Status: [updated 12/07/14]
The Brat Pack
Cut It Out!
Early Tuesday morning, April 3, 1984. Shermer High School, Shermer, Illinois.
This is wrong. This is oh-so-totally wrong. Andy looks at the Post-It note in his hand, looking up and down the empty hall. He reaches back and rubs at his neck.
Better hurry up before someone catches you, a voice says in his head, followed by, DO IT.
Andy grabs the black combination lock in front of him and begins twisting in the numbers he sees on the note, his fingers fumbling. He pulls at the lock, willing it to open.
"C'mon," he mutters to himself, twisting the combination in again. On the third try the lock comes off and he stares at it in his hand, closing his fist over it as he pulls the locker open.
It's a bit messy as he expected, books and notebooks thrown all over. A gray coat with a fur-lined hood hangs from one of the hooks. He reaches up and opens the top compartment of the locker, a little amazed at what he sees.
It's not messy, not like the rest of the locker. It's actually very organized, full of art supplies. This is where he decides he'll leave it.
Andy reaches into his letterman jacket and pulls out the blue S patch, turning it over in his hands. A note sticks to the back - I didn't forget you. He reaches up and leans it against what he assumes to be a pencil case. Quickly he shuts the compartment and the locker, sticking the lock back on and hurrying off.
Two hours later Andy is headed to lunch when he spots Stubbie leaning against some lockers by the cafeteria doors, looking around wildly. Andy deflates when Stubbie notices him.
"Here we go," Andy mutters to himself and rolls his eyes as Stubbie comes to a standstill in front of him, arms crossed over his chest.
"Did you think I wouldn't find out?"
Andy shakes his head, moving to the right. "I don't know what you're talking about, Stub."
Stubbie grabs Andy's wrist roughly. "Bathroom," he snarls. "Now."
A young boy, probably in ninth grade, is washing his hands when Stubbie drags Andy into the bathroom.
"You. Out. Now."
"Stubbie-" Andy begins.
"NOW!" Stubbie roars.
The boy runs for the door, his messenger bag nearly tripping him as he goes. Andy watches him leave and points to the door.
"Was that really necessary?"
Stubbie isn't looking at Andy. He's pacing to the wall then turns, throwing his arms in the air as he slowly walks back.
"Oh, I don't know, Andy. Was it really necessary that you pay Sara Davenport seventy dollars to get Allison Reynold's locker combination?"
Andy swallows, his face and wallet burning at the same time. He reaches up and rubs his neck again.
"You don't know what you're talking about," Andy mutters.
"Did you hit your head during practice or something?!" Stubbie asks, right up in Andy's face
"Shut up!" Andy yells, shoving Stubbie back.
Stubbie grabs Andy by his jacket and throws him against the stalls, one fist bundled in his jacket and the other raised next to his head. After a minute of nothing but heavy breathing from them both, Stubbie lets go, running his hand through his hair and shaking his head. He points at Andy.
"You need to knock it off. I don't know what's going on with you," Stubbie is at the door now, throwing it open. He turns back to look at Andy, "but cut it out."
Stubbie storms out, leaving Andy alone.
This is wrong. This is oh-so-totally wrong. Andy looks at the Post-It note in his hand, looking up and down the empty hall. He reaches back and rubs at his neck.
Better hurry up before someone catches you, a voice says in his head, followed by, DO IT.
Andy grabs the black combination lock in front of him and begins twisting in the numbers he sees on the note, his fingers fumbling. He pulls at the lock, willing it to open.
"C'mon," he mutters to himself, twisting the combination in again. On the third try the lock comes off and he stares at it in his hand, closing his fist over it as he pulls the locker open.
It's a bit messy as he expected, books and notebooks thrown all over. A gray coat with a fur-lined hood hangs from one of the hooks. He reaches up and opens the top compartment of the locker, a little amazed at what he sees.
It's not messy, not like the rest of the locker. It's actually very organized, full of art supplies. This is where he decides he'll leave it.
Andy reaches into his letterman jacket and pulls out the blue S patch, turning it over in his hands. A note sticks to the back - I didn't forget you. He reaches up and leans it against what he assumes to be a pencil case. Quickly he shuts the compartment and the locker, sticking the lock back on and hurrying off.
Two hours later Andy is headed to lunch when he spots Stubbie leaning against some lockers by the cafeteria doors, looking around wildly. Andy deflates when Stubbie notices him.
"Here we go," Andy mutters to himself and rolls his eyes as Stubbie comes to a standstill in front of him, arms crossed over his chest.
"Did you think I wouldn't find out?"
Andy shakes his head, moving to the right. "I don't know what you're talking about, Stub."
Stubbie grabs Andy's wrist roughly. "Bathroom," he snarls. "Now."
A young boy, probably in ninth grade, is washing his hands when Stubbie drags Andy into the bathroom.
"You. Out. Now."
"Stubbie-" Andy begins.
"NOW!" Stubbie roars.
The boy runs for the door, his messenger bag nearly tripping him as he goes. Andy watches him leave and points to the door.
"Was that really necessary?"
Stubbie isn't looking at Andy. He's pacing to the wall then turns, throwing his arms in the air as he slowly walks back.
"Oh, I don't know, Andy. Was it really necessary that you pay Sara Davenport seventy dollars to get Allison Reynold's locker combination?"
Andy swallows, his face and wallet burning at the same time. He reaches up and rubs his neck again.
"You don't know what you're talking about," Andy mutters.
"Did you hit your head during practice or something?!" Stubbie asks, right up in Andy's face
"Shut up!" Andy yells, shoving Stubbie back.
Stubbie grabs Andy by his jacket and throws him against the stalls, one fist bundled in his jacket and the other raised next to his head. After a minute of nothing but heavy breathing from them both, Stubbie lets go, running his hand through his hair and shaking his head. He points at Andy.
"You need to knock it off. I don't know what's going on with you," Stubbie is at the door now, throwing it open. He turns back to look at Andy, "but cut it out."
Stubbie storms out, leaving Andy alone.