He shouldn't be surprised.

After all, she'd caused more trouble than he had, and that was when she didn't even do anything. Psycho Suze was just easier to blame for shit, because she never said anything in her defense. It was like she wanted to get in trouble, but didn't actually have the guts to break the rules herself. She was the universal scapegoat at their old school.

Fred was the only one who knew, or at least he assumed so. He'd figured it out by pure chance and circumstance. He'd been outside the Principal's office one day and heard Mrs. Dragon (AKA: The principal, Mrs. Pasquariello) reprimanding the poor girl through the thick oak door. Suze hadn't said a word, taking it like a statue. And Mrs. Dragon had complained rather enthusiastically about that one. She didn't like being ignored.

Then Mrs. Dragon had cut off mid-sentence, snapping at Suzanne. "Don't you dare walk out of this office, young lady! I'm not done with you!"

Fred had had his ear pressed to the door by that point, and when he heard that, he was in one of the chairs against the wall faster then the human eye could follow. (A very young, very slow human eye...) When Mrs. Dragon's door opened, he was sitting innocently with his feet stretched out, his ankles crossed, and his hands folded behind his head like a pillow. A guilty-as-the-devil picture of innocence. But he always looked like that, so he doubted anyone would notice the slight flush of his caramel cheeks and the lack of 'I don't give a shit' boredom in his eyes.

The door opened just a few inches at first, then he heard a rich voice — something between a melodic soprano and a sultry alto — that definitely did not belong to Mrs. Dragon. "Don't touch me!"

Suzanne.

Funny, he'd never actually heard her speak before. Seen her do it, from a distance, so he knew she could, but had never heard her.

No wonder she was in choir second period. Though he wondered why she was so quiet, especially with a voice that was so strong and confident. And that was just when she was talking. She could've easily become the choir director's favorite. Unless she was tone deaf, but he didn't think so.

When the door had opened the rest of the way, it was to reveal the raven-haired girl that everyone called Psycho Suze. Or Screwy Suzie, depending on who you asked.

Suzanne stepped out of the office and slammed the door behind her, her usually empty grey eyes sparking with contempt, which was not at all the emotion he expected to see. Anger, yes. Frustration to near the point of tears, most certainly.

But she looked absolutely disgusted with life.

And as soon as she turned around, her grey eyes latched onto him like the teeth of a lioness into the raw living flesh of an antelope.

It took every ounce of his self control — honed by years of hiding his true feelings from his mother and "friends" — not to flinch and look away. But he couldn't stop himself from tensing. From this close, he could see her face more clearly than he'd ever seen it. It was natural, completely makeup-free, which surprised him. That, and her eyebrows were a pale color, leading him to conclude that her hair wasn't naturally black.

She snarled at him, a knowing glint in those predatory eyes. She looked at him like he was pile of shit on the carpet, like he was nothing, pathetic.

At least he was used to those kinds of looks, granted, he'd only ever gotten them from two places before. The gym teacher and his mother.

This was new, coming from her, but it wasn't unfamiliar.

Suzanne didn't spare him another moment's attention, turning on one heel and stalking down the hallway, a furious black-leather-clad bundle of arrogance.

Fred found himself smirking, but didn't know why.

He was dragged back to the present by a faint sting against the tip of his nose, and he snapped to attention. That brief encounter at the Principal's office had been near the end of last year. That visit had led him to where he was now: the Corduroy Alternate School. Or, as some of his peers had not-so-affectionately nicknamed it: the Trouble School. Where the real shit-storm kids got to go.

Whoopee.

The origin of the sting on his nose turned out to have been caused by the end of some girl's braid, she'd spun around in the seat in front of him fast enough for her hair to smack him. And now she was passing him a full-wattage 'I think you're hot' grin that just screamed 'do me, baby.' He s'posed she was cute, after a fashion. Pert little girl-next-door face, dark green hair that probably should've been brown if her perfectly plucked eyebrows were anything to go by, all wrapped up with that full-wattage smile. She wore a form-fitting bright green T-shirt that with a neckline bordering on slutty and daisy duke jean shorts that looked a few sizes too small.

All in all: her getup screamed 'I'm a virgin and don't want to stay that way.' The beauties of desperation.

Fred ignored her.

"Hi," she said, her voice a shocking contralto that you wouldn't expect to come from such a tiny frame.

He glanced at her, then returned his attention to the front of the room where a teacher was s'posed to be.

"What's your name?" She asked.

He continued to ignore her, impatiently drumming his fingers on his desk.

Wannabe-slut folded her arms over the back of her chair and over the front of his desk. One of the curses of having desks pushed so close together, he realized, is that people can use your desk as their armrest. "I'm Didi," she said, not the least bit offended by his cold shoulder.

Fred glared at her. "I'm not interested." Only then did he notice that the other nine people in the room were listening. He sent a glare around the room, recognizing only Suzanne and the black girl who'd gone in before them. Everyone else were strangers. "Mind your own fucking business," he snapped.

That earned him a couple chuckles, some 'fuck you's, and some who turned to stare down at the tops of their desks.

Fred was saved further stupidity when the teacher finally — finally — stepped into the room. The man looked like someone had taken a crumpled up ball of ancient yellowing paper and wrapped it around a skeleton with big ears. There were bags of flesh hanging over his eyes, giving his expression a perpetual look of sorrow, and Fred couldn't tell if the man could see or not. He was also bald, his scalp a mass of liver spots and wrinkles.

Time had obviously not been kind, and he hobbled into the room with an obvious limp. Fred noted that the man didn't have a cane, perhaps a fault of pride.

"I'm Mr. Hougan," the teacher said, his voice low and gruff. "I'm your homeroom teacher. Before we do anything else, you're each going to stand up, state your name, and share something about yourself." And he pointed to Fred, who sat at the very back. "Why don't you start."

Fred scowled, but stood. "Fred Donahue. I don't want to be here." He sat back down.

Didi leapt to her feet, full-wattage smile in place. "Dee Gudino. My favorite color is green." And she sat back down.

No one else moved.

Mr. Hougan turned his droopy sad eyes to the person in front of Didi — or Dee, or whatever the hell she wanted to call herself.

He saw a copper-skinned hand rise into the air over Didi's head. "I'm May," he heard a soft voice say. And nothing else.

"Tell us something about yourself, May," Mr. Hougan said kindly.

There was a moment of silence, then, "My last name is Jacobi."

Fred stopped paying attention after that. Until they reached Suzanne that is. She stood slowly, her black hood pulled over her black hair. Mr. Hougan insisted she take it off, and she did, but obviously more because she felt like it than anything else. She was on the opposite side of the room from Fred, but her body was angled towards Mr. Hougan, who stood front and center. Her facial expression — what he could see of it through her curtain of hair — was bored, but her eyes were lit with some fire that Fred couldn't identify. "Suzanne Rath," she said, and for a second her eyes flicked to where he sat. "I don't want to be here, either."

{ { o } }

By lunchtime, Tom was ready to scream. If I have to make one more fucking introduction, I'm going to break something. All the teachers had made them stand up and state their name. And that was just the first five periods, including homeroom. Five times. Five times he'd had to stand up and give his name like he was a fucking suspect on trial.

It was maddening.

By this point, he knew everyone's names. He could name them all forwards and backwards. But that one black girl, Sydney was her name, she always ended up sitting next to him. Every. Damn. Time. Creepy and stalkerish as it was, he didn't think she did it on purpose. It just sort of happened that way.

Seein's how there were only eleven students, and there were only eight teachers, plus however many staff members, there were only two tables set up in the cafeteria.

One for students and one for staff.

And Tom ended up next to Syd. Again.

She gave him a suspicious narrow-eyed look, which he mirrored back at her. Neither of them said a word. The only conversation in the room came from the staff table at the other end of the large cafeteria, but they were far enough away no one could understand what was being said.

Across from him sat another black kid, a boy named Alan... M-something... Alan Something-That-Starts-With-M. So maybe Tom couldn't name them backwards and forwards, but he had first names down. While Syd sat on his right, Fred sat on his left. And Fred was the only one who wasn't focused on food and casting inconspicuous glances at his classmates. His attention was focused on the raven-haired girl directly across the table from him. Suzanne.

They just sat there, glaring at each other. They were the only ones who weren't nose-down, focus set on food. They were the only ones who seemed to know each other.

It was absolute heaven when they were told that they were allowed to go outside during lunch.

{ { o } }

Eddie let out a whoop as soon as he stepped outside, literally running around in circles. He knew the others were staring at him, but he didn't care. "Look out world! Here I come!"

One of his new, reluctant classmates gave him a confused look. "What the fuck are you doing?"

Eddie frowned at him. "Wait, don't tell me. I got this. Your name's... Derek!"

"Daniel."

"Close enough." Then Eddie sidled up to Daniel, hooking one arm around his shoulder like they were best friends, and had been for forever. "See, the way I see it," he said, "We've got twenty minutes and two options. A: we mope about and glare because we hate each other, and that's just boring and awkward as hell. Or B: we run around like little fuckin' kids, screaming at the top of our lungs and having the time of our lives while we can. Seriously. Plan A's always a loser."

The others filed outside, and Daniel shoved Eddie off him. Eddie grinned, unperturbed, and counted those that were coming outside. Eight, nine, ten... eleven! Perfect! "All in favor of Hide 'n' Seek say 'Aye'!" He called, raising one hand in the air.

That earned him many odd looks.

He pouted. "Dude, really? No one? You guys suck."

"Who the fuck does that anymore?" One person asked. Eddie turned to see one of the other dudes, Tom was his name. Short for Thomas the Tank Engine. Eddie laughed at the thought, to which they responded with more odd looks.

"Got any better ideas?" Eddie asked. Here he was, trying to lighten the mood, and Thomas the Tank Engine had to go and be a stick in the mud. Tom scowled at him, but Eddie shrugged. "Hey, I'm just sayin'. It's better than standing around here giving everyone the cold shoulder. We're stuck together for the rest of our high school careers, we might as well get along."

The small shy girl, May, stepped forward. "He's an idiot," she said, "but he's got a point."

Eddie grinned from ear to ear, not at all offended at being called an idiot. "Great!" Then he ran between Alan and the redheaded Cliff. He slapped Cliff on the shoulder. "You're it!"

And, laughing like a loon, Eddie ran for the edge of the old school, grabbing hold of the corner as soon as he reached it to help him turn sharply.

A few feet later he tripped over a greyish-white rock sticking up out of the ground.

Eddie had been something of a cross-country star at his old school. He was fast, and he had stamina and long legs to make him more so. He was bookin' full-speed-ahead, so when he tripped, he crashed.

Hard.

He tried to roll with it, but didn't succeed, and he skidded over the ground for maybe a foot and a half, bruising and scraping his arms and knees to bloody hell, and ending up on his back. He grunted, stunned, several sets of pounding footprints coming up behind him.

Someone grabbed him under one arm and pulled him to his feet, a string of curses flowing out of their mouth and into his ear.

Then there was a scream, and he and Fred — for that was who had dragged him up — spun around to see Suzanne reeling backwards, her eyes fixed with absolute horror on the greyish-white rock that had tripped him.

Eddie frowned, looking down at the rock. "What's wrong? It's just a r—"

He choked off, his eyes widening into baseballs, and he felt Fred's grip on his arm tighten. It wasn't a rock.

Not even close.

{ { o } }

He knew he shouldn't've been surprised. Not in the slightest.

Klocke gave Norgaard a flat stare, and the much older man threw a mockingly quirked brow back at him. A mirror of the kind of facial twitch that Klocke made when he wanted to ask a question without saying a word. After eight years, silent communication was just as efficient as speaking aloud.

You're shitting me, Klocke didn't say.

Honest as a dead conman, Norgaard didn't reply.

Klocke let out a vexed breath, scowling slightly, and carelessly shoved the bag towards his partner. Who had won. Again.

Norgaard chuckled, tearing open the little red paper bag and pouring the rainbowy contents into his mouth. For a man who had just turned sixty-five and could still hike uphill all day without breaking a sweat, he had a surprising and inexplicable love of skittles.

Klocke had never been able to figure it out.

There was a tap at the door, and both men looked up just in time to see Chief Tillmon step into their shared office. "Okay, gentlemen. I've got good news and bad news," he said. "Bad news is we've got ourselves a bunch of dead people out at the old school. Some kids were screwing around outside and one of 'em tripped over a skull."

Klocke frowned. "Skull?" He asked.

Tillmon nodded. "They've been there quite a while, all decomposed and shit. It's pretty gruesome. Nolf's already on the scene with some forensic folks and a couple cadaver dogs, marking out graves and such."

Klocke nodded.

"How long d'you s'pose they've been down there, Chief?" Norgaard asked, having finished off the small bag of skittles.

Tillmon shook his head. "Long enough to rot near completely to the bone. Definitely a good long while."

"And what's the good news?" Norgaard asked.

Tillmon smiled, water-blue eyes glinting with a rare spark of humor. "I've just saved you both from the surprise birthday party."

Klocke laughed and Norgaard scowled as the Chief left their office.

"Yeah, fuck you too!" Norgaard called after him. He turned his scowl on Klocke, but Klocke just grinned at him.

"Happy birthday," he said, tipping an imaginary hat to the older man.

Norgaard grumbled several choice expletives. "Fuck you both. I'm not that old." But even he couldn't fight the smile completely.