They Be Ascended - Scene 1 (Reworked)

Meet the gang. I hope you like them. They're really fun for me to write. (:

It was another normal day for Blaire Dixon, who, as usual, walked the empty hallways of her school before anyone else. Her too-big feet sent echoes down the hallways of White Wood Hill’s International Institute for the Academically Progressive. And, of course, that day, being like any other, her hair was unmanageable. The hem of her skirt bounced as she strolled, making her way to her empty first period classroom. Due to the fact that school didn’t start for two hours, the empty Biology class was the perfect place for her and her friends to hang out without running the risk of being disturbed.

With a twist of its knob, she pushed the Biology room door open, flipped on the light switch closest to the door, and walked in. Blaire, sitting her bag on the top of a two-person table at the very back of the room, opened her satchel. From it, she pulled her physics textbook and took her seat. Combing through the bangs of her hair, she eagerly began reading " despite having read through the book numerous times.

A dozen pages into a chapter dealing with energy, its various types and uses, the empty classroom gained another occupant, another girl. She sauntered in, brushing a strand of hair from her nose.

She wasn’t dressed in the required blazer, skirt, and tie uniform IIAP made their female students wear. Instead, she was clad in the school’s athletic sweats. Miniature disco balls dangled from her earlobes, and at least a dozen multi-colored gel wristbands made their homes up and down her wrists, forming rainbow gauntlets. The girl’s hair was tousled, like the rest of her appearance, sticking up in random places.

Moving a hand to her face, she slid her dark locks to the side, revealing eyes that curiously studied the classroom before finally falling on Blaire, who looked up, meeting the girl’s gaze with her own. Almost simultaneously, their lips curled up into smiles.

The girl was named Boston - Boston Takahashi. She was Blaire’s friend, and a handful. She walked over to Blaire, sat down in the empty seat next to the other girl, asking, “’’S up?”

Shrugging in response, Blaire went back to her book.

Boston chortled, pulling a sketch pad from her backpack, and said, “Yeah, I figured as much.”

Just then, another person entered. He was a tall boy with hair just as dark as Boston’s, only braided into thin dreadlocks. Unlike Boston, however, the boy wore the required school uniform consisting of a dark blazer, a red tie, and matching slacks. His cement-gray eyes perked up when he caught sight of the girls, and, without saying a word, he sat down at the desk directly in front of theirs.

Boston, who was doodling, sighed in exasperation. Shaking her head, she leaned down and began sifting through her backpack. A few seconds later, she came upon what she had been searching for. Yanking out a plastic ruler like a knight drawing the trusty sword always kept by his side, she leaned forward, and poked the boy’s back with it. “Darren, give me an eraser,” she commanded.

Darren, cringing away from her plastic ruler as if its touch was Death’s itself, opened his satchel and dug around. He then produced a well-worn pink eraser. Tossing it over his shoulder, he didn’t bother looking back.

Her hand striking out at the air as if it was a snake, she caught the little rectangle in midflight. “Thanks,” she said.

Darren gave an accepting, albeit slight, nod of his head.

Suddenly, fire in her eyes, Boston looked to Blaire, and then poked Darren’s back once more with the ruler " an action which caused him to respond in the exact same manner as he had before. Voice filled with giddy cheer, she asked them, “Ginger, Nature Boy, can you wait for this weekend, or what? I mean, c’mon, it’s a yacht - a yacht, can you believe it? Like, sure, our families are okay,” she said, with a wave of her hands and a patronizing tone. “They’re well-off, whatever, but none of our, besides Wonder Boy’s, parents, of course, own friggin’ yachts…. We’re going to be doing something more posh than Ms. Teen Botox Barbie…. This is actually happening. It " is " actually " happening. Thank the Lord on High, ‘cause this is going to be a-freakin’-mazing!”

Darren smiled a knowing smile, one the girls were unable to see " just the way he liked it.

Blaire’s was under the impression every single person in their group " excluding her ", was excited for their foray into Lake Michigan’s waters, leaving her with the unopposed title of Village Debbie-Downer. In truth, she was accustomed to that role. Social gatherings had always been, to her, a drag.

Having talked her college-age brother into ‘scoring’ some alcohol for her, Jennifer had officially declared the boat party to be on. So, basically, in the end, Morgan would be drunk, slapping Boston’s a*s, laughing like a maniac; Boston would be fleeing, while preaching to the other girl, warning her of the negative spiritual ramifications her perpetual, amoral, unethical, sex-and-alcohol-fueled behavior brings to her immortal soul; Chase and Jennifer, bodies charged with booze, would be wrapped up in each other’s arms " quite literally, much to the rest of the friends’ chagrin ", doing things that’d doubtlessly make their parental figures consider making Chase a Eunuch if, God, Heaven, and Billy Graham forbid, they ever found out; Darren, surprise, surprise, would be off in his own private Darren world; and Blaire, well, Blaire would be bored out of her skull, left alone with her thoughts or her books.

Usually, they’d allow her to depart early " grudgingly, of course, but still. They’d punish her with a minor verbal assault, which she could handle easily, and that’d be that. But, this time, Blaire knew that wouldn’t be the case; they would never let her hear the end of it if she ditched them.

Blaire remembered the exact moment her friends had decided on the outing, vividly.

It was junior class B’s and senior class A’s lunch period. Blaire, with her plate of chicken spaghetti in front of her, had just sat down beside a snoring Morgan. Jennifer was to her left and Boston was sat in the chair directly parallel to Blaire’s seat’s position, aiming a carrot on a bent back spoon at her friend’s orange-haired head.

Boston let it fly, hitting right smack dab in Blaire’s forehead’s centermost region. The girl exhaled a sigh of frustration and wiped at her forehead with the back of her hand, glaring at a now-giggling Boston, who looked to be trying her hardest not to lapse into an uncontrollable fit of hysterics. Chase, sitting next to her, gave her a high-five, laughing, as well. Their chuckling stirred Morgan who, in response, groggily, and momentarily, opened her eyes, only to tell them to “shut the lovely f**k up” " a turn-of-phrase that basically, and ironically, only served to be counterproductive in Morgan’s pursuit of continued rest.

As the brouhaha died down, Jennifer thrice cleared her throat.

Once she confirmed all her friends’ eyes were on her " besides Morgan’s ", she asked, “Well, what are we gonna do for our end of the year party?”

“Let’s go see that new superhero movie, the one with the dog and cat,” Boston said.

Chase, scratching his cheek, said, “Not gonna lie to you, that movie looks wicked cool. I wouldn’t mind.” He ruffled Boston’s hair as if she were his younger sister. “Did you see the trailer? That song, man, that song, MA, it was ‘so’ cool.”

Batting his hand away, Boston asked, “That song by Marin Manhattan? Yeah, that was a cool song. The guitar riff: crazy.”

Chase had said, “Never could find it for my phone. I only picked up a few of the lyrics before the commercial ended….!”

“Marilyn Manson, his name, and the band’s, is Marilyn Manson,” Darren corrected.

The two, thanks to Darren’s quiet, unimposing tone, hadn’t heard him and continued on with their conversation, none the wiser.

“Is it weird that I think the dress-wearing guy is kinda hot?” Chase asked, face blank to the point of ridiculousness.

Boston replied, “Yep " and which ‘dress-wearing-guy’? They all wear them - at least . . . I think they do.”

Blaire asked, “Didn’t you hear Darren?”

“I did not,” Chase said, mock-serious, looking at Boston.

She added: “Nor did I.”

“Marilyn Manson,” Blaire said, adding emphasis to the name, “is, weirdly enough, just as Darren said it is, ‘Marilyn Manson’.” She smiled warmly at her friends, letting them know she was just playing hostile. “Marin Manhattan sounds like a clumsily thought-out, cliché stage name for some past-their-prime, has-been, hipster and, or douchebag folk singer from New York " either that or some girl from a bad reality TV series who’s never actually been to Manhattan.”

In a yeah-this-is-a-matter-of-the-utmost-factuality-so-shove-it-up-your-keister kind of way, Boston said, “Or a pop star who’s never been, from the UK.”

Never able to resist a quipping opportunity, Chase said, “Or a porn star who’s never been, from LA.”

“Guys, shut your face holes so I can talk,” Jennifer snapped, childishly.

With varying levels of irritation, the group complied.

“We are ‘not’ going to a children’s movie as an end of the year present. And, by the way, you wasted a lovely bit of our time with your - I’m sorry, Boston, but it’s the truth " lame idea.”

Under her breath, Boston told Chase: “I think my eyes are going to get as stuck up as your girlfriend if I keep rolling them.”

Chase snorted. “Then stop being so compulsive,” he also said under his breath.

“Most of the time, she leaves me without another answer to circle in the matter. ‘What do you do when Jennifer acts like a b-itch?’ I don’t know; I can’t answer that. Answers A through D are all the same: ‘Roll your eyes,’” she said. “Guess what E is.”

“What?” Chase asked.

“The answer is: ‘Hit her with the Bible in hopes God’s feeling smite-the-wicked-y today.’”

Jennifer, per her nature’s orders, took the time to look at each of her friends in a dramatic, sweeping fashion. And, unbeknownst to her, Boston leaned in close to Chase while Jen’s attention was on a suspiciously wandering-eyed Blaire, saying, “Here we go again.”

Determined not to meet Jennifer’s gaze, Blaire found herself envious of Morgan’s rock solid excuse for not participating in the, quite frankly, unwanted and one-sided discussion.

Chase stifled another batch of giggles. “I am so sorry you guys have to deal with this,” he said between fits of subdued laughter. “You know I can’t stop her.”

Boston, in clear sarcasm, said, “By the way, Jen-Jen, I’m sorry for being so ‘lame’ " won’t happen again, I promise.”

Jennifer nodded curtly at the girl, smiling. “Good - see, isn’t coming to a reasonable compromise wonderful?” she asked. “If we all would just admit when we’re wrong like Boston did just now, the world would be a brighter, happier place…. We’re all better, more mature " even you, Boston " than people our age who are going to see this… kiddy flick.” Her smile, at eye-closing level, widened.

While Jen’s eyes were closed, Boston made a handgun with her index finger and thumb, and mimed putting a bullet through her own temple.

“D****t, stop making me laugh,” Chase murmured, elbowing her.

Blaire sighed at her friends, moving her lunch around with her plastic spork.

“Now, be serious, people. We need an idea, a better idea than that.”

Unpacking her lunch, Jennifer’s face was rendered a fraction less pretty by a sudden onset of stoniness. She slammed her thermos of soup down on the plastic of the cafeteria tables, causing a studying Darren to jump at the sound, startled.

Jennifer, speech voice at the ready, announced, “All our fellow ‘classmates’ are having parties that, might I remind you, we aren’t, and won’t be, invited to-“

“And you wonder why?” Chase asked, jokingly. “It’s no wonder we’re not invited to things when you slam soup canisters down on tables all willy-nilly. That s**t’s a turn-off for most people. Luckily for you, I’m not most people.”

She stared daggers at her boyfriend before continuing. “Listen, Jack told me that Jake told him that Ruth said Mercedes’s parents were renting out an entire club for her, her clones, and anyone else she deems worthy to be in her presence. And, oh, look,” she said raising her hands, looking at the lot of us, “who’s not worthy of Ms. I-was-the-senior-prom-queen-my-freshmen-year. I -“

“She’s still upset about that?” Boston asked Chase.

He said, “Yep.”

“- don’t see why we can’t have our own fun if we can’t join theirs’. Shouldn’t we be allowed to celebrate, too? We’re in the same class as them, aren’t we?”

Chase raised his hand. “Did I leave the oven on?”

Exasperated, Jennifer said, “Chase, I"W-wait a second. What?”

“I thought we were speaking with rhetorical questions, my bad. That is what we’re doing, right?”

Boston said, “Ooo, kudos - that was a nice one.”

“Thanks - you would not believe how long I’ve been waiting to say that.”

Blaire asked, “How long?”

He regarded her, a thoughtful look on his face. “I’d say a week, maybe two.”

She said, “You’re right, I don’t believe it.”

“You’d be an idiot if you did,” he agreed.

Infuriated at the turn the conversation had taken, Jennifer forcefully said, “Will you please shut up, the both of you? Blaire, don’t egg it on.”

“That was the first time I said anything,” Blaire retorted, in her defense.

Jennifer said, “Uh-uh, zip it,” while she acted out the zipping of her lips. “C’mon, brainstorm with me, guys. There are no bad ideas " except that one Boston said earlier; that was stupid…. Now, let’s make this the best grade-advancement present we’ve ever given ourselves.”

Blaire muttered, “It's the ‘only’ grade-advancement present we’ve ever given ourselves.”

Having been awake the whole time, Morgan whispered, “And hopefully it's the last,” surprising Blaire.

“Now,” Jen said, in-between sips of her soup, “can we get down to business.”

 There was a murmur of grudging, stunted agreement followed by a few pregnant moments of silence as everyone thought of something fun they could do able to please the overbearing Jennifer " or at least get her to let them finish their lunch hour in peace.

“Maybe my folks will let us take the Interception out,” Chase had said, hopefully, more to his self than the group. “Afterwards, we’ll have an excuse to crash at the lake house. We could rent movies, order a couple pizzas…. Me and Darren really wanna watch ‘Dude, Where’s My Car.’”

 “Haven’t you guys seen that at least, like, what, six dozen times between the two of you?” Boston had asked the two incredulously. “I mean, Kutcher is sexy and all, but there’s only so much of him I can put up with. He’s kind of annoying.”

“Annoying? He’s the funniest guy ever, a comedic genius!” Chase argued.

“No, Charlie Chaplin was a comedic genius. Kutcher is a pretty boy who has got the idea he’s hilarious,” Morgan, never one to keep her nose out of a fight, stated.

“He ‘is’ hilarious,” Chase stubbornly insisted. “Right, Darren?”

The other boy had shaken his head in approval, causing the girls to sigh in exasperation.

The thought soothed the savage, and, arguably, bestial, Jennifer. But, none of the group had thought Chase Benjamin Matthews III would tell his son “Yes,” not even his son. Chase’s mother had initially been against it, but she caved under her son’s begging just as his father had.

“I swear they got kidnapped by Bigfoot,” Jennifer’s exclaimed, her voice coming from somewhere in the hallway outside the classroom, interrupting Blaire’s reminiscing.

“Since when does Bigfoot kidnap people?” Chase asked her, sounding exhausted.

Blaire could practically hear his eyes rolling.

“This morning I overheard my dad telling my mom about some hunters who told the police they saw Bigfoot while he was trying to steal food from their cooler. Are the disappearances and that sighting a coincidence? I think not.”

“Do you even know what you’re talking about half the time?” Chase asked.

“Sometimes,” she said as Chase walked into the classroom.

With his scruffy blonde hair hanging over only one eye, Chase was the group’s surfer-boy. His trademarked cheery expression was apparently on vacation, because he looked just as tired as he had sounded.

Jennifer came in after, a thin girl a bit taller than Boston but not as tall as Morgan or Blaire. A few buttons on her blazer and gray undershirt were left undone, giving all who cared to look an ample view of her sizable endowment. Her hair was lighter than Boston and Darren’s and as wavy as a cloud, resting against her back.

 “What are you lovebirds talking about?” Boston asked Chase and Jennifer, as Morgan, the last one to do so, entered behind them.

“Jen-Jen’s under the impression Bigfoot’s the cause of the spike in disappearances,” Chase said, sitting down in the open chair beside Darren and pulling a giggling Jennifer into his lap. “I, however, am under the impression she’s an idiot.”

Jennifer bit Chase, causing him to grunt in pain and flick her forehead.

“I may be a stupid girl, but I’m ‘your’ stupid girl.”

Morgan made a retching sound and sat on top of Blaire and Boston’s desk. The pale wheat that was her hair had vertical streaks dyed in it that, like her eyeliner, was darker than any black hole. A martial arts practitioner, she was toned in a way the other girls weren’t. Blaire thought she would be pretty if her face wasn’t so frequently twisted in a snarl.

“You two make me want to puke centipedes,” Morgan said to the affectionate couple. “I’m pretty sure PDA is against school rules.”

Boston asked, “Since when do you follow school rules? And why would you puke centipedes?”

“I don’t know. You’re not supposed to call me on these things.”

Chase and Jennifer ignored Morgan’s barb.  

“When you two came in, did you say someone disappeared? Who disappeared?” Boston inquired.

“What, MA, you didn’t hear? One of the Barbies went missing. Everyone’s talking about it,” Morgan relayed the information happily. “Personally, I think the lowered-tone of our fair school just shot up a few notches.”

 “That’s a mean thing to say.” Jennifer giggled. “Though, I can’t help agreeing…. If only Bigfoot could take out Mr. Guthrie…”

Chase said, “There is no Bigfoot " end of story.”

 “Morgue, get your butt out of my face.” Boston waved her hand in front of her nose as if Morgan smelled bad.

“It’s not in your face, yet. It could be, pretty damned quick if you want.” Morgan smirked.

Blaire laughed; Chase wolf whistled, causing Jennifer to elbow him; Darren sighed in exasperation and Boston rolled her eyes. The group’s general reaction to Morgan’s flirting was mostly varied, even though they were all used to it. She was never truly serious about it. A comment here or an erotic suggestion there - it amused her, and she craved regular amusement. For example, Boston, who the sexual proposals were almost always directed at, didn’t care too much for her joking.