Prologue

  "H-hey there... S-s-samantha. I was --"
  "Oh god, it's Tycho Sanderson. What could you possibly want?"
  "I-I was wondering if y-you might like t-to... go to the Homecoming dance with me...?"
  "Oh my GOD! Why would you even think that I would want to go with you? God, Tych, you're such a creep!"

* * *

  "TYCHO ANTONY SANDERSON, GET DOWN HERE THIS INSTANT!"
  "Y-yes, Mother?"
  "I must be blind, so I need you to read this for me. What does this look like?!"
  "It's my transcript, Mother."
  "And what does it say right here, right on that little line of said transcript, Tycho?"
  "It says... B minus, Mother, and two missing assignments --"
  "Thank you VERY much, oh good son of mine! Go upstairs; you won't get use of your computer for the rest of the month."
  "Of course, Mother..."

* * *

  "Hey Ty, you wanna go catch a movie after school?"
  "You know, I'd really love to, guys, but I have to finish this project that Mr. Walters gave us."
  "Dude, he assigned it yesterday. It's not due for another two weeks. Why don't you just come with us? You have plenty of time for it."
  "Still, I'd like to get it done so it's off my chest."
  "Wow, Tycho. Fourth time this month you have an excuse not to hang out with us. Sweet. Have fun with your books, 'cause they seem to be the only friends you have left."

* * *

  Huh. High school. Interesting thing to think about when you have a political rival centered in your crosshairs. Maybe it's because I got that invitation to my reunion three days ago. Yeah, that'd make sense.
  Should I go? Is it worth it to see so many people that gave me hate? It would be fun to see how everyone turned out. But should I run the risk of being recognized?
  Ah, f**k it. I'll worry about it later, once I can see this man's brain splattered on the back wall.