THESE PREMISES (JOHN PAUL 2 HIGH SCHOOL)

ARE UNDER INSPECTION FOR STRUCTURAL INTEGRITY

IN ACCORDANCE WITH COUNTY BUILDING CODE 122-XB.

George frowned as he read the sign that was taped on the front door of the school, his hand still on the door handle. Under inspection? What does that mean?

"Hi George!"

He turned to see Celia Costain getting out of the battered Costain station wagon. She waved and eagerly cut across the lawn towards him, her dark curly hair swaying in a ponytail behind her. She was wearing a knitted white sweater over her school uniform and her usual upbeat smile. They were the only two sophomores in the new school.

"Hi -" A sudden movement caught his eye behind Celia. "Watch out!" He dodged just in time as a stream of water came around the side of the building.

But it caught Celia, who had turned to look, full in the face. "Aacccck!" she yelled.

They both heard maniacal laughter disappearing around the other side of the school building. "Guess Mrs. Flynn got here early," George said dryly. "J.P. has time on his hands."

Celia examined her dripping sweater and pulled it off. She didn't seem too upset - George was constantly amazed at her patience. She probably got it from being the oldest of six Costain kids. "Yeah," she said, "But there's a new student coming. Isn't that great?"

"Huh," George's bad temper returned. "I'm not so sure. Students like this one would probably sink the school…"

As if in answer, a man opened the door, pulling on his coat as he came. Black haired, with a silver goatee and half-glasses, his face was usually as good-humored as Celia's - but right now, Mr. Costain - main teacher and principal of the school--looked distinctly stressed out. "George!" he said, "Good to see you!" Mr. Costain had that way of talking, as though you were just the person he wanted to talk to. Usually it made people feel special when Mr. Costain talked to them. But lately it just made George nervous.

"Uh, yeah?" George said. "What's up, Mr. C?" Sometimes he had a sneaking feeling that Mr. Costain considered him an oldest son.

"Emergency. Yes, again. The town inspector seems to have found another reason to deny our permit. I've got to run down to the town planning office," Mr. Costain said. "Look, Mrs. Simonelli and Mrs. Flynn are busy with the new folks. Can you get the kids in class and start the rosary? We need to make sure the day starts on time."

"They denied the permit again?" George said. Not that he cared, but he knew Mr. Costain did. The Costain family had been working overtime to get this new school started, but this part of the process had turned into a mini-drama. The first day of school, the Fire Marshall had closed the school down. They'd had the first three days of classes outside until the building was declared safe for entry.

"Yes, denied again. God created order, but the devil invented bureaucracies." Mr. Costain sighed. "If you and Celia could start the rosary and be the student welcome wagon, that would be fantastic. Between a rosary and my signature in person on a few more release forms, we might just get school started today." He jogged to his beat-up Volvo station wagon. "Glad you're here, George."

George knew why Mr. Costain had said that-- because Mr. Costain knew that George would rather be back at St. Lucy's where he could wrestle than be here at this two-bit excuse for a school. But George's mom and Mrs. Costain were best friends, and as long as George could remember, his family and the Costain family did things together-- including, apparently, starting new schools.

"Oh," Celia said, wringing her wet sweater. Her eyebrows were worried. "I hate this. I hate that they can still close us down, even now."

"Don't worry, Seal," George pulled at her ponytail. He'd been calling her by that nickname ever since they had been kids. "Your dad'll take care of it."

"I hope so," she sighed, and then smiled again. "I know he's glad you're here, George. He really depends on you."

"Yeah, I know," George muttered as he opened the door for them to go inside, hoping he didn't sound sarcastic. Mr. Costain trusted him to welcome the new student. But then, Mr. Costain didn't know that George had already put a nice deep scratch in the middle of the new student's front fender. Some welcome wagon.

He glanced at the inspection sign. "Well, if they're going to shut us down, they could have at least gotten the name of the school right. John Paul-Roman-numeral-two-high."

"They're not Catholic at the building inspection office, I guess. By the way, what happened to your pants? Did you crash your bike or something?"

"Uh…. Not exactly..."

"Hi Liz!" Celia said. "What's up?"

Liz Simonelli had gotten to her locker. She merely grumbled as she yanked her dirty blond hair into a ponytail. She was 14, a freshman with an athletic build, about the same height as Celia - but she looked a bit shorter because of the way she was slouching. "What's up with that sign?" she said.

"That's from the county," George said. "They're going to shut us down and demolish the building."

Liz brightened. "Really?"

George snorted with laughter, and Celia looked reproachfully at both of them. "No," she said.

"Darn," Liz said. "I was in the mood to see something get demolished. That would be a great welcome for the new kid my mom keeps blabbing about - Hey, George, what happened to your pants? You got, like, the worst grass stain in history."

"I'll tell you what happened," George said. "The new kid happened. You know, the psychotic?"

Celia looked at him in surprise. "Psychotic? You can't be serious."

"Oh yeah," George said. "I already met the mental case this morning."

"What? How?"

George was about to reply when something heavy slammed into his back and pinned his arms to his sides. A voice whispered in his ear. "You're dead meat, Peterson."

George groaned, "Get off of me, Flynn," he said. "Before I break your skinny Irish neck."

The grip tightened. "Skinny? Irish? You got a lot of guts, Peterson. Just because you went to that big bad state championship, you think you can escape my mighty grip - oof!" George had twisted hard and thrown the weight of his right shoulder up and backwards. Immediately the boy fell to the floor.

"Real smooth, J.P.," Liz said.

The younger boy was already back on his feet. He was a freshman, a little bit taller than George, but thinner, with a shock of reddish-brown hair that he clearly didn't make an effort to comb. The most arresting thing about him was his eyes, which glinted from his pale freckled face with a slightly crazy gleam.

"I can't believe you pulled that wrestling move on me, Peterson!" he crowed in a strangely triumphant way. "You're lucky! I was gonna take you DOWN!" He shouted the last word in a roar that made Celia and Liz jump. "There are few who can withstand one of the mighty Flynns…"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," George said, making as if to smack J.P. on the head. J.P. sprang away.

"Don't touch the hair! NOT the hair!"

"Oh, yeah, J.P." Celia giggled. "You must have worked really hard on it."

"You should know better than to take on a state wrestling champion," Liz said, fiddling with the combination lock on one of the lockers.

"Why do you have a lock on your locker, anyway?" J.P. shot back. "I mean, don't you trust us?"

At that moment, one of the hall lights suddenly flickered and went out.

"Not again!" Liz complained. "Why does that always happen?"

"Maybe it's a poltergeist," J.P. said. "This looks like the kind of building that would have one…"

"Speaking of which, we should go start the rosary," Celia said. George groaned and opened his locker.

J.P. sidled over conspiratorially. "Hey, I heard there's a new kid today. Do you know anything about that? I hope it's a girl, at least."

"It's not," George said sourly. "Sorry."

"Whoah!!!" J.P. had opened his locker and was standing in front of it, something white on his hands. There was more white stuff coming out of the locker that looked like…

"Whipped cream?" J.P. said, aghast, and pulled a white-smeared can out of the locker.

"What the heck?" George laughed. "Who would-?"

At that moment, Liz ambled back from her locker, her hands full of books, obviously trying to keep a straight face.

J.P. saw her. "YOU!" he said, shaking the can in her direction. "It was SO YOU!"

"Me?" Liz said, grinning nastily now. "Me what? What happened?"

"YOU put whipped cream in my locker!"

"Oh, did someone cream your locker?" said Liz in a mock-sympathetic voice, smiling evilly. "Maybe it was a poltergeist." She walked away, with a distinctively triumphant air.

"Oh ho HO!" J.P. said to her back. "Oh ho! So, you think this has ended, little missy!" He grinned crazily at George. "But it has only just begun!"

And with that, he sprinted down the hallway in the opposite direction, still clutching the can of whipped cream.

"What's only just begun?" Brian Burke, a slim, brown-skinned boy with thick glasses and an impeccably neat uniform, had joined the group. Another freshman, the former homeschooler was polite, earnest, smart, hardworking - a bit of a geek, in other words. But he fit well into John Paul 2 High, mostly because there weren't enough kids to form any cliques.

"Nothing. Liz just found something else to do at school besides complain." George said.

"I wish she'd cheer up," Brian said. "A good attitude makes a better atmosphere."

Celia beamed at him. "Way to go, Brian!"

George didn't say anything; he was too busy trying to stifle a laugh. Brian apparently didn't notice, though; he just smiled in some surprise. "Well… yes. Anyhow, I was concerned about the sign on the front door. Do you know what's going on?"

"Dad drove into town to find out what's going on," Celia said. "He said we should start school without him and he'll be back as soon as he can. He doesn't know why they should need another inspection."

"I don't like it." Brian said, frowning darkly, and asked in a quieter voice, "Do you think that the government's going to try to shut us down? You know, because we're Catholic, and we're actually trying to follow the Church's teaching?"

George and Celia stared at him. "Oh, come on, Brian," George said. "They're just going to inspect the building, and honestly, can you blame them?"

"You don't understand," Brian said seriously, shouldering his bookbag. "You haven't been homeschooled. I know what it's like to get persecuted."

It was hard to handle Brian sometimes. "I think this is a little different…" George said as Brian disappeared into the largest classroom that served as the homeroom.

"Liz, did you really have to do that?" Celia said as Liz returned to the hallway, tossing a hackey-sack ball from one hand to the other. "What if J.P. goes off and does something stupid?"

"Well, that would be surprising, wouldn't it?" Liz said cuttingly, tossing the ball to Celia, who dropped it. "Besides, I did it to get him back for all the pranks he's pulled on you since the first day. You can't just roll over and take it, Costain. You got to fight back."

"Oh, he's just being a goof," Celia shook her head with some irritation, picking up the ball and tossing it back. "I don't really care about getting even with him."

"Well, someone's got to stand up for women's rights, you know!" Liz said, catching the ball deftly on the side of her black uniform shoe and tossing it to George. She was an excellent shot. "So who's this psycho creep of a new student who's starting?"

"How do you know the new student is a psycho creep?" Celia asked again.

"Believe me," George said, batting the ball back to Liz with his ankle. "A mental case, like I said. A complete psycho. I wish your dad wasn't so desperate for tuition money, Seal, or he wouldn't take weirdoes like that one."

"Weirdoes like who?" a steely voice answered, female.

George turned, and nearly hit himself in the face with the ball in his surprise. There was a girl standing there - a girl with long blond hair, a slim, graceful build, and clear blue eyes. She was...beautiful. She could have been on the cover of some teen girl magazine, except that she was dressed in a white blouse and a straight black skirt like the other girls--but it looked so much better on her - and she was clenching a notebook to her chest. And those blue eyes, full of fury, were looking right at him.

"Uh..." George faltered, and Liz snickered.

The beautiful girl tossed her blond hair. "Not that I could do much more to bring this school downhill," she said, and walked past him down the hall.

"Like I said," Liz asked hopefully as the girl vanished into the ladies' room, "Is she really a psycho creep?"

"Um - why don't we go start the rosary now?" Celia said brightly, pulling him away. "Hey! Dad's back!"

George had slunk into his desk by the time Mr. Costain entered the room, followed by the tall fat boy with bushy hair and dead gray eyes, wearing a black trench coat over his white shirt and tie. With Mr. Costain's entrance, the atmosphere had immediately taken on more of the semblance of a school. John Paul 2 High might be disorganized, but the main reason it was working was because Mr. Costain was a teaching genius.

"I'd like to announce a momentous event," Mr. Costain said. "As of today, we now have a junior class. Meet James Kosalinski." With a wave of his hand, he introduced the tall fat boy to the rest of the class, as though there were sixty other teens in the room instead of just six. "James, these are our sophomores, George Peterson and my daughter Celia. We have another new student, who should be arriving shortly. Here are two of our freshmen, Brian Burke and Elizabeth Simonelli. And I expect that Mr. J.P. Flynn is around here somewhere."

James Kosalinski's flat, pallid face turned towards them without making eye contact - until he saw George. For a moment he blinked; then a sour smile came to his face. He lifted one hand. "Greetings," he said in a low voice, fixing his eyes on George. Then he walked over to one of the many empty desks in the classroom, sat heavily, pulled out a black paperback with the title Hostage to the Devil, and began to stare into it.

George glared at him, feeling his anger from earlier that morning returning. Why is this kid here?

Celia raised her hand, and Mr. Costain beckoned. "Yes?"

"Excuse me, Dad - I mean, Mr. Costain," Celia said. "Can I ask what happened at the permit office? I mean, lots of kids were wondering about the sign…"

"Oh yes, the sign," Mr. Costain said with the sigh. "Did you notice they renamed our school John Paul '2' High? I went down to the county municipal office this morning, and they informed me that the building is being inspected for…" he cleared his throat. "… 'structural integrity.' Anyway, it appears that we're still allowed to use the building, so there's nothing to worry about in the meantime. Let's get started on the day. Rosaries out, morning prayer commencing - George, why don't you lead?"

Mr. Costain liked asking students, usually George, to lead the prayers. Slightly resentful, George fished his wooden bead rosary out of his backpack and folded his hands. Everyone followed suit. George glanced at James and saw the fat boy ponderously remove a heavy black fifteen-decade rosary from a pocket in his trench coat and cross himself solemnly.

Okay. Weird. George took a deep breath and began, "I believe in God, the Father Almighty…"

For the umpteenth time, he found himself wishing that he was in a classroom with sixty other kids, sitting at the back,just an anonymous face in the classroom, doodling in his notebook, putting in his time until he could get to wrestling practice, and be in his zone, on the mats --but no, he had to be here, in John Paul 2 High, leading prayers and making everyone think he was some kind of spiritual leader.

He barreled on through the first part of the Creed on auto-pilot and the class began saying the second half, "I believe in the Holy Spirit…"

"… the Holy Ghost," the fat boy said at the same time, his voice choosing the words smugly.

The rest of the class faltered momentarily, and George's eyes flashed to the fat boy's. The fat boy's eyes met George's. Though his voice was sneering, his eyes were expressionless, but when he looked at George, James Kosalinski's eyes sneered too.

George reddened. The fat boy wasn't fooled. He knew George wasn't some kind of saint: he had seen George yelling and throwing his bike against James' car. And now that he knew that George knew he knew, he was enjoying watching George squirm.

That same anger from the morning boiled up in George in a moment. Why does he have to be here? This is not fair!

Trying to keep his temper, George stared at the floor and tried to remember what he should be saying next. Ignore him, ignore him… "For the intentions of our Holy Father the Pope, we pray, Our Father, who art…."

Suddenly there was a loud shriek that echoed down the hall.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Allie had decided that she was going to skip her first homeroom at John Paul 2 High, and was in the bathroom brushing her hair and trying to figure out if she should just call her mom on her cell phone and announce she was quitting the school right now.

"Why?" she could imagine her mom saying.

"They all think I'm a psycho creep," she would say. "They were standing around in the hall talking about me."

The embarrassment of that moment came back to her now and she clenched the hairbrush and brought it down through her thoroughly-brushed blond hair for the hundredth time. Why am I not good enough for them? she wondered. She'd always been popular at school, and the sudden thought that in this school, she might be an outcast hit her with a smack. They don't know me. They don't know anything about me and already they don't like me--

The bathroom mirror was cracked, the ugly green paint was peeling off the walls, and the few fluorescent lights were dim. Allie looked at her own reflection in the smudged mirror, and suddenly she felt so out of place and lonely that she wanted to cry.

Why should I be surprised? Everything in my life is different now. Why should I care about being popular? I should be glad that I'm alive. And safe.

Safe, she thought ruefully. Yeah, Mom, this place looks safe. No locks on the doors, no security guards. Bet they have policemen frisking kids right and left at Sparrow Hills. I'd probably be safer up there... from...

She shuddered. No, a pointless attack like the one on her could only happen in a big place like Sparrow Hills, with kids so bored and so deadened that they'd grab a random sophomore girl, put a gun to her head, and then vanish ... I hope they find him. They have to find him, and stop him before he... Okay, stop thinking. Focus. You've got to deal with this new school now... Figure out how you're going to make it to the end of the year here… She touched up her lipstick. Well, at least my hair looks good today...

Suddenly there was a loud bang as one of the stalls in the bathroom slammed open. In the mirror, she saw a dark figure behind her and her heart dropped. She screamed and turned to fight, to run....

But instead of a gunshot, there was a hiss and something cool and wet splattered her in the face.

Wiping her face frantically with her hands, she realized what the white stuff was. Whipped cream. All over her.

Standing in front of her with a horror-struck look on his face, was a tall, thin, freckle-faced boy. A can of whipped cream dropped from his hand and landed with a clatter on the floor.

"Oh!" he said. "I thought you were Liz."

The bathroom door banged behind him and he was gone.