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“Just put it over there,” Mrs. Lashley, the art teacher, pointed to the far corner of her classroom. Scott nodded and hoisted a card table under each arm, making his way to the spot she’d chosen. The bell rang as a few more students walked into the room, adding their own chatter to the already bubbling room. Every class had been like that; those kids who hadn’t seen each other all summer were catching up, and those who had were keeping up a running commentary and analyzation of the day’s events.

Scott quickly set up the tables and left, nodding at Mrs. Lashley as she waved her thanks. He walked about halfway down the empty hallway before turning to and quietly opening another door.

The fortyish, dark-haired man at the front of the classroom finished his introduction to the junior-level Western Civ. class before handing out a pre-test and then coming over to Scott.

“Sorry to interrupt, Mr. Richardson,” Scott said.

“Not at all,” Mr. Richardson smiled and waved his hand dismissively. “I know you’ve got to just come when you can.”

“What’s the problem,” Scott asked.

“Two of my power outlets aren’t working,” Mr. Richardson answered, leading Scott over to his desk in the front corner of the classroom.

“Have you tried the others in the room?”

“Yes. And all the lights are working fine as well.”

“I’ll take a look at it. It might take a day or two to find the problem or fix it,” Scott said.

“That’s fine,” Mr. Richardson said. “As soon as you can is just fine.”

As Mr. Richardson got back to his class, Scott removed the plates and checked the hardware, hoping that the problem would just be a faulty outlet. Of course not. That would be too easy, he thought. He used the current detector he’d brought with him to confirm that there was, in fact, no power coming to the outlet. Quickly putting the plates back on, he stood up and pulled a small spiral notebook out of his back pocket, adding “Outlets. Lamar Building. Room 12. No detectable current” to the growing list. Hopefully he wouldn’t have to call an electrician.

Scott’s next stop was just down the hall from Mr. Richardson’s class, but might has well have been on the moon.

“It’s about time,” Mr. Jones snapped as Scott stepped into the room. Mr. Jones quickly gave his American history class a short reading selection and stepped over to Scott. “I paged you at least an hour ago.”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Jones. I got here as quickly as I could,” Scott said, his voice calm and unruffled.

“Hmmph,” Mr. Jones huffed. “Well, I’m not in the mood for excuses. I need three more desks for my students. Three of whom have been sitting on the floor in each of my classes, by the way.”

“I’m on it.”

It was a common first day problem. The class numbers somehow never managed to be exactly right. Late registrations, last minute schedule shifting…it all culminated on the first day of school, and meant a lot of desk hauling for Scott. He put three desks in the Mr. Jones’ room, then proceeded to move four desks from Mrs. Winters’ room to Miss England’s room, rebooted three computers – technically not his job, but the IT guy only came in twice a week, and who else were they going to call? -- and adjusted air conditioning before heading to the cafeteteria for lunch. Not bad for the first day of school, he thought as he walked into the cafeteria. He waved at Mrs. England, the cafeteria administrator, as he grabbed the lunch she’d set aside for him – a meatball sub with chips and a big chocolate chip cookie. He walked quickly to his closet and sat down in his office chair with sigh. Overall not a bad first day of school morning, and at the moment he was caught up. But Scott had been at Eastbrook long enough to know that the peace probably wouldn’t last, and he better take advantage of a short break while he could. And a meatball sub was just the way to do it.

Oh what a beautiful morning

As ready as Scott was to for school to end in every spring, he secretly welcomed the students back to Eastbrook. Well…welcomed was a strong word, but he did enjoy the change. He enjoyed the pattern that school in and school out lent to the year, the rhythm it beat out in the lives of those involved in Eastbrook.

Or maybe he was just looking forward to cooler weather.

“Mmmmmm,” he said, walking into the kitchen. “Smells like the first day of school.”

Eve smiled and tilted her head, accepting the kiss he planted on her cheek as she flipped over another pancake.

“The pancakes are about done,” she said, “and the bacon is in the oven staying warm. How do you want your eggs?”

“Fried.”

“Okay. If you could go ahead and get out some plates and glasses that would be great.”

For the past few years – ever since Scott had taken the position as director of facility maintenance at Eastbrook – Eve had cooked Scott a big breakfast on the first day of school. The first time she did it, he’d teased her about not actually being in school, just working at one.

“Yes, but it takes extra energy dealing with all the students and staff and faculty.” She’d said. “Plus, I love you, so stop complaining.”

“I forgot to tell you that Zandra called last night,” Eve said as she plated the eggs and brought everything to the kitchen table. “She asked if we wanted to come over for dinner tomorrow night. They’re grilling.”

“Sure,” Scott said around a mouthful of eggs and bacon. One of life’s rules: never turn down grilling.

They chatted about the upcoming week and whether or not they’d have time to clean out the garage, then Eve glanced at the clock, declared she had to rush to finish getting ready to go to work and took her plate to the kitchen.

“I’ll wash the dishes tonight,” Scott said, putting the last of his breakfast in his mouth before following her. “Don’t worry about it.”

“Thanks, sweetie,” Eve said with a quick kiss. “I’ll see you later, then.”

Scott quickly rinsed his plate, finished getting ready and headed to Eastbrook. The faculty and staff parking lot was mostly empty when he arrived, but several teachers had already shown up to get ready for the day, and a few more filed in behind him. He waved to Mrs. Sharon, one of the art teachers, and Mr. Hawkins, the band director, as he headed toward his office. Well, closet, really. But with a desk and a phone and a computer. It was cozy.

Turning on the light, he sat down and checked the calendar blotter on his desk. He’d left the day pretty wide open, anticipating the “emergency” pages he’d get throughout the day. Grabbing his big ring of keys off the hook on the wall, he left the office and went around opening up various buildings and rooms before the masses descended. A couple of hours later, as the students were well into their first hour classes, Scott was changing a lightbulb in the band hall when he got his first page of the day. He glanced at his watch. “Well that’s a new record,” he said to himself, pleasantly surprised. He finished installing the light and putting on the fixture before calling the number – the business office, a number he’d had memorized after just two days on the job.

“Hey Catherine,” he said when the phone picked up. “It’s Scott.”

“Oh, Thank God,” she said. “It’s a nightmare up here. Two parents got into a fender bender dropping their kids off – late, I might add – causing another fender bender in the parking lot as someone tried to avoid them. Now the street traffic’s backed up and neither one will budge. The police are on their way, but maybe you could come help out?”

Now, that was a new one.

“I’ll be there.”

Demise of the Cheer Squad: A Mystery

Writer's note: I'm back! Now for another story in serial form. Enjoy!

“Let me hear your TIGER yell! – Grrr, Grrr – Let me hear your Tiger yell! – Grr, Grr.”

Green and gold pleated skirts swished with each “grr” as the majority of the fans in the stands complied with the perky request – several hundred “tiger claws” may not be intimidating to the opposing team, but they kept the crowd pumped and in the fourth quarter, it was important to stay pumped.

“Okay, Jill, take a break.”

With her smile still turned on to full wattage, Jill McCormick – captain of the cheer squad, homecoming queen, class secretary, prom committee chair and girlfriend of the quarterback – executed her signature air splits which let her squad know that it was time for a quick break.

“Great,” only Jill could hear the voice, instructions coming to her straight from Ms. Williams, the cheer sponsor, through a tiny earpiece concealed behind her glowing blond hair. “Once coach calls the next time out; I want you to do the 10-2 pyramid.”

Jill risked a glance up to the press box, but her smile didn’t falter. Not for the first time did she wish the mike connecting her and Ms. Williams was two-way.

“Okay, team, in positions for the 10-2,” Jill said to the squad, clapping her hands one, two, three.

Sonya and Heidi glanced at each other, eyebrows raised, then turned toward Jill.

“Are you sure about that?” Sonya asked.

“Am I ever NOT sure about something,” Jill said through clenched – but still smiling – teeth. “Do it.”

As the cheer squad reorganized themselves on the sidelines, waiting for a time-out, Andrea Belton watched them closely, carefully critiquing every move.

“Looks like they’re getting ready for a time-out pyramid,” Andrea said to Mrs. Peters who had been sitting next to Andrea and listening to endless cheerleading commentary while wearing a genuine smile throughout the entire game.

“Oh my gosh!” Andrea exclaimed, clutching Mrs. Peters’ arm. “I think they’re going for the 10-2!”

“What’s the 10-2?”

“The pyramid that almost got us disqualified at the last 4A competition.”

Mrs. Peters raised her eyebrows. “Why?” she asked

“It’s pretty dangerous,” Andrea answered. “Really tall, not very stable and the top two levels instead of just one do the complicated dismounts.”

“Why would Jill ask the team to do that? And why would they go along with it?”

“Well you never go along with the captain – that’s pretty much drilled into your head the first day of try-outs. Never rebel against the captain, especially during competition or public performance. As far as why she’s doing a 10-2,” Andrea shrugged. “Jill wants to get noticed and she’s obsessed with doing what no one else is doing. She’s a Ms. Williams clone, really.” Andrea leaned a little closer to Mrs. Peters and lowered her voice. “Don’t tell anyone I said this, but I think Ms. Williams is a little crazy. Literally.”

“That’s quite an accusation,” Mrs. Peters said. Her voice was only slightly disapproving; Mrs. Peters had been around teenagers long enough to take allowances for youthful exaggeration.

“Yeah, well, you spend every afternoon with her,” Andrea said. She rapped on her cast-encased ankle resting on the seat in front of her. “Sometimes I’m glad that I had an excuse to get out.”

“Surely if you wanted out you could have just quit.”

Andrea laughed. “Mrs. Peters, I don’t think you’re listening to what I’m saying. I’m not really joking.”

Mrs. Peters shook her head, but laughed at what she assumed was still just youthful drama, and watched with Andrea and the rest of the cheering Eastbrook Tigers fans as the Tiger Cheerleaders mounted a pyramid. Andrea was right, Mrs. Peters thought, that is one tall pyramid. The smiles of the girls at the base of the pyramid never faltered, even when their thin shoulders supported another three rows.

“Go Tigers! Go Tigers! Reach – The- Top!”

The crowd gasped as the three girls at the base of the pyramid stood up, still shouldering the rest of the squad. As the crowd cheered, Missy Wright flipped from the top of the pyramid, landing perfectly on her feat in a victory pose. The two girls who had been beneath her prepared for their own flying dismounts, and Mrs. Peters glanced over at Andrea to see her reaction. But at the gasp of the crowd, the look of horror on Andrea’s face and the eerie silence that followed, Mrs. Peters’ focus flew back to the pyramid, now huddle of girls and athletic trainers.

“What happened, Andrea,” Mrs. Peters asked.

“Oh, Mrs. Peters,” Andrea’s eyes were wide and frightened when she turned. “Stephanie didn’t make her jump. I mean, she jumped, but she stumbled or somthing and she didn’t get enough height. It was more of a fall than a jump. And se landed on Missy.”

“Oh dear.”