CHAPTER FOUR: Foul Ferris Foust

                                  — Chapter Four — 

                                                   





                                                                                 Foul Ferris Foust

 Crescent had arrived on a Saturday; Sunday she woke up half expecting to be back in her bed at the Bakers’, and it was only then that she realized it wasn’t her bed anymore. The bed had also been much bigger and she was surprised when she fell out of the bunk and hurt her hip on the way to the floor.

   After she’d decided it hadn’t all been a dream and she was actually back at the orphanage, she spent the rest of Sunday trying to get over the initial shock of the whole thing. She definitely didn’t relish being back; having her own room and being in a nice homey house even for the short few months she had been there had spoiled her.

   Having privacy, a shower and bath all to herself — these were luxuries compared to life at the orphanage.    

   Crescent knew she was lucky to have anything to herself here, and it had been a blessing knowing she had her own room, small and cramped though it may be.

    Just as she had always done, she kept to herself, spending most of Sunday inside. She was glad to have it all to herself, and she had had enough icky roommates in the past to know the difference. 

   And whichever nice ones she got hadn’t lasted long enough for her to end up being friends with; they usually moved to another room or ended up being adopted pretty quickly.

   When Monday came, Crescent tried to meld back in with the rest of the lot; for the most part, the orphanage hadn’t changed at all.

    It was rare for the orphanage to get new students; it only happened once every few months.

   Crescent Grey was considered the last-ditch orphanage in all of London. You could only go lower by being sent to Harrington Hall for being a juvenile delinquent, although she couldn’t imagine things there being that much worse. Although the rumor was that if you caused too much trouble or were labeled an underage criminal, that’s where you would go and as far as Crescent understood, it wasn’t much better than a prison, and the students were treated more or less as inmates.

   First thing in the morning, she went to see the matron. Nurse Hudson, who was a nice black lady in a white uniform, looked her over. She made Crescent stick out her tongue, weighed her, then gave Crescent her stamp of approval and sent her on her way.

   Crescent thought maybe the nurse would find something wrong, but just as the doctors in the hospital had found nothing, so it was with Ms. Hudson.

   Apparently she, Crescent, was just a plain ole ordinary girl, and it seemed to her that the only reason whatever happened had happened to ruin her life but good.

   She didn’t want to start being paranoid, but she was starting to feel a bit like the universe was conspiring against her. Crescent also thought that the old saying of how the more things change, the more things remain the same couldn’t be truer.

    In some small way, she was even looking forward to getting back into the doldrums of an everyday routine again — at least she knew the place, and her expectations would be low. She wouldn’t have to worry about fitting into a new school anymore; Crescent already knew she didn’t fit in here. She never really had. And she knew practically everyone and knew very well who to stay clear of.…

After getting her books and class schedule from Mrs. Wimple, Crescent did the usual scramble with the other students to get into breakfast and try to make it to her first lesson on time.

    Squeezing into the sea of uniforms — between the hurried, the harassed, and the noisy — all clamoring for a bit of breakfast before the day had properly gotten started, Crescent shoved the books she was holding into her schoolbag. She queued up behind two boys whose incessant chattering was already driving her bonkers; they were going on about some recent football game — which team had scored what and when and what team was playing who next. Blah, blah, blah.…

   Crescent wasn’t really the sporty sort herself, but when she tried to be athletic, she preferred the one-on-one games to the team variant, mainly because no one ever seemed to want to pick her for their team anyway. Besides, she rather enjoyed single sports and wasn’t very good at keeping up with a group. 

   While in line, she noticed that a sort of murmuring had started and thought she caught part of her name. She tried to ignore it; maybe they had just mentioned the school. That happened a lot with her.

   Having the same name as the orphanage had always been problematic for Crescent. She’d learned to differentiate between her name being mentioned and that of the school, but she had been out of practice of late; being away from the orphanage and living in the country she hadn’t had to contend with it for a while.

   Then it started — students began staring at her and started whispering between themselves. It was always like this for her; somebody must have remembered who she was and started on about it. Then before you could say Jack Robinson someone would want to ask her what it was all about and she would have to recount the story.

  She was very, very tired of it.

  Now that she was on the alert and keen to see what they were all muttering about she noticed that there was a whole load of kids whispering back and forth.

   Some had even cupped their hands to their mouths while others cupped their other hand, trying to hide the fact that they were all pointing in her direction.

   Here it was all over again, the girl with the weird name that matched that of the orphanage; she’d been waiting for this. Dreading it ever since she realized she would be coming back.

   Many of the orphans knew about her strange little story, but every so often, new students were brought on board; someone would mention her name and get confused, then they would start on about it all over again.

   Crescent didn’t like being singled out, she supposed no one did, and she couldn’t help what she was called; after all, it hadn’t been her choice. The kids around her were still looking at her and whispering. Did they think she wouldn’t notice?

   She was well used to being ignored by adults, but being talked about by other kids and while she was standing right here — well, that was another story entirely.

   She was already becoming quite irritated and her anger started to build. Crescent had had some feeble hope that this time around maybe things would be different and the other kids wouldn’t take so much notice of her. Adults hardly ever did, and that was fine, but she was considered sort of an odd joke among the other orphans.

   Then just as she was lost in thought, someone touched her, and she jumped. Crescent spun round and reacted. “Oh, sod off!” she yelled at whoever it was.

   It was a boy about her same age; she surprised him so much his eyes grew wide, his cheeks went pink, and he looked around, embarrassed. He made a little squeak. Then he must have decided it was better not to tempt fate and ran back to the end of the queue.

   And if only a few people were staring before, now everyone was. They were definitely looking at her, but she tried to ignore them as best she could; after all, didn’t she deserve a bit of privacy?

   Another boy walked up, and apparently in defense of the first boy, he spoke up and started wagging a finger at her, “I say! That was uncalled for —”

   But Crescent wasn’t about to be cornered or ridiculed or interrogated no matter how curious any of the others were about her.  
    She turned around and marched straight up to him, and before he had a chance to even finish what he was saying, she cut him off decisively, “Look, you — I don’t care how long you’ve been here. I don’t know you, and you don’t know me. So what say you just toddle off and go talk about it with your mate there? Because I’m not bloody interested in talking about why I’m named after the school! I’m not interested in being interrogated, all right!”

    For a second, the boy looked as if he might retort, and Crescent fixed him with a piercing glare. He gulped, then stammered, “I — I — I —”

   Crescent narrowed her gaze, then the boy slowly lowered his finger, backed up, and, just as the first boy did, beat a hasty retreat, melding back in with the rest of the lot.

    She really didn’t want to get into any rows on her first day back, but at this point, Crescent wanted to make herself perfectly clear and knew that whatever she said, it would eventually get around to the rest of the student body and end up as a piece of newsworthy gossip for the day.

    She rounded on everyone else and said clear enough for everyone in the vicinity to hear, “And as for the rest of you lot, mind your own business! If you want to know why or what the history is, ask someone else! There are plenty of people around who know the story. In other words, LEAVE — ME — ALONE!”  

  There were some disgruntled looks, and even more whispering ensued. Some shot her some nasty looks and made faces, and one girl even stuck out her tongue, but the message had been delivered.

   She stood there, waiting to see if anyone else was going to say something, but no one did. She had let her temper get the best of her, and after a few moments, she started feeling a bit angry at herself for losing control like that, and on her first day back in classes too. But she was tired of it all, of being “that weird girl with the same name as the orphanage,” and having to explain how she had come to be named after the orphanage all the time was tiresome, to say the least.

   After that, everyone began quieting down again. It looked as though however much they might have been interested in asking Crescent about her name, or seeing an argument or fight arise because of it, a deeper urge to fill their stomachs had squashed it.

   When Crescent got to within sight of the breakfast counter, she smiled to herself, actually surprised to see another staff member who hadn’t been sacked.

   The cook, Peachy Keene, had been there for ages. None of the students knew what his real first name was. Somewhere along the line, he had picked up the nickname Peachy and told everyone he ever met to call him that.

   As soon as he met you, he’d stick out his right hand and say, “Jus’ call me Peachy, it’s wot ever’one does.”

   He was a wide-shouldered man with a big chin, and he never seemed to shave properly and always had stubble on his large square jaw.

   He had thick arms and a large belly and constantly smoked — a cigar seemed to be permanently attached to his mouth while the students looked on in dismay as ash often fell into whatever he happened to be serving. Crescent was sure it wasn’t sanitary, but she had also heard him more than once point a stubby finger at a headmaster and say, “I run me kitchen me own way, understand!”

   He was also in charge of the Culinary trade, and if you decided to take food services as your vocation, then you spent most of your time in the hot kitchens wearing a hairnet, and steel-toed shoes, toiling away, making breakfast, lunch, and supper for everyone else.

   Not something Crescent was actually keen on herself.

   Today Peachy was serving bacon and eggs, assisted by the assistant cook, Ms. Sweet, a petite pretty lady in her mid-twenties who had wild black hair that poked out from under her cook’s cap. She had cute features — a pointed nose, round cheeks, bowed lips, natural long eyelashes, and large dark eyes.

   But no matter how much Ms. Sweet helped Peachy prepare things, the eggs always somehow ended up being so runny that Peachy poured them into bowls instead of putting them on plates.

   And as for the bacon, it was so undercooked that it still looked pink, and Crescent was afraid that if she poked it with a fork, it might leap off the plate and start screeching and squealing. Then she’d have to buy it a license and keep it as a pet! No, thank you, she thought half-amusedly to herself.  

   But Peachy always did things his way, and Crescent had had too many experiences with these sorts of breakfasts before and bet, knowing Hawthorne as she was beginning to, that even the orange juice was diluted by water. Hawthorne had made it clear that the orphanage was taking the cheap route now, and Crescent knew that orange juice was expensive. 

   And of course, too much of a luxury to waste on the students. Crescent could easily imagine the directive coming down from on high that only a teaspoon of actual juice should be dealt out, and from what she could tell, the glasses were pretty dirty too.

    No thanks again, she thought, and opting for the less dangerous avenue of consumption, she changed tack and headed straight for the cereal dispenser.

    Next Crescent procured herself a plastic cup and put it under the milk machine, letting it run just a bit before she brought it up to her nose and sniffed to see if it was spoiled yet.

    Tentatively she tasted the milk, expecting the worst, but to her great relief, it was all right. Well, at least the milk was good, she thought, putting her cup back under the machine and letting it fill up both cup and bowl now laden with flakes of wheat and raisins.

    Looking all around, her eyes searched the cafeteria, finally spotting a table in the corner that no one else seemed to be using. She sat down with her tray and set her bag of books on the chair next to her.

   As she absentmindedly sat there with her cereal, she took out the schedule sheet Mrs. Wimple had given her. Crescent noticed there seemed to be a few new teachers on it.

   Even though she had already grown up here, the last year was the end of her Primary school education and this would be considered her first year going into the Secondary school phase. And it was mandatory that all students going into their first year of the new phase would also have a vocational skill.

    She had asked for Business and was glad she’d got it, and her first lesson would be with Mrs. Cole with computers; Crescent had been in the room before.

    Mrs. Cole was nice enough, if somewhat a little more interested in the computers than the actual students. It was always a little too cold in her room; she said it was to make the computers more comfortable. At this point Crescent couldn’t remember exactly what the woman’s name was, she thought it was actually Cole-Spencer, but it was difficult to keep track. The teacher had had a lot of husbands over the years and was known as a kind of black widow. For some reason she never stayed married for very long — her husbands kept mysteriously dying off — but whatever her name, everyone for the most part just called her Mrs. Cole. It was much easier to remember and even though the teacher was a bit out there, it was better than some of the other vocations that were offered, like Carpentry, Auto Mechanics, or Welding, or even, as pleasant as it might sound, Culinary Arts.

    Crescent really didn’t fancy food services as a career and couldn’t see herself knee-deep in splinters, sparks, or grease, not to mention sweltering in a hot kitchen chopping up vegetables all year.

   There were many vocations in the orphanage as well as regular classes, all set up so that if no one wanted you and when you turned of age you were finally let go out in the real world you would have learned some sort of skill so you could become a productive member of society. At least, that was the idea.

   Crescent absently put her hand through her hair — after Business it looked as though she would be having Physical Education with Ms. Bickle, the rhinoceros woman in charge of activities. Crescent wasn’t looking forward to that at all; she didn’t fancy being around loud, boisterous people. The woman was a menace — that much was certain.

   Too bad she didn’t have Mr. Tisdale, she thought; he had been the only P.E. teacher for years, but it looked as though he had received a demotion when Ms. Bickle had been brought on board.

   Then it was lunch.

   After lunch was Health, with Professor Doppler, who was a crackpot, but a harmless breed of crackpot. He used to be the Science teacher — strange, Crescent thought, here was yet another change.

   Why did they move him over to Health? Then Crescent scanned the last line, and she had her answer.

   In the last period was another new teacher — someone she didn’t know named Crawley — and it said he was the new Science teacher. She bet Doppler wasn’t happy about that.

   She quickly scanned the rest of the week. She’d also have Math with Professor Tartas, History with Professor Yore, and there at the bottom was yet another new name. She’d be having English with a Ms. Brown.

   Crescent hoped Bickle would be the worst of the new staff and wondered what other new teachers had been appointed for classes she wouldn’t even have until next year.

   All of her classes were at least three times a week, alternating on different days and the schedule she now had, she knew, would remain the same throughout the rest of the year.

On her way out of the cafeteria, Crescent bunched her shoulders together in an effort to make herself even thinner than she already was and slipped into the crowd.

   She kept her head straight, taking care not to look to the sides as she proceeded down the hall; only occasionally did she look to see if there were any friendly or familiar faces present among the multitude.

   Of course, she had never really had any friends to speak of — just other students that she knew about and liked and imagined that they liked her as well.

   Walking down the corridor with her books in front of her, she wrapped her arms around them; she used the books as a social shield against unwanted interest or questions from curious strangers. She didn’t want a repeat of this morning’s performance in the breakfast queue. After all, she was still the girl that had the same name as the school, and it had always been a sort of nuisance to her.

   Crescent had always been a strange curiosity for the other kids and every time someone had asked about possibly adopting her, the whole story of how she’d been dropped off one day on the doorstep had to be told all over again. She couldn’t help what she was called; she’d only been a baby at the time and had not been found with anything to indicate a name. Someone had also had the clever idea to name her after the school, she thought to herself sardonically.

   The lady who had done it had worked at the orphanage for something like ten or twenty years prior to that. She was revered but, unfortunately, hadn’t had much of an imagination and had disappeared soon after, and Crescent had been stuck with the name in honor of a woman she had never even known.

    Then everyone immediately around her started scrambling like she had the plague and Crescent saw why. It looked as if one of the teachers was hurrying toward them down the hall, pushing students aside. For fear of being trampled, Crescent scattered with the rest as a rather-tall someone dressed all in black swooped by at top speed. Someone was in a mad rush, she thought, and looked up — a teacher she had never seen before was headed toward some sort of commotion up ahead, and Crescent was glad this time that whatever was going on didn’t revolve around her.

   Suddenly, from out of nowhere, another student pushed her, nearly knocking her over.

   Off balance, she had to do a little sidestep to keep herself from falling over and hurried out of the way, flattening herself against the wall.

   “Make way! Make way!” she heard a silky but commanding voice say urgently and looked to see who had been in such a hurry, not caring if they bowled a bunch of orphans over in the process. She craned her neck to see what was happening, and while she was able to see what it was, Crescent noticed she wasn’t the only one who was staring. Many of the other students who were also recovering from being pushed aside strained to see what it was that was going on.

    Many had looks of confusion and curiosity on their faces. Others just looked frightened, but it seemed that she was the only person who didn’t know who the man was.

    She heard a volley of whispers and irritated conversation surrounding her; “Oi! What’s going on?” “A fight!” “Who was the igit that shoved me!” “Oh look, it’s Crawley —” “Ole Creepy himself, eh —” “Shhhh, are you mad? He’ll hear you!” “Get off me foot —”

  Crescent didn’t know what they were on about. She narrowed her eyes at the teacher; just seeing the back of him, even from this awkward angle, Crescent could tell he was an imposing person.

   Tall in stature, he was a grim figure — standing straight, his posture was perfect, and his movements seemed deliberate. He had slicked-back silver hair that was lengthy but evenly cut. He was attired completely in black and wore a long overcoat with tails that swayed out like a pair of low wings and gave the impression that he flew more than walked.

    In the center were two older girls who were battling it out, calling each other names, taking turns pulling hair, scratching and slapping; it was a vicious, violent fight — the type of which Crescent had never had to endure and hoped that she never would.

   At the moment, the two girls were caught in an embrace. Each girl had a handful of hair in one hand and a fistful of shirt in the other; they struggled back and forth, locked in an obscene sort of dance.

   After wading through a crowd of onlookers, the teacher finally reached the center of the commotion and said rather sharply, “That is quite enough!” He wrenched the two girls apart; one of them screamed as a portion of her hair was ripped out by the roots, the other girl having a firm grasp as they were being pulled aside.

   The teacher held each of them by an arm, squeezing rather forcefully. “Let’s see,” he said smoothly, “Miss Romano, isn’t it? And … Miss Kelsey. I think the two of you had better come with me.”

  “She started it!” Karen Kelsey said crossly.

  “No, she did!” remarked Marci Romano, and the two girls lunged for each other once again, like cats going at it, but the teacher held them aloft.

  “ENOUGH!” he snarled. “Frankly, I don’t care which of you started it —”

   “But —” Kelsey began.

   “Nor do I care what it was about,” he said, cutting her off. “You are both in a world of trouble and detention I daresay will be the least of your worries once the headmistress gets a hold of you. Let’s see what she makes of you two, shall we?”

   It might have been her imagination, Crescent thought, but it sounded as though he rather enjoyed handing out punishment, and a slight chill suddenly ran through her. The teacher turned — for the most part, he was what she expected, but when Crescent saw him more clearly, there was one part of his appearance that she was astounded by; and for a moment, she stood there, mesmerized. He had the most startling eyes….

    The two girls that had been fighting apparently had given up at the mention of the headmistress; they hung their heads low and looked fearful as if whatever the dispute had been about wasn’t worth the trouble they had brought on themselves. It was strange, Crescent thought; he spoke English well enough, but the accent was odd, and he seemed to talk with a slight lisp, which made him sound slightly snakelike.

   “And as for the rest of you,” he said, turning to the lot of onlookers, “the bell rang five minutes ago. Don’t you all have some place you ought to be?”

    With that, the lot dispersed, and everyone rushed to their respective rooms while the teacher carried Kelsey and Romano off, dragging them down the hall toward the headmistress’s office.

   Crescent herself hurried along but couldn’t help thinking about the strange new additions to the staff. It seemed that Hawthorne and Bickle weren’t the only ones that Crescent had yet to contend with. There were a lot of bizarre new people in the orphanage of late. Too many, she thought — or was it just that she had been gone for so very long?

When Crescent reached the computer room, she scrambled to find a seat with the rest of the class and took a chair next to a tall black boy with large round spectacles.

   She looked over at him and recognized who he was at once, vaguely remembering his name, something like Carmine or Carlyle or some such, and he hung out with a kid named Terrin, who, like Crescent, was a bit of a loner and kept mostly to himself. Noticing her, he looked over and smiled. Crescent smiled back weakly; she remembered he had also been in the crowd outside the cafeteria and had witnessed her chastising the poor kid who had approached her.

   Then she saw that Terrin was on his other side. There he was, Terrin Tealeaf. Crescent considered him one of the coolest boys in the school, but he was also one of the shyest and strangest. In all the years she had seen him around, Crescent had heard him speak only once; he hung out solely with his best friend — the tall kid sitting between them. Well, at least he had one friend. It was more than she had ever had here apart from one or two of the staff.

   Terrin was cute, though a bit disheveled, so a lot of the girls fancied him, but they stayed away from him because he was so standoffish, pale, and gothic; some thought he was a bit frightening, and said so.

   Living in the girls’ dormitory, you heard everything about everybody whether you wanted to or not.

   Just passing by an open doorway, sometimes Crescent couldn’t help but overhear many of the giggles and harsh critiques from the rest of the so-called fairer sex. Crescent knew that most of it was a load of rubbish, but of course, whenever she had been caught unaware and they noticed her listening in, they usually shut the door on her. But it didn’t make any difference to Crescent; girls were girls, and gossip floated on the wind whenever you were within earshot, even if you weren’t a part of any of their little cliques. Besides, Crescent liked people like Terrin, because they were different. Even though he did wear black all the time and never seemed to cut his hair, which was also black and a bit too stringy-looking, he seemed like a good bloke.

   She had spoken to him only once, and it had been on accident; they had bumped right into each other in the hall, and both said “Sorry” at the same time.

   Terrin had been as shocked by it as she had been, and they both quickly walked away in opposite directions, but as Crescent remembered, she slowed and stole a glace backward over her shoulder and saw Terrin do the same. It seemed he was just as curious about her as she was about him. Crescent had bit her lip, turned back away, and hurried on; after that, she had developed a slight crush on Terrin and had been keeping an eye out for him ever since.

    Since the encounter, Crescent had thought about him a lot, and if she had been braver, she might have even approached him and talked to him again. Maybe even tried to get him to ask her out, if she hadn’t been adopted.  

   Then Crescent was awakened from her reverie by a loud tapping noise and saw that the teacher was sitting on the edge of her desk, tapping a long wooden pointer to get the class’s attention.  

   Mrs. Cole was a round lady with an oval face and two wobbly chins; she wore rectangular glasses, which were clear and without frames. Her eyes were black and shiny, and she always smeared blue eye shadow over long fake eyelashes. Her skin was fair, and her face was powder white, but she wore a lot of makeup and, Crescent noticed, had very red lips. Her nose was round and short and her hair straight and even, cut squarely above her shoulders and looked a little bit too much like a wig.

    The teacher’s whole appearance reminded Crescent strongly of a plump geisha doll, only dressed in a woman’s blue business suit instead of a kimono.

    Crescent had been in this class briefly before being adopted and knew the teacher took her subject very seriously.

    The blue suit she wore with a matching skirt, the jacket of which was held together with one big black button. Underneath, she wore a poofy black blouse with wide ruffles at the cuffs and around a wide neckline that spread from the top of each shoulder. Her legs appeared smooth and shiny encased in silk stockings, and on her feet, she wore black square-heeled shoes that had little bows near the toes and leather ruffles around the top edge.  

   “All eyes up here please,” Mrs. Cole said authoritatively, looking around the room.

   “Ah-hem,” she continued, clearing her throat. “In this class you will learn the fundamentals necessary to function in business. Computers in the last few decades have become a vital part of today’s world. Modern society uses computers to facilitate everything from cash registers, to pocket calculators, to trips to the moon. I will teach you to utilize programs, save projects, and use the Internet for research purposes. I don’t care how much you already know — or think you know — about computers or the various programs we will be exploring together. I don’t want anyone moving ahead. For now we will learn how to operate and explore the computers together step by step. The actual computer itself is under your desk. You will learn how to correctly turn it on and off. Now, press the little button in on your computer that says Power — that’s right. And now press the button on the bottom right on your monitor. You should see another light, and the monitor should come on.…”

A half an hour into the class, Mrs. Cole was walking from desk to desk, giving students their instructions, today being the first day she had given everyone the simple assignment of exploring the computer, getting used to how it operated. There were certain areas of the computer they were forbidden to go into; she said she would explain all of the functions and even how to problem solve as they progressed through the year.

   They also had to learn many other things about the world of business; she explained that computers, although powerful, were merely a tool.

   As the time ticked by, Crescent was getting just a tad bit bored. When she was in here before, she had already been taught the basics of how to use a computer and was honestly a little uninterested now but didn’t want to get in trouble by skipping ahead.

   At the moment, the teacher was instructing them on how to open programs and file folders, how to use the keyboard to write, and how to save. Some of the students in the back were quite excited about it while others looked confused. On the other side of the classroom, Mrs. Cole was walking around, checking to see if everyone was correctly performing the actions she had asked of them.

   On her left, Crescent suddenly realized there was a lot of typing going on. Someone was hitting the keys rapidly like a secretary who had had too much caffeine, going at it at full speed.

   She glanced over and saw the tall boy next to her. Wow, she thought, he was playing some sort of 3D game, and he was good at it. He had all sorts of things on the screen, and it looked as though he was not only playing but talking to people too.

    Just then, Mrs. Cole walked past and just a split second before she looked down Crescent noticed that the boy’s whole screen had changed. The 3D game was gone, and in its place was the standard blue background with the school emblem: A coat of arms with a sword and a hammer crossed behind a gold shield with a crown on top, surrounded by a wreath of holly and berries.   

    Inside the shield were the symbols of the trades and the flag of St. George; above the shield was a banner with the phrase: Praeteritum, Praesens, Futurum, while below a second banner proclaimed, Statio Una Simul.  

    Crescent had never figured out what that meant, but then she had never been very studious and did not have the patience to do a lot of research. She also didn’t usually stick her nose in other students’ work, but she was fascinated and amazed at how the boy next to her was able to so easily manipulate the computer when most of the other students barely knew how to turn it on.

    She leaned over and whispered, “You just missed her by a hair. What was that you were playing?”

   “Oh, hi, it’s D-D-Dodge and D-Destroy,” he said without taking his eyes off the screen and brought the game back up. When he talked, he stuttered, and Crescent vaguely recalled that Terrin’s best friend was indeed a stutterer, but she didn’t care. After all, no one was perfect, were they? She certainly wasn’t.  

   “Are you on the Internet?” she asked.

   “Yep, this stuff she’s t-t-teaching is really basic. I just got bored in a h-hurry.”

   “Yeah, me too, but I don’t know how to do that. I mean, doesn’t she have safeguards, passwords, and stuff to keep kids from getting online?”

    “Oh yeah,” he said, shrugging his shoulders, but with his fingers still firmly on the keyboard. “But I got through ’em a-all right.” He looked over at her and whispered, “It was easy.”

    “You must be really good with computers,” Crescent said, amazed.

    “Uh-huh, I … I guess. I’ve always j-just been naturally good with them. First time I saw one. I just s-sat down and started fi-iddling. Before long, it had b-become like s-second nature.”

    “Well, why are you in here then?” But she suspected she already knew the answer, which, in about a second, he confirmed.

    “Because it’s a lot better than Carpentry or W-Welding, isn’t it?”

    “Yeah, I guess that’s why I’m in here too,” she admitted, and also shrugged. He stopped for a moment and turned to face her. “H-hi,” he said. “M-my n-name’s Camden. Camden Hodge.” 

    “I’ve seen you before. You’re friends with Terrin, aren’t you?”

    “Uh-huh,” he said, then glanced over to his other side, where Terrin sat quite immersed in his own work. “Y-yeah, you know T-Terrin?”

    Crescent looked over too, then looked back up at Camden, nodded, and, for a moment, beamed, then looked down. “Well, er — not really, but we’ve bumped into each other once … or twice, before. Um, I’m — I’m Crescent Grey,” she said, changing the subject quickly and feeling her palms go a bit sweaty. Then she waited for it.

    Right on cue, his eyebrows went up, and his eyes got big. “O-oh. Oh yeah, that’s right. I remember you. Y-you’re that girl who’s named after the s-school.” He coughed and straightened his glasses. “Y-you know, I’ve s-seen you before, but it’s been ah-a while … w-where have you been?” Crescent really didn’t want to go into it but thought it was better just to come out and say it rather than let him hear about it through some ugly rumor. But there was no reason to go into all the terrible details.

    She sighed before she began. “I was adopted. I was gone for a few months, but now … I’m back,” she said simply and gave him a wry little smile.

    “W-what happened?”

    “Oh, you know … it … it didn’t really work out,” she said vaguely, trying to avoid that subject too and looking away.

    “Oh,” he said, and must have realized she really didn’t want to discuss it because for an instant, he seemed distracted and looked away too. Then he looked back up and beamed. “Looks as though w-we’ll be sitting next to each other from now o-on then, eh?”

     She blinked and nodded. “Right,” she said. “Yeah, I’m sure it will be nice, us sitting next to each other. I mean — well, I’m sure the class will be good,” she said, a bit flustered, and smiled back at him.

      “Yeah, I think you’re nice t-too Crescent, and yes I — I agree, it should be a g-good class. Mrs. C-Cole certainly seems to know her b-business, all right,” he said, then grinned and went back to playing Dodge and Destroy.  

    Crescent went back to paying attention to her own monitor too; she moved the mouse, sending the arrow to the Start menu on the screen. A list of choices popped up, and she went to the one entitled Programs.

    She clicked on a category called Games, and another tab opened up with a list of games on it, but was disappointed — none of these were as cool as Dodge and Destroy; mostly they were just simple games like poker, minefield, and checkers. The most interesting game on the list was chess and while Crescent was trying to decide which game she wanted to try out first, she suddenly heard a low whistle behind her, then someone said, “Hey, look who’s back!”

    Crescent turned in her seat and saw who it was, and unfortunately, it turned out to be one of the last people she ever wanted to see again.

    In the row behind her, next to his own computer terminal, was none other than a thirteen-year-old nightmare named Ferris Foust. And he was sitting almost directly behind Crescent — she looked at him and blinked, hoping that he would go away, but there was no such luck. He sat there, arms folded over his chest, with a big smirk across his stupid face.

    Ferris Foust was not the oldest, but he was the best-looking, most popular boy in the school; the trouble was that he knew it. He was also, as far as Crescent was concerned, the foulest git that ever walked the face of the earth.

    He was tall and handsome with straw blond hair and fair skin. He was slim and courteous for a boy his age and knew how to dress and impress. When he passed by, all the girls giggled because he had a dazzling smile that, even the teachers agreed, could charm the trousers off the devil himself.    

    Ferris was smart, but he had a penchant for causing pranks and a diabolical mean streak that ran all the way from his nose to his toes.

    Ferris also liked girls — a lot, and Crescent knew that made him quite dangerous, indeed.

   Also, it made him strictly off limits because his girlfriend, Sinestra, would, in any way possible, completely destroy any other girl who even looked at Ferris the wrong way — which made it doubly dangerous because where girls were concerned, Ferris was a notorious roamer. But if Sinestra ever got a whiff of another girl flirting with Ferris, the girl was history, no questions asked; but that never stopped Ferris from going after whatever he wanted first, and Ferris always got whatever he wanted.

    From the first day he had entered the orphanage, Crescent had marked him as trouble and tried to steer clear of him, but before long, it became unavoidable.

    If you were a student at Crescent Grey Orphanage, sooner or later you crossed paths with Ferris, or one of his gang, and Crescent knew that whatever Ferris asked of them, they did. Usually, more often than not, it involved torturing other students. His number one man was Eddie Raptor, who at the moment was missing, and Crescent knew it was because he was as thick as could be. Eddie was a large, loathsome, lumbering idiot, and couldn’t pass a class on computers to save his life. Otherwise, as always, he’d be right there next to Ferris, acting just like an overgrown guard-dog or a muscle-bound bodyguard.  

    Practically, the whole row behind Crescent was taken up by his cronies — sitting right beside Ferris in the spot Eddie would have usually occupied was Nigel Corn. Nigel wasn’t stupid, but he was the world’s biggest nerd; he was short and thin, with a flattop, and looked very much like half a pencil with glasses and was fastidious to a fault. Crescent could only imagine what he’d be like when he grew up. He already had all the qualifications of a slimy politician and was halfway there; he had the slime part down perfectly and always tagged along with what he considered were the right sort of people.

   On Ferris’s other side were the Frost twins, who seemed to look, think and act almost exactly alike; they even dressed exactly alike. Fiona and Crystal Frost were very pretty girls, perfect in every respect, but they more than lived up to their name and were as cold and as calculating as two young girls could be. Just by walking into a room, the temperature seemed to plummet straight below zero.

   Among the most popular, the twins were considered two of the most stylish and sophisticated kids in the orphanage — from their perfect platinum silver-blonde hair, to the white berets they each wore in exactly the same position on their heads, to their white knee socks, to the white patent leather shoes they wore on their feet.

    From their white pleated skirts, white blouses, white waistcoats, and flawless white blazers embroidered with a cursive letter F on the left breast pocket.

    Crescent knew Terrin got away with wearing black instead of his school uniform because he was so calm and quiet about everything that people rarely noticed him, or rarely cared, but when it came to anyone in Ferris’s gang (and the Frost twins especially), what it really came down to was preferential treatment.

    There were two others besides Eddie that were missing in computer class. The first was Eddie’s girlfriend, Ingrid Loup, who was just as stupid and just as vicious as Eddie himself. And then there was the worst of them — Ferris’s own girlfriend, Sinestra Quip, who was ten times more devious and vile than all the rest of them put together.

    Sinestra was Ferris’ perfect match, both as selfish and as diabolical a couple as could be. She was one year his junior, but that didn’t matter, not to Ferris, who fancied almost any girl whom he felt was worth his taking notice. They were quite a couple — the self-appointed king and queen of the orphanage.

   At the very least, Crescent thought, Ferris, being a boy, was limited; he could only be rotten to her up to a point, but Sinestra was another matter entirely.

   She was the nastiest girl in the school, and she could go wherever Crescent could. The only way Crescent knew she could get away from any of the girls in the Ferris Gang was to hole herself up in her room, and that was only possible on the weekends.

   So far, Crescent had been able to avoid all of them like the plague, but like all the other kids, Crescent knew she couldn’t avoid them forever.

   “What do you want, Ferris?” Crescent said in a don’t-mess-with-me sort of tone.

   “What? Me, want something from you? Don’t make me laugh, Grey. I don’t want anything from you, Crescent, but I’m sure Sinestra will be happy you’re back. And why is that, by the way? Oh well, probably because of what I’ve always said. That you’re simply just not good enough? Nobody wants poor iddle Crescent Grey!”

    Ferris sniggered and nudged Nigel with his elbow, who hadn’t been paying attention at all but immediately sat up and nodded vigorously.

    Crescent rolled her eyes, then shot Ferris a look that could kill. “Yeah, well Ferris, what are you doing here then? Why are you talking to me anyway?”

    He shrugged. “Just for the fun of it, I suppose —”

    “So why don’t you just mind your own business, then?”

    “Well, for your information, Grey, I really don’t like talking to you, but don’t you know, someone’s got to remind you of your place —”

    “And you think that’s you, do you?” Crescent said, shaking her head. “Ha, that’s rich coming from the likes of you —”

    “Wonder what she means by that?” said Nigel, but Ferris elbowed him in the arm hard and he yelped, “Oww!” He looked very offended but did not respond, just shot a nasty look but kept silent all the same and rubbed his arm.

    Ferris furrowed his brow; he ignored Nigel and kept on at Crescent, “You know you’ve got a big mouth, Grey, and you’ll shut it if you know what’s good for you. And about being adopted, who wants that when I’ve got a nice juicy trust fund waiting for me when I turn eighteen?” And he rubbed his hands together and got a mad, greedy look in his eyes, as if he was about to consume a large steak.

    “Then it’s nobody’s business but my own what I do, isn’t it?” It was Crescent’s turn to laugh. “Ha! Well yeah, the whole school knows about that, don’t they? You’ve been boasting about being a trust fund baby since forever, haven’t you?”

    “And what about you, Grey?” he said, firing back. “What did your parents leave you, hmm? I know exactly what Mummy and Daddy left you. The whole school knows that one too, a useless old watch and a ratty ole jumper.”

    “Hmph, shows what you know,” Crescent said in defiance. “It’s a scarf, you half-wit.”

     She saw that Fiona and Crystal were busy chatting amongst themselves, but every so often, they glanced over, and both were watching the exchange between Ferris and herself, no doubt keeping tabs to see if it escalated into something ugly so they could join in.

    At that moment, Nigel decided to get brave and chimed in again. He imitated Crescent, exaggerating his movements and mimicking her in a shrill voice. “Shows what you know, you half-wit!”

   “Oh shut up, Nigel!” Crescent snapped, but in an offhanded manner.

   Camden, who it seemed had been listening in and had decided to join the fray, looked over his shoulder and said, “Y-yeah, shut up, Nigel.”

   “You shut up, pointdexter,” Nigel retorted.

   “Oi! Go b-b-back to your st-st-stupid g-g-game if you know w-w-what’s g-g-good for you,” said Ferris, imitating Camden’s stutter. Nigel guffawed; Fiona and Crystal sniggered.

    Then Ferris set Camden with a look and said, “Just stay out of my way, all right, string bean.”

    For a moment, Ferris and Camden stared at each other. Crescent wasn’t sure what to do or say. Next to Camden, Terrin looked over to see what all the arguing was about. Ferris glanced over at Terrin, then as a warning to both of them, slowly shook his head.

    Camden looked at Crescent, then looked down, turned around to face forward again, and went back to playing his game. Terrin also resumed his work, but Nigel wasn’t about to let it go. “Hey geek-boy why d —” But Ferris cut him off, “Shut up, Nigel.”

    Nigel froze in midspeech. His mouth was hanging open, and he was in the middle of shaking a finger rudely at Camden when Ferris had made the offhanded remark, but for Nigel, it was as good as an order and seemed to decide that maybe it would be best if he did exactly what he was told and shut up.

   Crescent thought it was rich, Nigel calling Camden or anybody for that matter “geek-boy” and could see that Ferris was holding back from laughing at the whole thing himself. He sat there smirking and leered at Crescent. But she had had her fill and turned around and tried to get some work done and hoped that that would be the end of it and that Ferris wouldn’t start back up again.

   An hour later, everyone seemed to be at ease, and some of the students had taken to talking amongst themselves. Crescent looked over and saw Ferris across the room leaning against a table, talking to Nigel and the Frosts. They were laughing and no doubt discussing the pathetic standoff that had just occurred not too long before and Ferris’s triumph over Camden, Terrin, and herself.

   As Crescent was watching them, Ferris’s eyes occasionally flicked over to where she was, and when he noticed she was watching, he would smile and continue to leer at her.

   Crescent sunk back behind her monitor.

   A few moments later, she saw him swaggering over with a smarmy look on his face, and she gulped. He walked right up to her and stopped next to her chair, leaned over, and casually put his arm on her monitor.

   “You know, Grey,” he said, “it’s been a while, and you’re a bit scrawny …” And what he said and did next shocked Crescent more than anything else that she could have imagined, so much so that she forgot herself.

    He reached out, put his other hand under her chin, caressing it, then looked her up and down. Over his shoulder, Crescent could see the Frosts whispering amongst themselves and knew that whatever they were saying, it couldn’t be good.

   Appraising her sleazily, Ferris continued, “But … you’re not half bad. I never noticed before. I always thought you were just some sort of weird … loser, but you do have some fire in you, don’t you?” He smiled at her with a prurient gleam in his eye and bit his lip, waiting for a reply.

    But Crescent had none; this was a totally unexpected turn of events. She didn’t know what to say and didn’t know if he was putting her on or what, but it didn’t matter, because he was such a slimeball anyway and if Sinestra got wind of this, then she, Crescent, would be dead.

    Crescent pried her head away from his hand; she looked down, trying her best to become invisible, and didn’t dare look up again until she heard someone say, “W-why don’t you j-just leave her ah-alone?”

    It was Camden, come to her rescue. Ferris backed away, leaned back on the front of his own desk, and folded his arms.

    “Look, Camden, why don’t you go back to playing your stupid little game before you find yourself on the receiving end of something really nasty, hmm? You never know — if you’re ever caught wandering around alone, you might accidentally take a tumble down one of the stairwells or something.”

   Camden looked startled and didn’t seem to know how to respond to a threat like that. Then from the other side of Camden, a slow, calm voice said plainly and clearly, “Ferris, shut up.”

   Everyone turned, including Crescent. It was Terrin who had spoken up, and until that moment, he had kept completely out of it.

   “Mind your own business freak-boy, or I’ll make you my business.” Camden put his hand up to his friend and said, “I-it’s o-o-okay.” Then looking just a bit bristled, he turned around, faced his computer, and focused once again on playing Dodge and Destroy.

    Terrin gave Ferris a contemptuous look, then also turned his head and went back to his computer.

    Just for a fleeting instant, Crescent could tell, Ferris was unsettled, because Terrin rarely ever spoke to anyone, including the teachers; and though he wasn’t much of a threat to Ferris physically and Ferris wasn’t about to be bullied by someone else, to hear Terrin talk, well, it was … unsettling….

    Like Crescent herself, whispers always seemed to circulate about Terrin, and how he just didn’t seem quite right. But Crescent didn’t find him so odd; in fact she found him refreshing. It was just that it was too bad that he was so quiet; otherwise, they might’ve actually been friends.

    Ferris eased right back into his usual attitude of self-satisfaction, and that same sardonic smirk settled once more on his face, and all Crescent wanted to do was give him a healthy smack, but refrained from acting on the urge.

    Ferris stood back up and said, “I’ll see you later, Grey. You can count on it.” Then he winked and went back to his gang and started boasting again.

    Crescent shook her head and turned her attention back to her computer screen, but from the other side of the room, she could still hear the lot of them talking and laughing about her.

    The rest of the time went by without incident as Crescent turned off her computer and gathered her things while everyone filed out of the class, but before he stood up, Camden leaned over and whispered, “I-it’s okay, Crescent, d-don’t worry. After all, us oddballs have to try and s-stick together, d-don’t we?”

    Crescent managed a weak smile and nodded slightly. She saw Terrin look over at her too and, through a mop of messy hair, managed a small smile, and it surprised her for it was something she had rarely seen him do.

    She blinked and returned his smile. Then the three of them got up and went their separate ways, and Crescent was relieved that at least there might be one or two other people who felt the same way she did.

     She went off to her next lesson, which, according to her new schedule, was P.E. but in Physical Education, things became much, much worse....

Crescent arrived in the locker room; at once, the air was filled with the echoes of excited discussion, of loud bangs and clatters as girls rushed around chattering, changing clothes, and opening and closing lockers.

    It was small for a locker room, and the place was painted in a sickly pale off-white that had begun to peel away decades ago, revealing the cold gray stone that lay beneath. Like all the other facilities in the school, this room had long ago been converted over, but from what, Crescent had never found out.

   Girls of all ages chatted merrily as they started changing out of their uniforms and into their gym clothes. Crescent walked over to a familiar set of lockers to check on something — she went to the middle row and … yes! Her old locker still had her lock on it, and it was still intact; she had to think for a moment what the combination was, and after a few fumbling tries, she was able to open it.   

   She unbuttoned her uniform shirt and put it away along with her tie and jacket, and finally, she shimmied out of her slacks. Before putting the book bag and other belongings in with the rest, Crescent took out her old P.E. uniform and placed the white T-shirt on the bench in an attempt to smooth it out.

   Hmm, she thought, needed a spot of ironing. Oh well, maybe no one would notice. And she pulled it over her head.

   She stepped into a pair of navy blue shorts, bent down, and made sure her laces were tied so she didn’t trip over her own feet. But just as she went to close the locker door, it slammed shut, seemingly of its own accord. Crescent barely had a chance to take her fingers out before they were smashed.

   She spun round. “What do you —” she snapped angrily, but stopped short when she saw who had done it. There, directly in front of her, was Sinestra Quip, along with Ingrid Loup and the Frost twins. It was her worst nightmare come true, and at once, she got what was going on — the Frosts must have already told Sinestra about the little one-up that Crescent had had with Ferris in computer class.

   Sinestra stood there with her bony arms folded over her emaciated chest and leaned back against a locker; Ingrid stepped forward and put one foot on the wood bench that stood between herself and Crescent, but it was Sinestra who did the talking. She had a slow, lazy, bored-sounding sort of voice, but all the same, it was nasal and shrill.

   “Look who’s back again, girls. It’s Crazy Crescent.”        

Crescent glared back at Sinestra defiantly, but she also took a quick glance at where Ingrid and the twins were, making sure she had enough space to make a quick run for it and get away if the situation called for it.

   “Well, Grey, don’t just stand there looking stupid.”

   “Yes?” Crescent said simply; she wasn’t going to give Sinestra room to maneuver. She knew well enough how Sinestra played her little games.

    “Yes — yes what? You are such a pillock, Grey.” And Sinestra shook her head, but continued to prattle on, “I heard you were talking to Ferris last lesson.” She shook her head; “First day back and already causing trouble, eh?”  

    “No, I wasn’t,” Crescent said flatly, trying to remain calm. “I was minding my own business — it was Ferris who was messing about. Ask them, why don’t you?” she said, indicating the Frosts. “I’m sure they were the ones who told you in the first place!” Crescent finished but said the last bit faster and harsher than she’d intended to. She had no intention of letting Sinestra rile her up.

   Sinestra casually veered her head toward the twins, as if this was a much practiced move, and raised her pencil thin eyebrows. As always, Fiona spoke for the twins, “Not true, Sin. We were all sitting there talking amongst ourselves when Crescent interrupted us, batted her eyes at Ferris, and got him to come over to her — her and that kid she was sitting next to.”

   “Which kid?” Sinestra said sharply, sounding scornful.

   “You know … the one tha-tha-that st-st-st-stutters and thinks he’s so s-s-smart,” said Fiona fiercely.

   “With the BIG glasses,” Crystal said, and then did a mock impersonation of Camden by bringing herself up to her full height, putting both hands in front of her face, fingers and thumbs curved around like huge glasses. “You know, the really tall one.” Then she pointed at Crescent. “And she was talking to Ferris!”

   “Yeah, him, the black kid, the one that hangs with that weird Terrin all the time,” said Fiona, butting back in. “And never mind the rest of us.” She pointed at Crescent too. “Her and Ferris looked quite cozy together, if I do say so myself. And … I — do — say — so.”

    That seemed to settle the matter — at least as far as Sinestra was concerned, anyway. She glared at Crescent for almost a whole minute while Crescent was devising how to make a break for it.

     Then finally Sinestra said, “Hmm, I get it — thought you’d make a show of being back, did you? Think you’re hot stuff since you left? Think you’re tough now, eh?”

   “No! It’s a lie!” Crescent said, more courageously than she felt. Then she heard a loud cracking noise and glanced over. Ingrid was tightening her fists and cracking her knuckles, flexing her enormous arms.

   Ingrid grunted, “Heh, want me to pop her one for ya, Sin?”

   Crescent took one hesitant step backward and readied herself to dash. She looked at Sinestra; one side of her mouth was fixed in a crooked smile, just like Ferris. And just like Ferris, Sinestra took pleasure at seeing Crescent squirm, but before Crescent could get another word out in her own defense or make a move, suddenly there was a rumble like a storm cloud on the horizon, and a loud and clear voice rung out all across the locker room.

   “AT-TENN-SHUN!”

   And the whole place jumped.

   Crescent took the chance and bolted as quickly as she could from the scene. She heard a great clamoring of lockers being slammed shut and girls scrambling around. Everyone was queuing up in the main isle between all the rows of lockers. Crescent could hear someone or something, very big approaching.

   BOOM, BOOM, BOOM, like an earthquake, came the footfalls, and Crescent could see that it was the rhinoceros woman who had come thundering down the hall on Saturday, and Crescent remembered who it was that was listed as P.E. instructor on her class schedule and that the headmistress had introduced the gargantuan woman as the new activities director.

   Crescent fought her way into the line, finally finding a place at the end just as the woman began walking down it, striding imperiously. She stretched her arms around her own girth as far behind her back as she could get them, and in one hand, she held a clipboard and in the other, of all things, a riding crop. Her piggy nose was up in the air whilst her tiny eyes darted down, sizing up each student. She walked from one girl to the next with an air of a general inspecting the troops.

   Crescent’s eyebrows went up. So far, the new staffers she had encountered were very, very weird. The instructor stopped in font of a lanky girl with long ginger hair, square glasses, sharp features, and green eyes, whom Crescent knew to be sixteen.

   “McFadden, Beverly. You know very well there is to be no wearing of jewelry during gym lessons.” The girl gulped and hurriedly took off a pair of earrings that Crescent couldn’t even see from where she was. Beverly quickly stowed them away in her locker, which was directly behind her. Then the instructor strode forward again, evaluating every single girl, meticulously checking every uniform and every blemish on the girls themselves.

    The teacher strode by Portia Fullerton, who stuck out her chest and beamed. The instructor nodded approvingly; Crescent rolled her eyes.

    She had no trouble seeing Portia, but she bent her head a little to see down the line and saw the teacher pause right in front of the two girls that had been fighting in the corridor earlier that same day.

   Karen Kelsey and Marci Romano now stood side by side as if they were bosom friends.

   Crescent knew that they were each fifteen; Karen was wholesome-looking with lavish long brown hair, and Marci was intelligent and serious and had raven dark hair.

   Both were pretty and athletic enough to have been on any high school cheerleading squad; now they both just looked abused and defeated. Their heads hung low; Marci was rubbing her arm as was Kelsey her own backside. Bickle looked down at the pair of them and smirked.

   Crescent wondered what that was all about. Then the instructor stopped at Angelina Dickens, who was seventeen and the oldest girl in the room. The instructor held her face inspecting her neck for what Crescent could only imagine were signs of a hickey which she thought was absolutely rude and something the instructor had no right to do.

   Crescent blinked, not sure what she should do, so she remained absolutely still.

   Nothing but her eyeballs moved as she nervously watched the drill sergeant — er, teacher — getting closer with every step.

   “Um hm, um hm … Terri Mathews!” she said to a tall pale girl with shortly cropped black hair, dark eyes, hollow cheeks, and bowed lips. “Tuck that shirt in at once!”

   Then, “Tut-tut. Chelsey, those aren’t regulation gym shorts, are they?”

   “No ma’am,” said the girl, sounding bitterly disappointed in herself.

    “I expect better of you.” Crestfallen Chelsey hung her head while the teacher moved on. She passed two more girls, then stopped dead at a petite blonde girl with big green-brown eyes.

   “Tippy! Is that dirt I see on your white gym shirt? CLEAN IT OFF!” For a minute, Crescent thought that Tippy was going to cry, but instead, she sucked it in and hurried over to a sink and did as she was told, where she let out a little sob.

    As the behemoth woman slowly strode forward, with each step Crescent became more and more anxious; she had never been one to be very neat about things herself.

    Crescent looked down at herself — at her crumpled shirt that hung loosely over her thin frame, at the two different socks and old Keds, and swallowed. After having turns at another two students, the instructor stopped dead right in front of Crescent and frowned. She brought out the clipboard and ran her finger down the paper then she looked down at Crescent refocusing her eyes and her frown deepened.

    “Hmm. Grey, Crescent. Age: eleven. Hair: brown-red. Height: one hundred fifty-one centimeters. Weight: thirty-eight kilograms. Build: scrawny. Status: sent back. Hmm, rejected by your foster parents, were you? Tsk tsk.” This didn’t seem to be a question, more of a statement, so Crescent kept quiet.  

   “So … you’re the girl named after the school, are you then? Why, you’re just a little slip of a girl, aren’t you? Well, I’ve been warned about you.”

   This statement surprised Crescent even more — warned? Who had warned her? Surely not the Bakers? No way. “W-warned? A-a-about m-me?” she said, and blinked.

   The P.E. teacher whipped the riding crop around and pointed it at Crescent. “Yes, my dear — warned. The headmistress warned me that you were some sort of troublemaker.”

   Some of the other girls giggled and guffawed; Crescent stared down at her shoes, which were full of scuff marks.

    “Oh dear, you are a fright, girl. Pathetic, really. The most poorly dressed student I’ve seen in a dog’s age. And I’d hate to see the rest of your wardrobe. Hmm, not much of a build at all,” she said, surveying Crescent. “Probably no good at athletics. Shame, really. And we’ll have no more of that either,” the instructor said, indicating Crescent’s manner of dress. “You’ll wear the appropriate uniform, or I will exact punishment.”

     Crescent again looked down at herself — at her mismatched socks and scruffy sneakers — and shuffled her feet.

    “Pay attention to me when I’m talking to you, girl! This is not a free-for-all. You will obey my rules. You’ve been gone a long time, so I’ll give you one more chance, but you had better shape up both your wardrobe and your attitude!”

   Crescent shifted her shoulders and swallowed again.

   “No. I don’t stand for horseplay or rule breakers. Not on my watch! Not here! Not anywhere or at any time! That’s the way I do things. Efficient, effective, absolute! Is that clear?”

   Crescent still didn’t say anything. The instructor kept going on — about what, Crescent didn’t know. She was more preoccupied by Sinestra who was looking in her direction and smiling nastily. Every few moments, Sinestra would lean over and whisper something to Ingrid, who was nodding and glancing over her shoulder at Crescent and flexing her fingers as if she were crushing some invisible object to dust. The Frosts were also chatting between themselves exuberantly and glanced at her suspiciously.

   Crescent seemed sure that something was going on. Sinestra seemed to be plotting; if only she could hear what they were saying.…  

   Then, almost directly into Crescent’s ear, the instructor shouted, “I SAID, IS THAT CLEAR!” Feeling almost as if she’d been slapped, Crescent nearly jumped a foot in the air,  and when she landed back down again, she lost her balance and almost fell backward but recovered herself again just in time.

   Everyone laughed loudly, and Ingrid made a honking noise. 

   The instructor took no notice of this but leaning over, put her face in front of Crescent’s; she was looking right at her, as if trying to decipher her soul, no doubt trying to see if Crescent was the sort to put up a fight or not. Then she shook her head, seeming to make up her mind, and made the tsk, tsk sound again.

   The teacher quickly stood up and put her hands on her hips and, looking downward over her voluminous torso, smiled.

   Crescent blinked. The instructor certainly was a towering monstrosity.

   “Eyes forward, Grey. Always forward when I am speaking!” Crescent didn’t say a word, but that, she realized, was a mistake.

    Very slowly and deliberately, the instructor spoke to Crescent as if she were an idiot, and underneath a calm exterior, Crescent could hear malice in her words.

   “You — look — at — me — when — I — am — talking! Do you understand me, you sniveling, insolent little brat?”

   “Y-yes Miss,” Crescent said, trembling slightly.

   “I CAN’T HEAR YOU!”

   “Y-y-yes, ma’am,” Crescent said weakly.

   “YES, MA’AM!” Bickle said. “Say it loud! Speak, girl, so the rest of the class can hear you. No namby-pambying around here. Make yourself heard. Clearly!”

   Crescent felt heat flush her cheeks in embarrassment, but all the while Crescent knew her face was red she also felt the red in her blood start to boil; her temper was beginning to erupt, and she clenched her fists in silent fury.

   She didn’t care about the crumpled clothes or even the instructor’s stupid rules, but she had been warned, had she?

   On her first day back, Crescent had had the odd impression that the headmistress just didn’t approve of her. Now Crescent was sure of it. It was like she’d made an enemy without even doing anything. What had she, Crescent, done to deserve such harsh judgment, such loathing? Nothing! And now here was this … this … this … this horrible new teacher judging her before she’d even had a chance to get to know her.

   Crescent knew more about the orphanage and this school, had lived here longer than both of them combined. Who were they to call her insolent? Who were they to come here and think themselves her betters?

   Just in the first few minutes of meeting each of them, she already hated these two new staff members more than any teacher she had ever had, and Crescent wondered what else lay in store. She couldn’t have imagined the place had gotten worse, but in fact, it had.

   Crescent bristled and shouted back in defiance, “YES — MA’AM!”

   “Good,” said Bickle, not realizing that what Crescent had actually bellowed had been a declaration of war. Or maybe she had because the instructor slowly turned, then quickly glanced over her shoulder and narrowed her eyes at Crescent.

   Lumbering away, the instructor kept a suspicious eye on her until once again, she stopped at the head of the line, “This way girls!” she said, pointing her riding crop toward the double wood doors, and began marching, leading them out of the locker room and into the gymnasium.

   Still red-faced, Crescent followed everyone else as they walked out into the gym; at the same time the boys were filing out from their locker room, which was directly next door.

   There was one aspect to the gym that she had almost forgotten about, high up on either side, above the blue mats that lined the walls were four beautiful tall stained-glass windows, the view of the designs only marred by a protective mesh of steel grating which covered each one of them. No doubt put in place for fear of stray balls bouncing through and destroying them. Although practical the steel mesh just made Crescent feel that much more like a prisoner.

   The boys were dressed identically as the girls, but with differently cut shorts. They lined up on the opposite side of a trampoline that had been set up in the center of the gymnasium.

   Forgetting her anger at what had happened in the locker room, Crescent was awed by the trampoline.

   The thing was huge, new and shiny. The school had never had a trampoline before, and Crescent was anything but eager to try it. She didn’t like heights. It was a monstrous death machine made especially to cripple kids if Crescent had ever seen one.

    The canvas was a dark blue color that stretched tightly from end to end around a silver frame that stood at shoulder height above the floor. It probably looked like a normal piece of athletic equipment to anyone else, but to Crescent, it looked like a tragic accident waiting to happen.

   “All right, chop-chop. We are going in alphabetical order. First up — ALBRIGHT, ERIK!” An older boy came striding forward, leaped up onto the trampoline with ease, and jumped as if it was the most cavalier thing in the world. Then after Albright, it was “ANDERSON, ANTHONEY!” the instructor yelled out, and the whole class jumped, then looked around for Anthoney. A short skinny black boy of ten with tightly plaited hair climbed up onto the trampoline; he didn’t appear to be looking forward to this, and Crescent couldn’t blame him at all.

   “There you go, boy — up, up, up,” Bickle said in a soothing yet patronizing sort of voice.

   Slowly, hesitantly, he climbed up, lifting himself on the trampoline, the whole time holding on to every bit of it that he could.

   “Well, go on, then,” Bickle barked abrasively and poked at him with her riding crop. He gulped, then edged his way into the center and stood up, all the while balancing himself, his arms low just in case he fell. 

   He looked around nervously. 

   “Come on, then, we haven’t got all day,” Bickle urged.

    Then he closed his eyes, gulped again, and started jumping about an inch away above the surface.

   Bickle yelled, “Come on, boy — kick off! Put some leg muscle into it!”

   He made a little whimper and jumped half a quarter of an inch higher. After a few minutes more of scaring the poor boy to death, Bickle said he could come down, to which he looked utterly relieved. As he slid down from the edge of the trampoline, she shook her head, and Crescent heard her mutter, “Lord give me strength.” And as he passed by, the teacher made an audible mark on her clipboard, checking him off.

   “Tsk, tsk. Not off to a very good start, are we?” she said as Anthoney made a run for the other side of the room and sat down, folding his arms over his knees, bent his head down, and sobbed.

   “BARRIE, JOANNE!”

   A mousy brown-haired girl with pigtails ran right up and halted in front of Bickle, practically bowling everyone over in the process.

   The girl leapt up onto the trampoline like a pro. She found her balance straightaway and started jumping up and down, her pigtails flying in the air. She wore a great big smile on her face and leapt happily, as if she were born to it.

    “Now that’s more like it!” Bickle said, sounding much more enthusiastic. After a few minutes, Joanne Barrie dismounted, and as she walked by, Crescent saw her wink and heard her say, “Been taking gymnastics since I was little,” while a few yards away, she could hear Anthoney Anderson continuing to sob audibly.

    Meanwhile, Bickle continued with her bellowing, “BAILEY, HENRI! FRONT AND CENTER!”

    A round boy with black hair, who looked to be the same age as Crescent, proudly stumbled forward, almost tripping over his own feet. He stopped suddenly in front of the instructor and puffed out his chest, eager to prove himself.

    “Up you go then,” she said, nodding at the trampoline.

    “Y-yes, ma’am!” he said, producing a big smile and sounding confident. He was a podgy young boy and needed help getting up. Bickle grabbed hold of his legs and propelled him forward but with too much force. He tumbled onto the trampoline but landed on his face and ended up bouncing with his buttocks in the air.

   There was a round of laughter.

   “Quiet down! Quiet down!” said Bickle. “The other end, Bailey, if you please!”

   After a few backward bounces, Henri straightened himself up, looked around at everyone, grinned sheepishly, and started jumping up and down with vigor.

   After twenty minutes of watching boys and girls taking turns flipping and flopping and bouncing all around (the Frost twins having already gone one after the other), Crescent was watching Portia Fullerton, who was currently going up and down on the trampoline. But Crescent wasn’t the only one watching. All the boys in the class were watching Portia intently, their heads cocked to one side, big wordless smiles and dreamy looks on their faces.

   Crescent rolled her eyes at Portia again. She knew the only reason the boys paid any attention to Portia was because of her looks.

   Perfect Portia was pretty, perky, blonde, and bouncy, even without the trampoline. Out of all the girls in the school, Portia had the best figure; she was only three years Crescent’s senior and already had that hourglass shape associated with being a young woman. She was beautiful and rather buxom, with curves that any girl would envy. She had a tiny waist and womanly hips, and her chest had developed early — or was that overdeveloped early? Crescent thought amusingly.

   That’s why all the boys were staring. Portia was fourteen and had model-like features — perfect teeth, long legs, luxurious long, naturally wavy blonde hair, and, if that wasn’t enough, the biggest boobs on any girl her age, which garnered Portia a whole lot of attention. Crescent had seen how all the boys in the orphanage languished over her and had seen her turn a few heads of older men as well.

   All of Portia’s clothes looked a little too small or too tight on her, and the cut of her shorts seemed a little too high up for her bum too, and she always seemed to show more than she intended, and Crescent was starting to wonder if it was all on purpose or not.

   There Portia was, bouncing for all she was worth — even Ms. Bickle seemed amazed; after all, Portia was mesmerizing, but Crescent also took comfort in the fact that she knew Portia was also as shallow as a pond and as clever as a box of rocks.

   Of course, though, that didn’t seem to matter to any of the boys, Crescent thought mildly while she looked down at herself. No curves, just a mop of brown-red hair, skin and bones, and everything straight.

   With a finger, she pulled at the top of her T-shirt and peered downward at her own chest — not much there to speak of yet, either. Oh well, better brains than beauty, she thought, shrugging and shaking her head.

   “All right, that’s enough!” Bickle said, and a bunch of boys helped Portia down off the trampoline, and she batted her eyelashes, giggled, and walked away.

   Next came “GARNER, GILL!” a small brunette girl about the same age as Crescent. The girl pulled herself up and started jumping gleefully.

   Then it was “GLUMM, GERALD’S” turn. The boy looked bored.

   Crescent gulped. Soon it would be her turn; just the idea of it was nauseating. She didn’t fancy winding herself up and propelling herself into the air.

   P.E. was never Crescent’s favorite subject, and she already hated Ms. Bickle more than anything. She didn’t even know what this was all about; trampoline wasn’t even a sport. Could it even be considered exercise? From the looks of it, there was very little exercise involved, if any.

   Handball was hard, volleyball vexing, running all right, tennis and archery were good, and fencing was fantastic. Crescent was quite good at that already, but she hated things like the balance beam, and, without even doing it once already knew she hated jumping on a trampoline. But before she could work up an excuse not to do it, she heard her name being called.  

   “GREY, CRESCENT!”

   It was her turn. She walked over and looked at the instructor momentarily. Everyone was watching her, and she could hear the murmurs begin. She wished they wouldn’t. She sucked in her breath, walked forward, and put her hands out on the metal frame. With some difficulty she climbed aboard the trampoline; at once she knew she didn’t like it.

  “QUIET! QUIET!” the instructor said, peering around, and at once the murmurs died down and soon the other kids became disinterested.

   It felt very precarious; there was no solid place except at the edge, and at each corner were these large gaping holes where the fabric was attached to the frame. The safest place seemed to be in the middle, so she headed inward, but gravity seemed to be working against her; with every step, it felt as if she was going to slip and fall overboard.

   Crescent knew she was only five feet off the ground but when she started jumping, she’d be much, much higher.

   She inched her way to the center and was already getting dizzy, but she steeled herself the best she could and stood up and wobbled. Barely able to balance herself, she looked back down at everyone and saw the expressions of disinterest. Most looked bored. Here she was, risking her life, and no one was even paying attention!

   Everyone who had already gone on before were lingering about the edges of the gym, socializing with one another. Now nobody was even really watching her except Bickle, but that was fine by Crescent — she didn’t even want to be up here in the first place. Good, she thought. She’d do a few little jumps like Anthoney Anderson and be done with it, but then her eyes fell on Sinestra and her gang, and it was then that Crescent realized she was in trouble.

   Sinestra and the other girls of the gang were avidly watching and, just as they had done in the locker room, were whispering amongst themselves conspiratorially. Sinestra kept eyeing Crescent, and Ingrid kept rubbing her hands together.

   Whatever was going on, Crescent didn’t like the looks of it; why were they paying so much attention to her, and why were they whispering so much? Crescent caught Sinestra’s eye. For an instant they stared at each other and Crescent saw the corners of Sinestra’s mouth begin to curl into a wicked grin. Uh-oh.

   Okay, that’s it, Crescent thought. Something’s up. I’m getting off.

   She began to move toward the outside edge of the trampoline when Bickle screamed, “WHAT ARE YOU DOING! GET BACK UP THERE THIS INSTANT!”

   Crescent jumped, fell backward and bounced a little on her behind. Some people laughed.

   “But I —” she started.

   “Oh good God girl, jump, jump! We haven’t got all day!” Bickle bleated, then rubbed her hand down her own face in exasperation. Crescent got up and faced the teacher. She closed her eyes, took a breath, and made a slight jump, which sent her up farther than she wanted to go.

    She came back down, stumbled, and landed on her rear end again, which made her bounce up a second time. She flattened her hand against the canvas, willing her fingers to try and grasp what they really couldn’t. She took another breath, then Bickle commanded, “Again, Miss Grey,” she said in a singsong voice, “Higher this time.”

    “Uh,” Crescent said dumbly. At this, there was more snickering from somewhere around the outside of the trampoline.

    “Quiet! Now, Miss Grey.”

    Crescent took a breath, carefully righted herself with her fingertips pressed against the canvas and slowly stood up again; it was all she could do just to keep herself from falling over onto her behind for a third time. As she did so, she decided being on a trampoline was definitely not her forte. She was much better with both feet solidly on the ground.

    She jumped higher this time and felt the air all around. She felt her hair flip up. When she came back down, her feet touched for an instant. She felt a little braver, so she pushed harder with her toes and sent herself rocketing up into space.

    Now being up here, it wasn’t actually so bad after all … really, it felt great, it felt free.

    If she could stay up in the air, it would be better. If she could get used to the height, it might be fun — it might be peaceful or exhilarating, it might be grand, it might even be … wonderful.…

    It was just the prospect of falling back down to earth that she didn’t like.  

    Soon Crescent felt the inevitable tug of gravity; she looked down and immediately realized something was wrong. She had gone too far up; she was away from the trampoline, and she seemed in danger of missing it while plummeting back down.

    No one was paying any attention to her, not even Bickle. The instructor was turned away talking to a few of the students.

    Crescent only had a moment before impact, just enough time to twist her body so as to land back on the trampoline. But if she missed, it was definitely going to hurt, if not kill her.

Crescent put her arms together and forced her body to angle out, with her hands and upper torso out in the direction of the trampoline.

    When she hit, she hit the edge of the trampoline hard, catching the inside of it with her right arm and leg; the rest of her missed the canvas entirely, and her left arm got twisted, caught up in the springs between the canvas and outer frame while her left leg dangled down to the gym floor.

   Bickle came running over. “Stupid girl!” the instructor said, lifting Crescent up and out of the trampoline, not the least bit mindful of her injury. As she was being disentangled, Crescent winced and yelped in pain, “Oww! Ow! Eee!”

   Her whole left arm felt as though it had been pulled out of its socket, pain shot up it when she tried to move it so she held it to her side protectively.

    “Class DISS-MISSED!” Bickle announced, waving everyone back into the locker rooms; as she dragged Crescent past Sinestra, Ingrid and the Frosts, who all stood there smiling spitefully and between them had looks of both triumph and disappointment on their faces.

   On the way to the infirmary, Bickle didn’t even attempt to hide her contempt and mumbled remarks like “Weakling of a girl!” all the way through the corridor and up the stairs to the second floor.

After Bickle had deposited Crescent and exited, Crescent sat there in the medical office waiting to be admitted. When the nurse arrived, she had to wait yet again in the examination room while the nurse prepared.

   Crescent sat on the examination table, feeling both hurt and bored at the same time. She also felt embarrassed and rubbed her arm.

   Ten different types of pain cascaded over fifty different areas of her body. She was lucky she hadn’t hit the floor headfirst. Her feet were dangling aimlessly over the edge of the table; her trainers didn’t touch the floor.

   Bickle had called her stupid, and she felt stupid too. Why had she closed her eyes? How could she, Crescent, have gotten so far away from the trampoline as to almost land on the hard gym floor? Then she thought about the whole situation for a moment and remembered Sinestra watching her, waiting, as if she expected Crescent to foul up. It was then that Crescent came to the conclusion that it might not have been an accident after all. It was possible that someone had distracted the instructor just at the right moment and moved the trampoline over. Bickle had been talking to a student when Crescent was bouncing, a student who suspiciously had platinum blonde hair.

   Had she been talking to one of the Frost twins? Crescent couldn’t remember exactly as she was a mile up and panicking at the time. But could it have all been a setup? And who was it that did the setting up?

   Crescent snapped her fingers, then winced as a fresh spike of pain shot up her arm.

   It had to be Sinestra, of course, who else? Especially after their little encounter in the locker room, and Crescent didn’t think the Frosts would have, or could have engineered it on their own; as diabolical as Fiona was, she and the other girls always took their lead from Sinestra, just as the boys took their lead from Ferris.

   Oooo! And it was really all his fault. Why had Ferris even talked to her in the first place? Just the thought of it steamed her up, but good. She could have been killed or paralyzed even.

   And thinking back on it, Crescent reckoned Sinestra and her lot could have distracted Bickle easily, and she imagined well enough Ingrid pushing the trampoline far enough so that Crescent would surely miss it. She certainly was strong enough, and after remembering the incident with Ferris in the computer room and the near incident in the ladies’ lockers, Crescent became convinced that that’s what must have happened. But unfortunately, there was no proof; if one of the others would have seen it, surely they would have brought it to Bickle’s attention or, at least, said something, unless they just didn’t want to cross Sinestra and bring Ferris’s wrath down upon themselves.

   So there were no real witnesses, no one to back her up — just a theory. And if it was true, then Sinestra had tried to seriously injure, maybe even kill, Crescent, and that thought made her furious.

   She just couldn’t believe that Sinestra had the gall to do that, and over a boy!           

   Crescent was angry enough to walk straight out and punch Sinestra in her stupid face. But if she confronted Sinestra now, it would look like she, Crescent, was the one attacking and for no good reason — plus, she’d have Ingrid to contend with, not to mention the teachers. She’d have to be on her guard from now on around the whole lot of them. Crescent had just come back and already there were problems, exactly what she was trying to avoid — Sinestra and Ferris on her back.

   The door opened, and the nurse came in. Nurse Hudson, like Mrs. Collins, had always been nice to Crescent, and if there was one word that she could use to describe the nurse, it was “reasonable.”

    She seemed to be the most practical person in the school. She was a beautiful light-skinned black lady with compassionate eyes, pleasant features, and a voice that flowed like honey, but she always sounded like she had a slight bit of skepticism when a student tried making up excuses to cover the fact that they had been fighting. And if the injuries were serious and they went too far, she would definitely report them, but for the most part, she seemed to turn a blind eye.

   Crescent supposed with being a nurse and all, she had to gain the trust of the students. And like the school counselor, Mr. Grant, Crescent imagined that Nurse Hudson knew, or at least suspected, all sorts of personal things about the students that none of the headmasters would ever be interested in or take the time to know.

   Ms. Hudson entered the room, walked over, and smiled. “Back so soon? Took a nasty fall in gym, eh?”

   How did she know? Bickle had just left — oh, right, the clothes, Crescent thought, and nodded her head solemnly but said nothing.

   “Well, let’s take a look at you, shall we …”

   After the nurse had looked her over and declared that she was all right, if not a little battered and bruised but none the worse for wear Crescent was given a note and excused from the rest of the day’s classes and let back into the girls’ dormitory, which was normally locked during school hours. And so she went back to her room.

   She was very sore. Her muscles ached, and her arm hurt terribly, but nothing had been broken, and the nurse had told her all she needed was some rest, and she would be right as rain in a few days’ time.

   After a few hours, she had missed lunch and was beginning to get hungry. At four o’clock, she heard the rumble of many people coming up the stairs and the beginnings of chatter.

   Soon the whole floor was a bustle, girls diving in and back out of rooms, changing out of their school uniforms and preparing for dinner.

   Crescent didn’t like the idea of hauling herself down to dinner and possibly running into Sinestra again, especially as she was feeling so weak and vulnerable at the moment.

   Thankfully, she was given a reprieve when she heard a knock at the door, and the nurse came up to deliver a tray of food.

   As Crescent sat there in her room, eating and favoring her hurt arm, she decided to go to bed early; she skipped taking a shower, changed into her nightgown, and slipped between the covers.

   As she lay there looking up into the darkness, she sighed to herself and thought, So much for my first day back.