It was Trish. K Group’s newest member and the one everyone considers most accessible. Tanja, the K’s current leader has always been domineering and more than a little rude, and Chelsea, the Comunications Director, never speaks directly to girls who aren’t K’s. But Trish, beautiful Trish, she would actually treat you with kindness, if you showed her the proper respect.
“What can I do for you, Trish?”
“Who have you told so far about the letter you’ve received?”
“Absolutely no one, Trish. As soon as I got it, I ran in here to open it. I heard you’re not supposed to open K letters when anyone else is looking.”
“I’d like to know what you think of the invitation.”
“Oh god, I’m elated! I’ll do anything to be a K. Anything.”
“Good. That’s good to know. My car is a ’78 purple Mustang, parked outside the gymnastics wing, the rear driver’s side door is unlocked. I’ll be ditching school in about fifteen minutes, when I get out to my car, you should be lying on the floor in front of the back seat.”
“Trish, I’ve never ditched class before.”
“You’ll be ditching class a lot if you’re a K, slut. If you’re not prepared to start now…”
“No, I’m sorry. I’ll do what you want.”
“Excellent. Make sure nobody sees you.”
“Of course.”
“Get moving.”
Hastily, I planned my method of escape. The front door, of course, wasn't a possibility. In addition to the high traffic it saw through most of the school day and the close proximity of the administrative offices, the school's liaison officer spent most of the day hanging by the front door.
This was of course an odd place for a liaison officer to camp, away from any activity that he should likely find himself involved in, but Officer 4862 (one thing I learned long ago: Always remember a cop's badge number) was by all accounts a lazy man, so the post seemed to fit his desire to give off a presence while not technically ever doing anything. As you would expect, the drugs were mostly sold in the art wing. |