<div class="floatleft">(http://i1087.photobucket.com/albums/j480/Erion2451/lyndsy-fonseca.jpg)</div>Rebecca "Becca" Hall<br/>September 4, 2012<br/><br/>The first day of school, joy!  Becca didn't want to admit that she was enough of a nerd that she was actually looking forward to going back to school.  It wasn't that summer vacation had been all bad.  The family reunion had been enjoyable and she'd spent the normal two weeks with her mom's sister's family.  It had been two weeks of freedom.  Two weeks without her father breathing down her neck, and checking to see if she was still in her bed three times a night.  He had still called three times a day, but her aunt had been able to run interference.  Becca had wondered what it'd be like to live with her relatives permanently, but she figured she'd miss her dad, eventually.  Still, her aunt was the closest thing she had to a mom and she'd been able to talk to someone, finally, about things that were impossible to talk with her dad about.<br/><br/>The first day of her junior year.  She was looking forward to catching up with some people she hadn't seen during the summer, and returning to her normal routine.  The year promised to be a good one for the photography club, if they weren't robbed again.  Art and English would be enjoyable, though she had Mr. Baker for Algebra II.  She had decided to take theater, as well, and figured she'd help with the stage decorations.  She didn't have the confidence to be up on stage, in front of everyone.  She didn't believe she had any talent for that sort of thing either.  World history was a waste of a period, not quite as bad as gym, but close.  Chemistry was going to be her science for the year and she already had images of burning herself on the Bunsen burners or, worse, blowing something up.  Maybe she'd get lucky and be partnered with someone who knew what they were doing.  That could possibly prevent any unnecessary trip to the emergency room.<br/><br/>Neptune's city blocks passed by as Becca pressed her forehead to the glass window.  Dad was taking her to school again.  She’d offered to walk.  They lived only six blocks from the high school and she was more than capable of walking, but when her dad had begun quoting the crime rate and the number of murders, rapes, and kidnappings that had occurred within the state last year, Rebecca simply slipped into the passenger seat of their old Dodge truck and waited for her dad to start the ignition.  The seats were worn and the dashboard was falling apart, but it ran and got her dad to work each day.  That’s what counted.<br/><br/>There wasn’t much to look at through the window but it was a convenient excuse for not talking to her father.  It was the same old sights.  The same broken down vehicles sat in the same spots for as long as she could remember.  The same weed filled yards in front of homes that had been abandoned for years.  To some these things may’ve been depressing, but to Rebecca they were simply home.<br/><br/>They pulled in front of the high school and Rebecca reached for the handle.<br/><br/><strong>”Pick you up at four,”</strong>her dad said.<br/><br/><strong>”I can get a ride, dad,”</strong>Rebecca began but was cut off.<br/><br/><strong>”I’ll be here at four, we’ll talk about your day.  You remember your lunch?”</strong><br/><br/>Becca nodded,<strong>”P.B. and J.  Did you remember yours?”</strong><br/><br/>Her dad simply chuckled.<strong>”Have a good day, sweetheart.  I love you.”</strong><br/><br/><strong>”Love you too,”</strong>Becca said before opening the door and shutting it carefully behind her.<br/><br/>She avoided any eye contact on her way to the front doors of the school.  She didn’t want to acknowledge that she’d just been dropped off at the front of the school by her dad at the age of sixteen.  There were worse things, though, few were as uncool.  It didn’t really matter.  Rebecca wasn’t Ms. Popular, never had been.  It didn’t help that she didn’t understand, much less, get along with the popular girls.  She was at least not high on their bully radar; unless it was gym, which thankfully she wasn’t taking this year.<br/><br/>Becca climbed the stairs and crossed the quad to the line that had formed to pass through the metal detectors and into the school.  She at least had new clothes.  Well, new to her.  They’d been her cousin's, who hadn’t wanted them, only worn them once, if that, and decided that Rebecca looked much better in them.  She had to admit she liked how they looked on her, even if it was just blue jeans and a simple long sleeved, blue and white, striped shirt.  The jeans fit a bit snugly over the hips she'd received over the last year.  Her aunt had said she’d “bloomed” nicely, and Becca still didn’t quite recognize her reflection in the mirror in the morning.  Her tennis shoes were the same she’d owned since eighth grade; luckily her feet hadn’t grown in the past three years.  They were scuffed and worn, and she’d had to replace the shoelaces twice, but the soles were still intact.  She’d just have to be careful to avoid snowdrifts when winter came.<br/><br/>She was already rather self-conscious by the time the security guard was waving a wand in front of her.  Some of the guys had been staring while she’d been waiting in line but now, with her arms spread wide to her sides, she felt as if there was a spotlight shining on her.  Her breath caught in her chest as the wand passing behind her dipped below her waist.  The school should’ve had some female guards.  The last thing the district could afford was a law suit and there were likely plenty of families looking to get ahead in this economy.<br/><br/>The moment passed, Rebecca was handed her bag back, and she entered the school.  She passed her locker and was pleased to see that the ghost outline of an “L” was barely visible.  The lock on the locker next to hers was missing.  Rebecca didn’t really know the girl, but she’d been the intended recipient of the graffiti.  The once bright red “U” was just as ghostlike as the letter that had been upon Becca’s locker, as were the “S” and “T” that completed the word.  Apparently it had been necessary to cover four lockers with the four letters.  Her artistic eye had failed to see any skill in the disfigurement the year before and it didn’t seem that her absence from the piece had given her any new perspective.<br/><br/>She didn’t open the locker.  Who knew what had crawled in there and died over the summer.  Her backpack was mostly empty; she hadn’t received her text books, yet.  The pack only held the summer reading assignments for her English class.    So she simply bypassed her locker and made for the art room.  It just wouldn’t be school if she wasn’t wearing pencil rubbings on the heel of her left hand for half of the day.<br/>