Classification: TRHA

Rating: PG

Summary: Casey is based upon actual student comments I have overheard and received in my evaluations from my classes. Aren't you glad I'm not your teacher?

Spoilers: None.

Disclaimer: You'd think after Book One, Carter would have handed them over quietly...I give them more work than he does. But alas, still the property of 1013 Productions and Fox Television. NOTE: I refuse to repeat the disclaimer after this. I did it 62 times in the first book. I think people get the hint.

August 29, 2000
Anniston Community College
Freshman Writing 1

MICHAEL:

I HATE these kinds of classes.

Unfortunately, it's required. Freshman Writing. And you can't test out.

Jesus. I've been writing professionally for nearly a year now-okay, if what I do you can call professional. I've been a contributor to a publication known as The Magic Bullet. I ought to bring in a copy for my instructor. Maybe then I can get out of the homework.

The instructor-God, I'm living in a world of midget redheads. Her name's Casey, she claims to be 40ish-doesn't look it, but hey, if she isn't weird about her age-and she's actually okay. She seems to like teaching the class. I think she'd like it better if everyone liked taking it.

Not gonna happen here, Casey.

Anyway, at least she keeps you awake. She bounces around a little too much-wonder if they had to give her Ritalin when she was a kid. But she seems to really want to know what's up with everybody. I mean, REALLY wants to know.

She scares the shit out of me.

And nobody should have that kind of energy at 9 in the morning.

She brings bagels for the first day of class. She's trying to bribe us into thinking she's cool, it's gonna be a good class, blah blah blah.

But the bagels are from Noah's, so I have one.

She's doing the administrivia thing right now. E-mail address, office hours, location, that sort of crap. She's passing around a list for everyone to put their names and e-mail addresses on.

I think I'll make up a bogus e-mail.

She's moved on to grading. She says the only way to bomb out in her class is to not do the assignments. She also doesn't take late papers-you're late, you don't get credit.

I figured underneath that bubbly exterior beat the heart of a real hardass.

She goes on to say she takes points off if you're late. Sorry, lady, but I take the bus. And believe me, it's not by choice, so just try giving me shit about it.

Assignments. One each week. But the longest one is supposed to be 8 pages long, and that's the last one. Piece of cake. And maybe I can still get out of them.

But she also expects you to journal-every day, at least 5 days a week. And she's gonna collect them at the end of the semester. Oh, God. This woman is into serious torture. Says she prefers typed because her eyes suck-she does wear glasses, and I notice they look a lot like mine-but if you write VERY neatly, she'll accept handwritten.

That leaves me out.

She's saying she wants our observations-about school, about writing, about anything, really. Whatever's important. And she's playing all nice again, trying to tell everybody she doesn't show them to anyone else.

Big fucking deal. I have to show it to her.

Well, she's in for a real short read, because I've got nothing to say about myself.

I hate her. I think.
 

Calculus. Another cake class. I can do this shit in my sleep. Which is good, because this teacher's gonna put me there. The worst part of the class is the textbook, which costs 95 dollars. Yeah, right. Like I've just got 95 bucks lying around.

Guess I'm gonna have to come up with a good article this month for TMB. Maybe get a bonus. Or hit on my dad. He's gotta say yes for a textbook. Doesn't he?

I wander out to grab something to eat-I've got an hour before my next class. I know a few people here, but nobody very well, and nobody I want to talk to, anyway.

I get tapped on the elbow while waiting way too long to pay way too much for my cappucino.

It's Ally, Ally Langly. I guess you'd call her my friend. Of all the people I know, I feel the most comfortable with her, and that's not very. I mean, Ally's cool, she's a straight-up type of chick and all, but she's...well, she's Langly's wife.

And old enough to be my mom.

She looks good, though. She's one of the army of midget redheads that seem to be around no matter where I go.

And she's nice. Ally is nothing if not nice. She tries to be decent to me, which is more than I can say for most people. I think she hated me at first. I know I didn't like her. But she tries at least. Ally's big on doing the Right Thing.

And the girl can cook. I've eaten a lot of good meals cooked by those little bitty paws of hers, and they are always tasty. She keeps a good supply of beer on hand, even if she does go in for that Mexican shit-it's okay, but give me Sam Adams any day-and she's not chintzy about sharing.

Well, her stuff, anyway. I really don't know much about her. She's real reserved, and she'd say I was lying, but she's a pretty shy chick. She seems happy just to hang back, watch stuff, mirror everyone else. It's like she's the fucking Greek chorus or something. I didn't even know what a Greek chorus was until she told me, and I really didn't give a shit. Still don't.

You gotta wonder about a woman who thinks Homer is way cool.

And one who'd marry Langly.

I say hi to her. She's here for remediation, as she calls it. What's really happening is, she's doing the Big Career Switch. She's a deaf interpreter, and she was doing it for this lady, Dana Scully, all summer long. Dana's a doctor-researcher type person, does biochemistry or something like that. Ally was a biology major back in her previous life, and when she wasn't interpreting classes for Dana Scully, she'd work in her lab. And she thought a life in science would be real cool. Not that she
was gonna be able to do anything about it, but at the end of July, her old lady, who is L-O-A-D-E-D, kicked the bucket.

Little Ally Langly became the proud owner of 2.1 million bucks.

She was supposed to get more, like 6 million bucks more, but apparently one of her asshole brothers thought since he had more kids, he ought to get more bucks. Ally hates arguing. She gave it to him.

She's a fool. Give her brother more money just because he shot his wad more times than her old husband did? I think they ought to take more away from him. From what I hear, he's a good argument for birth control. And the guy's a vascular surgeon! He probably makes ten times what she does.

Anyway, she decided she'd just work part-time-why, I have no idea, if I had 2 million bucks, I'd be gone-and go back to school and do science. She applied for a master's program. She got a conditional acceptance-that is, she has to pass g-chem, o-chem, physics and calculus with a 90 or better to get into the program at CU. Well, she did get her degree like over 20 years ago. She is a little out of practice here.

So she's out here with me, because ACC is real cheap. What is this girl's problem? She's got bucks. What's she doing out here slumming with the rest of us? I mean, I almost want to gag when I hear her say that 2 million doesn't go as far as you'd think. That's because she's always been rich. I mean, her folks were loaded, she was married to some software geek before, and now she's married to Langly, who earns pretty damn decent at the Pent.

The chick has never been poor. She's never lived in a cardboard box. She's never lined up at a runaway shelter, hoping they don't run out of beds before you get to the front of the line, which they always do. She's never tried to cop a shower at the Y without being caught. She's probably never lived in a roach trap apartment where the water stinks like sulfur and lived on baloney and white bread because it was real cheap that week, and your stove doesn't work anyway because your slumlord jumped bail and is now living in Pakistan or some other fucking third-world nation...

I've done those things.

Ally joins me on one of the walls-all the tables are full, and she's asking me how my classes are going.

"Math class is a yawn." She's taking the same calculus class, but she's in a different section. "Can't believe they expect us to dish up 95 bucks for a book."

"Not all that unusual these days," she comments.

"Well, maybe it's not unusual, but I'm kind of fucking broke here."

"I can give you some."

My teeth are on edge. I mean, Ally is NICE-she genuinely is. Her big problem is that she wants to always Make Everything Right. And sometimes, her being nice and wanting to make the world right just gets on my nerves.

Today is one of those times.

"I'm gonna ask my dad first."

"Offer's open." She finishes her latte and jumps down from the wall. "I've got a class, what time do you get done?"

"4."

"Sorry, I'm done at 2. I need to head over to Dana's lab for a while then. Otherwise, I'd offer you a lift."

And she would. That's the hard part.

She's off in the crowd, red hair flying, hippie clothes flowing like this big colored puddle all around her. Even though she's old enough to be the mom of most people here, she fits right in. She looks like she belongs here.

Me, I don't belong. Anywhere.
 

My Java programming class will be another snap. There's a lot of homework, but it shouldn't be a major chore. What really pisses me off is how lame their system is here. We've got way better stuff in the offices. Way better. These machines are still Pentium 200's, with only 4.3 gig hard drives. Pathetic. This stuff was old two years ago. I make up my mind to code at work instead of setting up an account here.

It's finally 4:00, and I crowd in at the bus stop with all the other poor suckers who can't afford cars and parking passes.

Work time.
 

Work, for me, is at the TMB offices. It's kind of a unique setup. Ally and Langly bought this house last year. It's an okay house. I lived with them for a while.

It sucked.

I mean, I know they were being decent and all, but only because of my dad, not me. I lived in Shelby's room for a few months. Shelby's not their kid, but they have legal custody of her now. Her mom blew away her dad, and mom's not likely to come out of the Virginia Psychiatric Correctional Institute anytime soon. At least there wasn't a trial. I think her mom knew she'd lose big time, and she pleaded. And she's Miranda's best bud. Miranda's Ally's daughter from husband number one.

I can't stand that bitch.

One of the things that pisses me off about Ally is that she is so taken with her daughter that she doesn't see what a miserable brat the kid is. Miranda's real smart, and she's pretty, and funny. She's also a major operator. I watch the way she just works people, and I'd like to clobber her. Ally misses it totally. I mean, she gets pissed off at her and all, but mostly, she just thinks Miranda is God's gift, and she just about worships her.

At least Langly doesn't let Miranda pull shit like she pulls on her mom. Miranda and Langly, they fight. A lot. I think it's mostly because Langly knows her game, and he lets her know he knows it. This pisses her off nonstop. Miranda is a very sore loser.

Shelby's okay. She's kind of weird, but I guess growing up in her house would have made anyone weird, at least from what I hear. Right now she's in her Goth phase. She dyed her hair pitch black, wears only black, and uses tons of black eyeliner.

Hey, whatever works. At least she doesn't run around like the queen of the JAPs. And shoot me, but Miranda is a JAP. Ally'd kill me if I ever said it, so I won't, but I can think as I damn well please.

Can't I?

I think living in the same house with Langly was the worst, even worse than Miranda. I'm not sure what the deal is with him. For some reason, I just seem to piss him off. I don't even know why half the time.

Ally says he's jealous of me.

Right, and pink elephants fly.

He's a strange dude. He can be real friendly one minute, and the next, he's ripping you a new asshole. He gets real changeable real fast. I almost wish he got periods, then I could at least keep a calendar and track the days when I should stay the fuck away from him.

I say this to Ally one time, and she cracks up. She knows.

I mean, he's okay. He let me be in his wedding, which was a trip. I never went to a wedding before. It was a Jewish wedding, sort of. They had a rabbi and everything, but the rabbi was like real cool and he didn't go on about the God shit for hours and hours. My dad was kind of a bastard about it-he made me cut my hair and get rid of the dye job. And we had to wear tuxes. That sucked. And I lost most of mine, so I didn't get my security deposit back. I mean, I had the shirt and the pants, which are the important parts, aren't they?

And he let me fix up his classic 'Stang. Good thing, too-he'd never have gotten it done. It was cherry when I got done with it, if I do say so myself. I get to drive it once in a while, but mostly, if I need a car, I take Ally's. She's cool about that stuff.

The TMB offices are behind Ally and Langly's house. The house is okay, but the place had this monster four-car garage that came with it, and it got converted to office space. You'd think a four-car garage would be plenty of space, but it got filled up pretty fast. We've got tons of stuff in the TMB offices.

And I got to say, at least when Ally got her trust fund, first thing she did was get the offices made bigger. And she had a bathroom and a photo lab put in. The photo lab was in the spare bedroom next to Ally and Langly's room, and it was a real pain in the ass to have to go in the house just to get pictures.

The bathroom was the real pain, though. We used to have to go through Miranda's room in order to get to the downstairs one, or go up the stairs and through the house to use the upstairs one. This could be tough when nature is yelling at you.

I don't think Ally knows it, but we've all used the back of the offices more
times than I can count.

So not having to go through Miranda's room anymore is cool. Her place is a pigsty. Shelby cleans it up once in a while, but Princess Miranda doesn't do cleaning, so it's usually hazardous to get through her mess. And plus you don't have to listen to her bitch at you for not knocking and shit like that. God, the way she carries on, you'd think you'd interrupted her jerking off or something.

So working's not bad here. And Ally keeps the beer shelf stocked, and you can go in and just grab a cold one anytime you want, and if it's dinnertime, she'll feed you.

Plus, we just got 600 mhz Modestos with 12.3 gig hard drives in them, and it's so sweet. I mean, it was real cool of Ally to just write us this check and we get a bunch of new stuff.

The girl is crazy.

I feel all sticky from the bus. It's hot and muggy out, and riding with the great unwashed, I feel like I got to scrub it all off me.

Thank God the bathroom's got a shower in it. And it's quality stuff. Ally insisted on getting a contractor. I can't believe Langly bitched as much as he did about it, he thought we could do a better job, but I don't think so. She usually lets him get his way, which is a mistake, I think, but this time, she got real stubborn about it, and I was like, you go, girl.

No way was I in the mood to do construction in the middle of a hot Virginia summer.

Of course there's no towels when I get there. Fuck. Now I've got to go inside and find some, which, with Princess Miranda, can be real tough. Miranda is the Queen of Towels. Every time she takes a shower, she uses up at least three towels, and she just throws them on the floor in her room, so nobody can ever find them. Ally bitches at her about it, but she really doesn't do anything.

Ally needs to stomp on that kid. Big time. But she won't. At least Langly grounds her sometimes, but usually only for dissing her mom.

Miranda and Shelby are doing their homework in front of the TV, like they always do. They're watching the "New Dating Game." They watch that every day, and the "New Newlywed Game." Ally says these used to be on in the sixties when she was a kid.

Hell, I wasn't even born in the sixties. I didn't pop out until 1976.

Ally says she was finishing college that year.

There's like one towel left in the linen closet. I hope somebody's gonna do laundry soon. It's a beach towel from Manzanillo. Langly and Ally must've gotten it on their honeymoon, that's where they went.

But it's in the closet, and there aren't any other towels, so fuck it. It's mine.
 

I do the first Java assignment. Piece of cake. I probably know as much Java as the instructor, maybe more, but I don't have the credit, so I have to do the assignment. Maybe I should bring the teacher some programs I've written. Blow him away some.

The calc assignment isn't due for two days, and I don't have the book yet, anyway, so I move on to the next thing, which is the writing assignment. The first journal entry's due tomorrow.

I hate classes that meet five days a week. Especially stupid classes like this.

I'm sitting there, thinking. I mean, what the fuck am I supposed to write? I really don't have anything to say. My name's Michael Andrew Frohike, I'm 24 years old, my birthday's March 2, I have no sex life, and in my spare time I hack illegally into computer systems all over the world? I'm supposed to write that.

Must be around 6:00, because Ally comes out and sits herself down at Langly's computer. We've got this project going, and one thing we find out, Ally's a real good statistician. She might not be able to hook into calc like the rest of us, but when it comes to stats, she's like the best.

And the cool program I wrote her doesn't hurt, either.

She asks me how my first day went. So what do I say? I just shrug and say, okay.

"You doing your homework?" Ally's a mom, and she just can't resist those mom lines.

"Yeah, well, sort of."

"What class?"

"Writing class. Can you believe this chick expects us to keep a journal? And turn it in at the end of the semester? And she's checking tomorrow to see what we wrote."

"Does it have to be on something specific?"

"Nope."

"So write about what you thought about today."

What I thought about today. Is she out of her mind? Who the fuck would ever want to know.

Besides, I didn't think about anything.

"I have no clue where to start."

She looks up from her keyboard. I notice she's blushing.

"Michael," she says, like she's embarrassed. "I've...been keeping a journal since I got to DC...and if you want a hint on how I did it, I'll let you read it...but you have to promise not to laugh at me..."

I think about this. I mean, if she's got stuff in there about what kind of lay Langly is, that could be kind of gross, but I could get an idea about how to write this stuff, make it more painless...besides, she does other stuff besides have sex with Blondie.

"Okay," I agree.

"It's on the computer in the bedroom. We have to go inside. I didn't put it on the network drive." Smart girl.

I follow her inside, she grabs two Dos Equis-girl has got to learn to drink American beer someday-and we head into the bedroom she and Langly share. The place is piled high with papers and magazines and books and there's laundry all over the floor, I notice most of it's Langly's. But they at least make the bed.

She boots up, finds her directory, and types in her password when she locates this file. I notice she types two passwords to get in.

Talk about paranoid. What the hell is she writing in there, anyway?

She's in. I watch her type her passwords, but she's real fast, so I can't figure them out. Well, I can, if you give me time and leave me the fuck alone so I can get a little privacy, but I'm here with her permission, anyway, and I doubt I'm gonna need more than five minutes to look this stuff over, anyway.

"Shut it down when you're done," is all she says, and walks away and closes the door. I notice her cheeks are still red.

She pops her head back in, and she fires a warning shot.

"Michael, if you ever say anything to anybody about this, I will have to kill you."

She's really been around these guys too long.

END OF PART 1