The Out Crowd

Author: Servo Blue

AUTHOR'S NOTE: ============= Wow! I am terribly sorry for the lateness of this post. "South Pacific" was being put on at school, and I was a busy little stage crew boy. Our practices were, like, from 5:30 to 10:00, every night the last few weeks. Again, I apologize, and I hope you like the addition.

--Servo Blue

DISCLAIMER: ==========

Mine. Read.

The Out-Crowd ===========

Part 12: The First Part Of A Typical Day

Boy, what a day. We managed to get all of the spare furniture that was in the unused upstairs room OUT of the unused upstairs room and crammed into the unused DOWNstairs room, packing it all in very nicely with the furniture that was already in there. We also managed to get Shelby's bed, dresser, and some little end table/bed stand kinda thing moved in. There was an old entertainment center in there that he kept, and we moved the little red sofa back over from my room. All of his clothes were put away neatly in his dresser, and his closet remained useless.

His dad was going to be put away for quite some time, not only on charges of assaulting a police officer and resisting arrest, but also for child abuse and something about threatening a private citizen. He's pretty much gettin' locked up for bein' an asshole. Good.

However, it wasn't until about eleven or so at night that we finaly had everything completely situated, and we were all dead tired. Bradly and Morrison had stayed the entire time to help move everything, and when my dad and mom had gotten home from wherever it was they had been, they statred helping, too. But when that clock hit ten thirty, the cops said goodbye and my dad said goodnight. I can't really blame them, this is not in their job descriptions. Then, around eleven, Wally went home, and Shelby and I finished moving that little red sofa into place. Afterward, we mumbled inaudible whatevers to eachother, he collapsed onto his bed, and I walked eight feet down the hall and passed out on mine. I had way too much stuff happen today. Way too much....

Great. A graveyard. I love greaveyards.

I'm not sure why--I may have been under some kind of hypnosis--but I started walking around, meandering, if you will, across the rooves of of tombs buried six feet beneath me. As I trodded on, the graves became larger and of a more Picasso nature, twisting here, and jagging there. Soon, I stopped walking. I sensed the presence of another person, and don't tell me you've never done that before, because I know you have, especially if you were in a graveyard. I heard the ground rumble, just near inaudibly, and then I watched as a nearly gigantic headstone crackled, then split down the middle. A white light shot up from the rock, and a greenish, festering corpse in a rotten tuxedo was raised up from inside it and placed on his feet a small distance from me. Naturally, I was scared.

"I am not what they say I am." he said.

"What?"

"I am not what they say I am." he stated again.

"Of course not," I said. Then I kinda looked around, turned to him again, and asked, "What do they say you are?"

"An impurity." he said. "With a broken skull."

"Uh-HUH." I said. "Well, you're dead. Why do you care what they say anymore?" O.K., I was out of stuff to say. But I figured, 'hey, he came out of his tombstone for me, I'll humore the poor fella.'

Suddenly, but slowly, his feet sank into the ground above his plot, and the pieces of his headstone started to jump up and connect again, closing out small sections of the powerful escaping light.

"They're coming, Slick." he said, and smiled a wry smirk as he sank to his waist.

"What? Who?" I asked quickly. He was up to his shoulders.

"The Scarey Things," he said. And he started to laugh, but was entirely consumed by his grave as his marker was completed.

Well. Hmm.

Everything faded to black, and I faded to black and white. It took a few seconds, but everything faded back to normal lighting, save for being in a 1950's soda shop, as well as black and white.

Guys and girls were dancin' to swing and rock 'n' roll. The soda jerkers were handin' fries, burgers, shakes and pop to the guys at the bar. The place was packed. The guys were wearing jeans and those shirts that always had to have the top button undone so their collars could flap around. Some of them had sweaters on, with the shirt collars stickin'out. The girls were all wearing those ridculous poodle skirts with their hair all curly and up.

I looked at myself. I was dressed as I had been, a dark blue--now, nearly black, suit and a white shirt. I looked back to the crowded room, and nobody seemed to notice my difference of attire, so I shrugged it off.

I started to slowly cross the room. Nobody ever looked my way. As I made my venture through the crowded eatery, I noticed the music having sparatic moments of silence. Just split seconds, at first, but then minutes. Then, it just stopped. The crowd stopped, too, and someone yelled, "Damn it!"

The people parted like the sea itself, and I saw a colorful and brightly lit jukebox. A guy in a dark suit was standing in front of it with his fists clenched, like he was about to punch it.

"Damn piece of junk!" he yelled, and kicked it. Then his head spun a 180 and he looked at me. His upper body then spun to match the direction of his head, and then his waist and legs did the same. Needless to say, that was a bit freaky.

"I don't get it," he said to me. "I can't fix it. I can fix anything! Everything!! It doesn't make a sound! Why can't I fix it?!"

What the hell? Why was he asking me? I had no idea what to say.

"Well, if no one can tell me how to fix it," he started. His neck was for some reason heightening to about four extra feet, and his arms were extending about the same. His hands, however, were changing; his left, into a circular saw and his right into a sledge hammer. "Then I'll just have to tear it apart!!!" he screamed. At this, his upper body began spinning around, his neck and waist remaining perfectly still. His former hands were destroying the Jukebox, smashing and battering it into a crumpled pile of glowing shards. Without warning, everyone in the room exploded. Not with fire, or bombs, or anything, their bodies just burst, hurling blood and chunks of flesh all around, their inards, of course, in living color. No pun intended.

I shuddered and cringed. When I opened my eyes, I was standing on a balcony in a tower of some gigantic castle. I looked out, and saw a see of molten sludge gargling and swashing, glowing red and edged in black, extending around the entire world. A cloud-filled atmosphere hung above it, also black, and tinted reddish from the glow of the ocean below.

The Black Monster rose from the burning ooze below, several miles away, and as big as ever. He stretched, and relaxed, then fixated his eyes on me. A passenger plane was high in the air, and he looked up at it, then back to me. He pointed toward the plane, and I looked up, but had no clue what was going on. "Now!" he bellowed, and thrust his hand in a downward motion, to point at the liquid incinerator, and the plane tilted nose first and made a B-line for the firey grave. I screamed in terrified protest, but the plane hit and burst into flames, the Monster laughed, and then was suddenly right in front of me.

"Micheal!" he whispered louder than his yells.

I sat up, sweating, and fell out of bed. I ran across my room and turned on the light, which for some reason didn't burn my eyes. I grabbed the phone on my desk and started to call Micheal, but it hit me like a rusty gauntlet that I never got his number. I ran downstairs and grabbed the phone book from the kitchen, and ran back up to my room, not taking a moment to be considerate of my noise level. I dropped the book on my desk and looked up the last name Cohen. Thank God there is only one British family in this stupid town. I dialed the number, and after several rings, not to mention my urgings of "come on, come on," someone picked up the phone.

"Hullo?" said a tired voice.

"Hello, is Micheal there?" I asked, rushed and excited.

"Who the devil is this?" asked the voice.

"I'm terribly sorry," I said, getting more anxious by the minute, "but my name is Casey Blazer, I'm one of Micheal's new friends, and I have got to speak with him, please!"

"Well, at least it sounds important," said the voice. "Hold on, I'll see what I can do."

After an eternal three minutes, I heard, "What...the bloody...fuck?"

"Micheal!" I said, relieved and thankful.

"D'yo know what bloody time it is, Casey?!"

It was at this point that I checked my clock. 4:17.

"Uh...I do, now. But I have a major question, Micheal!"

"But--...Gah, what it is?!"

"Who's on a plane??"

"What?!"

"Was that your dad that answered the phone?"

"Yes, and he's nice and angry now. Have yo--"

"Where's your mom?"

"What?"

"Where's your mom, dammit?!"

"She's been in fucking Chicago for two weeks doing some kind of 'save the fucking rain forrest' benefit, now what the hell do you want?"

"When is she coming home?"

"I don't know! Soon."

"You have to know!"

He took the phone away from his head and I hollered to his dad. A moment later, he answered.

"Dad says her plane left tonight--well, last night, now."

I couldn't move.

"Is that all?"

Jeremy's cockamaimy ideas about dreams and meanings were really messing me up.

"Casey?!"

No. There was no way it was real. Hell, look at what I was dreaming about! Was there a volcano somewhere between California and Illinois? No! Therefore, the plane that Mrs. Cohen was on was perfectly fine, seeing as how there was no lava anywhere.

"Stupid git, I swear." Click.

I held the receiver against my shoulder and leaned against the wall. I closed my eyes and slid down the wall until I was sitting on the floor. What the hell was wrong with me? I can't believe I just did that. The single stupidest and/or craziest thing I've ever done, and with absolutely no excuse to give Micheal at school. I started getting sleepy again and I felt my head nod forward.

Seering pain!

"What are you doing there?"

I opened my eyes as much as I could, but personally, my eyes never adjust well to waking up when my light has already been turned on. My mom had come in to get me up for school and found me leaning, asleep, against the wall, right beside the doorframe.

"Well?" she asked.

"I dunno," I said through my unconsciousness, "I was asleep."

My mother simply sighed out of defeat and walked back downstairs. I gradually woke up, took my shower and got dressed, about fifty per cent oblivious to the rest of the world. I didn't eat anything, dismissing my mother's insessant warnings about breakfast being the most important meal of the day. I saw that she had a very nice blue dress on and my dad was wearing a jacket with his usual near-suit stylings, but I was too groggy from my early morning antics to really take anything in.

At his usual time, Wally came by and we started our trek to school. We made it to the sidewalk in front of my house and he asked,

"Shelby sick?"

This was the first I'd even thought about him all morning.

"I don't know, but he wasn't up, so I guess he is."

"Don't go gettin' all emotional now," said Wally.

"Ooooh, man," I said, my face crumpling into one of painful remembrance.

"What?"

"I got emotional, all right," I said, relaxing my face.

"What did you do?" he asked in a forboding manner.

"I made a total ass of myself," I said.

"What did you do?" he persisted.

"I had this really messed up dream last night," I said.

"Yeah?"

"And first there was this dead guy, and then there was a broken juke box, and then everybody blew up, and then a big black dragon threw a plane into the ocean of fiery sludge."

"And?"

"And then it said 'Micheal'."

"Uh-huh," he said. "And what did you do about this really messed up dream?" he asked. I waited a moment before responding.

"I called him," I said in a 'what else?' kinda way.

"Of course," said Wally, agreeing with my actions in the same tone I had used. I knew from his--and everyone else's--point of veiw, this was going to be amusing, but I was very nervous as to how Micheal was going to act.

First period gym makes no sense, I swear to God. Honestly. I just woke up. I have not the energy to think, let alone run, or jump, or whatever. And on top of that, I just took a shower when I got up. Come on, I'm supposed to get all sweaty and take a second shower 55 minutes later? Psh. I think not. Oh yeah, and Micheal's in my gym class. Another reason to gripe.

The minute I walked into the locker room, he saw me. He glared at me quickly, but then went back to changing. I hesitated going any farther. I just watched him for signs of any actual resentment. My locker was two away from his, and the one between them nobody used. He pulled his shirt up over his head and threw it in his locker. He looked up at me, not glaring this time, but looking a bit confused.

"You gonna get changed today, or just stand there checking me out?"

I smiled at him, first because I was glad he wasn't pissed, and second because he was joking. He really was pretty easy to look at, but he was one of those dumbasses who you could beat with a stick with the words "You're Pretty" written on it, and he still wouldn't know what you were talking about. Sad. He didn't have very much muscle mass, but he wasn't exactly skinny. He was just as tall as me, almost exactly. His chest was fairly small, but you could definitly tell it was there. And he didn't have a six pack, but his stomache was nice and flat. To sum up, the kid had potential, but not too much kinetic.

I walked over to my locker and opened it up, pulling out my tank top and my old baggy black shorts.

"So, do YOU even know why you called me last night?" he asked, after putting his T-shirt on.

"Well, I did last night, I said, and took off my usual two shirts. "But after my talk with Wally this morning, I have no blessed clue."

"I thought as much," said Micheal.

After a moment, I asked, "I didn't get you into trouble...did I?"

"Not really," he said. "But you didn't get yourself any good marks with the old man, either." He smiled and slapped me on the back. "No worries, Casey. Just don't bloody do it again."

With that, he followed the group of sluggish half-sleeping guys out of the locker room and out into the gym. I tagged along a few seconds later.

Gym doesn't matter. It's a stupid class, volley ball is a stupid game, and that kid shoulda seen my spike comin' a mile away. That's the end of it.

Second period: Study Hall. I guess it's only fair that they let us return to sleep after vigorous activity. But I still hate them.

I walked into Mr. Gackle's room--yes, his name was Mr. GACKle--and saw what was becoming 'the usual people'. The three kids in the back that were always slipping something to each other through a casual handshake and all that "I wish I was in the mafia" bullshit. The kids that you always see around in the halls and will accordingly always remain as nameless extras in the movie of life. And the tired kid. You know, the one that's always got his head resting on his arms, which are folded on his desk. I sighed, and took my seat.

I have this part of my brain that can only remain inactive for so long before destroying me. I call it my creativity. I used it a lot back home and helped to write a few of the ignorant songs that my friends and I worked out into actual music. I got a weird tune in my head and started lightly tapping a rhythm out on my desk. It was at this point that the words began to stream into my skull with a force similar to that of my head being impailed upon a stick, so I pulled a spiral notebook out of my trapper and started to write:

I wasn't paying attention to the time whatsoever, so when the bell rang, it surprised me, to say the least. I put my stuff away and left for third period: Art. I walked in and grabbed my photo realism to work on, and sat by myself. Usually, Shelby sits with me, and these two other kids, Mike Rhodes, who everybody called "Mikro", and Luis Dent. I honestly didn't think that they'd sit at "our table" with Shelby not here, but lo and behold, with their trademark feat of coming in seconds before the bell, they meandered over to me and sat down with their drawings. Mike was O.K., but Luis was exceptional.

"So where's Punk Boy?" asked Mike. I smiled.

"To be perfectly honest, I don't know. I've been kind of out of it today, and nobody mentioned him bein' sick or anything this morning. He seemed fine last night." I looked up at them when I finished. They were sitting across from me and giving each other this odd look. "Why?" I asked, my face swirling into one of perplexity.

"What do you mean, 'why'? He's our pal!" said Mike, and a smile he was trying to hide started to show itself. Luis looked away, holding his head up with his hand to cover his mouth.

"O.K.," I said, leaning back and putting my pencil down. "What's up?"

"What do you mean?" asked Mike, smiling freely now.

"You know what I mean. Now tell me," I said, betrayed by a grin of my own. After a few minutes of silence, I looked directly at Luis.

"Luis?" I asked.

He looked at me, biting his lower lip. Then he turned quickly to Mike, who left a sort of 'I wouldn't, if I were you' expression on his face. Then he turned back to me. I knew he wanted to tell me something.

"Um..." he said.

"Yeah?" I said, trying to get it out of him.

"Um, you know Shelby pretty well, right?" he asked.

"I think so," I said, starting to doubt it simply because he asked.

"Well, ah...while he's been stayin' at your place--"

"Who told you that?!" I asked, surprised.

"He did," said Mike.

"Quiet, Mikro," said Luis. "He's told all of his old friends about his uncle and him stayin' with you."

"Huh. He never mentioned that to me." I said reflectively.

"Well, while he's been there.... Um, our question is...where does he sleep?"

At first, I was confused by the question. I mean seriously, what the hell? But I answered it anyway. Dumbass.

"In my room," I said. Instantly Mike sat upright, and he and Luis shared an nanosecond glance between themselves.

"Really?" asked Mike.

I looked back and forth between them. Luis had contacts that made his eyes this really crazy neon purple color, and a fair jaw--smooth, and kinda round, but not fat at all. Actually, he seemed kinda skinny. He had kinda big hair, too. Dirty blonde, and it wasn't a 'fro by any means, but it kinda puffed out, like Bushroot from Darkwing Duck. If he'd ever bothered to gel it up, he could probably make something interesting out of it. Mikro was damn near his opposite. His hair was blue--and buddy, I mean BLUE--and it was cut very short on the sides and back, but about an inch and a half high up top. He even used beeswax to set it. Hey, it's California. I dunno. The thing is, where Luis' features were soft, giving him an average but potentially cute appearance, Mikro was downright handsome. He had a very sharp square jaw and a nose just slightly wider than it had to be. His teeth were nearly blinding, and his eyes were a near gray which contrasted almost frighteningly with his screaming hair. He also was one of those California Roller Bladers, so he had a Warmth-Lovin' Hockey Player/Water-Hatin' Swimmer deal goin' on with his body. He was the kinda guy who you could tell had a nice build through any shirt he had on. Very nice to look at.

And speaking of nice, they were both very friendly; from the first day on. But for the life of me, I couldn't see what they were getting at.

"Yeeeaaah...?" I said, slowly, squinting at them a little. "We moved one of the smaller couches in for him to sleep on. Why are you guys so concerned?"

"Oh. Um..." started Mikro, but then he trailed off.

"Look..." said Luis, closing his eyes tightly and making fists with his hands. "Shelby told us something in, like, seventh grade, I think, and we told him we didn't care, but he was all upset about it, and since he's already so close with you--" He stopped, only for a second, when Mike nudged him in the side and gave him a wild eyed look. "--Since he made you his friend," he continued, "We were just curious as to wether or not he's let you in on his little secret."

"Dude, you're rambling," said Mikro, rolling his eyes.

"Yeah, I know," said Luis, not changing his position.

"What little secret?" I asked.

"You're saying he didn't tell you?" asked Luis.

"What little secret?" I asked again.

"We can't say," he responded.

"What??" I asked, almost louder than needed. Luis looked over his shoulder, but the teacher was too engrossed in whatever he was doing on the computer.

"And neither can you!" ordered Mike, pointing a finger at me across the table. I quickly looked around the room with my arms open.

"I can't say WHAT?!" I said, yelling in a whisper. "Don't tell me I can't say things that I don't even know!"

"Look, I didn't mean to sound like an asshole," said Mike, softening up, "but what I mean is, don't go asking him when you get home if he has any big secrets he wants to share with you. We were sworn to secrecy, or else we would tell you."

Our mindbending conversation went on, but only in circles. It got to be fairly agitating. Fourth period came and Geometry numbed my thought process into a dull murmur. Fifth period English was a waste of 50 minutes of my life. Then came lunch.

Ah, Lunch!

I bolted out of my desk and yes, I was in a bit of a hurry, but I was only speedwalking though the halls. I was about ten feet from my locker when this really big kid in black cargo pants and a dark gray shirt slammed right into me. I dropped my trapper, and he stepped back, holding his arms up, with a pissed look on his face.

"S-sorry," I stammered, and just as I started to stoop to pick up my trapper, he placed a palm in the middle of my chest and shoved me out of his way. I probably wouldn't have fallen, but with all the people around to dodge, along with not expecting any brute force, I lost my balance right away and landed on my butt.

"Watch were you're goin', jackoff," he snarled, as he walked away. I watched him go, then picked up my stuff and went to my locker. I got to the cafeteria and saw Wally and Kate sitting in our usual spot.

"Hey, bud," said Wally, as I sat down.

"Hi, Wally," I said, then turned to Kate. "What's up, Kate--" and then I froze solid, mouth open and all. "Oh, Kate, I'm sorry! I--I forgot! I mean, I had to help Shelby move in last night--you were there, Wally--"

"It's O.K.," she said with a reassuring smile. "Don't worry about it. You have priorities, Case. We all do. And things have a way of just popping up, too. Trust me, I know what that's like, so don't worry about it. We'll go out some other time. When it's planned a little better."

"Maybe in a more controlled ecosystem," said Wally.

"Speaking of Shelby, where is the little stud?" asked Kate.

"I don't know, but when I find him we're having a serious discussion." I said.

"About what?" she asked.

"I can't say," I said.

"It's a secret?" she asked, squinting a little.

"Appearantly. His friends told me that I wasn't allowed to know," I told her.

She and Wally looked at each other. Wally continued to eat his homemade PB&J sandwich. Kate looked back to me.

"You're not allowed to know what?" she asked.

"The secret," I said.

"But you do," she said, asking for confirmation.

"No," I corrected. "I know there IS a secret that his friends know, that I'M not supposed to know about."

"So there IS a secret."

"Yes."

"But nobody knows what it is."

"No."

"What?"

"His friends know what it is. I don't."

"O.K., once more: There is a secret."

"Yes."

"His friends know it."

"Yes."

"You're not allowed to."

"Yes."

"You're going to ask anyway."

"Ye... Oh."

"Good plan," she said, leaning back and folding her arms.

I looked at Wally, but he was chewing his food and looking off the other way at nothing in particular with a look on his face that said 'I didn't hear a damn thing, 'cause it was way too stupid'. I looked back at Kate.

"I'm not too bright, am I?" I asked. She smiled and leaned forward again.

"Oh, you're plenty bright. You just don't click on very fast."

After lunch I had two more classes to go. American History, which bored me to death, and most of which I forgot before I got to my last period anyway, and last period was a Study Hall. Wow.

After the bell, Wally met me at my locker and we started walking home. It was a fairly nice day out, but I did remember about having to be at the Full Deck after school, so we didn't just stroll home. We got to my house, and as per usual, Wally said goodbye. He also told me to say hello to Shelby for him, which I said I'd do. I walked into the house and Mom and Dad were both there, and dressed fairly nice--especially for a Monday evening.

"Um...you look nice," I said to my Mom as I walked in.

"Thank you," she said, blindly placing an earring where it belonged. "Honey, go up and get dressed, we're going out for dinner tonight."

This was odd.

"Um, first day of work?" I reminded, trying to focus on the normalness left in my house. We never went out to dinner, especially on a Monday.

"Sorry, pal, not today," she said, glancing at me and flashing that smile that means everyone in the house knows something I don't, but not to worry 'cause it's a good kinda surprise. I hate that smile. O.K., I love it.

"Why? What's going on? Should I call Milo and tell him I can't come in?"

I swear, I blasted out about 27 questions in 25 seconds. See, I get all excited when I know there's a secret plan evolving around me. Mom just rolled her eyes above a bright red smile and told me once again to go upstairs and get dressed. I ran upstairs and knocked on Shelby's door.

"Yo, Shelby, open up!"

His door opened about an inch, and I could see a sliver of his body. Looking at me with one eye, he said, "I don't want any."

"Good, I'm not selling anything," I said, and gently pushed his door open. He had on a pair of black slacks and a gray shirt with black vertical stripes. His hair was gelled up, and there were those incredulous sunglasses. It occurred to me at this point that Shelby looked a bit like what DiCaprio would if his face wasn't two feet wide, he didn't have girl eyes, and his forehead wasn't the size of south Carolina. I immediately dismissed the idea, as well, because I realized he just looked better than Leo ever could.

"Should I dress like you?" I asked.

"That would look a little hackneyed, boss," he said, tilting his head.

"Kudos on the vocab word," I said smiling,"but I mean with the same formal ideals, not the same clothes."

"Oh, yeah. Absolutely, boss. We're goin' out. You never been 'out' before?"

I folded my arms and leaned against the wall right beside the door wearing a crooked smirk.

"I usually dress for the occasion, but I don't know what this particular occasion is," I said, in a readable tone of inquery. He caught my question.

"Aw. Sucks, I bet. Now go get changed, boss."

He had a big grin on his face as he practically shoved me out of his room.

I changed into a pair of midnight blue slacks and a dark purple dress shirt with little black triangles here and there. I ran downstairs and my parents and Shelby got me into the car without telling me anything. Within minutes, we had arrived at the Full Deck. I had been interrogating them mercilessly, albeit to no avail, and hadn't noticed where my father was driving us in his mighty Taurus. We exitted the vehicle, and I was now thoroughly lost. We walked in, and I followed my mysterious trio all the way down to the far wall. My father started to open a door there, most likely to a 'back room', when a large, firm hand landed on my shoulder.

"Hey," said a deep voice, with just the SLIGHTest hint of a romanian accent.

My father and mother looked over their shoulders and smiled, and Shelby did as well, but the expression on his face was a beaming grin, not just a smile. I turned and looked at the extremely tall Milo, still holding my shoulder. He had on a white shirt and a bright red tie, but a bit of a scowl on his face.

"Hi, Milo--," I statred, but he cut me off.

"I said right after school, did I not?" he asked sternly. I gulped. Is gulped a word?

"Um--yeah,--" I stammered.

"You're late," he said. "On your first day."

I must've had a horrified look on my face. I actually FELT pale. He laughed, not being able to act angry anymore. Steiny poked his head out of the door that my father was about to open.

"Oh, for crying out loud! What's the hold up? Casey, is Milo giving you a hard time already?"

"I was only teasing him," said Milo, in a lighter voice, although just as deep as before.

"Bah!" said Steiny, "You're a scarey person in your sleep. Now stop harrassing people and get in here. The place is gonna fill up soon."

We filed into what I thought was going to be another back room, but was actually a good sized dinig hall--and set up for quite a few guests, too!

"O.K., start talkin', Punk!" I whispered excitedly to Shelby, as we sat at a small, round table. There was a white table cloth over it, and four places were set with the shiniest china plates I'd ever seen and silverware that looked freshly lifted from a very rich home. Two silvery candle holders were placed on both sides of the flowery center peice, and each one held three candles, the middle of them being positioned about an inch higher. "What's with all the fancy fixin's?"

"I told ya, boss," Shelby grinned, as a family of two parents, a kid our age with frazzly blonde hair, and two younger sisters came into the room and were shown to a table by Steiny. "It's a surprise."

===========================================================================

....To Be Continued....

Again, I'm sorry this took so long getting to you. The musical is over, though, so with the help of Fate, perhaps I'll get back into my usual swing.

Any Comments or Criticism go to me at servo_blue@usa.com or inverse@mindless.com Whatever floats your boat.