[what does that make us? a big damn au, sir.]

[hadyougoing]

The school building is on East 96th Street, a pleasant enough red brick affair. A little uninspiring, but what do you want? It's not like people learn anything of value in these barns

Comments

[sunnydalealum]

The school building is required by law to be well-ventilated. That makes it pretty easy to slide through the vents, and check out one classroom after another without risking detection.

Easy if you're not wearing a body at the moment, that is.

A second girl moves up next to the one examining the corkboard, and leans close to whisper.

"I'm looking at Mr. Hartley. Sixth grade English."

[hadyougoing]

The first girl-- her name, for the curious, is Chantal, though right now that may be up in the air-- doesn't move. But her expression grows quickly and curiously thoughtful.

"It would be an English teacher."

In the math and science offices she couldn't find so much as a Mercedes Lackey novel, and the art teachers seem depressingly lacking in bipolarity and mood disorders.

"Details?"

[sunnydalealum]

"Forty-five years old. Lives alone. Dreams of helping his students, but secretly he's a little scared of them. Wishes he'd become a college professor."

The second girl -- her name is Erikah, or was this morning -- glances up the stairway.

"And his homeroom class is big enough."

[hadyougoing]

"Is it?"

Coming from a thirteen year old's mouth, this question doesn't have any right to sound as coolly speculative as it does.

"Hmm." A pause. It's both their asses if they fuck this up, but primarily hers; and she won't get a chance to make it up to Jeff for a long time.

"You know, I will check him out. But I like what I'm hearing." Chantal's lips quirk up in a grin. "Who knew you were competent?"