as she passed random scripts around the classroom. She had three different plays with the right number of copies for the people in them, and though a few minor characters had been left out there should be about the right number of parts for the number of students she had.

    Each copy had a sticky note on the front with the name of a character in the play. While she did try to make sure that the character genders matched the students that received the copies, no other considerations were made. Even then, some mistakes would be made, such as the long-haired Sven receiving a copy labeled 'Emily Brent' and the dark Ro being handed 'Sir Lawrence Wargrave'. Oliver received 'Anthony Marston', while Stephanie was handed 'Vera Claythorne'. All four were part of the same play, And Then There Were None, along with six others, though there were bits of private dialog for almost any pairing in those ten.

    "Be someone else for an hour! Try out a different point of view! Change everything, and then go back to being yourself when it is over!" the pale teacher encouraged, giving a little spin in the middle of the aisle between banks of seats to make sure everyone had a script. She had three master copies for herself too, cradled in her arm, which was bare from the strap of her dress at her shoulder, all the way to her finger tips. This was usual for Miss Blanchard, as she seemed to dislike having her arms restrained in any way.

    They were different colors on the script covers too, so it was easy to see at a glance which group each player was supposed to be with. If anyone tried to duck or dodge, she would descend on them like an angry bee to drive them into the bunch they belonged with.



    Student Council, 1st period
    Principal Ellis failed to flinch at Betsy's strident call, merely looking over his shoulder at the blonde and following her progress with the angle of his head. His smile was as chilly as the air around him as he gestured towards the council room, "Please, keep me abreast of your progress, ladies. Miss Roberts, I have not forgotten your detention. After school today. I will be upset if you are late.

    Mercy almost clung to Betsy's arm as they went into the student council room, though soon she would let go and stand on her own. Just in time to get a handful of paperwork shoved at her by Ed Finnick, which made her give a startled sound and a slightly panicked look.

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