Valley Elementary School, and the School District Superintendent had a meeting. Because the School District was facing a possible lawsuit from not only the Gaines family, but from the parents of the other boys involved in the assault, they saw no choice but to allow the boys back into school. “But I want to assure you that they are being placed on new schedules that will keep them away from your son for not only the remainder of the school year, but during middle school and high school as well.” The Superintendent was a man named Dr. Roth. Tim thought he looked like a mad scientist. He was bald with wispy strands of graying hair sprouting on the sides of his head and a bushy mustache and eyebrows. “We’re going to arrange for separate transportation for your son when school lets out in the afternoon as well.”
And that was the arrangement that was made. For the past six years, Tim rarely saw Scott Bradfield, David Bruce, and Steve Miller. In the afternoon, a school administrator drove him home (his father dropped him off in the morning). And when he entered Spring Valley Middle School and, later, Spring Valley High School, he was on a different bus altogether than the three boys. Likewise, their class schedules were so different that the few times Tim
Tim kept his head down, eyes to the book as the boys passed by. He knew school administrators were still on their vigilance in keeping them in check, and despite occasionally running into them at school — and very rarely after school — they had not attempted to harass or assault him again. Instead they’d relied on others to do their dirty work for them.
As the boys passed by, Gordon called down to him. “Hey Count, what’s happening?”
Tim ignored him. They’d been calling him Count Gaines ever since that incident, and despite being reprimanded by the school, the nickname had stuck and spread throughout the student body. Thanks to them, the dimmer bulbs that attended Spring Valley High School thought he was either a vampire or a warlock.
A moment later, Gordon walked back to Tim and stood in front of him. “Another vampire novel, Count?”
“This one’s about zombies,” Tim said. While the three original boys were forbidden by the school district to have any contact with Tim, this edict was not extended to their cronies. As a result, shortly after that original incident, Scott Bradfield and David Bruce had started a rumor that Tim was a devil worshipper. Of course, it didn’t help that Tim liked horror movies, horror comics, and horror novels, and that he was into goth clothing. For a brief time during seventh and eighth grade, the rumors resulted in harassment from students who didn’t even run in the same social circles as Scott Bradfield and his friends. His locker was broken into, the contents destroyed. Notes containing obscene messages were left in his folders and schoolbooks. A lame attempt at a pentagram was drawn in felt pen on the locker of a classmate and blame was laid at Tim’s feet. Unfortunately a new guidance counselor, who wasn’t aware of Tim’s history, believed the accusations and mounted a campaign of new harassment and intimidation toward him. This only encouraged some of the more straight-laced, preppy kids to pick on and harass Tim whenever possible.
“Zombies, huh?” Gordon said. “Cool!”
“Gord!” Scott called out. He and David were waiting for him, not even looking at Tim. Tim was considered beneath them in the student body hierarchy.
“Count’s teaching me about zombies,” Gordon said.
“You can learn about zombies from watching TV,” Scott said. “Come on. We’re late.”
“Later, Count,” Gordon said. He hustled over to join his friends.
Tim watched the boys retreat out of the corner of his eye. The feeling of dread he’d felt in his stomach began to subside.
This was his junior year of high school. In a few weeks he’d be out of school for the summer. In one more year he’d be finished with high school and this backwater town forever. Ever since that incident six years ago, he’d wanted to leave Spring Valley and move to an area where people didn’t judge you by the clothes you wore, or what kind of books you read. He wanted to live in a community that was more open-minded. The town he lived in, Spring Valley, in the heart of Lancaster County, Pennsylvania, was very conservative. If you weren’t a born-again Christian it was assumed there was something wrong with you. Tim had considered himself an agnostic shortly after his run- in with Scott and David, but never professed this aloud. To many people in the community, if you were of any religious faith other than some mainline Christian denomination you might as well be a Satanist.
Tim sighed and tried to get back into his book, but the atmosphere of reading was gone. He marked his space, set the book down, and glanced at his watch. The one o’clock bell was due to ring in two minutes. So far he had no homework, so he could get a good hundred or more pages read tonight. He had nothing else to do. Besides, this book was getting pretty good. Richard Long was one of his favorite horror authors.
A pair of girls walked by, glanced in his direction and gave identical smirks. Tim glowered at them. Karen Henderson and Heather Watkins. Such smarmy bitches. They’d picked up the baton handed to them by Scott Bradfield and ran with it back in the eighth grade. They were responsible for spreading the rumor among the student body at Spring Valley High school that he liked to go in the woods, sacrifice cats, drink their blood, and chant to Satan on Hallowe’en. That rumor became so persistent that the police followed up on it. The officer that paid him a visit was Officer Frank Clapton, who investigated the original assault; he’d even told Tim’s dad that he was just going through the motions in the investigation because he had to — he didn’t believe the allegations personally.
Still, the fact that the accusation against him was levied was enough to infuriate his parents. That was the closest they ever came to packing up and moving.
But they couldn’t. Dad’s job in town paid pretty well and mom’s parents, who lived nearby, were getting old and sick and she felt obligated to stay near them. They didn’t want to move to York County, which was too far from his grandparents, and the area they were in now was in close proximity to them. If he could just stick it out for a couple more years–
Which he did. It wasn’t easy, but he did.
George Ulrich sauntered by and patted him on the back. “Hey man, what’s up?”
Tim brightened. George was about the closest he could find to a friend in this school. He was in the same grade, was built like an athlete, and possessed handsome features that made him a chick magnet. Unlike the lettermen jocks, George did not associate with the trendy cliques and did not participate in any of the team sports or school functions. Instead, he was a member of a loose group of kids Tim hung out with that consisted of a kid named Al, who was a comic book geek, another kid named Matt, who was the school’s lone punk rocker, and a girl named Chelsea, who was an art student and who Tim had a secret crush on. George and Al were good buddies, and Tim knew they often hung out together after school. Sometimes he wished he could hang out with them, too.
“Not much,” Tim responded. They started heading to their next class. “What about you?”
“Not much.” George shrugged. “Hey, what’re you doing Friday?”
“Same as usual. Probably stay home and read or watch a movie.”
“Wanna hang out with me and Al? We were thinking of catching a movie and then grabbing a bite to eat at Freeze N Frizz afterward.”
Tim tried not to let his enthusiasm show too much. He hefted his backpack in a more comfortable position. “That sounds great. What do you want to see?”
“
“Sounds good to me!” Tim was dying to see
“Cool. Hey, listen, let’s meet up tomorrow at the beginning of lunch and we’ll swap numbers. I gotta go catch my next class. Mr. Banks. English Comp.”
“Okay, man.”
“See ya!” George clapped him on the shoulder again and took off, heading toward the row of buildings on the other side of campus.
Tim watched him go for a minute, then started heading to his own class. For the first time he could remember, he felt good about himself. After years of being the butt of everybody’s jokes, of hardly having any friends, he felt he was gaining strides in his social life. He and George had been tentatively sniffing around each other for the past year when George transferred to Spring Valley High from a school in Dauphin County. His parents were new to the area; job transfer. They’d hung out together somewhat at lunch and it was during those brief, yet introspective moments when they’d discussed mutual interests when he realized they were a lot alike. They liked horror and SF, were into gaming, and the same kind of music. The only difference was that George Ulrich didn’t
