Fred

Chapter One - It started out as a feeling

Claimer: I do own all the characters (it's so nice to finally be able to say that!). Please don't steal them. Plaza is a real place, too.

“Winifred Allens,” my teacher, Ms

“Winifred Allens,” my teacher, Ms. Lawson, called. Of all the things I hated most about moving to a new school, taking roll was second only to having to make new friends.

“That would be me,” I said, standing up. One of the worst things about being an Allens –besides simply being an Allens- was the fact that my name was always near the front for roll. Sure enough, fifteen of eyes focused on me. I already knew I was in hot water – I was a city girl who moved to the microscopic town of Plaza, North Dakota, population 1000 including pets and cattle. Even though we were technically in middle school –seventh grade- and we should have multiple teachers, Ms. Lawson covered everything except phy ed. These kids would be in every class with me. It was going to be hell.

“Welcome to our school. We’re pleased to have you with us,” Ms. Lawson said, her eyes already back on the list. I took that as a sign that I could sit down. I could already hear the girls gossiping about me.

My dad divorced my mom last spring. He was “in love” with another woman –ten years younger, might I add- and he claimed he never really loved my mom. Whatever the case really was, it’s over now, and I was uprooted to rural Plaza. My mom thought the country would be good for us. I said there was plenty of country in New York. She didn’t agree. It just so happened my mother’s great-great-great-great aunt, Mirtha, died, leaving us her “estate” (there are a lot of divorces and remarriages in our family). It happened to be a rickety green shack out the outskirts of town. Or downtown. Think of it how you will – there are only about 100 homes in the town itself and about another 100 out in the boondocks around it.

I didn’t have time to think of how pathetic this school was, for Ms. Lawson decided to play the “Let’s get to know the new kid-slash-let’s ridicule her even more!” game.

“Miss Allens, I heard you are from New York. Care to tell us about life in the big city?”

“How about you just go there for yourselves? It would take less time,” I replied, not in the mood for this. We had moved around a lot just in New York City, so I was used to the new-kid routine. Usually it wasn’t so bad, though. Double the kids in this class and that’s the size of a normal class back in my town. You had seven or eight classes a day. Hundreds of kids in the course of seven hours.

“Miss Allens! I would advise you not to speak to me in such a way!” Ms. Lawson exclaimed.

“I’m not Miss Allens. I’m Fred. I’m not kidding, though. Go see it for yourself. It would take too much time to even explain how our schools are.”

Ms. Lawson glared at me. This was going to be fun with a capital fuck off.

About third grade –when the fighting started- I turned into a rebel, I guess. I used to be the ideal daughter – God-fearing, modest, shy, straight-A, teacher’s-pet kid. But then, I ran away from religion, started hanging out with the people I had once thought below me (and had a way better time), kept myself from flunking, and became the class clown. My mom was too busy trying to figure out what the hell had happened to really notice my fall from perfection. Teachers either liked me, or they didn’t. That’s how it worked for me. Ms. Lawson clearly didn’t like me. Oh well. Her loss.

“What’s your problem?” one of the girls asked me. They were all sitting together in the row next to my very empty one. From what I could judge –and I’m a very good judge of stereotype- they were all preps. Simply, they were pretty and perfect and our hatred was mutual. I was below them in the food chain. It was straightforward.

“Kara!” Ms. Lawson exclaimed, but both of us ignored her.

“I don’t want to be here. Simple as that. I don’t plan on staying. Why even bother to make anyone like me? Either you do or you don’t, I’m not going to beg for acceptance,” I explained, looking her straight in the eye. She was a small-town Queen Bee; she didn’t really have anyone to stand up to her. Kara, if that was her name, gave me the classic deer-in-the-headlights look before huffing and looking back at Ms. Lawson.

“Ms. Allens-“ Ms. Lawson started.

“It’s Fred. Capital F-r-e-d,” I reminded her. I only ever had to do this when people insisted on calling me Winny or my full name.

“Fred,” she stressed my name – a sure sign of her anger, “would you please settle down. I would like to start class now.”

“Go right ahead. I have no objections. But first I have something to say to the brat pack over there.” I turned my attention back to the mass of gossipers. “Yes, my hair is naturally this dark. Yes, my nails are painted black. No, I am not emo or Goth. Yes, my necklace has a picture of Jack Sparrow on it. I realize I’m a very interesting subject of discussion, but please do it when I can’t hear it.” They all glared at me. Like they could scare me! I’m from NYC, baby; I’m used to this kind of thing (only they do it much better). “Okay, Ms. Lawson. Go right on ahead.” I heard almost all of the guys snicker from their half of the room. If I could win them over, at least a little, it would at least be an interesting year. Only four hours until lunch.

-

I should have expected as much. I managed to get last in line, only to see how the students arranged themselves. When I saw the cafeteria, I almost screamed. Seventh graders eat alone, so I really was stuck with these people. I singled out two people sitting alone. Or, not really alone - they were with each other but singled out away from the rest of their classmates. There were only three tables. Either I sat with the Bitch Brigade, or I sat with the clear outcasts. Outcasts it was.

Their eyes grew wide as I sat down. I was careful not to sit beside them, for that would be improper. Yes, there are etiquette rules that most of us feel forced to follow. It’s written into our DNA, it seems. I follow them very closely.

I couldn’t really tell why they were the outcasts. They guy probably was simply because there wasn’t any room at the guys’ table. He was pretty hot, by my standards. Green eyes, red hair, some acne issues, but they were overruled by the general shape of his face. He smiled at me. I smiled back.

It wasn’t too hard, though, to see why the girl wasn’t allowed into the Bitch Brigade. She was wearing a blue and red floral dress over dark jeans. Fashion crime for them, hot look for me. She peered up at me through her dark bangs. I smiled.

“So, you’re Fred. I’m Liam. Nice to meet you,” Liam, the guy, introduced himself. I was grateful. There are people that I have no problem dissing and being just plain mean to, but in some situations I’m so shy it could kill me. “That’s…well…I’m not sure what her name is this week. Her birth name is Pen-“

“Don’t even start. I go by Hakkumi, now. Nice job earlier. Someone needed to show those girls up,” Hakkumi –I loved her name- said.

“Yeah, I thought so. So tell me about this place.”

“I thought you weren’t staying,” Liam reminded me.

“I might be persuaded differently.” I quirked an eyebrow and he laughed again.

“Well. I guess I’ll give you the rundown. The girl that you talked to earlier this morning, Kara, she’s their leader. Family got rich off of some oil rig thing. The girl on her right – the short blonde – she’s her right hand bitch. Her name is Natalie. The girl next to her – the one who’s chugging down her milk – yeah, that’s Sadie. She’s the newest member of their pack. Not quite as bad as the rest of them, but she will be. Then there’s Tillie. She just hangs out with them because of their status with the guys,” I could sense that there was some history between Tillie and Hakkumi. “And that last girl is Kim. She’s the groveller. They just keep her because they love hearing all her comments. Your turn.” Hakkumi looked over at Liam.

“Heh. I’m going to be very truthful about how these guys are. That first one, the tallest, that’s Jesse. He’s been going out with Kara since they were born, practically. Head cheerleader-quarterback thing going on there. He’s one of the meanest of the guys. The guy on his right, that’s Mick. He’s really nice. Mick just stays with him to keep him from getting into too much trouble. Then there’s Sean, and he’s the brains of the group. Keeps to himself until he doesn’t. It’s not pretty. And that’s Kyle. He’s practically in love with Kara but won’t do anything because she’s with Jesse. That’s Owen – sticking the noodle up his nose. He can actually inhale a noodle and have it come out his mouth. Or maybe it’s the other way around. Either way, he’s the clown of their group. The last guy – the one who’s looking at you – that’s Paul. He’s been on the verge of coming to our side of the wall for a while now. You just might tip the scales,” Liam finished, smiling at me. I liked his smile. I could tell we were going to get along well.

“There’s not much to do around here. The school hosts a party every Friday night, but nothing much happens there. All the highschoolers go to a combined school with Max, and they can’t come to our parties so it’s really boring. Sometimes someone’s parent will volunteer to take a bunch of us to Minot – the closest town with a nice mall – and go to a movie or something, but it’s usually one of their moms. We’re not welcome there.” Hakkumi shrugged.

“I know what that’s like,” I replied, smiling at her.

“But,” Liam said, suddenly very excited, “my mom finally agreed to take me and Hakkumi or what ever she’s going by now to Minot this weekend. I’m sure she’d love it if you came with. She’s always giving me a hard time about not having enough feminine friends.” Liam smiled.

“I think I can fit that into my schedule,” I replied, grinning back. He was so easy to get along with!

“So. I don’t believe we’ve been introduced. I’m Jesse,” Jesse said as he sat down next to me. Liam moved away from him. I had to quickly mask my shock at him sitting next to me. How much of our conversation had he heard?

“I know,” I replied, not wanting to cause my new friends to be uncomfortable.

“Oh, do you? What have these guys said about me? Hmm? Because you don’t have to sit with them. I can pull a few strings and you can be eating lunch with the real people of this school. Whaddya say?” Jesse asked as he leaned closer to me. His breath smelled like hot dogs. I really don’t like hotdogs. I know what they’re made of, and you can’t recover from that.

“Interesting,” I said as I leaned closer. “But what if I’d rather sit here, hmm? The view is much better.”

“Oh, is it now?” He took the bait, leaning towards me.

“Mmmhmm. I can see all the ways you make a complete idiot of yourself wonderfully from my position here,” I answered, leaning even closer. “But it doesn’t pain me to inform you that there is nothing you and your friends or the Bitch Brigade can ever do to tempt me to lower myself to your standards.” I grinned one of my most false grins ever and leaned away. Clearly, I had hurt his vanity. Score one for the home team!

“Fine. Be a bitch. Not like I’d ever like you,” Jesse said as he stood up and went back to his table. I could hear him talking about me, and I could also hear the Bitch Brigade doing the same. As if glaring at me would really effect me.

“Wow,” Hakkumi said as she looked over at the fuming Jesse. I grinned with pleasure.

“No girl has ever done that to him before,” Liam noted.

“Oh, it won’t be the last time. I can promise you guys that,” I replied, twirling a strand of hair around my finger. It was a habit I’d picked up back in NYC – when I knew I had just kicked some serious ass I twirled hair around my middle finger. It also worked as a discreet way of flipping someone off.

“This is going to be fun,” Hakkumi said as she and Liam shared a look. “About damn time someone fought back. Welcome to our school, Fred.”

“Glad to be here.” And for once, I really was.

-

“I’m home,” I called as I walked into our new home. It hadn’t been lived in in over ten years. Mirtha had been living in a nursing home but refused to give up on her home. Paint was chipping, floorboards rotting; I even found a dead, dried, salamander in my toilet. The only good thing is that I had my own bathroom. I just had to help repair it.

“Welcome home, sweetie!” I hated the cheeriness of my mom’s voice. How could she be so excited about repairing this place? It was worse than my NYC best friend’s trailer! And that place was a dump. “You should see all the progress I’ve made in the kitchen! We’re going to go on a shopping spree this weekend and get all new furniture!” My mom came out of the kitchen, blonde hair pulled back into a ponytail. She even had those rubber gloves that you see housewives wear on. It disgusted me.

“And we can afford that how?”

“Honey, don’t worry about money. Mirtha also left us all of her savings. It’s plenty to get everything we need.” My mom wrapped her arms around me. “Can’t you see it? This place will be home in no time.”

I wriggled out of her grasp. “Sure. Just as soon as I find out I’m the daughter of Donald Trump and I’ll inherit everything.” I threw my backpack on the floor. We came here with just our possessions. Dad had taken everything else. We didn’t even have beds to take with us, and the beds here were horrible. It was the perfect setting for a rural axe murderer or haunted house story.

“Don’t be so harsh, Winny.”

“Don’t. Call. Me. Winny. My name is Fred.” Winny was what my dad – and only my dad – called me. I prefer not to think about him now.

“Honey…” Since the divorce, my mother had tried to reach out to me. She had followed everything in all of her “Coping With Divorce” and “How to be a Perfect Parent” and “Helping Your Kids Cope” books. It made me sick. We had never really connected – I was a daddy’s girl – but this was taking things just a little too far.

“And I can’t go shopping with you. I’m going to Minot with some friends on Saturday.”

“Really? That’s wonderful! I’m so pleased that you’re making friends!” my mom exclaimed. One thing to check off her mental Get-Daughter-Happy checklist.

“Sure you are,” I knew sarcasm was often wasted on her, but that never stopped me.

“Oh, that reminds me! We’ve been invited to eat at a Mrs. Lang’s tonight. I met her at the hardware store earlier. She has a son your age… Oh, what’s his name… Jesse!”

“Wonderful.” Just what I needed – spending a meal with Jesse. I wasn’t surprised though. My mom had a way of meeting people at totally random places and getting invited for dinner or inviting them over instead.

“Oh, sweetie, don’t be so harsh on him! His mother is wonderful! He can’t have been too bad,” my mom said, intent on making the best of things. “Isn’t he the person you’re going with to Minot? His mom said that she was taking a bunch of kids to Minot over the weekend…”

“Like I’d go anywhere with him. I’m going with Liam Farly and Hakkumi. She wouldn’t tell me her last name.”

“Liam Farly? Honey, I’d much rather you go with Jesse and his friends. From what I heard from Mrs. Lang he’s very much a trouble maker.”

“Mom, this isn’t your choice. He’s my friend. Back off. I’m going out. Be back before supper time,” I said, eager to get away from her. Before she could protest I was out the door. I didn’t know where to go, the town was so little I could walk around the perimeter in under an hour. The only place I could really go was the abandoned swing set across the street.

It was nice, I’ll give it that. The wind was just right, the sun shining down on me. It was comfortable. It just gave me too much time to think, swinging.

I remembered the day my mom packed me up. I was just coming back from school. Everything –my room, my office, everything I held sacred- was packed up. I could hardly believe it. I never expected my dad to be so cruel. But his little girlfriend, Mercedes (what kind of name is that?), wanted us oh-you-tee ae-ess-ae-pee. That car ride – about twelve hours straight, I have no idea how my mom did it – was the longest and most painful ever. I watched my town pass me by… along with miles and miles of country. I was asleep when we finally made it into Plaza. I cried so much on that car ride.

“Hey,” an unfamiliar voice said, causing me to jump up and scream at the top of my lungs.

“O-kay. Didn’t expect that kind of a reaction.” I turned around and saw Paul. Or maybe it was Mick? I had no idea.

“Sorry. I’ve always been a bit jumpy. Uh… I’m sorry, but I can’t seem to remember your name.”

“Oh, that’s my fault. I’m Paul. Didn’t expect anyone to come out here. This is kinda my little corner of the world. Couldn’t resist scaring you,” Paul smiled.

“Sorry. I didn’t realize this was your hangout. I just thought it was abandoned,” I shrugged. He was probably here to talk to me about the Jesse thing. I knew how guys banded together. They were almost as bad as girls in that sense.

“Oh, don’t worry about it,” Paul said as he sat down on one of the swings. “I kinda like the company. The guys think I’m dumb ‘cause I don’t play football with them all the time. I’m not that into sports.”

“Yeah, I know what that’s like.” I sat down on the swing next to him.

“You’re pretty good at volleyball,” Paul observed. We had played four-on-four volleyball in gym today. I didn’t hit anyone in the head when I served, so that was good. That was about the only thing I did right.

“Yeah, good enough to make the D team back home,” I replied. It was true. Our school had enough people they had to make a D team. It wasn’t reassuring.

“That’s impossible!” Paul exclaimed.

“Oh, believe me, it’s possible.”

“You know, Jesse’s not that bad,” Paul said.

Aha. His real reason for talking to me. “Listen, I don’t care if you think he’s not so bad. I don’t care if he’s the hottest guy on earth. Or the last, for that matter. He’s not my type.”

“What’s not your type?” Paul almost sounded hurt. “Funny, handsome, nice, loving? That’s not your type?”

“You have some warped idea of him, that’s for sure. He’s proud and he thinks he’s the hottest thing on the planet. Not my type.”

“So what is your type, then?” Paul asked. I hated these situations.

Truth is, I don’t date much. I never have. I didn’t see the point. Now, that’s not saying I don’t fall very much in like with someone. I just don’t see the point in dating them. It’s not like it will work out at this age, anyways. I could tell he liked me, at least enough to try and get me to go out with him. It would be even more awkward turning a guy down in a school of 16.

“Well… They have to love hockey. And be interesting. I don’t want to date a stereotype. They have to have an okay relationship with their family. They have to be able to make me laugh, but not be embarrassing,” I tried to explain. My standards changed depending on the guy I was in like with.

“I like hockey,” Paul smiled at me.

“Yeah… Well, there’s someone back home,” I lied.

“You’re lying,” Paul teased, his voice slightly colder.

“And how would you know this?”

“Because if there was, you wouldn’t have been so flirty with Liam today. Honestly, we all saw it. But really, him? Any guy at my table would be totally willing to go out with you. Even Jesse. He likes the aggressive type. I could handle you turning me down for one of them… But Liam?” He was clearly hurt.

“What’s wrong with Liam? Huh? Is it just because he’s not like you? ‘People don’t like it when they see others moving differently through the world… they want to set it apart, away from themselves. So they put it in a box, call it a name… It makes them feel safe.’ Does it really make you feel safe? Are you that scared by what’s different?” I was practically yelling now. I had dealt enough with this back in New York. Liam was cool. He was my friend. I kinda liked him, yeah, but that didn’t change the friend status. People have often accused me of having a mother-hen nature. I protect my friends. That’s all.

“Yeah? Do you know how safe you must feel right now? You think all of us are the same, don’t you? Just the preppy jocks that only care about how they look and how good they are in sports and how many times they’ve kissed their hot girlfriend? You have no idea how ironic you’re being right now!” Paul yelled back, standing up.

I rose to the challenge. “You wonder why? You haven’t given me any reason not to think you’re all the same! You sit there, glaring at anyone who’s not in your elite circle. I saw the looks. I saw you guys whispering –or not- about me. I will never stoop so low to be considered ‘cool’ by you. I don’t care what you think of me. I know who my real friends are. I don’t need any posers in my life.” I stood up, rolled my eyes, and calmly walked away. I wanted to run so bad, but I would not allow him to see that he got to me any more than he already saw. I wanted my daddy back.

-

I sat on the floor of my room. Boxes, memories, were piled around me. I reached for the one with a big heart on it and started pulling out its contents.

My mom had been nice when she packed up my room. She had put everything together and labeled the boxes somehow. The heart was for all the stuff from my friends back in New York. I pulled out the notebook my thoughtful friend, Cirelda, had put together for me. She had gone around and had every single one of my friends sign it. As much as I loved rereading their notes and seeing their doodles and admiring –or not- their handwriting, it was the unexpected note from Harvey Albertson that touched me the most.

Heya Fredriko. Fredriko was his nickname for me. I never, at least when I was in school with him, thought you wanted a nickname from Harvey. I know you probably think that I never liked you and that I thought I was more popular than you… That’s what Cirelda said anyways. She was pretty shocked that I wanted to write in this notebook. She almost didn’t let me cuz she thought I’d write something mean. Eventually Mr. Martin said that anyone who wanted to write in the notebook should be allowed to. She had to give it over to me. You’re wrong. I never didn’t like you. I always thought you thought you were too good to be seen near me. I did all those things -now he was talking about all the mean things he’d said to me- because I thought it would make you laugh. I guess it just made you hate me more. I guess I just want you to know that there is more to some people than you’re willing to believe, Fredriko. And if you ever come back, give me a call. I’d like to kick your -the next word was scribbled out, but I knew what he was going to say- butt at DDR. You know I can. 555-0932. I’ll actually miss you. Harvey.

Harvey was one of the really popular guys at school. His locker was always right next to mine; I was always next to him in line. He had called me names, insulted me in almost every possible way, and yet he did manage to get me to laugh a few times. What he didn’t realize –the real reason I hated him- was that he would also be mean to my friends or new kids. It was almost a rule that I took in the new kids and then placed them in their respective groups. I have a way with knowing who goes where. He was always dating one of the pretties. We simply didn’t get along. And then he wrote that, and I knew he was telling the truth. I still don’t know how. I still haven’t dared to call him. Last I heard –from a very reliable source- he was dating Izabella.

I scanned through the notes, flipping the pages, until I found Jordan’s familiar handwriting. I would know it anywhere.

Wazzap? Don’t even start with saying llamas. We’ve gone there before, remember? It’s gonna suck being here alone. No one would still be able to accept me after they learned my secret. It would be so different… And I thank you so much for keeping it mum. Jordan was always using words that weren’t common, like “mum.” You already know this but you’re my soul sista and I’ll always have your back whether you have mine or not. Chowder! Chowder was how Jordan said goodbye. I traced every letter with my hand, the loops and slants and dots all familiar.

Jordan moved to my school two years ago – fifth grade, when we were still in grade school. He and I immediately hit it off. We did every single thing together. We even talked about going out (God knows we’d be perfect for each other), but decided that it would ruin our friendship and that was the most important thing we had. We spent so much time together, most people thought we were dating. Jordan’s secret was that he was really filthy-stinking-rich, which would immediately shove him in with the populars. He would definitely not fit in with them, but if anyone below the populars heard about it they would suck up as much as they could. I kept his secret secret, only because I, too, had the threat of being treated nicely by people I don’t like just so they could be popular hanging over my head.

“Fred! Come on, we’re going to be late for dinner!”

Hot damn. What more could I want than dinner with Jesse? “Alright,” I said as I closed up the notebook and hugged it as if it would help me. Honestly, I was scared. I don’t like being alone. I wasn’t sure how I would survive this.

-

chapter one - fin