Date: Sun, 22 Jun 2014 23:08:01 -0700 From: Douglas DD DD Subject: The Puget Posse Chapter 12 Greetings and welcome back. You've met all but a couple of the major characters. It is now time for the five original members of The Puget Posse to meet each other. The five boys thrown together for orientation were not at all ready to become lifelong friends. In fact, they pretty much weren't ready to become friends at all. The first chapter disclaimers apply as always. Please donate to the Nifty Archive to maintain this great source of stories. Reader comments are encouraged. I have gotten very little reader feedback so far, and would like to know if the story is being read. Only you can tell me that. You can contact me at thehakaanen@hotmail.com Douglas CHAPTER 12 ORIENTATION The Puget Academy was a unique school. It was founded to provide a challenging, yet nurturing, academic environment for boys in the age group now known as pre-adolescents or tweens. It was a day school housing grades five through eight. The tuition was steep, but the founders of the school were well-heeled and left a generous endowment, which had been added to by graduates of the academy. As a result, few students who passed the stiff entrance requirement were turned away. One of the strengths of the Academy was that it was willing to take risks on students who had problems in their previous school. The policy paid off as many young boys learned how to become good students as well as good citizens. Of course, the academy had its failures as did any school. But overall, students were accepted to the academy, as long as class sizes were maintained, if they finished with the top scores on the entrance examination and either had the money or qualified for a scholarship. Most of the students remained for their full four years. Each grade had three classes, with a limit of 24 per class. That meant that the students entering in fifth grade had one of the top 75 or so test scores. Brian Gardner, Patrick's father, was pleased that the school said they'd dealt with students like Patrick who were a year younger than their peers. The administration told him they would use that experience to help Patrick get off to a successful start. The school let Misha's parents know that dealing with their son's never having attended an American school, or any school outside of his orphanage, would not be a problem. When making up the fifth grade class list, Mrs. Baker, the fifth grade counselor, thought having Patrick and Misha in the same class would be beneficial to both boys. Because of the perceived behavior problems the twins were having at the North Lake School, it was subtly recommended to their parents that they try Puget Academy. Scott and Kristi were thinking of a change anyway, because of what they saw as the overemphasis of sports at North Lake. They were a bit leery of having the twins in what would become a testosterone-charged athletic environment—the twins seemed to already have more than enough of that hormone at age ten. As for Neville, he attended a primary day school that only went as far as grade four. He was enrolled at Puget Academy with what was seen as just the normal baggage carried by ten year olds on the brink of puberty. When the twins arrived to new student orientation, they were escorted to a table in the area of Mr. Jackson's class. Mr. Jackson would be their Core teacher. The bespectacled Neville was the next to be escorted to the table. The twins, who were in a bad mood since they did not want to change schools, immediately labeled Neville as a dweeb. Misha got one thumb down and one thumb up from the twins. Thumbs down for looking "dweebish" and one up for looking fit and athletic. When little nine-year-old Patrick was brought to the table, they decided they were sitting with a hopeless group. Except for the pairing of Misha and Patrick, the boys had been randomly assigned to the table by Mr. Jackson. The five boys sat silently, each lost in his thoughts and fears. The word fear didn't exactly apply to the twins who bubbled over with self-confidence even if they were in a bad mood. They decided they would start the conversation at the table since it looked like no one else was going to. As if by a non-verbal agreement with his brother, Mark got things started. "We should introduce ourselves. I know we got put together in a group to do more than look at each other all day." Mark understood that teachers always had plans for assigned groups, and it was obvious by how they were escorted to the table that this was an assigned group. He didn't wait for a response from the three other boys, all of whom he considered to be on the verge of being brain dead. "Hi, guys, my name is Matthew and that is my twin brother, Mark." He pointed to his brother. Mark took over from there. "And my name is Mark, and that is my twin brother, Matthew. We're identical twins," he went on as if nobody had noticed that fact. "Yeah, that means we look alike," Mark said. "Which makes us identical," Matthew finished. "You guys can call me Mattie, if you don't want to call me Matthew." "He lets his friends call him that. So, he must think you guys are friends. I might think so, too, if you tell us who you are." Neville looked at the twins like they'd arrived from a different planet. He was convinced he'd been placed at a table with the two dumbest boys at the Puget Academy. He also knew Mark was right about their being together to do more than sit at the same table. Dylan had told him how each table would become a team. "I am Neville," was all he said. "Hey, he has an accent," Mark said to Mattie. "He does, and it sounds cool," Mattie said. "I do not have an accent," Neville protested. "You two brutes are the ones with the accent." Mark looked at Mattie. "He called us brutes. Is that good or bad?" "I dunno," Mattie said, "but I know I don't have an accent." Misha hesitated to say anything, wondering what everybody would think of his Russian accent. But, his mother had told him not to be shy. She told him he should be himself and let the students at the school judge him for who he was. He trusted his mother, so he took the plunge. "My name is Misha," he told the boys at the table. When nobody said anything about an accent or about his name, he relaxed. That left Patrick to introduce himself. He flashed a big smile, which simultaneously impressed the twins and annoyed Neville. "My name is Patrick, but it's okay if you call me Paddy." The twins liked Patrick's demeanor, while right away the term "scholarship kid" went through Neville's head. He could identify someone from the lower class when he saw him. Misha, on the other hand, thought Patrick's smile was one of the most beautiful things he had ever seen. "You're of Irish descent aren't you", Neville asked Patrick with a sneer. The name Patrick made Neville think of the Irish, whom his father despised. "So what if I am?" said Patrick, his normally well concealed Irish temper starting to flare. Again Neville sneered. "Me and Mattie are good at sports and are smart or we wouldn't be here," Mark said, as he tried to find a way to learn more about the boys at the table and to head off what looked to be an impending battle. "That would be Mattie and I, not me and Mattie," Neville said. It was obvious to him that the twins weren't as smart as they made themselves out to be. "Maybe where they speak your funny kind of English, but with us, me and Mattie are me and Mattie except in class or with my mom, then we're Mattie and I so we don't get yelled at." "I don't mind getting yelled at," Mattie said. "It happens to us a lot, but we don't want to get yelled at for something stupid like our grammar." "Yeah," Mark said. "If you don't talk about our grammar we won't say anything about your funny accent." "I don't have an accent," Neville insisted. "What sports do you play, Neville?" Patrick asked, changing the subject. He was fearful that a big argument would now break out between him and the twins. "Football and cricket," Neville said. "Cricket? How the hell do you play a game with an insect?" Mark asked. "It's like baseball, but it's not baseball" Neville replied haughtily. He actually seemed to be speaking down his nose at them. Mattie looked at the slightly built Neville skeptically. "No way you play football," he said. "You'd get crushed." "You call it soccer." "You not only have an accent, you say things weird, too," Mark said. "Football is football where you go kick ass and knock people down and play with a pointy ball. Soccer is when you run all over the place kicking a round ball. Not that we don't play it, because we do, but it's not the same sport." "I do NOT have an accent," Neville protested again. "I play soccer, too," Patrick said. "I am the keeper for my team. And my Dad and Grand Pop take me to Sounders games sometimes when they get free tickets." Neville took note of the "free ticket" remark, one more reason to peg Patrick as a scholarship student. "The goalkeeper for our team sucks," Mattie said. "Yeah," Mark said. "We keep trying to tell him he's supposed to keep the ball from going into the goal, but he hardly ever listens. He's a nice kid though." "But he is GREAT at picking the ball out of the back of his net," added Mattie. "He's bad, but not that bad," Mark said. "Okay, you're right, he is that bad. We have a good team, but he still sucks. He lets in too many easy goals." "I don't see you volunteering to be a goalie." Mark shrugged his shoulders. "It's more fun to score goals, like you and me do. Besides, goalies don't get to run and bump into people." "You like bumping into players, do you?" Neville asked. "That's what makes it fun. I get away with what the ref lets me. Same thing in basketball. I can't wait to play real football when I can totally bang into people," Mattie said. He looked over at Neville and added, "I mean football football, not soccer football." "You should try Rugby then," Neville said. "It's like American Football but they don't use pads, not even helmets." "WHOA, COOL!" Mark said, his eyes getting big. "It's a sport for brutes," Neville added. "What do you play, Misha?" Patrick asked quickly. "I play soccer, too, and I like chess," he answered. "Chess isn't a sport," Mark said. "Yes it is. It's a brain sport," Misha said. "He got you there, bro," Mattie said, laughing. "We're from right here in Seattle. Well, north of Seattle," Mark said. "Lived in the same house our whole lives," Mattie added "Which is almost the same amount of time for both of us." "Yeah, almost the same time as our whole lives. And it's the same amount of time in our house." The other three boys sat there trying to figure out what it was the twins had just said. Mark looked over at Neville. "I know you haven't lived around here your whole life because you have an accent." "I don't have an accent," Neville protested again, wondering what it would take to convince the two obviously brain challenged twins that the statement was true. "So then, what is the place you are from that didn't give you an accent?" Mattie asked. "I was born in England and moved here when I was eight." "You were born in England?" Mark said. "No wonder you have an accent." Neville glared at Mark, which got the other four boys at the table to giggling. It was obvious that the twins were giving Neville some friendly teasing, and it was equally obvious he wasn't taking it very well. "Where are you from?" Patrick asked Misha, trying to take some of the spotlight away from the twins. Patrick was outgoing and social and was beginning to resent how the twins were dominating the conversation at the table. Besides, he really liked the quiet boy next to him. "I'm from Russia," Misha said. "You're from Russia?" Mark said. "How come Neville has a bigger accent than you do. You should have a bigger accent." "I don't have an accent!" Neville said a bit loudly. He fought down the desperate urge to scream. Just then, a boy at the next table dropped a book with a loud thud. It almost scared Neville out of his pants. He turned around to see what had happened. Mark took advantage of the momentary distraction to make a motion to his brother that Patrick had never seen before. It looked to Patrick like Mark pretended to cast a fishing line and just as quickly looked like he was reeling in an imaginary fish. "Hooked him," he heard Mark mutter to his look-alike brother. "Yeah. We own him now," came the whispered reply. "Do I have an accent?" Misha asked, genuinely alarmed. He'd been working very hard to overcome his accent before starting school, and now it appeared he still had it. "Not that I can tell," Patrick said with a smile, although Misha still retained a bit of an accent. "I can't tell either." Mattie and Mark were usually attuned to those around them and caught on quickly to Misha's concern. They realized they could enjoy teasing Neville some, but they could tell that the same would not be true with the quiet Russian. "When did you and your family come here?" Patrick asked. "My family is American," Misha answered. "I have no family in Russia and I am adopted." Patrick blushed with embarrassment. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to..." "It is not a problem," Misha said. "I never knew my family. They left me at the orphanage when I was a baby." "Were you a baby when you came here?" Mark asked. "I was eight when mother and father brought me here." "Wow, you speak really good English," Patrick said, trying to regain Misha's favor, not knowing he had never lost it. He knew he wanted this intriguing boy to be his friend. "How old are you now?" "I am ten until November," Misha answered. "I guess we all must be ten," Mark said, "since we are all starting fifth grade." "Me and Mark are," Mattie said, "at least until Christmas time." "I wouldn't want a Christmas birthday," Patrick said. "I like my birthday and Christmas at different times." "It's okay. We get a special birthday party in June," Mark said. "Yeah, that makes us like everybody else. When is your birthday?" Mattie asked Patrick. "It is May 8." "Mine is August 10," Neville said without being asked. "That makes Misha the oldest and Neville the youngest," Mark calculated quickly. Patrick took a deep breath. I might as well confess now, he thought. "No, I am the youngest." "That would not be true," Misha said. "May comes before August." "I know. I won't be ten until my next birthday. I skipped a grade." "Whoa, no wonder you're so little," Mark said. "Yeah, you must be ultra super smart," Mattie added. "I'm not that smart. They just skipped me because I was smarter than the kids in my class, I guess." "Were you in a public school?" Neville asked, knowing that a public school in the US was different than a public school in England. "Yes," Patrick replied quietly. "I thought as much," Neville replied with a self-important tone to his voice. "It will be much more difficult at this school." "I think that's why I'm here," Patrick said, "because it's supposed to be hard for me." Mark and Mattie gave Patrick a look of respect and a thumbs up. They both liked that the little kid didn't back down from the haughty English boy. "Now we know about everybody but you," Mattie said to Patrick. "Did you grow up around here like us?" he asked. Patrick answered that he did, but before he could add anything else, the wall clock hit nine, the school bell rang, and a man in a suit stepped to the podium at the front of the cafeteria. Orientation was about to begin. The man was Martin Blowers, the headmaster. He greeted the new fifth graders, let them know how happy the faculty was to see them all, and challenged them to become the best fifth grade class ever at Puget Academy. He told them a little about the history of the school; how it was built to be a hotel, but the company went bankrupt and the building and grounds were purchased by Elwood Fuller, a rich businessman, who was going to make the hotel his mansion. Mr. Blowers then told how he decided the building was too big to be a single residence and built a mansion on another lot a few miles north of the school. "He decided to make the hotel into a private school, one for boys ten to fourteen, a very important age." Mark leaned over the table and whispered, "Is it my imagination, or is this incredibly boring?" "Maybe we should call him Mr. Blowhard," Mattie said. "It is boring," Neville said, the first time he'd seen eye to eye with either of the twins all morning. The other three boys nodded their assent. Mr. Blowers droned on. "Eventually, the mansion, along with some newer outbuildings became the Annie Fuller Girl's Day School, servicing the same grades as the academy—grades five through eight." The headmaster's speech mercifully ended soon after that. He introduced Mr. Cutler, the fifth and sixth grade dean. Mr. Cutler was much more interesting. He told a couple of jokes that appealed to the age group and the ten-year-olds felt much more at ease with the dean than they had with the headmaster. Mr. Cutler introduced the three fifth grade core teachers: Mr. Jackson, Mr. Nash, and Mrs. McCann. Mr. Jackson would be the core teacher for Patrick, Neville, Misha, and the twins. Parker Jackson was 29, single, and gay. He was in his fourth year at the school and was a talented, creative teacher. Thomas Nash, 40, was married with two boys, aged eleven and seven. Evan, the eleven year old, was a sixth grader at the Academy. Roberta McCann was 52 and a spinster. She was very dedicated, extremely organized, and very strict. Her students, once they got to know her, found her to be much less rigid than she let on, but they all hated her at the start of the school year. Parker thought she was a closet lesbian. Mr. Cutler told them that each of the tables would now get an eighth grade guide, who would tell them about what was going to happen next. There was a flurry of movement at the entrance to the cafeteria, and a group of thirteen-year-olds dressed in school uniforms entered the room. A boy about 5'4 with medium length brown hair and a light boystache drew up a chair and sat at the table with the twins and company. There were various versions of the school uniform. All of the guides were wearing the formal uniform, consisting of a light blue shirt, dark blue and red striped necktie, and black pants. The fifth graders were not required to wear a uniform for orientation, but were expected to be properly dressed on the first day of school. "Hi guys." The boy had a broad, friendly smile. "My name is Paul. I'm going to be your guide for the next two days. After that you can always come to me with questions and problems and stuff. I'm an eighth grader and I've gone to school here since I started fifth grade." "How did you get to be our guide?" Mark asked. "Yeah, what did you have to do to be a guide?" Mattie repeated. "How about you introduce yourselves to me, then we'll talk." The five boys introduced themselves. They found themselves liking the good looking, outgoing young teen. Paul told them that he was on the student council and was the sergeant-at-arms. "What does the sergeant-at-arms do?" Mattie asked. "Mostly I tell guys to shut their mouths during student senate meetings, and do whatever Miguel, the president, wants me to do. I get all of the fun of being on the student council without all of the work." "Sounds like my kind of job." Mattie said with a grin. "Hey, you guys get active in student government and who knows what you can do?" "How do we do that?" Patrick asked. "Nothing you can do until after winter break. They want you fifth graders to get settled in and learn how things work. You'll learn all about student government from Mr. Jackson, who is one of the coolest teachers in the school. Some time in November, you'll get to meet with Mr. Vargas and with me. Mr. Vargas is the student council advisor." "What about sports?" Mark asked. "The website says sports here suck. It's why Mattie and I didn't want to come here." Mark thought it was time to watch his grammar a little. "We have good coaching here, but jocks normally don't come to this school. We have a reputation of being a nerd school, even if it's not really true." He looked over the twins. "You guys look like you're jocks instead of nerds." "We're good at sports," Mattie said. "Even if we did get kicked off of our baseball team," Mark said. "You did?" Paul and the other three boys asked almost simultaneously. "What did you do?" Patrick asked. He was getting the impression that the twins were bad boys, and their confession did nothing to change that opinion. "Mark beat up the coach's kid," Mattie said. "Yeah, but he deserved it," Mark said. "He was picking on Clayton, who is our friend." "You guys sound kind of wild," Paul said. "You better be careful around here." "Nope," Mark said. "Everybody else better be careful. Nobody picks on our friends. End of story." Neville, Mikhail, and Patrick looked at each other, wondering where they stood in the twins' hierarchy as far as friendship went. "You didn't answer our question about sports," Mark said. "What question was that?" Paul said, trying to piece together the rambling conversation of the twins. "Do fifth graders get to play?" "Yes, you do. You'll find out more about that tomorrow." Fifth grade orientation was a two-day affair, partly because the sessions were shorter than a standard school day. Paul opened up a packet of papers he had set on the table. He passed a single sheet to each of the boys. "What are these?" Neville asked. "It looks like a game of some sort." "This is the orientation scavenger hunt," Paul said. "You have a list of things to find. The team that finds the most wins a prize. Also, the classroom that has the most finds gets a prize. Ties are broken by the fastest times." "I like prizes," Mattie said. "Me, too," Mark said, getting up out of his chair. "Let's get going." His competitive juices were running. Paul put his hand on Mark's shoulder and guided him back to his seat. "Hang on. Mr. Vargas has to explain the rules first. And then, all of us don't get to go at the same time. The starts are staggered." "Who is Mr. Vargas?" Patrick asked. "Like I told you, he teaches Social Studies and is the student council advisor. He is very cool. " "Oh yeah, I forgot." Just as Paul finished, a man got up to the podium and introduced himself as Mr. Vargas. His head was shaved and he sported a black goatee that was speckled with bits of gray. He went over the rules of the scavenger hunt, reminding the eighth grade guides what their rules were. "You mean you can't tell us if we're right or not?" Patrick asked. "Nope, and I can't tell you where to go, either," Paul said. "You have your map for that. All I do is make sure different teams don't help each other. You find out if you're right when you get to the right location." "Mr. Vargas said that there would be a teacher at each place to keep track of who gets the right answer," Neville said. "Yep, but right now it's time to look at the clues so you guys are kind of ready when your number gets called." Each table had a number assigned to it. The boys were sitting at table number five; there were fourteen tables in all. The numbers were given in random order and had nothing to do with class assignments. "We may do this in any order, correct?" Mikhail asked. "Yep, that's right," Paul said. "Then we should do everything we know first," Mikhail told the group, taking charge for the first time since the five boys met. "That way we get many points and don't waste time on what we don't know. We do those last when we have much time." "I like how you think." Mark said. "You're really smart." "It's like chess," Mikhail said. "You must have a strategy when you play a game." "Like I said," Mark said again, "smart." The first number was called. They weren't going to be called sequentially, so everybody had to listen carefully. The timer started for a team as soon as its number was called. Number twelve was the first table called. "Clue number one says to find a big white whale," Neville read. "What does that mean?" "We might have to go down to the water," Mattie said. "Are there stairs down to the beach?" he asked Paul. "And how do we find a whale and bring it all the way up the hill?" Mark asked. "We don't have to bring it up the hill, stupid, you just need to show the teacher where it is." "You don't have to go to the beach," Patrick said. "We don't?" Mark asked. "Do they have like a big whale tank up here or something?" Neville gave the twins a haughty look, thinking they might just be the dumbest pair of boys he had ever met. That thought made him wonder how they managed to pass the entrance test. Patrick leaned over the table and whispered conspiratorially, "It's from a book. It's called `Moby Dick' and it's about these whalers looking for a big white whale." "Have you read it?" Mikhail asked, leaning with the other four at the table so he could hear what Patrick had to say. "No, but I've heard of it." The boys wrote "library" on their work sheet. They figured out a few other clues as they listened for their number. They heard Mr. Vargas call out number eight and four fifth graders and an eighth grader rose from a table on the other side of the cafeteria. The twins stiffened a little when they saw Jeremiah stand up. He managed to come by their table as he headed for the main exit to the room. "I thought you had to have a brain to get in here," Mattie said to no one in particular as Jeremiah strolled past. "Hi," Jeremiah said with a grin, ignoring the insult. "I hope you guys didn't miss baseball too much." "We had fun not being around you," Mark said. "I promise I won't bother you guys," he looked around the table, "or your new friends, if you don't bother me." "We won't ever bother you if you leave all of us alone," Mattie said. "Too bad your guys are going to lose to us in this game, and everything else we do. Table eight is the best, and so is Mr. Nash's class." "Jeremiah, you're suppose to stay with the group," John, the table's eighth grade guide said. "You'll lose points for talking with another team." Jeremiah rolled his eyes. "He's a dweeb. Bye. Have fun, losers." Jeremiah left to join his team. "Who was that?" Neville asked. "That was the coach's son we were talking about," Mark said. "The one I beat up." "He's a big bully," Mattie said. "Huge bully." "Gigantic bully." "He doesn't look that big," Misha said. Jeremiah was taller than most ten year olds. "He is not a giant." "Maybe not," Mark agreed. "But he is humungous. Ginormous, even." "Not to mention totally stupid," Mattie added. "Table five," Mr. Vargas intoned. They were sent off into the middle of the hunt. As Mikhail had suggested, they searched for the places they were certain they knew, then went from there. "Moby Dick" was their first find. Miss Millard, the librarian, told them how proud she was of their detective work, saying that they were only the third table to figure that one out so far. Paul was having an increasingly hard time staying focused now that the group was in motion. Paul had found his group of five fifth graders to be amazingly cute, but now that he was able to see their collective asses in motion, he was battling a throbbing hard-on. He was glad that his uniform pants were loose fitting, but he knew anyone who looked at him closely would be able to ascertain his condition. Paul was one of three boys in the eighth grade who had come to the conclusion that they were gay. Two of them were out, but Paul had not yet taken the plunge, except for telling his best buddy, Curt. Quite a few of the straight thirteen year olds had a bed buddy or bed buddies, including Paul's friend Curt Weber, who also had a girlfriend. The boys were at a randy age, and the halls and rooms of the Puget Academy often reflected that. The naïve little ten-year-olds got a whiff of the underlying sex as they headed to the athletic field to pay a "home" visit. They passed the boys from table ten, who were from Mr. Jackson's class as well. Their guide was Curt, Paul' friend as well as a frequent sexual partner. "Hey, Porter," Curt said, referring to Paul by his last name, "what did you stuff into your pants? Trying to impress the newbies with your manhood?" The five boys in each group stopped and stared at Paul, who turned a bright shade of red. While it wasn't so obvious that it caught their casual glances, they had no doubt what was causing the bulge in the thirteen-year-old's pants once they knew where to look. Curt grinned and went on. "You don't need to be impressed," he told the fifth graders. "I've seen him naked a lot, and trust me there's not much there." Paul recovered quickly. "I got your pencil dick beat. And on top of that, I've got hair, something you're still looking for. I bet some of the newbies got a bigger dick and more hair than you, considering you have a mini-weenie and are bald down there." "Too bad part of the hunt isn't to come up with the biggest average dick size," Curt said, ignoring Paul's barb. "I bet my team beats your team." "If we weren't being timed, I'd take you up on it now." Paul looked at his charges, four of whom were standing stock still with their mouths open. This was not the kind of byplay they were expecting on their first day at the academy. Only Misha wasn't shocked; he was used to this kind of sexual chatter from his years in the orphanage. In fact he was now sporting a small bulge in his pants. "What do you think guys; shall we take him up on his bet at another time?" Curt's charges were in an equal state of shock as he asked them the same question. "We better get our asses moving," Paul said, not waiting for an answer. "My team will talk it over tomorrow. I can guarantee you we won't wuss out, right guys?" The five boys nodded dumbly. "Now let's go pick up some more credits." Just before lunch break, which was when the hunt would end for all of the teams, they only had two things left to find. "You guys have done great," Paul said. "Most teams don't find everything. But you guys worked together way better than my table did when I was at orientation." Nobody had mentioned Curt or the bizarre sexual conversation since they'd resumed the hunt. "I still don't get clue number twelve," Mark said. "It says `Go to where the world is flat'. The world ain't flat anywhere. Everybody knows it's round." Neville scrunched up his face, obviously lost deep in thought. Paul looked at him with amusement, wondering if Neville was about to come up with the solution. Time was running out and they'd have to solve this clue quickly if they wanted to have time to get to the last one. Paul thought Neville was very cute with his slightly curled and somewhat disheveled blond hair and wire-frame glasses. He didn't have a really prominent ass, but his body had an enticing, slender build. He looked at the other boys who were all waiting for Neville to come up with the answer to the clue. The twins were simply gorgeous. They were solid, athletic boys, with asses as good as any he'd seen in the school on younger boys—or any boys for that matter. Mikhail, or Misha as Paul knew he liked to be called, also had a good looking rear end. He had a sturdy build for a ten-year-old, although he didn't look quite as solid as the twins did. And Patrick, with his lithe body, his short cropped light brown hair, and his brilliant smile, was the most beautiful in the group as far as Paul was concerned. From what he'd seen, Curt's boys were nowhere near as cute as his charges. He was going to be sure to tell Curt as much the next time he saw his friend. He was also going to give Curt a hard time about pointing out his boner. But he couldn't get too angry with his friend. Curt gave the best BJ in the school, and his idea of having the dick measuring contest was a brilliant one. Misha was about to remind the group that they should move on to the next clue when Neville let out a shout. "I got it," he said, interrupting Paul's reverie. "I knew I remembered something." Paul loved Neville's clipped British accent. "My father told me, when he came to sign me up for the test, that in the corridor outside of the auditorium there was a world map painted on the wall." He increased his pace, not wanting to lose out. "By Jove, I think he's got it", Patrick said in an outrageously fake British accent that made the other three boys laugh as they hurried up to the nearly running Neville. "Cool," Mattie said. "Now all we have to do is find the auditorium." They consulted the school map they'd been given along with their instruction sheet and clues. They would have to go to the north end of the building. They'd been running through the halls, just like all the rest of the groups, and the dash to the auditorium was no different. Neville had been correct; a big physical map of the world was painted on one of the walls of the corridor. Mr. Clark, a teacher's aid, was sitting on a chair near the map. Paul handed him a card with the number twelve printed on it signifying the location, and the team received its six credits. There was one more clue left to find. As they started out of the auditorium's corridor and into the main building, a lone figure peeked in. It was Jeremiah. "What are you doing here by yourself?" Paul asked. "You know it's against the rules." "I was trying to make things go faster. I'm looking for the flat Earth and nobody from my team looked here," Jeremiah said cockily. What he didn't tell them was that he was looking there because he'd followed Paul's group to the auditorium. "Your name is Jeremiah, right?" "I guess." "It is," Mattie said with his arms crossed defiantly. "Jeremiah Hunt." "Which table are you with?" Paul asked. "I forgot." "I saw him get up when they called table eight," Patrick said. Paul wrote something in the notebook he had been carrying with him. "Well, I'll report this to Mr. Vargas. You guys will be docked points." Jeremiah stared straight at Patrick. "You are so doomed." He pointedly said nothing to Mattie. The twins made him nervous and he thought it best not to threaten them. Then Jeremiah looked at Paul and said. "You're cheating for them because you like them." "You're the one breaking the rules." Jeremiah left in a huff, determined to take the little guy with the big mouth and show him who the real boss in the fifth grade was. Patrick wished he'd kept his mouth shut and could feel himself sweating a little. Jeremiah looked big and mean. Mark looked at Patrick's ashen face and figured out his status immediately. "Don't you worry Patrick, me and Mattie have your back, and Jeremiah knows it." "Yeah," Mattie said, "nobody messes with our friends." "Nobody," Mark echoed. "What an asshole that guy is," Paul interjected. "Yeah, an asshole," Mark said. "That's good. I'm glad it's okay to call a guy an asshole in this place." "I only called him that because that's what he is." "Asshole," Mark said. "Asshole," Mattie repeated. "Now you know why we didn't mind getting kicked off of the baseball team." "Because, Jeremiah is a big old asshole," Mark said. "Yep, an asshole," Mattie said one more time. "He is an asshole," Neville said, causing every boy in the group to look at him. They did not expect Neville to say "asshole." "Neville, are you working on being cool?" Mark asked. "Yep," Matthew agreed. "Calling Jeremiah an asshole is awesomely beyond cool." "What do we have left?" Neville asked, trying to get the team back on track and at the same time shut the twins up. "We just have number four left," Patrick said. "And we have nine minutes left," Paul added. "Getting all of the clues in under our maximum time would be excellent." The boys liked how Paul said "our" instead of "your". They liked the friendly eighth grader a lot. For his part, Paul was getting to like the five fifth graders. They were working well together and that made his job easy. His table had spent most of their time arguing instead of listening during his fifth grade orientation. Not only that, but none of his charges had fainted dead away when he and Curt talked about cocks. Once again the boys brought him out of his sexual reverie. "The clue is saying be a seller not a buyer," Mikhail said. "Maybe we need to go to the school store," Mark said. "It was closed when we passed it earlier," Neville said. "And I think you only buy things and not sell them at that store." "What if it's a pun?" Patrick asked. He turned to Paul and asked him if the school had a basement. "Look at your map," Paul said. As much as he wanted to save time by giving them the answer to the question, he was determined to follow the rules, especially after saying he would report Jeremiah for violating them. The boys studied the map and found a door. The map indicated it was the cellar door. "Oh, that's why you thought of basement," Mattie said. "You were thinking cellar instead of seller." "You're really smart for a little nine-year-old," Mark told Patrick. The boys followed the map back into the main building, went down a couple of corridors and found the door. It was closed, but, when they tried to open it, they found it was unlocked. They opened it and went down a set of steep stairs. The cellar was cool, but the air was dry and not musty. They entered a large, well-lit empty room. "Is this cellar, like, haunted?" Mark asked Paul. "Everybody says it is," Paul said. "I heard that one guy died down here when they were building this place and that this kid died exploring way far into the basement a long time ago." "But this is just one room" Neville objected. "You can't go exploring here." "Look carefully at the other end of the room," Paul said. "I see a door," Mikhail said. "The basement goes under the whole school," Paul told them. "Have you ever gone in there?" Mattie asked. "The door is always locked," Paul told them. "Who do we report to so we get our credit," Mark asked. Suddenly, they heard a loud creaking noise and the door slowly opened. A man who looked like a Frankenstein monster eased into the room. The five fifth graders almost jumped out of their shoes screaming. Paul already knew what to expect and was trying hard not to laugh. "I will take care of you," the man said in a sonorous bass voice. He was Mister Harold Hiller, an English teacher as well as the drama coach. He walked up to Mikhail and put his hand on his shoulder. Mikhail let out a frightened little squeal. The big man didn't seem dangerous and the five frightened boys relaxed a bit, although they remained a bit wary. "Welcome to Puget Academy and to my realm of terror. I believe you have something to give me." Neville handed Mr. Hiller the last of their table cards. Mr. Hiller gave the boys their credits and warned them to be careful going back up the steps. "I am not the only one who lurks down here." The boys took the hint and walked back to the stairs. "He's not as scary as Jeremiah is," Patrick observed. "Don't worry," Mark said. "We told you we'd take care of Jeremiah." Patrick nodded. The twins' reassurances were fine as far as they went, but Patrick knew they couldn't keep their eyes on Jeremiah 24/7. "Where do we go now?" Neville asked when they reentered the main corridor. "We found all of our places," Paul said. "So, we go back to the lunchroom and wait for time to run out for the last team and then eat lunch. There will be some things for us to do when we get there, which the last teams to leave already completed." They stopped at the bathrooms, took care of business, and went back to table five in the cafeteria. There were papers with puzzles for them to do together, and before they knew it the last team from the scavenger hunt had returned. Puget Academy had an excellent cafeteria staff. The lunches they prepared were nutritious as well as tasty; foods tweens like to eat. They only had an hour-and-a-half left at school after lunch. During that time the boys were dismissed to their core room where they met the teacher they would be spending most of their time with. Mikhail, Patrick, Neville, and the twins found that Paul was right about Mr. Jackson. He seemed to be very nice, while at the same time laying down some definite rules of conduct. They could tell during their afternoon session that Mr. Jackson would be an enjoyable teacher, but would also be very demanding. "I know you all have a lot of questions," Mr. Jackson said after he laid out how his class would run. "I will answer them tomorrow. We will all meet here at nine. I will be talking about things that will probably answer a lot of those questions. Like sports, student government, the school store...," "...and who won the scavenger hunt," Mark said, getting a well- earned glare from Mr. Jackson who obviously was not pleased at being interrupted. However, Mark had impatiently waited to learn who won, since he was positive his team was in the mix for the prize. "All of your questions will be answered tomorrow," Mr. Jackson said as the bell went off. Nobody moved, knowing that it was Mr. Jackson and not the bell that dismissed them since that was one of the first things he'd told them. There was an intake of breath when Mr. Jackson told Mark he wanted to talk to him before he left. He told the class he was looking forward to working with them the next day and dismissed them. None of them had lockers yet. Those would be assigned the next day. But, they didn't have anything to put into a locker, anyway, so they all headed for the front door. Although they never communicated that they would do so, Patrick and Misha walked out of the building together, exiting out of the front door. As they walked down the wide concrete stairs, they saw Jeremiah standing on the lawn to the side, staring at them. While his glare emitted a message of doom, his lips noiselessly saying, "You are doomed," said it all. Mark, on the other hand, learned that interrupting Mr. Jackson could be a quick way to meet his own doom. NEXT: LIFE AT HOME.