The Sun is In your Eyes

Chapter 1
Volleyball Girl Meets Medieval Maiden

Hey Dev,

You nervous? Can’t say that I am. I mean, what’s there to be worried about? It’s just a new school. It’s not like I have anyone back home I’m going to miss anyway. Megan’s already gone, and Kim and I weren’t exactly on speaking terms when I left. I hear the school’s colors are red and black...that’s kind of cool. Gramps says there are some cute boys out here in Tucson, but I don’t know if I should be taking my grandfather’s advice on such matters. A little weird, right? Bah. Like I’m going to have time for boys anyway. I barely roll into town and class already starts tomorrow and I’m supposed to go early to meet up with the coach. I’m still a little stiff in the shoulders, but I know I’m going to knock their socks off. I’m not nervous at all. Why should I be? A new school, a new start...I got nothing to do but look forward to it all. This time I won’t screw it up. Keep to myself, play some ball, do my homework...this is gonna be great. I’m totally excited...and yeah, maybe just a bit nervous.

​

-Mel

Try as hard as she might, the woman seated behind the administrative assistant’s desk couldn’t help but frown slightly as she looked up to greet the new arrival. The girl didn’t look in anyway familiar, and with Shadow Hill being such a small school, that probably meant that she was a new student. That meant paperwork, but that’s not what brought that slight frown to the secretary’s face. Now, teens are want to dye their hair in a myriad of colors, but the girl’s blend of neon red and frost blue were borderline garish. Never mind that only her tips were colored, this initial assessment tainted the secretary’s first impression like a bad smell taints a meat. Silently accepting the folder the girl proffered, a cursory glance did nothing to quell the disquiet that was now running through the secretary like a streaking toddler. It was a new student, alright, recently displaced from California for reasons undisclosed and immaterial.

"I’m sure you understand, with it being already a couple of weeks into the semester hun, that most of the team sports are full up," she explained helpfully. "Most of the coaches aren’t really accepting of late arrivals. Are you sure you don’t just want to go with general P.E. for this semester?"

The teen shook her head. The movement caused the hair over her left eye to bounce out of the way, and the secretary’s misgivings increased tenfold. Is this what it meant to be sixteen in California?

"I’m sorry, ma’am, but whoever my grandma talked to said there would still be a chance I could make it onto the volleyball team. I brought my old gym clothes," she said, holding up a plastic bag for the secretary to see, "if I could just show the coach what I can do, I’m sure she’d let me on. It was...coach...Emberly, right?"

"Amberly. Annette Amberly is the girl’s volleyball coach here at Shadow Hill." Feigning interest, the secretary hmmmed appreciatively, taken by surprise as she flipped through the latter end of the girl’s transcript. "These are impressive numbers here, Melissa. How long have you been playing volleyball?"

"Since I could walk, ma’am. I used to play with my grandpa everyday, before he got sick, and then picked it back up in middle school playing doubles."

The woman made a sympathetic noise. The girl’s quiet demeanor was beginning to clear the air between them, but with her own daughter on Amberly’s volleyball team, she had to be on the alert for any potential detriments to her child’s near-perfect season. Never mind that the team had played all of two games at this point in the semester, and while they had won by a single, lucky point in the first game’s twilight, the second game had ended in a rather ironic tie. Don’t ask me how a tie could be ironic, it’s not here in my notes. Mentally coming to a decision, the secretary took a breath and shook her head. "Well, Ms. Daudry, I’ll go ahead and file the paperwork. It looks like you have P.E. during your third period, just report to the south gym instead of the Multi-purpose room."

"No try out?" the teen asked, looking a little disappointed.

"You make it sound like that’s a bad thing."

Melissa shrugged. "At my old school, getting on the volleyball team was like winning the lottery. Try outs were more of a war then a friendly contest," she said, happily remembering her own tryout and subsequent acceptance. "Volleyball’s not very big here in Arizona, is it?"

The secretary frowned. This was dangerous territory. "Volleyball is extremely big here in Tucson, Ms. Daudry. Just because there is a slightly more relaxed air about it then...elsewhere, doesn’t mean we don’t field an extremely competitive and talented team."

Grinning, Melissa rubbed her hands together. "That’s what I’m talking about! For a moment there I was worried that this was where you stuck all the girls that couldn’t make it as cheerleaders or gymnasts. I hate it when schools allow that...I mean, if you couldn’t make it as one, maybe sports just aren’t your thing, right?"

Observe the secretary’s frown return, albeit quite a bit deeper this time, as she recalled her daughter’s tears when she found out that she hadn’t quite made the cheer squad this year. Not that she made it the year before, or the year before that, but you can’t fault a young girl for sticking to her guns. Downright commendable, it was. In the distance, a dull tone rang out, urging kids to their classrooms. Melissa’s eyes widened.

"Uh-oh! Is that the bell for homeroom?"

The secretary nodded, still scowling beneath the plastic smile. The sight was quite unnerving.

Diving through her black, skull adorned messenger’s bag, Melissa finally dug out her school schedule. She had been smart enough to study a map of the school last night, but the science room number, W-5, hadn’t been anywhere on the map. "Do you know where W-5 is?"

"Those are the west campus rooms," the woman said in a flat voice, adjusting her horn-rimmed glasses. "All the way across the main campus and through the parking lot. If you come to the freeway, you’ve gone too far."

"All the way over there? How much time do I have?"

"Five minutes, give or take. If you sprint, I’m sure you’ll just make it."

Five minutes. That wouldn’t allow time for a bathroom break. Stupid! "Thanks, ma’am, I guess I got to book it!"

The secretary couldn’t help herself. "Aren’t you a little young for a tattoo?"

"This?" Melissa asked, turning as she touched her cheek. "Henna. Temporary tattoo. Thanks again!" She stopped again just before she made it out the door. "And it’s D’Audrey. Dah-auh-drie. Happens all the time!" And that, she was gone, leaving a slight scent of vanilla and a host of anxieties for the secretary to chase away at the bar during her lunch break. Melissa D’Audrey. Her and her daughter were going to have a long talk when she got home about choosing friends wisely. Also scheduled for this evening was the traditional ’congrats, you’ve had your first period (her daughter was a bit of a late bloomer) here’s how to deal with it!’ speech. Perhaps the two could be combined somehow, the secretary mused, pondering.

Now, don’t get the wrong impression of Melissa on account of her fancy name. She isn’t foreign, and her parents never quite led interesting lives, as people with interesting names are often want to do. No, Mr. D’Audrey, or, John, had simply wanted to rise above the mediocrity associated with his birth name, which had been Smith. In Old English, Audrey means, ’noble strength’ which certainly sounded quite interesting, and to alleviate it of it’s feminine connotation, he had added the masculine ’D’ to round the charade out. Didn’t quite work, Mr. D’Audrey to this day spends most of his time in a non-descript, single room trailer boringly parked just outside of Disneyland, still trying to find an exciting, nonstandard job that will stick. It is this authors opinion and nothing more that this is the fate that lies for all who attend community college. But I digress, our subject is the daughter, not the father.

We rejoin Melissa as she dutifully sprints for class, making note that her black, pink starred military-style combat boots just weren’t made for such endeavors. Making matters worse, with this being her first day, her backpack weighed in at just under a thousand pounds, laden with every book she’d possibly need for the semester. Luckily, being the superstar athlete that she was, the short jog was swiftly behind her as she joined a throng of teenagers filing into the small portable classrooms. It was kind of strange, having a whole set of classes set apart from the main campus, but Melissa didn’t have much time to wonder about it. As the west campus only consisted of seven small, one-roomed buildings and a nurse’s station, she quickly found the one that she was looking for and ducked inside, seconds before the second bell rang out. The students within went silent as they took stock of the new arrival, but any drama she might have incurred at being so close to the bell was relieved by the trio of stragglers that barged through the door just moments after. The teacher, an uninterested-looking man with a loud tie and a glaring bald spot, motioned her over to his desk. They exchanged the most typical sort of teacher-student pleasantries, and he nodded towards an empty seat near the front. If her non-standard appearance bothered him as much as it had the secretary, he was much better at hiding it.

There was no fanfare to her arrival as the teacher began the class, and for that Melissa was grateful. She wasn’t a shy or bashful sort of girl at all, but she didn’t like to make a fuss, and after a quick introduction, the class began in earnest. Science wasn’t Melissa’s favorite topic, but she was bright when she wanted to be, and had an enormous knack for retention. 11th grade Science requirements here in Arizona gave students two choices for credit, one being the math-heavy physics course, and the other being the extremely popular Astronomy class. The latter, taught by the extremely popular and attractive Mr. Weber, filled up months in advance and thus Melissa was relegated to Mr. Boller, who, as previously noted, was quite a bit less attractive. The class drug on as normally as you would think a high school physics class would, and after approximately one hundred and fifteen minutes, the bell rang and Melissa was released to lunch. A few of the students said ?hi’ in passing, but none of them really went any further with their greetings. Only time (and a few graded tests) would tell if this strange-looking new girl was someone they wanted to get to know.

While she slowly makes the journey back down to the main campus, let’s take a look at her schedule. Following what we’ll later learn is called a ?block schedule’, on Mondays and Wednesdays, Melissa had Physics, then lunch, then Volleyball and English. On Tuesdays and Thursdays, Pre-calculus, World History, lunch, and her only elective besides Volleyball, Art History. Fridays were bound to be fun as she had every class that day, albeit in sixty minute increments. Whew.

Finding an empty seat in the crowded cafeteria, Melissa flopped down into it, panting. On one hand, hauling the weight of the world on her back was great exercise, on the other, well...she quietly made a mental note to find her locker ASAP. Not really feeling lunch just yet, she sat back and tried some people watching, but quickly grew bored of that. When you look at high school kids as a tight, pulsing throng, they really do look quite similar. She had spotted a few goth kids hanging out in the halls playing cards, but neither scene interested her very much, despite how she was currently dressed. The purple and white checkered blouse had been a joint effort between her and grams, and the grape colored shorts she wore beneath it were originally a thrift store find that she had covered in patches. Sighing, she was just about to leave when she noticed a small commotion start up at one of the tables across from her. It appeared to be some kind of animated discussion between a few preppy looking kids and another who was...well...dressed a little odd. Clad in a flowing blue and white dress with long, billowing sleeves, the blonde-haired girl looked like an escapee from the Lord of the Rings. A flowered tiara even sat delicately perched on her head. Obviously annoyed, the kids at the table abruptly stood and left the cafeteria. Undiscouraged, the medieval maiden made her way to the next set of tables, and the conversation began anew, with similar results. Melissa, dutifully noting that there were pretty good odds that her table would be next, decided to beat the spread and quietly take her leave, ducking out and into the hot Arizona sun. No drama. It had become like a mantra that she silently repeated over and over. Not on the first day.

Lunch ended quickly enough, and Melissa, having found the locker assigned to her (number A1361, if you care to know) found herself with butterflies flitting around in her stomach. Confidence wasn’t an issue. But while she could put her head down and ignore the rest of the general student body, these girls would be her bosom buddies, her sisters, her family over the course of the semester, if her previous experience were any indication of the norm. Shaking herself, she steeled her resolve and walked into the dressing room. As expected, a bevy of girls were already there, changing into their gym clothes. Confirming what she had earlier heard, Shadow Hill’s colors were indeed black and red, which was all kinds of cool. However, due to the rather stifling heat, the top she had been assigned to work out in was gray, with the school’s mascot, a...nuclear...bio-hazard symbol...emblazoned in black and red on the front.

“Hey! Are you Melissa?”

Melissa turned as she heard her name, coming face to chest with a girl that could have been billed as an Amazon princess. Though Melissa wasn’t short, the girl was easily a foot taller then she was, and packing a rather impressive bust, if I might say so myself. Caught off guard by the full frontal display, (the girl was quite nude from the waist up...maybe this story has potential after all) Melissa took a step back and all she muster out was, “How do you play volleyball with those things?”

The girl laughed, a throaty affair given her deep voice. “Oh these?” she asked, cupping them in her hands. “I tie them up...they don’t bother me unless I have to jump...which I usually don’t have to. Are you...”

“Yeah, I’m Melissa. This is volleyball, right?”

The busty behemoth nodded. “You got it. I’m Amy Brand,” she said, her wide grin revealing her rainbow-colored braces. She looked down at the clothes Melissa had clutched to her chest. “C’mon, hurry up and change, I’ll show you where we gotta be.”

Spotting a bathroom stall, Melissa said, “That’s alright, Amy...I’ll be just a second...y’know, have to use the little girls room first. I’ll be right out, it’s just out that back door, right?”

“Yeah. Do you want me to wait for you? I mean, being new and all...”

Vehemently, Melissa shook her head. “Don’t worry about it, but thanks,” she protested. “I appreciate it.”

“Oh,” Amy said, finally nodding. In a well practiced motion, she slipped a sports bra up and over her head and wrangled her chest into it. Still half naked as she walked away, Melissa breathed a sigh of relief and stepped into the stall. Taking care to remove all seven of her earrings before taking off her shirt, Melissa took a deep breath as she pulled the gym shirt on. It still had that ’I just came out of a shrink wrapped plastic baggie’ smell, despite the fact that she’d washed it several times before today. It would never quite lose that scent. A little unsure about the mascot (the volleyball team were the Shadow Hill Nukes) it was still a step up from the Carlsbad Pirates...not that there was anything wrong with pirates, it’s just...well...the mascot was drunk fifty percent of the games. Authenticity, I suppose.

As she undid her shorts and let them fall to the floor, she took a well practiced minute to check the status of everything, ahem, down there. Luckily, she’d been able to keep every dr-

BANG

"Hey, rookie, you still in there? Everything alright?"

Almost leaping out of her skin as the Amazon banged on the stall door, Melissa found her tongue and gasped out, "Yeah, I’m still in here, damn it, just a minute!"

"Oh, ok. Just checking!"

"I’m fine! Geeze."

Looking down again, Melissa cursed under her breath. The quick scare had been more then enough to make her lose it. Though it wasn’t too damp, the diaper she wore for protection was just about at it’s limit. Grumbling, she quickly eased the pull-up down her legs and dove into her bag for the scented wipes that would cover up the smell. Finishing up, she replaced the sodden undergarment with a clean one and hurriedly pulled her black mesh shorts up. There was no telling whether or not that giant was standing right outside the stall, so she rolled the used diaper up and reluctantly stuffed it into her bag, praying to the ironic gods that watched over her that it wouldn’t stink up the rest of her clothes. Luckily, as Melissa cautiously exited the stall, Amy was nowhere to be seen, and with a mad dash to the nearest trash can, she disposed of it. Shaking herself (that wasn’t the most auspicious start to this) she found her bearings, and left the locker room, emerging into the gym. Two volleyball nets had been set up on the left half of the basketball court, and it looked like the other girls were lining up for drills. All in all, Melissa counted five potential teammates out there, and one black-clad coach that looked better suited for a funeral home. They all looked like friendly enough people, (with the exception of the coach, who was making her way over to Melissa) and windmilling her arms, the girl’s face split into a grin.

"D’Audrey, right?"

"Actually, it’s D’...hey you pronounced it right!" Melissa blinked, shaking the coach’s hand. The grip was cold, like ice. "You’re the only person that got it right on the first go."

Coach Amberly smiled. She was an old woman, wrinkled, with streaks of gray through her curly brown hair, but the light behind her green eyes belayed her dark apparel. "I can’t take the credit for that one, Melissa. My secretary had said you were quite particular on the way it sounded." She nodded towards the line. "You ready to play some ball?"

"Always, ma’am."

"I like to hear that. I really like to hear that," the coach said, affectionately patting Melissa on the back as they made their way to the net. "Now, you’re new, so let me go over a few things. As you can see, we’re not a big class. Last semester we had double and a half what we have now, but with all the new sports electives opening up this season, we’re hard pressed to get some new blood in here. All the girls here are hold-overs from last year...you’ll be the only rookie on the team."

"I can handle that," the girl said earnestly.

"Your transcript would agree with you. Pretty hefty stuff. Inter-district MVP, huh?"

Melissa beamed. "Twice," she said, hoping she didn’t sound boastful. "Offense and defense."

The coach tapped her chin. "Do you play libero?" she asked, referring to the relatively newly sanctioned position in which a player is designated as primarily defensive. The libero player wears a different color jersey and cannot serve, nor go after any ball that is higher then the net at the time of play.

"I tried it a few times...it wasn’t the best fit. I like to serve."

"You’re gonna have stiff competition from La’neisha. She’s our ace when it comes to those dynamite serves," Coach Amberly said, nodding. "I understand, though. With Shadow Hill fielding a five person team, we’ve had to go without. No substitutes either. I’m not gonna lie to you...if you join up, I’m going to work you like a dog. You still game?"

"I think so."

"Great! Let me introduce you to the girls." Drawing a deep breath, the coach let off an ear-splitting blast on her whistle. "Nukes, fall in!"

And thus our strange, leaky subject was introduced to her new family. For the most part, they seemed unfazed by the multi-hued hairdo and the tribal tattoo under her left eye, but not all of them were without misgivings. Michelle was both the team captain, and the precious and only daughter of that secretary we met earlier. Like a miniature version of her mother, she frowned as she took in the newcomer. Still, victory mattered a lot more to her then appearances, and a part of her hoped she was as good as Coach said she was. They needed it. Alice and Berna Ramirez, sisters aged one year apart from each other, were mostly indifferent as they shook her hand, but secretly, they exulted over the new face. Amy was fascinated by anything ’foreign’ (meaning in this case, not from Arizona) and eagerly awaited tales of the outside world. The fifth member, dark-skinned La’neisha, greeted Melissa warmly with a look that tried to say "steal my thunder and I’ll crush you" but due to an excess of eye shadow, it ended up coming off as simply a really intense stare. Melissa, caught up in the whirlwind of greetings, never noticed.

Once introductions were over, Coach Amberly moved straight back to business, lining the girls up to practice drills and sets. Really just passing the ball back and forth as the girls rotated down the line, the exercise was meant to increase the ability to switch to auto-pilot when a ball flew their way. After several minutes of that, the girls moved to the net to practice spiking. As expected, the towering Amy was the Nuke’s lead spiker. Seeing as though her head came to just under the net, it was no surprise what role she’d play. When it was Melissa’s turn to hit, the coach tossed the volleyball just a little higher then she had for the others. Dashing up, Melissa crouched low, feeling the power in her Keds, and leapt into the air. She could have grown wings with all that air time. Easily meeting the ball at it’s apex, she swung her right arm down as hard as she could, drilling the ball into the ground. The sound it made was much louder and powerful sounding then any of the other girls’ had been, and satisfied, Supergirl drifted back down to earth, grinning wide as her new teammates broke into a brief cheer. Coach Amberly, still a little distraught over the past three losing seasons but hiding it well, covertly hid a few tears of joy behind her clipboard. Her prayers had been answered. Her job was safe.

Practice ended with Melissa feeling pretty good about herself. She could easily see that she was the best on the team, but they were pretty solid bunch by themselves. It just felt right, like this was a good fit, and she eagerly looked forward to their first game. She’d soon come to find out that the Nukes haven’t had a winning season in the past three years, a fact that would only put a mild damper on her enthusiasm. After all, they didn’t have her before. It wasn’t necessarily that simple, though. The reasons the Nukes faltered were myriad, ranging from unfortunately timed late season injuries, to nefarious prom drama (also known in these parts as ?prama’). On paper, they looked good, but the reality was that this particular team just wasn’t very lucky. And as anyone who plays team sports knows, talent can only get you so far.

Regardless, Melissa was happy. The coach was nice, the campus was pretty (for being located in the middle of the desert), and as she passed them on her way to her next class, the other students seemed inclined to leave her alone. If you wanted to, you could say that Melissa was a bit anti-social. She wasn’t mean or sarcastic, but she preferred her deep inner monologue to the inane conversations of others. Back in California, she rarely talked to anyone besides the volleyball team, and even then she was considered standoffish and a bit of a downer. But now, to observe her from afar, as we narrators often do, optimism practically wafted off of her, and this wasn’t a very optimistic person. You are probably going to see as this narrative progresses, she has a slight ?why me, God?’ complex that crops up here and there. More on that later, however, as there is the first bell, and it’s time to sprint. English class, and an unfortunate brush with destiny that would forever change Melissa’s sheltered life, await.

The first sign things were about to go horribly wrong was the fact Melissa was late to her next class. Caught up in the adrenaline of the practice, she had accidentally misread her schedule, ending up in Freshman Chemistry instead of Creative Writing. Quickly realizing her mistake, (the beakers on the desk and the periodic table on the blackboard were a dead giveaway) she turned and darted down the hallway, the second bell buzzing in her ears. Finding the right class across the hall, she barged in as quietly as she could. It was as bad as it could possibly be...the teacher was already standing at the front, giving a lecture. When Melissa came in, the silence that followed could have ended the world.

"Um, sorry, I got the wrong class," she stammered, trying to catch her breath. "I mean, I, well, I’m..."

"Late," Mrs. Applebee said with a chilling finality, nodding towards an empty seat. "Sit down please, and see me at the break. We are just about to start in on our journals. Do you have something to write with?"

Melissa nodded as she all but dove for an empty seat. All that was left were a few near the front, and she could feel the rest of the student’s eyes on the back of her head. Pulling her notebook out of her bag, she noticed up on the board a topic of day. "Change" it proclaimed, and though Mrs. Applebee didn’t say anything further, Melissa figured that was probably the subject of the journal. That was easy enough. At the moment, her life was full of changes.

The journal session ended shortly after it began, with the teacher coming by to collect the student’s work. As she did so, Melissa took the time to do a quick survey of her classmates. Normal, normal, drooling, normal...

"Hey..."

Leaning back in her seat, Melissa turned to the voice and felt her heart sink. The medieval girl from lunch was seated behind her, renaissance dress, freckles, and all. She had dirty blonde hair pulled back into an elaborate braid, and hazel-colored eyes that didn’t quite stand out among the rest of her features. She had a slightly upturned nose and ears that stuck out just a bit too far from her head.

"I just wanted to welcome you, milady," she said politely enough. Melissa gave a weak grin and nodded, quickly turning back around. Maybe she’d get the hint.

"Your clothes are beautiful, and that bag is awesome...that’s a Milton embroidery, right?"

Caught by surprise, Melissa turned around again. "You can recognize the sewing machine by the stitch?"

The girl nodded. "Well, of course I can. Warner’s can’t do that multi-strand cross stitch you got going there. Is that an original design?" she asked, pointing at one of the patches.

"Er...yeah, I made it."

"Much cool," she said. "it almost looks like a Gothic coat of arms." She held out her hand. "Pembrough Mosley. Everyone calls me Pem. Pleased to meetcha, milady."

"Um, yeah...Melissa."

As she turned around again, Mrs. Applebee had made her way around the class and stood next to Melissa’s desk, looking down at the journal. Hurriedly ripping the sheet out to hand to the teacher, she anxiously waited as she quickly read over the two paragraph story.

"Not bad at all," she finally said, nodding. "Your diction is a bit off, but you have a strong voice. If we work on that word choice a bit, I’m sure you’ll do fine." She inclined her head towards the medieval girl. "You chose a good seat if you want to do well in this class, too. Pembrough is one of my best students."

"Thank you, Mrs. Applebee," Pem said solemnly, bowing her head. "I’ll get Melissa up to speed, if you want me to."

The teacher nodded again and moved on.

"Do you have any interest in the medieval times, Melissa?" Pem asked abruptly, shaking Melissa’s train of thought. Shaking herself, she pondered the question.

"I guess...I’m not a big fan or anything, but Lord of the Rings was pretty cool."

She could have just as well said she was a millionaire and leaving her fortune to the girl. Pem’s eyes lit up with the intensity of the sun. "Sword fights, courtly drama, dances...you know, we have a club here for that. Have you joined any of the clubs here yet?"

Mel shook her head, seeing where this was going. "No, no, and I don’t think I’m going to this semester. I’m on the volleyball team...I doubt I’ll have any free time for an after-school activity."

"Ren F.O.R.C.E. is totally unlike anything you’d ever be a part of. We do weekly combat demonstrations around town, put on plays here at school, and at the big Club Crawl later this year, we put together a mini faire for the rest of the students to enjoy. Doesn’t that just sound like so much fun?"

"Actually, that sounds like a lot of hassle," Melissa said. Definitely not something she’d be interested in. "Maybe next year I’ll give it a look, but like I said..."

"I can’t even talk you into coming by for just a quick visit? Just to check things out? You can suit up...we have a fighters pit that’s pretty intense."

"Do I look like I’d be interested in sword fighting?"

Pem went silent as she sized Melissa up. You could almost hear the swords clanking around in her head. "Yeah," she finally said.

"Well, sorry, you’ve got me all wro-"

"Alright, class," Mrs. Applebee interrupted, addressing the students. "Fifteen minutes...I want you all back here by one thirty!"

Grateful for the interruption, Mel quickly stood up and filed for the door. Pem’s dogged persistence had started to get a bit bothersome. Because each class was so long, the students were given periodic fifteen minute breaks to use the bathroom, study for quizzes, or just plain hang out. Mel’s little internal clock, ever vigilant, was starting to gnaw at her. Now was definitely time for a potty break.

As she stepped out into the hallway, she felt a tap on her arm. A sandy-haired boy held his finger to his lips and motioned for her to come down the hallway. Taken by surprise, she followed him.

"Hey, I know you’re new and all, but I noticed Queen Pem talking to ya," he said, leaning up against the lockers. "She’s nice and all, and she’s really good in this class, but I’m telling ya," His green eyes bored into her blue ones. "Whatever you do...don’t. Join. Her. Club."

Mel was a little taken back. Sure, she didn’t have any interest to, but she didn’t expect to be warned away from it. "Why? Is it that bad?"

"Put it this way...the principal has been trying to get rid of that club for the past four years. The geeks in that club are so bad, even the chess nerds give them a wide berth. Joining that club is instant social suicide." He scratched the back of his neck. For a teenager, his acme didn’t quite dominate his angular face. "I figured I’d warn you, seeing as you’re cute and all."

Rather then get flustered and flighty, like most of her kind, the statement the boy made struck a nerve. She was no stranger to awkward courtship, and she didn’t want it to start up now, not on her first freaking day.

"Thanks," she said, a little curtly. "But don’t worry...I have no desire to join a club like..."

A worry line creased Mel’s brow. She’d dallied just a tad to long. "Bathroom! Where?"

The boy turned and pointed. "Out the building, to the right, bottom floor of the H building."

Without another word, Melissa ran past him. He wouldn’t have been surprised if she left a hole in the double doors leading out, like a cartoon character. Feeling like an idiot, Wyatt turned to head back in when he almost collided with Pembrough. A worried look sat on her face like the baby’s breath wreath sat on her head.

"What was that all about? Is she ok?"

Wyatt shrugged. "Had to use the bathroom. You know how girls are."

Socking him in the arm, Pembrough bit her lip, wondering. The new kid had left in such a hurry...she should probably go check up on her...just in case. It couldn’t hurt, and if everything was alright, she’d have the walk back to class to try and pitch the club again. The deadline was nearing...she couldn’t let Principal Edwards shut them down. She had promised.

Making up her mind and gathering up her dress, Pem ran out the doors, heading for the ladies room.

Just as she pushed on the door to go inside, a loud curse suddenly echoed out, startling her. It had come from the handicapped stall at the end of the bathroom. It was the only one with the door shut, and no one else was in there with them. The voice rang out again, "damn it!" and confirmed the owner. It was definitely the new kid doing the cursing.

All she was going to do was knock on the stall door. That’s all. She couldn’t have known that the particular stall Mel had chosen had a faulty latch on it. One that was next to useless if anyone so much as touched the outside of the door. There was no way she could have known that dozens of girls have had incidents with this stall, and even though each and everyone reported it to the maintenance guys, no one ever did anything about it. So as she walked up to this stall, she called out, "Hey, Mel, is everything alright?" and lightly rapped on the door.

Confucius once noted that ’the road to hell is paved in good intentions.’ This narrator is more inclined to believe that the road leads more to shame and embarrassment, if you ask him. But you didn’t, so let’s continue.

As you might have expected, at Pem’s delicate knock, the door swung open.

"Hey whoa...wait!"

What Pem saw there was certainly the last thing she could ever have expected, if she could have expected it at all. Melissa, with her purple patched shorts down around her combat-boot covered feet, was standing near the stall, hands covering what had certainly not looked like a normal pair of panties.

"Get out!" she screamed, and Pem quickly stepped back and yanked the door shut. A loud snap quickly followed as Mel replaced the lock on the door.

"I’m sorry! I’m sorry...I didn’t mean to..."

"Did you see?" Mel’s voice carried angrily. "Did you see?"

"No! Your...um...diaper covered up everything."

A shriek of frustration sounded from behind the door. "Damn it! Why the hell did you come in here? Why!?"

"Hey, I said I was sorry! You ran out so fast I was worried you were sick or something."

"I’m fine! Leave!"

"Are you sure? I mean..."

"Yes!"

Red-faced, Pem started to back out of the room. "Ok...I’m going...I’m sooo sorry, milady..."

"Wait..."

Pem stopped.

"You still there?"

"Yeah?"

"I...I need my bag."

"For wh...oh. Oh! Ok. I’ll be right back!" There was a dashing sound, a clicking of medieval shoes, and the door slammed behind her. Meanwhile, in the stall, Melissa banged her head on the flimsy walls of the stall. "Stupid, stupid, stupid!" she groaned, the sodden pull-up between her legs doing nothing to ease her mood. Someone had seen. On the first day. Stupid! She might as well kiss her life here at Shadow Hill goodbye. By tomorrow, it would be all over the campus. Did you hear? That new girl with the crazy hair wears Pampers! Don’t make fun of her, she’ll probably start crying! Oh little baby, don’t cry, where’s your binkie? Uh-oh, smells like someone needs a change!

And what was worse was the fact that this wasn’t speculative panic. These were memories of a life she had thought she left behind when she moved. "On the first day!" she growled, slamming her fist against the tile.

"Um, Mel? I brought your bag."

Swallowing hard, Melissa cleared her throat. "Just slide it under the door and leave. Thank you."

"Ok," Pem said, doing so. "Is there anything else I can..."

"Don’t...tell...anyone, please!" There was the sound of tapes tearing, a rustle of plastic, and the sound of jean shorts being pulled up. Melissa shortly appeared at the door, looking frazzled but in control. Glaring at Pem, she quickly crossed over to the trash can and threw away the evidence, wrapped in about a ton of toilet paper. "I swear to God, if you tell anyone..."

Pem nodded vehemently. "Oh, don’t worry about it...I’m good at keeping secrets. And I won’t tell anyone." She quickly glanced down at her watch. "Oh crap, breaks over! We got to get back!"

"You won’t tell anyone?"

"Yeah, Yeah," Pem said dismissively as she grabbed a hold of her dress in preparation to run. "Don’t worry about it!" A pause. "Are you sure you’re not interested in the club?

A glare was the only answer she was going to get from Mel for the rest of the day. don’t worry about it? Not the easiest thing to do, when your darkest secret gets compromised on your first day of a new life.

And as you can guess, it only goes downhill from here. Otherwise, we wouldn’t have a story, now would we?

Dearest Diary,

Oh, a bigger tragedy has n’er occurred. A fortnight! That slanderous pig actually gave me a fortnight! I bet he doesn’t even know how long a fortnight is. Oh, dear diary, whatever am I supposed to do now? If I don’t secure but one more knight to sit at our hallowed table, we’ll lose our standing within the duchy! I can’t let that happen...there’s too much at stake! This will be the last chance we have to make it to the far off lands of Vega for the coronation. And with Sir Brom and Sir Jett graduating this semester, oh dear diary...what’s a maiden to do? On a related note...can you believe that about the new kid? I feel sooo bad for her. I mean, something like that is the last thing you’d want anyone at school to know about. I hope she changes her mind about the club...I mean, it’s not like I have a problem with her wearing diapers...and I’m kind of curious as to why. She just moved her, and I can tell she desperately needs a friend right now. If I play my cards right, I’ll have our last knight...but she seemed pretty adamant against it...what am I going to do?

Sincerely, Pembrough

Boredom. It’s a common enough affliction, sure, but most times, it’s fleeting and doesn’t linger. There are the rare, lazy summers of inaction that are the exceptions to this, but for the for the most part, the state of boredom is something to be weathered and overcome.

For most.

Again, going back to those instances of exception, there are some people who are consumed by it, devoured whole. These people simply can’t shake the torpor of their dreary existences, and react to it in a myriad of ways. Some go mad. Others grow their hair out over their eyes and wear a lot of eye-liner. Some are harmless, and suffer in silence and solitude. But some, like young Pembrough Mosley, try to be proactive about their afflictions and seek out adventure or drama to ease the burden of their boredom. Routinely, people such as this drag unwilling innocents into their weirdness. This is shaping up to be one such story.

Observe our subject as she sits in the passenger seat of her mom’s pickup, idly nibbling on the tips of her braid. Mrs. Mosley, driving, couldn’t help but steal a few glances at her wayward daughter. A part of her had hoped she’d grow out of all of this nonsense, but she knew that that wasn’t likely to happen, not with Aaron and Scott being so involved in it. I mean, the fact that Pem had an older brother with a suit of armor hanging in the garage was bad enough, made worse by the fact that Mr. Mosley’s hung right next to it. Despite how odd they all were, Mrs. Mosley knew her little brood was happily content with their weirdness, and neither said nor did anything to possibly threaten that. So Mrs. Mosley played along, braiding Pem’s hair everyday, and turning a blind eye on the fact that most of the school regarded her as radioactive as their volleyball team’s logo. As long as her daughter excelled in school, Mrs. Mosley couldn’t argue with the path in which she took to get there.

“Mom,” the girl finally said, turning away from the window. “I have a dilemma.”

Normally, such words would have caused Mrs. Mosley to slam on her breaks, potentially causing a horrific traffic accident. Pembrough was an extremely self-reliant girl, prone to keeping things pretty ?close to the vest’, and never reaching out for help. Invariably, this meant that when Pem did ask, it was because something extremely dire was on the horizon. The last time Mrs. Mosley had heard those words uttered, Pem was thirteen and crushing over a second cousin. Not pretty to say the least, but Mrs. Mosley had a slight inkling of what might be troubling her youngest daughter.

“I still haven’t found anyone to join the guild,” she said, a little despondently. “Principal Edwards gave us two weeks to find someone to join, and that was two weeks ago. We need five members plus a president to remain a legitimate after-school club, and we don’t have it. I’ve asked everyone at the stupid school, and no one wanted to join!”

Mrs. Mosley made a sympathetic sound. She knew how much her little guild meant to her. “I’m so sorry, honey. You sure you asked everyone?” Pem nodded sadly. If you knew the girl, you’d realize that yes, she had asked EVERYBODY. No grade level was safe. “And no one was even a little interested?”

“Well...kinda. There’s this new girl in my English class who might be interested...but she told me not right now.”

“Did you tell her how important it was?”

Pembrough shook her head. “No, I didn’t have a chance to. We kinda...well, met under unusual circumstances.”

Her mother smiled and put her arm around her daughter’s chair. “Often the best kind.” Pem laughed, but inwardly cringed. That hadn’t been the most auspicious way to get to know someone.

“She said that she was going to be too busy this semester. I guess she’s on the volleyball team or some crap like that.”

“I didn’t know Shadow Hill had a volleyball team.”

“We do. It sucks.” Pem said off-hand, shrugging as she looked back out the window. It was a clear, stark morning, and the Arizona sun just starting to peak over the Lemon mountain range. All signs pointed to it being another scorching hot day.

Mrs. Mosley sighed and flipped her turn signal on. The line of cars headed onto the campus. was already backed up out the parking lot, spilling into the main road. Even though Pem had a driver’s license, the Mosleys only had two cars, and Mr. Mosley was already long gone to work. A paramedic, the man worked long, ugly hours, leaving early and coming home very late. He’d been doing this for years, though, and the family had mostly gotten used to the absence of the father-figure around the house. “Well,” she finally said, “it seems you have your work cut out for you, little queen.”

Pembrough cocked her head as she started to gather her belongings. “Huh?”

“What’s this new kid’s name?”

“Melissa.”

“That’s a pretty one. But ok. This Melissa, well, she kind of seems like she’d be interested in your club. The only problem is that she’s on the fence and can’t decide what she wants to do. With the deadline up, we can’t wait that long.” Mrs. Mosley put her hand on Pem’s shoulder, feeling inspired. This was going to be one of those awesome mother-daughter moments she read about so often in the Digest. “What you have to do, Queen P, is make this Melissa person an offer she can’t refuse. I mean, sell your club. Really sell it. Tell her all of your best stories, show her all of your little battle scars. Make sure she knows just how amazing your group can be, and I can guarantee she’ll join up.”

Pem’s eyes lit up. She was wearing her purple tunic today, and the grape-colored outfit complimented her round features. A small, unassumingly plain girl beneath it all, the clothing actually rather flattered her appearance. “You really think so?”

“I know so. Remember, Pem, persistence. How do you think I snagged your father?”

“Dad said you guys used to play video games at his apartment while his roommates threw wild parties. He said you both got drunk and ended hooking up in the bath tu-”

“Pem!”

“Hehe, kidding, kidding!” she cried, opening the door to hop out. Careful not to trip (she had cut her breeches just a tad long and the stitching was beginning to unravel) she stepped out into the dawning sunshine. The smile she wore stretched from ear to ear. “Thanks mom, I totally understand. Make an offer she can’t refuse. Got it!”

A part of Mrs. Mosley saw the wooden gears clanking around in her daughters head and felt a shred of worry for whoever this Melissa person was. If there was anything she gave to her daughter, it was a stubborn tenacity to see things through to their grisly end. After all, it had, in the end, taken more then video games and booze to get Mr. Mosley to marry her. Then her focus was pulled ahead as she nearly rear-ended an SUV. The whole thing lost in the adrenaline of the moment, Mrs. Mosley got back onto the main road, feeling strangely content with herself.

Back on campus...

Pem darted around the upper level of the R building, trying to catch a glimpse of Melissa’s frost blue hair tips in the throng of milling students. Feeling much like a man-at-arms surveying his land, she studied the advancing army with a keen and shrewd eye, wishing she had an English longbow to thin out the crowd. . She felt only mildly disappointed when she couldn’t pick out her target; renewed by her mom’s well-meaning speech, she felt certain that destiny would cause them to meet again this day.

On the subject of little Mel, lets rewind the clock by an hour and join up with our hapless heroine.

It’s five past six AM now, which coincidentally is when Melissa’s alarm clock was set to go off. A touch old fashioned, (Mel had inherited the ugly thing from her grandpa) the clock sounded off with a wail that was several decibels over what would be considered appropriate. All but leaping from her bed, Melissa surged up, stumbling for her bureau and the oppressive sonic assault. Finding the snooze button (which just meant it was going to start up again in about ten minutes), she rubbed at her throbbing ears and swayed into the bathroom, cursing her grandfather and vowing revenge for what was certainly his doing. The two shared a healthy, adversarial relationship that boiled down to ’prank the other, revenge, prank to tie the score, revenge for that one.’ This would be grandpa’s revenge for the glass of ice water she had doused him with in the shower.

A short time later, Melissa found herself staring at her reflection in the mirror, looking quite affright. Having skipped out on a late bath the night before, the gel in her hair now caused her to resemble, rather strongly, a striking mix of late-thirties Einstein and an afghan hound. Scrubbing her face, she was careful to avoid the fading henna tattoo that sat under her eye. it was almost time for a redo....maybe she’d go with a dragon or something oriental this time.

The word ’dragon’ suddenly brought with surprising clarity a single thought to the teen’s mind. This thought bled out of her brain and wrote itself in the fog on the mirror.

~Avoid the medieval girl at all costs.~

"It shouldn’t be that hard," she silently mused, pulling open the mirror to reach for her toothbrush. It was about that time the snooze feature on her clock ran out, proceeded by a shriek, a jump, and a flung toothbrush that landed in places unmentionable. Time for a new toothbrush. Within minutes the siren had been quieted once more, a vaguely emo ballad now playing out from the FM radio. It filled her bedroom with sorrow and melodrama, but this was Melissa’s kind of music. Resuming her previous thought, it shouldn’t be that hard to avoid Pembrough. The girl stood out like a sore thumb. She might as well walk around campus with a gigantic pennant or something, the words ’RUN YE FOOLS’ written loudly on the fluttering fabric. Besides that one class they had together, there was no way in hell she’d go anywhere near that freak job and her stupid club. As she scowled at her reflection, she knew inside that the only reason she was so angry was because she had brought this on herself. Angry that she hadn’t checked the door before she went in, angry that she had to drop her pants to check herself, angry that she had to wear the stupid things at all. The first two things she could have prevented. I mean, after nearly fourteen years of keeping that particular secret, you learn how to watch your back. But too long without incidents like this, and well...you get complacent. Complacent. Melissa leaned forward to let her forehead bang against the mirror. Ugh!

The motion brought the girl’s eyes down to her midsection, and she frowned at what she perceived as the root of all her troubles. "This is all your fault," she declared to the lacey diaper that innocently sat wrapped around her waist. Never-mind mind that this particular one wasn’t directly responsible for yesterday’s fiasco, but I won’t deny that they were distantly related. Luckily, the offending garment was dry, but there was still no way she was going to wear a night diaper to school. The damned things were too thick to hide properly, and well...that was just gross. Night sweats and all that. "If not for you, she would have just seen me naked and we could have just laughed the whole thing off over iced coffee. But noooo, you had to be there, ruining it all! Stupid padding!"

The diaper stoically took the verbal assault, even as it sailed through the air, on route to the wastebasket. It took a cold comfort in the fact that its former charge was developing a slight rash, a by-product of missing that evening bath.

"Ok, ok, focus. Focus, Mel." she told herself. "Its obvious that the girl has no friends. I mean, look at what happened in the MPR...they practically ran from her. Even if she did tell anyone, it’s not likely to get around. She totally doesn’t seem like the sports type either, so I don’t think I have to worry about the team hearing about it. I’m sure if I just avoid talking to her, she’ll get the hint, leave me alone, and forget about it anyway." Nodding, she about jumped out of her skin (she was a skittish thing, no?) when her grandmother opened the door to peer inside.

"What are you doing, hedgehog?" she asked, using a pet name that Melissa had earned on a very similar bad hair day such as this. "Not ready yet?"

Melissa dove behind her bed, feeling a bit better even as she sought to preserve her modesty. Discovering a folded pull-up nestled against her comforter, she hurriedly pulled it up her bare legs. "What? I thought grandpa said this was a party town. Surely the other kids at Shadow Hill wouldn’t mind if I showed up in nothing but a t-shirt and a smile."

Grandma snorted and laughed. "Your grandpa wouldn’t know a party if it was a rattlesnake and it bit him between the legs. Hurry on up, breakfast is on the table." Grinning, the old woman couldn’t help herself. This aspect of her granddaughter fascinated her in some odd way. "How did those work out? Better?" she asked, referring to the specially ordered padding Melissa now wore around her waist.

Pulling a rainbow-sleeved blouse on, Melissa moved onto belt selection. Choosing a red one and a blue one to compliment her many-colored top, she tugged out a pair of rugged orange pants to complete the whole affair. "Yeah, they’re ok. They don’t make as much noise as those ones you got from Vons. And no leaks, which is always good."

"So good of you to keep the laundry down. Wouldn’t want anyone finding out about this on your second day here, eh?"

No, that wouldn’t bother Melissa at all. Someone had already found out the first day. Sighing, she nodded and forced a smile. She her grandmother was very excited to have her here in Arizona. Mel didn’t want her to start worrying more then she already did. No need to tell her about Pembrough when the whole thing was going to blow over anyway. “Exaaactly.” She lifted her pants up, pausing just before they covered her unmentionables. “Kinda cute too, with the little stars and stuff.”

For whatever reason, Melissa felt totally comfortable being so exposed around her grandmother. She had never felt ashamed of herself, like it was around her mom, and she often held that it was due to the fact that grandma’s own diaper-time wasn’t too long off. "Not yet, though," the snarky reply would often come, teasing. It made Mel feel good...if she could joke with her family about this, it was like there wasn’t anything to be embarrassed about. School and the outside world were a completely different story, though.

“You gonna comb that mop?”

Stuffing a few extra diapers into her backpack along with her notebook, Melissa took one last hurried look into the mirror. “Naah, I think I like it...bed-head. I might be on to something here. You just watch, I’m gonna get famous off of this.”

“Call me when you make the fashion magazines. You’re going to be late!”

+++

“And so that’s the rub, my fellows. Our time is up.”

Pem leaned back against the tree, closing her eyes so she wouldn’t have to see the cadre of disappointed expressions her friends wore. A few stray twigs from the giant mesquite tree drifted down onto her face. She knew this would be difficult, but wow...

“No one?” Jett asked, frowning deeply. “I thought you said you had a couple of those furries interested. What the heck happened to them?”

Cringing, Pem shook her head. She had really taken a risk with that one, reaching out to those creepy introverts. When they had finally let her out of their basement level club room, Pem had been overwhelmed by the sensation to find the nearest red ant hill and roll around in it.

“Let’s just say it didn’t pan out. No luck for you guys either?”

Her four friends all shook their heads. This had been so much easier with Aaron around...he had a natural charisma, bringing people to the guild in droves. It didn’t matter that only a few of them stayed on and became members, the fact is, at least he could get them interested. Three of the four seated outside the library had been her closest friends since her freshman year. The fourth one, a newcomer this year, well...of all of them, only Pem really thought she stood a chance at winning people over. Without beating them up, that is. If it were that easy, Jett would have the whole school joining the Ren F.O.R.C.E.

Don’t ask me what the acronym stands for, it’s not here in my notes.

Growling in frustration, Jett turned and pounded his fist against the brick wall he sat next to. Lanky and tall, the red-headed young man had been kicked off the football team in his freshman year and had never quite gotten the chip off his shoulder. He never said exactly why he was kicked off, but the rumor was that it had been for excessive roughness. And on a team like the Shadow Hill Ravens, which was already known for it’s...rowdy style of play, that really meant something. Everyone was too afraid to ask for the truth, though. He was the guild’s Knight Combatant, their best warrior. “What about you, Charlie? None of your froshmeat buddies up for it?”

“That’s ?Char-les’” the freshman in question retorted, pronouncing the ?char’ like ?shar’. “And for your information, no. Apparently, most of them are afraid you’ll eat them if they get too close.” Charlie, wait, I’m sorry, Charles, was one of those kids you just really wanted to give a black eye to, well, until you got to know him. Even still, sometimes. Having had the grades to skip the eighth grade, he was young and shrimpy, with glasses too big for his face and hair that was combed a little too neat each morning. For whatever reason, that bothered Jett to no end, and he always greeted his ?squire’ with a friendly headlock, replete with the ?noogies’. He was currently in all of the freshman honors classes here at Shadow Hill, and his favorite one, of course, was AP History. He was the group’s unofficial guru on being ?period’.

“This be all that damnable lord’s doing,” Brom growled, referring to Principal Edwards. “Would be that I could simply strike him down with one of my arrows true...the troubles of this land would cease,” he exclaimed with fervor.

Jett leaned over and smacked the tawny-haired kid over the head, causing one of his prosthetic ears to fall off. “Sure, you moron, and then they’ll lead you away in handcuffs for murdering an elected official, and we’ll STILL be too short to keep the club. Brilliant! And keep your voice down!”

“Didn’ have to hit me,” Brom muttered, rubbing the side of his head. His curly hair had absorbed most of the impact though. “Jerk.”

Now, before I get to describing our good buddy Brom, let me give you a frame of reference to go by. Napoleon Dynamite. Seriously. I mean, had Brom been a little older, Mr. Heder’s performance could have been based upon this particular personality, albeit with the medieval flare. Like Pem, Brom wore his ren gear around every day, though it was only evident in the leather ties in his long hair and the fake (but very real looking ) rubber elf ears that he wore. However, the term ?idiot-savant’ does apply to Brom, as it did to Napoleon, but our little elf boy doesn’t dance. He was the guild’s archer, and a heck of one at that. One time, Brom’s foam covered arrow had found the middle of an enemy king’s helmet while he had been hiding behind two shields, from across the entire battlefield. Songs were still being song about that day. . Still, that didn’t make the skinny senior any easier to get along with. He was...well...kinda weird.

“So let’s have it, milady,” the fourth member of the guild said, making his voice heard. The fifth and final member remained silent, as always, but more on him a little later. “Is Wildfire in trouble?”

Pem sighed. Tristan was referring to the guild within the school club known as Ren F.O.R.C.E. It was the name they used when they met up with older medieval enthusiasts from around Tucson every Wednesday night for fighter practice. “No, of course not, Tris. I mean, we’ll still have the ECS...we just won’t have anything here. And you know what that means.”

“No Vega.”

The dimunitive queen nodded. “No Vega.”

Let me take a step back, because those few paragraphs had some terminology that you may not be familiar with, and doubtless, I’ll be using it again. The ECS refers to the Empire of Chivalry and Steel, a rather large cadre of ren-loving wackos that had off-shoots, or ?territories’ all over the US. As previously mentioned, they met weekly at Reid Park downtown, donning armor and costume and engaging in mock sword battles with each other. The only restriction was that you had to be older then thirteen, and with all of Pem’s flock meeting that requirement, they were able to join in on the fun. It wasn’t all about fighting either; the group held monthly feasts to honor various members attaining the coveted knighthood, dances to commemorate birthdays, and grand wars to decide kingship. ?Vega’ refers to the ECS group based in Las Vegas. They were by far the largest of the territories, and once a year, they held a gigantic faire, with the largest mock battle seen the world over. Thousands of these nut jobs would come from all over the world to attend, eat turkey legs, and leave with a few new dents in their home-made armor. It was absolutely bliss, if you were into such things.

Now, and here I’m going to drop a pivotal plot point on y’all, Shadow Hill was a wealthy school. None of that crap like they have in California, the budget was in order and the school system thrived and flourished. Because of this, every registered school club got a certain allowance per member for membership activities. With those funds, the group had made plans to attend the Vega War this year. None of the group’s current roster, save for the silent Mac, had ever been. Pembrough had been raised on tales of her father and brother’s exploits during the event. They, and not nursery rhymes, had been her nighttime lullaby.

Tristan sighed. He had really, really, really wanted to go this year. A junior like Pem, the two had been hanging out since way back when they went to school together at Coronado K-8. A frequent visitor at the Mosley home, he was every bit as star struck by the stories of past members as she was. An unassuming, quiet boy, he could probably be considered the most...normal of the group. Well, he would be if he ever left the stuffed fox he carried around at home. Scott was the group’s official mascot, and as such, had to be carried around everywhere, by royal decree. Tristan didn’t mind being designated the mascot carrier. He was also the group’s official ’chronicler’, keeping the records and stories of the club in his massive leather bound book. A talented writer...still, you have to admit, a sixteen year old with a plushie?

Oh wait.

Moving along. Tristan knew that this had been their last chance. Principal Edwards was finally going to win. None of the members had enough money to make the trip, and only one had parents willing to pay for the flight. Pem. Oh well.

The shadowy figure seated next to Tristan stirred, looking up from what he had been working on. In hands that were as big as any orcs, the mountainous student delicately held in one a pair of pliers and a scrap piece of metal in the other. By the end of first period, an intricately carved metal flower would take the place of the scrap. "That’s that?" the mountain, known to his friends and a few brave souls as Mac, rumbled. The rare words split the pall that had started to hang over the group. Over six feet tall, Mac had long, stringy black hair that would make a death metal shredder jealous, and a talent with musical instruments that would do more of the same. I mean, if it were possible to shred on a pan flute, that is.

Pem bit her lip, a bad habit she had inherited from her brother. "Well...actually, no."

That got everyone’s attention.

"Spill it, P. What are you talking about?"

"You know that new kid?" she started, quietly.

"The one with the blue hair?" Charles asked, pondering.

Brom shook his head. "No, she’s got red hair."

"It’s red and blue," Jet growled, silencing the two before they began to bicker. "Purple shorts, right, Pem?"

I told you it was a small school.

"Yeah, that’s her. I think she might be interested in joining up."

Jet hopped to his feet, looking around. "Well, why didn’t you say that before? You don’t have a lot of time to get her in, right? Edwards gave us til the end of the day, so where is she?"

"Well..." Pem fidgeted, twirling her braid. "When I asked her yesterday, she said ’no.’" Seeing her friend’s expressions, she hastily continued. "But I didn’t tell her what was on the line. I’m sure that if I see her today, I’ll be able to get her to join."

"If you see her," Tristan moaned, adjusting the mascot behind his head to make a more comfortable pillow. Class was about to start, and the kids were beginning to mill around. Brom had already stood up, trying, as his queen had done earlier, to pick her out of the crowd. Charles was busy pulling his laptop out of his backpack. "You have no idea where she’s going to be all day!"

"What was her last name?" Charlie piped up.

"D’ Audrey...with a hyphen. I saw her write it on her journal...she had really neat cursive handwriting. Almost like calligraph-"

"Pem! Focus!" Jet snapped.

"Wow. This is interesting. Hey Queen Pem! You have math with Scikowsky next, right?"

Pem nodded, rolling her eyes. The teacher was an obnoxious windbag. She also made no secret of the fact she was dating Principal Edwards.

"Well, according to her class schedule, so does this Melissa person."

"What?!? Lemme see that!"

Sure enough, Charlie had managed to pull up Melissa’s entire transcript, complete with this semester’s schedule. No one ever asked how Charles was able to do these things, but in the end, everyone agreed that ignorance would probably be best when the feds came and took him away in handcuffs.

"Well...wow. Wow," Pem said, beaming. The first bell rang out in the distance, but the girl didn’t hear it. It was destiny. She knew that now beyond any shadow of a doubt.

"Time to work your magic, Pembrough," Tristan said, with a quiet smile. "Good luck," he grinned, as the group got up and scattered to the various ends of the campus. Pem, left with the ghost of his smile etched on her face, tossed her head, swinging her braid around to her back.

Should I, as the omnipotent and all powerful narrator try to warn young Melissa? I’m sure if I tried really hard, I could get a message across.

Yeah, I thought you’d say no.

###

Trying to avoid another mishap like yesterday, Melissa had spent some quality time mapping out her classes today, going so far as to highlighting all the possible routes to each with different colored markers. As you can imagine, the map was a very...bright affair now. She still had goal number one on her mind, but as she walked around the campus, soaking in the light, heady air, she felt herself relax. Nothing bad was going to happen. Nothing.

As she made it to A-4 without incident, Melissa paused outside the door to make sure she was in the right place. She was several minutes early, and the door to the classroom was locked. Several of the students milling around gave her inspecting looks, but none of them stepped forward to say hi which, as you might expect by now, suited Melissa just fine. On the way in, Grandma had managed to convince her that maybe the world wasn’t ready for her newly patented ?bed-head’ look, so she had donned a purple bandanna to keep her hair down.

So, in case you weren’t paying attention, this girl has brown hair with frosted neon tips, a rainbow sleeved blouse on, orange pants, and a purple bandanna tied around her ears. If this isn’t a child of the 80s, I don’t know how you would define one.

“Good morning, Milady,” a voice called out, cheerfully sliding down Melissa’s spine like a frozen knife.

Taking a moment to force a smile (her face wouldn’t quite cooperate...Pem would later tell her friends that the expression was akin to one biting into a lemon covered in hot sauce) Mel slowly turned around, fully aware of who the voice belonged to. Be strong, Mel. It only goes downhill from here..

“H...hi, er...sorry, I forgot your name.” She said, trying to keep her face from twitching. “How are you?”

The girl smiled and shifted her books to her other arm so that she could wave. She was still decked out in her medieval garb, and as the two of them stood together, Melissa felt, for the first time, a little self conscious about her own appearance. “Oh, don’t worry about it,” she said, “It’s Pembrough. Pembrough Mosley, but everyone just calls me Pem. Or P.”

Or freak, Melissa added mentally. “That’s right. Sorry...new, y’know?”

“Sure!” Pem exclaimed brightly, looking around. The rest of the students waiting for the class had made a rather pointed radiating away from them. “Did you find your class alright?”

“Uh...yep, here it is,” Mel said, gesturing. “Thanks though. I guess I’ll see you tomorrow in Creative Writing?”

Ignoring the question, Pem cupped her chin. “You have Mrs. Scikowsky. Anyone tell you about her yet?”

Frowning, Mel shook her head. “Um...no? Anything I should know about?”

“She’s dating the principal. And in case you were wondering, Mr. Scikowsky doesn’t have a clue.”

I wasn’t, Mel thought, but kept it to herself. “Scandalous,” she muttered. “um...is there something I can help you with?”

"And she also doesn’t allow bathroom breaks."

"I’m not sure tha...wait, are you serious? This class is like two hours long!"

"Yeaaah," Pem agreed, tossing her head. Her braid had crept back over her shoulder. "So it’s usually a good idea to go before the second bell rings. She’s also pretty harsh on tardies."

Melissa silently cursed under her breath. That would mean she’d have to make some adjustments to her routine. Sigh. At least she didn’t have to go right now. "Hey, well, thanks for the heads up. What, did you have this class last year or something?"

“No...I just saw you over here and was just checking to see if you needed any help. I mean, being new and all...”

“Well, as you can see, I made its,” Mel said in a bit of a sing-song. "So...yay, go me, right? Oh, look, the teacher opened the door...I guess I’ll catch you around...?" Mel’s farewell ended on an inquisitive note as Pembrough continued to march with her, right into Mrs. Scikowsky’s classroom. "Err...Why are you following me? Don’t you have a class to get to?”

“Well yeah!" she laughed, pointing to a seat in the back. "And I’m here! We’re in this class together too...isn’t that cool?”

Cool was the last ’C’ word running through Mel’s mind. Calamity, Cursed, Cosmic joke, Catastrophe, Kitty cat...wait...that doesn’t seem to...oh well. We can’t quite fault the girl, this has all the making of some serious therapy issues down the line.

Without responding, Mel increased her pace and bee-lined for the teacher’s desk, where a rather pretty young teacher, (ok, I’m being generous, she was one of those five-foot-six knockouts that proportionally, put young Amy Brand to shame) sat, pouring over a thin, pink covered novel. Though the book was the last thing on Mel’s mind, it is at least somewhat important, because it sets the stage for some of this story’s dramatic closing acts. The title, aptly enough, was sprawled across the cover (and thus hidden by Mrs. Scikowsky’s incredibly well-manicured nails) and read, ’The Sun is In Your Eyes’ . Said book was a further remarkably smutty Western love affair about a young southern bell falling madly in love with an African-American cowboy whose family had been murdered by ghost Indians. Coincidentally, said ghost Indians had been driven into their murderous frenzy by the bell’s father, and this dark-skinned rider was fixing for some vengeance of his own. Ugh. Of course, plenty of sex and violence abounded, but quite possibly, more on that later. However, at this moment, Mel’s fidgeting had caught the notice of the teacher, who with a slight curl to her ruby red lip, set the book down to regard her.

"Transfer or a new student," she asked, in a tone that suggested she couldn’t care less.

"Erm...I’m a new student. Melis-"

"Oh, that’s right, I got the email. I’m a little surprised to see you in here...this class is packed enough," Mrs. Scikowsky muttered, taking a moment to look through her roster.

"If it would help to switch to a different period, I’ve really got no problem with..."

"No, too much hassle, and you’re already here. There’s two seats open...You see the girl wearing the Hobbit clothes? Yeah, that one, the one that’s waving." Mrs. Scikowsky couldn’t help but shudder. Freaks like Mosley gave her the creeps, and this new student didn’t look any better. "One’s just in front of her, and the other is to the right side of her. Hurry and make your choice, and sit down. Oh, and just a word of advice between two ladies...if you chose the front seat, the young man that sits in front of that one has horrific B.O."

Suddenly feeling much maligned by the department upstairs, Melissa signed and nodded, dumping her bag off in the seat next to Pembrough, who couldn’t quite contain a squeak of childish glee. Such things were best saved for the moments when you realize your best friend has the same class, and the teacher allows you to choose your own seating.

After a few moments, the teacher made a call for homework, and silently began taking role. Amid the paper-shuffling and notebook opening, Pem leaned across the aisle to whisper at her new neighbor.

“Psssst...are you any good at this stuff?”

Melissa, who had tried to lean the other way but was blocked by her arm rest, actually was pretty good at this. She didn’t care for it, mind you, only sociopaths and the home-schooled can claim that, but as was previously stated, Mel had a good, quick thinking head on her shoulders, and that transferred quite well to mathematical calculations.

Refusing to answer aloud, Mel gave Pembrough a quick nod, and tried to rivet her attention on the teacher, who was now droning on about quadratic formulas. Pem breathed a sigh of relief. Truth be, she was absolutely terrible at math, and seemed to have been pre-destined to fail this semester. However, if she could convince Mel to help her in class (among other things) there was a good chance she just might make it after all.

Two hours passed, with nary a ten nor fifteen minute break in sight. That, combined with the teacher’s monotone (yet sultry) voice, made the junior algebra class seem to last an eternity. Luckily for Melissa, no accidents occurred to further ruin her already miserably begun day at school.

When the bell rang to excuse them out of class, Mel had to remember that unlike yesterday, she had two periods before lunch, and so she dug out her map to look for class G-9, World History from 1400 On. A shadow fell across the rainbow colored map and Mel scowled. The shadow was wearing a floral wreath like a crown.

“So that wasn’t so bad, huh? You get used to Mrs. Scikowsky’s voice after a while...and like you saw, most of the time she just sits at her desks and reads. I know that a few of the kids bring in gameboys and stuff, and she doesn’t care.”

“Gameboys?” Mel asked, finally looking up. She was just enough annoyed now to get snarky. “Isn’t that a little...modern, for you?”

Pembrough laughed, and hitched her backpack up higher. “Too retro, you mean. I have a PSP that I could bring in, but I’m a little nervous. What do you think?”

“I think I need to get moving before next period starts without me. Catch ya later, ok?”

Instead of getting the hint, Pembrough began trailing after Mel, smiling broadly. “What class do you have now?”

“World History,” Mel said, mentally hitting herself. She had meant to lie, to say anything but where she was really headed, but there was a tickle in her lower regions that turned her attention away from subterfuge.

“Oooh, with Ms. Soto?”

“Yes...?”

“Wow, what a coincidence! So do I!”

“That’s great,” Mel replied, not really caring nor surprised at this point. Of course she did. “Nearest bathroom?”

“Are you gonna...oh. Oh! OK, it’s just down that hallway.”

Mel turned and looked. Nothing but dull colored buildings and milling teenagers. “What hallway?”

“That hallway!

“WHAT hallway!”

Sighing in exasperation, Pembrough reached out, and grabbing Mel by the slender wrist, begun dragging her to the restroom. It was kind of out of the way.

As soon as Mel saw the tell-tale signs, she broke free of Pem’s grip and dashed inside, with her new companion following her in anyway. As it was yesterday, the bathroom was empty save for the two new arrivals. Whistling to herself, Pem leaned against the stalled Mel had ran into.

“So I guess you don’t just wear those for fun, huh?”

There was a quiet silence, a choking sound, and if Pembrough was any more observant, she would have noticed Mel attempting to stare her to death, right through the stall.

“That is sooo not up for discussion,” Mel whispered fiercely, trying to tear the sides off of her diaper as quietly as she could. She could have just slid it down around her ankles, but she didn’t want to have to take her boots off to do so. The pull-ups that grams had ordered for her had sides that could be ripped and taped on like her overnight padding, which made them awfully convenient in this school setting.

“If you don’t mind me asking, what happened? Never took to potty training?”

“Actually, you know what? I do kinda mind you asking. And that’s not funny!”

“Sorry, sorry, just trying to make a joke. I’m sure that...that has to really suck.”

Melissa finished her business and began digging through her backpack. “It does, especially when people find out about it. Can we please drop this?” she asked, stepping out of the stall.

“Ok. I guess I just wanted to let you know that it didn’t bother me or anything. I don’t think any different of you cuz you have to wear di...”

Melissa stomped past her, cutting Pembrough off before she uttered the dreaded word. For whatever reason, Mel had no problem saying the word ?diaper’ but when other people said it, a rippling shudder would work its way through her, turning her cheeks red.

“Ok, ok, I won’t say anything about diape-“

Melissa glared hard at her traveling companion, who finally might have put two and two together.

“Er...those things. You ever been in a sword fight?”

“What?”

“A sword fight...it’s primarily what we do in Ren-FORCE.”

“With real swords?”

Pem laughed, even as the duo picked up their pace. The little bathroom detour had ticked off some serious timage, and second period would be starting in minutes. “No...no...we use Japanese wooden swords called shinai. They still kinda hurt, but not if you wear the right kind of armor, milady.”

“I’m sorry, but do I honestly look like I’d enjoy sword-fighting?” Melissa asked, giving the tunic-clad girl a sideways look.

Taking a moment to consider, Pem nodded. “Yeah, kinda. Besides, you said you’re on the volleyball team. That means you’re fit. One of the other members is a jock...he used to be on the football team.”

Mel couldn’t imagine how a high school football player ended up in a medieval club, and didn’t much care to find out. She was also loathe to admit that despite how badly she wanted to drag Pembrough off into the desert and bury her, a small part of her did find that sort of thing exciting. ?The Mask Of Zorro’ was Mel’s all-time favorite movie, and as a child, she used to run around in an officially licensed sombrero and cape. A bit of a tom-boy (all female volleyball players are, to some degree) Mel had always looked forward to Wednesdays with her mom. Action movie night had been a mainstay in the D’Audrey home, and one of the only times Mel cared to be around that side of her family. All that was before...well...now is not the time to get into that. Long story short, in a different world, under different circumstances, Mel might have leapt at the chance to join Pem’s club. For now, however, she shook her head in exasperation as the two ducked into Ms. Soto’s history class with seconds to spare. Hopefully, she’d have a seat on the other end of the class room this time.

As luck would have it, Melissa did actually get a seat far and away from Pembrough...until the seat’s occupant showed up to claim it. Ms. Soto’s History class was just as packed as Mrs. Scikowsky’s Math one, and sure enough, the only seat left in the house was in Pem’s immediate vicinity. Grumbling about the unfairness of it all, Mel sat behind Pem, feeling slightly annoyed despite the pleasant smell of lilac that drifted off of Pem’s coronet. Pulling out her ridiculously oversized text book, she pawed through the first few pages while the teacher called roll. It seemed like the class was more focused on the modern world then ancient history, which was a small comfort to Mel. To have to study the Renaissance with an actual medieval relic in the class would have been too weird. Too bad for Mel that she had neglected to remember the fact that the Renaissance began around 1452. Despite her many strengths, she was absolutely horrible at dates and names, otherwise she would have known that the Knightly Period was well within range of the curriculum of the course. In fact, much of the mid-term was built around that time-period, as she was just finding out as she skimmed the class handout.

Brilliant.

“Now people,” Ms. Soto began in a pleasant voice, “I want you to close your notebooks for a minute and bring your attention on up here. In case you hadn’t noticed, we’ve got a new student in the class. Melissa, why don’t you stand up and introduce yourself?”

Mel awkwardly stood up, giving the class a shy wave before looking towards the teacher for a prompt. She wasn’t about to just start talking about herself. Ms. Soto just smiled and nodded. Sure, that’s helpful.

“Um, hey everybody. My name’s Melissa D’Audrey. I just moved here from San Diego, and looking forward to getting some sun,” she joked, laughing weakly. Before she could sit again, Ms. Soto raised a question.

“What about your hobbies, dear?”

“Er...well...I like to play volleyball,” There were a few snickers in the classroom, but Ms. Soto quieted them with a stormy gaze, “and soccer. I also...erm...design clothes.”

“Oh, my, but that does sound interesting. Professionally, or...”

“Just for fun,” Mel, added quickly. “Something my grandmother and I do.”

“Beautiful! And are those clothes you’re wearing now...?”

Mel looked down at herself, feeling ridiculous. “Uh, yeah.”

Ms. Soto chuckled and motioned for her to sit. “Well, I can see you have a very colorful palette, Ms. D’Audrey. Welcome to my class. Do you like history?”

Geeze, what a loaded question. How do you answer that, when its the history teacher whose asking?

“It’s not my best subject, ma’am,” Mel finally admitted, causing the teacher to burst out laughing again. Being a small, round woman, her laugh was deep and echoing, sounding a tad over-loud in the small classroom.

“Well, at least you’re honest. I’m sure you won’t have any problems this semester...we’re a laid back bunch of people, ain’t we, class?”

A small cheer went up, consisting of about a third, maybe less of the class.

“Maybe a touch too laid back,” Ms. Soto muttered. “Alright, everyone, open your texts and get out some notepaper, because today I’m going to be talking about length about British Monarchy in the fourteen hundreds and that infamous ?Black Prince’ you all might have heard of. Page one forty seven, isn’t it?”

Ms. Soto continued on for about a half hour, finally wrapping up the chapter on Prince Edward with several slides depicting his image. “Class, I have a movie I’d like to begin, but it’s going to take me a bit to set up...how about we convene...and I’ll see you all in about twenty minutes, ok? Oh, and Melissa,” she called, just before the girl slipped out the door, “vending machines and bathrooms are located just to the north of here, down the hallway, in case you didn’t know.”

“Um...ok, thank you, ma’am,” Mel said, hurrying outside. The arch way the teacher had mentioned bathrooms sent up all kinds of warning signals. Her grandmother had wanted to tell the school about her problem, just in case any of the teachers gave her a hard time, but Melissa had managed to convince her to keep it a secret. The teachers at her old school had all known, and not all of them were good at keeping it to themselves.

After finding the bathroom without incident, Mel sat down in the shade of the history building and pulled her headphones out of her bag. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Pembrough swiftly making her way towards her location, so she quickly placed the musical device over her ears and ratcheted the sound up. As expected, Pem sat down as well, her mouth moving in what was probably a lengthy diatribe about the joys of medieval life. However, she didn’t stay seated for long. Melissa had specifically chosen to sit where she had due to the large mound of red ants that nested close by. With the building on one side, one would have to sit pretty darn close to the insects if they wanted to chat. Pembrough, who wasn’t the most observant child, had sat directly upon it.

Melissa grinned and lowered the volume on her ipod, soaking in the music. Soon enough, the door to the classroom reopened, and the class was allowed back inside. Pembrough was a little late in getting in, and when she sat down, she seemed a bit antsy, shifting around in her chair. Get it? Anyway, the rest of the class passed without incident for Mel, and when the bell rang, the headphones were back on, and lunch was foremost on Mel’s mind.

Things weren’t going so well over in Pem’s corner. She had hoped she’d have a chance to talk to Mel at lunch, I mean, really talk to her, but judging by the music blaring from her headphones, the girl was not interested in conversation. Still, Pem had nothing to lose by being persistent, and everything to lose by giving up. Teenagers. Such melodramatic creatures, aren’t they? Biting her lip, Pem sidled up next to Mel and in the loudest voice she could muster, cried out, “HEY, IS THAT BASHFUL LIZARD?”

Mel, whose ipod was in the middle of switching tracks and thus silent, jumped and turned to glare at her new shadow. “What?” she growled, the motion causing the headphones to fall around her neck.

Pem looked down and twiddled her fingers. “I was asking if that was Bashful Lizard. They’re one of my favorite bands.”

Caught by surprise, Mel’s expression softened. Bashful Lizard was an indie band that made other indie bands look like pop culture. Being so elusive, the only people who really knew about them were relatives and folks who had seen them open for more popular, mainstream bands. With their rather unique blend of heavy, skull-thrashing...sitars, harps and piano, it was pretty obvious that they weren’t going to hit the radio anytime soon.

“Yeah it is,” Mel said, slowing her pace a little. “How do you know about them?”

Pembrough shrugged, reaching up to brush some of her loose hair back behind her ears. “My dad used to play for a band in the local circuit. Because of that I got to meet a lot of different no-names, and they were one of ones that actually stood out from the rest. I was so sad to hear about what happened to the lead singer, though.”

RIP Manny ?Irish’ Ives, found dead after ingesting one too many black olives. You were the best of us.

Her curiosity piqued, Mel opened the door just a little further. “Wow. I thought I was like, their only fan. What else do you listen to?”

“Ah, I listen to everything, really. The Monkeys and Bananas, Upside-Down Boy, The Soviet Sandwiches...you know...the good stuff.”

And without even realizing it, a conversation had been struck up between the two, with both parties completely forgetting their own secret agendas. Mel was about to forget that her only goal today was to avoid this strange, paradoxical girl, and Pem totally forgot she was supposed to be convincing this recent transplant that joining her club was the best thing that would ever happen to her. Unfortunately, this wasn’t about to last, but it was a nice, calming interlude. Oh, what things might have been had the guild not caught up with the two.

But they did.

“Oy, Pem!”

Oh dear god, there’s more of them, was Melissa’s first thought, as she turned towards the new voice. A small army of people were swiftly headed their way, looking more or less normal at first glance, but as they drew closer, the impression quickly faded. Though they were all dressed as typical, normal teenagers, one of them was looked like he was wearing Vulcan ears, and another was carrying a stuffed animal that wore a chain mail suit of armor. The one who had spoken was a fierce looking Irish guy, with fiery red hair and a piercing, green-eyed stare, and the last one probably had to worry about low flying airplanes. Just like that, Mel’s trusty fight or flight instinct kicked back in, but in the jumble of mental signals, her body simply froze up as Brom, Jet, Tristan and Mac walked up to surround them. Charlie, who had lunch second period, was currently stuck in Mrs. Alderman’s Honors Algebra class.

“Is this the one?” the Irish guy asked, nodding towards her. When Pembrough nodded, he thrust out his hand to her. “Hey there. I’m Jett Donsby. Welcome to Shadow Hill.”

Melissa looked at his hand like it was a poisonous snake. “Um...hi?” She turned to Pem. “Am I the one what?”

The boy carrying the stuffed animal stepped forward, a small frown on his tan face. Despite the heat, he was wearing a thin blue trenchcoat with black clothing beneath it. “Aw, come on, Pem, you haven’t told her yet?”

“Told me what?”

Pem looked at her toes, and twirled the end of her braid in her hand. “Well, not yet, exactly, I...well, Melissa, you....? Hey! Where’d she go?”

Pull the camera away to see Mel, running as fast as her shoes could take her. She had left the boots at home today and stuck with the Keds, so she fairly flew across the campus. She had no idea what they were talking about (though she might have had a small clue) but she did know that she didn’t want any part of it. Dashing into the Multi-purpose room, she grabbed a corner in the darkest part of the student cafeteria and tried her best to hide. She’d be there throughout the whole period.

“What the heck was that all about,” Jett raged, waving his arms around. “She looked absolutely terrified! I thought you were going to tell her what was at stake!”

“I didn’t have a chance to!” Pem protested. “She’s really hard to talk to, y’know?”

Jett sighed angrily and nodded. “Ok, ok. But come on, Queenie. If anyone can pull this off you can. Alright?”

“Alright.” Pembrough looked around for a second. “Did any of you see which way she went?”

“That way,” Mac said, pointing in the opposite direction of the cafeteria, and Pembrough dashed off, braid fluttering in the wind. Jett, still shaking his head, stalked off, Brom following close behind. The seniors had a few of their own classes together, and there was homework to finish before next period. As they watched them go, Tristan tugged on Mac’s black metal band t-shirt.

“Why did you point the wrong way?”

The big guy chuckled. It was like a low thunder. “You know how she can be.”

Tristan laughed uneasily, shifting Reva to his other arm. The stuffed animal was rather heavy with all that chain-mail on. “Tell me about it. I hope she doesn’t do anything crazy, like blackmail her or something.”

***

Had she told?

As the bell sounded the end of recess, this was the only thought running through Melissa’s head. That guy had quite clearly asked ’is this the one’. Is this the one what? The one you said you had barged in on? The one that was wearing something more appropriate for a toddler then for a teenager? That she had needed it? Did they know? They had obviously been the ren girl’s confidants. It stood to reason that she might have told them what she had seen that faithful day.

No.

She’d been wrong before, but if she had to judge on first impressions, she didn’t think Pembrough was the type to spill secrets. She seemed nice, in a crazy, annoying way, and besides, anyone who listened to the Bashful Lizards couldn’t be all that bad. Sighing and wiping a few recalcitrant tears away from her cheeks (stupid overly emotional teenage tear ducts) she gathered her books and left her hiding spot, minding the corners for anything pre-Industrial Age. The next class was nearby, and Melissa hastened on, hoping to get there early. If her luck held, the teacher would be a neo-Nazi fascist who sent incontinent, tardy students straight to the proverbial gas chambers, and this was a fate that this overly dramatic girl wished to avoid.

Art History was taught in the same building as all the other art classes were, and it was more then evident as Melissa walked through the large, double-sized entrance. Artwork done by the students adorned the red brick walls, separated by technique and period. A heavy, musty scent enveloped the room, smelling like old paint and drying pastels. It was cool, comfortably so, and Mel took a deep breath, enjoying it. Though we aren’t quite in the middle of Summer during this tale, the temperatures are getting up there, and that is especially noticeable to someone who came from southern California. Everyone knows they only have two seasons out there, Spring and Autumn. Anyway, Mel was overjoyed to find the teacher sitting behind her desk. With her tongue sticking out and her eyes crossed as she scribbled something on a pink scrap of paper, she looked the complete antithesis of a fascist dictator. Mrs. Wojeck also had long, curly red hair, obviously dyed, and brightly colored eyeglasses that were in the shape of dragonflies. She had a very...’free love’ look to her, if you know what I mean. As Melissa approached, she stopped what she was doing, offered her a large smile, and nodded towards a stack of papers on the edge of her cluttered desk. Taking a syllabus, Melissa was about to ask about seating arrangements. There were no desks in the classroom, instead, the students sat at long, rectangular tables, which made it easy to draw on. The teacher said that the seats were on a first come, first serve basis, and Melissa found one near the back to rest her messenger bag upon. Falling heavily into her chair, Mel propped her face up on her hands, feeling exhausted. It had been a long day.

“There you are!”

With a thud, Melissa let her forehead thunk against the desk as she made her arms go slack. She wondered idly which one of her ancestors had pissed off the gypsy...this had all the signs and portents of a terrible gypsy curse.

“I’ve been looking all over for you,” Pembrough said worriedly, as she let her own brown backpack fall next to Mel’s. “You took off so quick...oh, you probably had to use the bathroom, right?”

Eyes widening, Melissa suddenly lunged up, attempting to smother the girl under her bag. “Let’s not discuss my toileting habits, ok?” she hissed, and the squirming mass beneath her murmured an affirmative. “Did you tell any of those guys about what you saw yesterday?”

Allowed to come up for air, Pem took a deep breath and shook her head. “Oh, no, no, no. I told you I wouldn’t tell anyone!”

Melissa’s eyes narrowed. “Then what did that red-head mean ?is she the one’?”

Pembrough looked down. “Well, I kinda told them you might be interested in the club,” she replied sheepishly.

“Oh. Well, I’m still too busy right now for that stuff.” She gave the tunic-clad teenager a weak smile. “And I’m fine, by the way. Don’t you have to get to class? You didn’t have to come and find me.”

“Well,” Pem continued in that sheepish voice, playing with the end of her braid. “This is my next class. Surprise! I guess...”

“Of course it is,” Mel muttered, not all that surprised. Leaning back in her chair, she tried to tune out Pem’s chatter as the teacher began her lecture, which was on ancient Egyptian sculpture. Though Mel wasn’t much of an artist (beyond her tailoring skill) she loved to learn about it, and had looked forward to this class as an easy elective to take with Volleyball. In truth, she got lucky, as this far into the semester, all the really cool electives were full up, leaving it a choice between this, or Spanish. Yuck.

At the break, Melissa knew it was time to use the bathroom, and this time, she knew right where it was, having passed it on the way in. Checking (and double-checking) the latch on the door, she entered, did her business, and changed diapers. She hadn’t wet the old one, but the longer she wore it dry, the greater the chance that all the padding would clump together right between her legs, which was very uncomfortable. This was a problem she had had with the old style she used to wore, and unfortunately it continued with these new ones. The best ones she had ever worn were the children’s bed-wetting panties, Goodnights, but at a hundred and fifteen pounds, she was right at the size where they stopped effectively controlling her leaks. A part of her was also sad that these didn’t come in all the fun colors the Goodnights did, but that was a very small, soft-spoken part of her indeed.

As she left the bathroom, she had to react quickly, as her brain suddenly registered something flying towards her face. With finely tuned volleyball reflexes, she caught the object, which turned out to be...a stick?

“En Garde, Mel!” Pem’s voice cried, and as Mel turned to the sound, she saw the girl similarly armed. “Have at!”

“You’ve got to be kidding, I’m not going to-“

“Hiya!”

Pembrough lunged forward, swinging her branch like a sword, aiming straight for Melissa’s butt. The rough wood didn’t sting much (that was a well padded area, y’know) but it did elicit a yelp from the girl, who by pure reflex sank into her own defensive stance. The next time Pem swung for her backside, Mel parried, knocking the branch from her hands.

"Are you crazy?" She cried, waving her arms as she yelled at her assailant. "That freaking hurt!"

"Never mind that," Pem said, the grin on her face stretching from one ear to the next. "That was amazing! I knew it! You’re a natural!"

"Huh?"

"A perfect riposte! Sir Jett couldn’t have pulled that off any better," she said, dancing around Mel, who had since dropped her stick and looked skyward, seeking an answer from heaven. "That seals it! You have to join up now!"

"Because you picked up a stick and swatted me in the butt? I. Don’t Think. So! Drop, it will ya?" Melissa huffed, heading back for class, a satisfied and smiling Pembrough following closely behind. Yeah, that had been fun, but Mel had to focus. Focus. Volleyball, school, graduate. The End.

Right?

The class plodded on, and finally, without much ado, it was over, and Mel had a ton of make-up reading if she wanted to be ready for the mid-terms. They weren’t for another couple of months, but there was so much information she had missed out on coming in late, that she would be surprised if she wasn’t just playing catch up the entire semester. Mrs. Wojeck had seemed really nice, a little spacey (she had displayed her cat drawing on the overhead for student commentary) but willing to work with her after school til she up to date. With school over for the day, Melissa started off for the parking lot, where her grandma had said she was going to pick her up. If she had hoped for a pleasant, solo trip, she was badly mistaken.

“So, two years ago, at Sir Orin’s graduation feast, Tanis had forgotten that Lady Misa had broken up with Orin just a few days before prom. When they showed up together, Orin got sooo pissed and challenged Tanis to a duel, right there in the middle of Brom’s mandolin recital. While they were going at it, Tanis knocked over one of the tables, and the cake that was sitting on it got all over my brother’s new tunic. You had to be there...he grabbed two swords and waded into the fight, and ended up knocking them both out! When they came to, Aaron made them clean up the mess they had made. Luckily, we had brought a spare cake (these things happen all the time) and when it was all done, Misa ended up getting back together with Orin.” Pem sighed dreamily. “It was so cool. I wish we still had enough people in the club to do stuff like that regularly.” She grinned. “Though if you signed up, we’d be closer to it.” She finished in a sing-song.

By this time, Melissa was at her breaking point. At a period when she should be overcome with the anxieties and terrors of coming to a new school, all that she seemed to be able to think about was how to avoid this particular bother. She hadn’t even had a lick of homework stress, and if you saw her assignment build-up for the last two days, you’d understand how incredibly bothered she should have been. “Ok, ok, just one question, ok?” she asked, gritting her teeth. “Did you somehow change your schedule to match mine?”

Pembrough shook her head, knowing how strange the whole thing looked. She didn’t doubt that Charlie could have pulled off something like this, but there was no way he’d have known the circumstances of everything in advance. “Nu-uh. This is a pretty small school, y’know. I was surprised too...y’know, all things considered.”

Mel squeezed her eyes shut. A small ache had flared up on the inside of the head. She didn’t need to be reminded. “Fine, I get it. Small school. But now you have to get me. Like I think I’ve said a dozen times already, I just don’t have the time to join your club! I mean, come on, I said I’d give it a look a little later, what more do you want from me?”

“Well, you see, there won’t be a later if you don’t sign up,” Pembrough finally said, with a deep, regretful sigh. “The club needs six members and a president, and you pretty much saw the whole gang at lunch. Charles makes five, and I’m the president. That’s not enough, and the principal is going to shut us down. Today, in fact.”

“Is that really such a big deal? I mean, can’t you guys just meet after school or something?”

“No. But let’s not get into that right now. All I’m asking is one day a week. ONE day. You don’t even have to show up most of the time! Just join us, and I’ll never bug you again!”

Melissa stabbed a finger at the shorter girl, who didn’t back down. Pem’s stubbornness, (which she actually got from her father) was starting to course through her, strengthening her resolve. “Are you even aware of the fact that most of the student body think your group is made up of crazed, slobbering, outcasts?” Mel asked, fibbing a bit as her own temper began to flare up. She didn’t mean to be so harsh, but knew she was going to have to play rough to get the point across. “And I mean, look at you...do you really wear that stuff everyday? Don’t you guys even care what other people say about you?”

Pem scoffed, shaking her head. “Like I care what others think. Why should I? It doesn’t affect me any. Do you care?”

Mel threw her hands up. “Of course I care!”

Pem cocked an eyebrow. “Wearing rainbow sleeves and purple shorts?”

She had a point. But Mel wasn’t about to give up. “That’s different, but alright, point to you. I don’t care what people say about my clothes. This is who I am.”

“And this is who I am. And I really want to keep it this way, so please, please, Melissa, join us!”

Mel sighed, once tempted, now resigned. “No,” she said with finality. “I’m really sorry, but I can’t. I gotta go meet my grandma now...sorry Pem. I wish you the best of lu-“

“I’ll tell everyone you wear diapers!”

...

...

...

Three heartbeats elapsed before Pem’s chilling statement made its way to Melissa’s cerebral cortex and was processed for what it was.

“You wouldn’t!” she gasped out, her eyes widening. “You...you said...”

“I would,” Pem sniped back, trying to keep her face from turning deep red. This was the very, very last thing that she expected to fly from her lips, but now that she had said it, she knew she couldn’t back down. “You just said that you care about what others think...what would they say if they knew you still wore Pampers to school?”

Mel’s face flushed hotly. This was the very, very worst possible outcome to this whole debacle, and she never even saw it coming. “It doesn’t matter...you...you’re a goomba!” she sputtered out, “No one is going to listen to what you tell them anyway!”

“Oh, I’m sorry, maybe you didn’t know, but I also happen to be part of the yearbook committee. I’m the one who gets to fill in all the random facts about the student body. I’m sure you can see where I’m going with this.”

Melissa squeezed her eyes shut again, desperately trying to keep her cool. Every fiber in her being was screaming at her just to knock the pretentious little nut-job flat, but that hadn’t worked out so well back in Cali, had it, Mel? “And if I join,” she said, through gritted teeth, “you won’t tell anyone, right?”

“Cross my heart and hope to die.”

I won’t comment on Melissa’s feelings about that statement. She threw up her hands again.

“Fine. FINE! Damn it, I’ll join your stupid little club.” She jabbed a finger into Pem’s chest, causing the girl to wince. “But I swear to all the Gods in the sky that I’m going to hate you forever for this.”

“There’ll be time for that later,” Pem muttered, reaching out to grasp Melissa’s outstretched hand. “There, you shook on it, it’s a deal. Now come on!”

“Wha-wait! What are you doing now?” Mel cried, trying to dig her feet into the ground as Pem suddenly began dragging her back to the school. “Stop!”

“We have to go to Principal Edwards! If you tell him you’re in, he won’t cancel the club! Come on!”

Biting down a rather ribald curse, the rainbow hued teenager finally nodded and followed after her new blackmailer heading for the Principal’s office. Across the parking lot, just turning onto the campus, was Mel’s grandmother. Looking around for a decent spot to park, she finally spied one in the back nine. Normally she would have just left the motor running and called Mel, but today being a special day (her granddaughter’s second day of school) she had wanted to get out and meet her at her classroom. A little late, grandma.

“PRINCIPAL EDWARDS! PRRRRRRINCIPAL EDWARDS!” Pem shouted as she barged through the doors of the administration office. “I GOT ONE!”

“Ms. Mosley! For the fifth and final time, do not come in here, shouting at the top of your voice!”

Seated at the room’s central desk was not a secretary, but a small, gray-haired old man wearing a gray Shadow Hills polo shirt and orange-colored aviator sunglasses. On his desk sat three different alarm clocks, a swinging pendulum, and a chipped, golden name plate that read, ?Brian Edwards, Principal’. He glared up at the two girls, smoothing down the stray tips of his bushy mustache. “And what do you mean, you got one? You can’t possibly mean...” his eyes widened in horror. “You actually found someone dumb enough to join that damnable club of yours?”

“Yep! And here she is!” Pem exclaimed, shoving Mel forward. The girl idly wondered if all the red in her face might clash with her colorful blouse. “Melissa D’Audrey, transfer student, and...er...lover of the medieval arts. She just signed up. We have enough people!”

Principal Edwards squinted up at Mel, who tried as hard as she could to spontaneously combust. Practically impossible, but a good try nonetheless. I had a cousin go out that way. “Is this true, my dear,” he said in an oily voice, and Mel cringed, “did you join this anarchist’s band of Merry Men of your own free will?”

“Um...er...well...” Mel hedged, trying to figure out the best way out of this mess. Signal the Principal somehow? One sideways look at Pembrough told her all she need to know. The girl was gesturing to her mid-section. She was stuck. “Yes, sir, I did.”

“Aren’t you also on the volleyball team? That’s a fairly rigorous regiment right there, y’know. Coach Amberly is a dear friend...I know how hard she works those girls.”

Mel gave a weak laugh. “Haha, well, I think I can handle.”

The Principal pointed a finger at Pem. “She’s not blackmailing you, is she?”

“No, no, no, nothing like that,” Mel protested, then blinked, surprising herself.

The Principal sighed. “Well, I guess that’s that then. Your little club survives, Mosley. But be warned.” His finger wavered and moved to settle on Mel. “If I find out that this is all some kind of farce, just so you can keep your club alive, I’ll have your head. Literally. I’ll not tolerate extortion in my halls. To that end, I’ll be randomly stopping by your meetings, and if I get the slightest hint that Ms. D’Audrey here is not willingly a part of them, I’ll shut the whole thing down and expel the lot of you, immediately. Do you understand me?”

“Of course sir!” Pem said, sweeping Mel into a big hug. Melissa, who was still having no luck with the spontaneous combustion trick, was now contemplating death by gila monster. Why hadn’t she told the Principal?

It’d take Mel quite a few years (and a number of therapy sessions) to figure this out, but in the end, most kids will side with fellow students before turning to an authority figure for help. In this case, it was a small, inborn instinct, honed by generations of parental dictatorship. So when the adult offered the hapless teen a perfectly viable way out of this mess, she had involuntarily refused it. Oh well. At about this rather dramatic time, Mel’s grandmother, who had been hunting around the campus for signs of her misplaced granddaughter, finally happened onto the administration office. Sure, she could have simply pulled out her cell phone and called to find out her location, but like the teenage instincts discussed just above, the elderly have their own set of rules and reflexes, and cell phone usage was quite down there near the bottom. So when she entered the Principal’s office, hoping to perhaps page Mel, imagine her surprise when she came across both her granddaughter and a purple robed girl, standing in front of a Principal who looked a little like his collar was a bit too tight around his neck.

“Melissa, hi! Er...is something wrong? Why are you here?”

"Oh, hi! You must be Melissa’s grandmother. She was just informing me that she was joining one of our many diverse student clubs!”

Grandma looked shocked as she turned to regard Mel. This was certainly the last thing she expected hear. “Really, Mel? That’s great! Which one? Chess? Cross-country? Drama?”

“She joined the Fellowship of Order, Respect, Chivalry, and Entertainment.”

“The what now?”

“I’ll tell you about it on the ride home, Gram. Let’s GO.”

“Oh, ok,” Grandma said, smiling happily as she was drug outside by the blushing teen.. “Pleasure to meet you again, Principal Edwards. That sounds really neat!”

Neat, she says.

Idly, Melissa wondered how strict Arizona was on teenage murderers. She didn’t meet Pem’s eyes as she left, and thus totally missed the inner turmoil in her eyes. She had saved her club. But if she didn’t appear into it, they’d get expelled. How was she supposed to get her ?into’ it now that she basically bullied her into it?

END PART ONE.

 

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