Gunn.

GUNN. (Gunn Park Regional High School)

 

Each section is narrated by the person whose name immediately precedes it.

 

Part  : Mark Lewis

Chapter 1

           

            S**t, s**t, s**t, s**t, s**t.

            Thats what I was thinking to myself while I ran through the parking lot. I was late. Really late. School started at 8. It was two minutes to 8. I was royally screwed. I remembered what Ms. Cassidy, the principal, had said. "Late one more time and you're suspended," thats what she said. I had been late at least a dozen times since the start of the year. Its October, for godssake. I didn't mean to be late, I'm just a deep-sleeper is all. Ever since I was a kid. Can't help it.

            I ran in the school gate from the sidewalk. I navigated my way through the parked cars to get to class as quickly as possible.

            I saw Brent Allen on my run to my locker. F****n' psycho. He was standing out by his car, leaning on it. He was with a couple other guys. His usual sort. This wasn't an odd sight at all. In fact, it was pretty typical on a given morning to look out the window of your 1st period and see Allen down in the parking lot, getting blazed with his buddies. You'd think the security guard would do something about it, but he was in on it, too. It was like a f*****g cartoon.

            There weren't many people outside the building. I figured they were all in class. I mounted the flight of stairs to my locker and saw a few students still milling around, not in a big hurry. I was moderately confused. Why weren't they rushing?

            "What time do we start today?" I asked a passerby, out of breath.

            "9"

            I sighed loudly. It was monday. It had slipped my mind. On mondays we start an hour later than any other day. At first I was angry that I had hurried so much to get here. Then I was relieved. I laughed.

            "I thought we started, like, right now." I said, half-laughing.

            "Whatever" he responded. Clearly disinterested, he walked right past me and down the stairs. School didn't start for another hour. I had me some time to burn.                          

 

Chapter 2       

 

            I decided to go over to my locker. The combination was simple enough: 17, 19, 33. I had forgottern that goddamn combination so many times I wrote it down on a piece of paper and carried it around with me. I pulled out the piece of paper, read it and opened my locker.      I tried to remember what classes I had today. I have a terrible memory. Literature. I had Literature first thing in the morning. I didn't think I had any homework, at least, I didn't remember getting any. I pulled out my lit. book and binder and shut my locker. I thought I had locked it. I was damn near positive. I got to the other end of the hall and thought maybe I should go back and check but I didn't. I figured it'd be fine.

            So I walked downstairs on the stairwell at the side of the building opposite of where I came in, and began the trek to the other end of the field. The lunch tables were over there and kids sometimes sat over there in the morning. I could distinctly make out some people I knew from where I was.

            As I walked, I began to think back to seeing Brent Allen in the parking lot. He was with his buddies, like I said. Only something was weird...they weren't getting high. That kinda weirded me out. I'm not kidding. It was such a common occurence, you knew something was up if they weren't hotboxing in Allen's car. I guess I was in such a hurry at the time, I didn't think anything of it. I wish I had.

            But anyway, I continued to cross the field. I noticed a quarter on the grass.

            "That'll come in handy." I said.

            I'm not really sure why I said that. I looked around to make sure nobody was watching me. I looked like a moron, talking to nobody. I picked up the quarter and stuffed it in my wallet.

            "Hey, Mark." I heard somebody shout. It was David Andrews, my best friend. I said hello back and kept walking toward the tables

 

 

 

Part  : David Andrews

 

            I was staring out the window in my literature class. From the third floor of the school's main building you could see almost the entire campus. In the center there was the all-purpose field, complete with faded chalk lines on the blades of grass from past football practices. On the far end of the field were a series of tatty lunch tables. Only Juniors and Seniors were allowed to sit at these tables. On the left side were several dozen old wooden benches. Thats where the lower classes sat. The younger students technically weren't supposed to sit at the tables, they were supposed to sit at the benches, but nobody enforced the rule. At the far-right hand corner of the field were the tennis courts. There were only four actual courts, a relatively small number for a high school with a tennis team, but I guess they made due. The tennis team sucked anyhow. And on the extreme right end was the gym. Home to basketball games, wrestling matches, dances, rallies, and pretty much anything not fancy enough for a place nicer than the gym.

            Mr. Carter was doing his usual droning on about Huck Finn or some-such. I didn't read it. I was generally kind of annoyed by the whole southern dialect, but more than that, I hated that Mark Twain got credit for being witty... in a book. I mean sure, its all well and good to be witty on the spot, or in social situations or whatever; but in a book?  Come on, he had years to perfect it. Thats no accomplishment. Not in my book, it ain't.

            I saw my friend Mark Lewis two desks in front of me. He hadn't done the assigned reading and was desperately trying to keep up in the middle of Carter's lecture.

            Jimmy Lawson was staring at me from a few desks over. I could see him out of the corner of my eye, but I made like I didn't notice him. He was a weird dude and I always got a weird vibe from him, like maybe he was gay or something. Not that I have a problem with gay people, the Jimmy thing was just a theory anyway. After a few more seconds of pondering why he was staring at me, I finally just got tired of it and looked back at him. His eyes immediately darted off in another direction... as if he wasn't looking at me.

            "So what is the river?" Carter asked. "Anybody?"

            "Oh!"

            There was a shrill cry from across the room. It was Shirley Jacobs, raising her hand to answer. Carter motioned to her.

            "The Mississippi River!" she called out.

            A few people in the class giggled, but I didn't really find anything funny about it. I mean, I knew he was asking the question on a more symbolic level, but technically she was right.

            "Nice try, Ms. Jacobs." Carter said with a fake smile on his face. "But does anybody have a real answer?"

            "Its supposed to be like life, right?" Don Moreno inquired.

            "Very good, Mr. Moreno. Its nice to know that somebody was paying attention during the lecture. Any other theories? Anyone at all."

            Jimmy Lawson stuck his hand up. Carter looked to him, hesitated for a moment, then called on him.

            "Knowledge?"

            Carter moved a closed fist beneath his chin and flashed a confused glance at Jimmy.

            "How do you figure, Lawson?"

            "Well, Huck and Jim are going down the river, which is like life, and going through all these adventures and experiences... and each new adventure gives them, like, more knowledge about the world, I guess."

            The confused look on Carter's face began to fade. I was intrigued for a moment. Could the potentially gay kid actually be right?

            "Ahhh, I see." said Carter "Thats definitely a viable option. Well done, Lawson."

            It was about this point I decided to stop listening (it had nothing to do with Jimmy, it just wasn't fun to pay attention anymore when the person raising their hand was actually able to form a coherent thought). But my attention was effectively called upon again by something that happened momentarily.

            That is, when Carter finished responding to Jimmy Lawson's answer, he turned around toward the board, shook his head slightly, and sighed. I guess I really didn't think much of it at the time. I had kind of always thought that maybe Carter hated gay people. I mean: it fit. His son, Patrick Carter was in my grade, and he was a notorious homophobe. So would it really be that crazy for his father to be one too? No, not at all. Of course, this was all dependent upon my theory that Jimmy was gay in the first place, which I didn't know for sure anyway.

            But anywho, I stopped concerning myself with the Lawson/Carter affair when I was hit in side of the head by a rogue wadded-up ball of notebook paper. It was really quite sudden. A few people around me snickered. I picked up the paper off the floor and unwadded it. Written on it, in huge letters:

 

CARTER SUCKS DICK.

           

            And at that very moment, I released every reservation in my body and burst out laughing. I howled uncontrollably, and even as the class quieted down, I couldn't keep a straight face. Then, my worst fear came true... Carter looked at me. From across the room, he looked me dead in the eye, then at the piece of paper I held in my hands, then back at me. Thoughts raced through my head. Then finally he asked:

            "What do you have there, Mr. Andrews?"

            I panicked. I tried to swallow, but nothing doing.

            "What are you talking about?" I asked quickly, nervously.

            "In your hands, there. Whats so funny?"

            I tried to think up something quickly, but I couldn't. Everyone was looking at me and the room was remarkably quiet. Maybe quieter than it had ever been before.

            "Oh, this?" I tried to laugh it off nervously "This is nothing!"

            I thought I was being smooth. He smiled briefly in my direction as he held out an open palm at his desk. It shocked me that he was smiling. Then it hit me. He was without even the remotest idea of what was written on this paper. "CARTER SUCKS DICK? CARTER SUCKS DICK!?!?" He thought this situation was amusing for God's sake!

            "The paper Mr. Andrews... Give it to me."

            His hand remained outstreched in my direction, and he was growing noticably impatient. I just sat there, wide-eyed, and stared at him. What the hell was I supposed to do? Give it to him!? Yeah, that would've gone over well.

            "I-I..." I stammered

            Carter shook his head and, without a word, sat up from his chair, and began the long walk from his desk to mine. I was, after all, in the last desk of the last row in the back of the class. I didn't know what to do. I trembled in my seat. He was going to catch me. He was going to catch me, and-... RIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIING...

            The bell rang! Sweet Jesus, the bell rang! Literature is over! I'm home free!... Ohhhh s**t, he was still walking over here. My momentary joy collapsed in on itself like a dying star. I don't know why I even got happy in the first place. Was he really going to stop walking over to me just because class was over? Ridiculous. But then something happened. Something that I'll never stop thanking Mark Lewis for.

            A moment after the bell rang, Mark exchanged looks with me and, throwing caution to the wind, stood up and collided with a fast-moving Carter heading toward my desk. They both hit the ground. I saw my chance. From the second they touched, I was already standing. Students all around stood up to catch a glimpse. I hopped out of my desk, and in the confusion, left the room; filtering into the groups of students already coming out of their classrooms, walking down the hall, heading for their lockers.

            And I'm not really sure what happened after that. That was this morning.

Author's Note

This things a clusterfuck. It was intended to be about the events at a high school leading up to a shooting, but I became to distracted and forgot about it.