This is a rough draft. It has undergone little editing and no re-writes. Enjoy as this story comes together. 

Just off Hendle, an alley cut through to Jacksonn, between the old crafts store and the patisserie. Deep pinks of the sky peaked between the rooftops while Wilona paused by a stack of abandoned crates. She ripped off her backpack to relieve her shoulders and spat bitterly, wishing she had trained for the extra weight over the summer.

From her pack she pulled a fresh bottle of some upscale athletics drink. Her face instantly scrunched and she coughed. Her father was always slipping new products from his health food company into her backpack. They were usually unbearable.

She shook her head to rid the taste but stopped as a slight wave of nausea passed. Unfortunately, she had no other fluids in her pack. So, after pouring the remaining contents down the nearest drain, she nipped into the patisserie and had a kind faced employee fill her from the tap.

_____

With Baker’s Row far behind, Odi crossed the street and cut through the woods that lined the North edge of campus. Through the gaps in the trunks, the rust colored building was barely visible. Soon, he was standing right at the edge of thick growth and finely clipped grass. An iron sign punched into the brick read “Margaret Merkle High School”.

It was a solid building despite construction during a local education effort enacted in the ‘70s. The brick was accented with plaster panels set at varying intervals and windows that were only for light as they were too high for any reasonable view. The whole structure was built into a slope with a concrete bridge that connected the front entrance to the parking lot and the lower level opening up to a flat recreational field. The only plant life was the grass and a few ancient trees that manage to cling to life despite the proximity of humans.

A fresh knot appeared in his stomach, one of excitement and terror blended indiscernibly together. None of the transport buses had arrived yet. He still had plenty of time. He swallowed hard and set off at a jog toward the gymnasium on the lower level.

Through a heavy set of double-doors and past the janitorial office (a few staff waved) were two locker rooms. He grabbed a towel from a reasonably clean stack, pulled the worn soap from his backpack, and set to washing the scent of morning run from his body.

_____

Wilona collapsed in the grass courtyard, breathing hard enough to change the wind. A statue of the school’s founder stared down at her with uncaring, stone eyes. A brass sign embedded in the base read, “‘Even and especially those that don’t realize their worth are the ones worth realizing.’ —Ulric Huber.”

Huber University Preparatory School was founded early in the 1800s. The building was built from finely hewn stone paid for by centuries of graduate donations and pupil tuitions. The windows were newly replaced but were still adorned by intricately detailed stone frames. The drain pipes had once been copper, but thievery concerns lead the valuable metal to be replaced by simple tin. Everything else was carefully designed and cared for. Tall, sturdy trees lined the pathways and vibrant flowers bloomed in garden boxes.

She clutched at the grass, ripping a few blades from their roots. Then she tossed the scraps into the air and watched the wind do its work. The clouds overhead were fluffy and indecisive as to what shape they should make.

In a sudden decision, she leapt to her feet, snatched her pack, and jogged toward the far end of courtyard to the gym entrance. The massive mahogany doors swung open automatically and in welcome.

After careful inspection that no other souls were milling about, she entered the showers, an impossibly white towel tucked under her arm.

_____

Odi emerged, dressed in a fresh jacket, jeans and cleaned shoes, his now-sweaty running clothes wrapped in a grocery bag and tucked into his backpack. He crossed the gymnasium (in which a podium was now set up to face the bleachers) and gave the old doors a tug.

“MORNING, ODI!”

Understandably, Odi tripped backwards landing hard on his back. A boy about a head and half shorter with bristly black hair, and the source of the greeting, skittered over to help him up.

“Ah! Sorry Odi. Sara said it would be funny.”

“I’m ok, Pod.”

Pod gave Odi his hand and tugged with all his might, launching him to his feet. He was a round kid, though not soft; no one messed with Pod after the day he laid out one of the larcoss players for calling him “Pudge”.

He wore his usual baggy kakis and blue sweater with a pink collared shirt underneath, an outfit he claimed would merit him a worthy date to the prom one day.

Sara stood in the doorway stifling her laughs. Odi leered but waited patiently.

“Morning Sara,” he said coolly.

She tried to respond but broke down into fresh giggles when she met his eyes. Odi sometimes wondered why she elected to come to the public school. Her family wealth, facial structure, fashion sense, and even her surname indicated private school breeding. Yet here she was, wearing a loose dress shirt tucked into slim high-waisted jeans with the sleeves rolled up, thin-framed glasses, and an expression of laughter at Odi’s mischance.

Pod glanced into the gym.

“Another assembly? Old Kenner likes to bore us quick, don’t he.”

“Seems like it. You all right there Sara? Don’t pop a lung on my account,” Odi said.

Sara straightened, shaking the giggles off and checking the placement of her messy knot of red hair.

“I’m good, I’m good. Welcome to sophomore year. What’s that mean again?” Sara asked in mock interest.

“Why, it’s Greek for ‘wise fool,’ don’t you know?” Pod said, as he stroked his patchy chin-beard.

“Yeah, yeah, right,” Odi said. He rustled Pod’s hair (“HEY!”) and strode down the hall with Sara easily keeping stride and Pod hustling in the back.

_____

A bell wrung through the PA system. The mark of first period. Wilona sprinted out of the showers, her mop-like hair dripping cold down her back. As she hurried down the hall, she pulled her arms through her school blazer and tried to flatten the creases in her shirt.

She passed the band and dance classrooms, the cafeteria, the library, and the chapel. She ducked below the windows of the Student Discipline office. More rooms flashed past as she ran; earth science, chemistry, practical mathematics, latin, Irish lit, and ancient philosophies. She could see the occasional student turn as she blurred past.

She skidded to a halt just outside the door to Dr. Edden’s room. Dr. Edden taught “Early World Histories,” a subject Wilona had as much interest in as she did slug migrations.

Dr. Edden was one of the youngest the school had ever employed, but she was smart and stunning and had an incredible lecture voice.

Wilona peaked through the window in the door. Dr. Edden wasn’t in sight. A stroke of luck? She could see her peers talking happily. There was one empty desk… right at the front. Great. One desk to the left was Edmund, a clean cut boy who already needed bifocals and who was halfway through a massive textbook on the history of Africa.

Wilona turned the knob. A few students looked in her direction. She pulled the door, slipped in, and closed it delicately behind her. Suddenly everything went unnaturally quiet.

“Good morning, Miss Haynes,” said a voice to her left. Wilona whipped around with her arms raised. Leaning against the wall by the door was Dr. Edden. A ripple of laughter spread amongst the students.

Dr. Edden was shining in her usual style; short dark hair that wove around her head and framed her face and a dress shirt under a bright green sweater that gave the impression of fresh grass in warm, red earth.

“Dr. Edden,” Wilona stammered. Her mind went blank.

“Would you like to take your seat? The class has been waiting.”

“Yes ma’am— er, Professor.” And then, to Wilona’s horror, she found herself saluting. More laughter rippled and Wilona felt her face grow hot. Dr. Edden smiled.

“At ease, soldier.”

Tail between her legs, Wilona shuffled over to her seat. Edmund had a stupidly satisfied grin on his face. Wilona scowled.

“Right. Welcome back everyone,” Dr. Edden said as she paced the front of the room. “It’s the first day of Junior year. Your last year until you become a cocky senior…”