The Real Rachel (Landon)

I scrolled through yet another Havencraft shooting website and found a familiar name: Rachel Joy Anderson. Intrigued, I clicked. After all these years, her smile was a refreshing sight, even if it was only in pixels. I read, finding that Anderson was considered to be "the joy of our lives" by her friends and her family. She was described as "compassionate" and as someone who "had a real heart for the disadvantaged and downtrodden." Well, where was that compassion and supposed heart when I needed it?

Back in my sophomore year, it seemed that it was Rachel's mission to make my life more difficult. She liked talking to her friends about "that poor kid and his special needs little sister." Um, hello? Lisette has a name! She told guys to beat me up and, even when I was left unconscious on the outskirts of the campus, it was my word against hers. No one believed me when I tried to tell my side of the story. She was practically venerated among teachers and students. People treated Rachel like she was perfect even though the truth hid in plain sight. She spread rumors about me downing potions in the quad when, most of the time, I wasn't even there. Still, people believed her because they were afraid of what they would become if they confronted her about the truth.

Even worse, my parents signed me up for a peer tutoring program and I got placed with Rachel so she could tutor me in English. I don't even know how Rachel got qualified to be a peer tutor other than her ability to pull the strings to get her way. I spent two hours after school with Rachel four days out of the week working on things with her. She didn't even really try to help me; she just wanted me under that saccharine little thumb of hers. Unfortunately, I had to go through with it or risk her ruining my reputation. She would have told everyone that I wet myself in the seventh grade because I was too shy to ask for a bathroom pass. I didn't exactly have a good reputation after that.
          "You know that Landon kid? He's probably going to shoot up this place." I heard this while walking down the hall and struggling to keep my books under control. For once, she wasn't wrong. I've planned it since the end of my freshman year. I hated Havencraft High School. I hated the fact that my parents thought their rigorous academic program would be "good for me", but, most of all, I hated being poked and prodded like the school's plaything.

Even so, the guilt that came with taking her life tore me to shreds each day. I remembered her screaming and begging for mercy as I aimed. They didn't matter to me at the time; it was just additional noise in the lunch room as the other students ran for cover. At that point, I just didn't care who the arrows hit. Flames engulfed the building quickly and I saw nothing but red.

After the fact, my parents forced me to attend Rachel's funeral. I protested that no one would want to see me there. You should have thought of that before shooting up your school, my father said as he selected a . At the time, I didn't feel any remorse whatsoever. No one would mourn the real Rachel anyway. The lot of them saw what they wanted to see and that's what they would cry over at the funeral.

When the day came, I dressed my best and made an effort to tame my hair, which, like me, does not take well to being held down. I put a dandelion in my pocket, which was Rachel's favorite flower. I could play the part as well as she could, if not better. That's what all of us "fine arts fags," as she called us, did after all.

Instead of being mostly ceremony like most funerals were, this one was mostly gossip...and it was about me. My MO for the day was to lay low. I didn't speak to anyone or make eye contact. Tempted as I was to correct people when they called me a sick, vile monster, I didn't. Instead, I made myself appear vaguely interested in what little ceremony there was. Lisette sat with my parents and other sister, Lauren. I sat alone. I knew who the real Rachel was, but I didn't let it show.

The reception came more quickly than I had expected. I wanted to avoid the areas where people were mingling, which were the food areas, but I was starving and I smelled food. Naturally, I loaded up my plate with whatever I could find. If I could keep my mouth full, I didn't have to speak. That and I had a raging appetite most of the time. To keep satisfied, I had to eat constantly. I found an empty table and ate. I don't know if it was due the fact that I was a teenager and, thus, would eat anything that resembled a food item, but, somehow, I remembered that everything was delicious. The pile of food vanished and, as soon as I got up to throw away the plate, another girl approached me. She wore a gossamer sundress that was incongruous with the environment and looked to be around my age.
          "Emma Brady." She extended her hand.
          "Landon LaCoste." I extended my hand. Disgusted, she retracted her hand.
          "I should've known." Flipping her hair in my face, Emma Brady stalked off. The same thing happened with about four other people until one of them had the nerve to say "That's him." Immediately, people started confronting me. Some had questions that they weren't interested in me answering. Some just went straight for the insults until some mysterious black-haired girl rose from her seat and said "Enough." The crowd went silent.
          "He knows what he's done wrong." After that, the guests looked at each other deciding that the Rachel they knew would never do things like that.

Looking back, I knew that I deserved it. I deserved every single word they hurled at me. The fact that I had committed such an atrocity haunts me to this day. I looked down at the countless presentation notes I had written. That black-haired girl was right. I knew what I had done wrong. Now, it was a matter of what I'd make from it.

Too Late (Steve)

          "Steve? Hello? It's me." I turned around. The voice sounded familiar. It was Caitlin! I didn't know what to make of seeing her again. She smiled sweetly as if this were just another day and we weren't on some floating island with golden trees. "I want to talk to you. We have much to catch up on." Caitlin made her way to the edge of the island. No no no. Don't jump. Too late. Caitlin took off and hovered. She had large lavender wings that were at least twice the length of her body. This place gets weirder and weirder with each step. "I need to fall off the island to fly, but you can climb that tree and jump off." She gestured towards one of the golden trees.

Hand over hand, I found branches. How did I not get scraped up? When I reached the top, I looked down, which was a terrible mistake considering my fear of heights. Caitlin looked at me patiently. She came down and stood next to me.
          "It's okay. Wings take some getting used to." I looked behind me to spot a pair of blue wings on my back. They shimmered like diamonds. "Just fall forward and you'll know what to do from there." I wasn't so sure about that. Caitlin's gleeful expression turned to a concerned one."You seem a little apprehensive. Is something wrong?"
          "No." I could actually speak. It's been a while since I've heard my own voice.
          "Then follow me." Caitlin fell, spread her wings, and soared...well...like a bird. I spread my wings. Flapping frantically, I felt as though I had no control. I corkscrewed in random directions and struggled to stay aloft. Eventually, I caught a glimpse of Caitlin soaring. As the wind blew in my face, I realized that I shouldn't to fight it. I should ride it.

Emulating her technique, I got the hang of flying. I looked around to see flying pigs and whales. The biology department should get a load of that! Weird cloud things occasionally dotted the islands. Eventually, Caitlin found an island where we could land. She folded her wings gracefully while I tumbled to the ground. She opened the small basket she was holding and handed me a foil-wrapped bowl and a fork. I peeled the foil back to find a bowl of steaming hot katsudon. I took a bite of the pork and the rice. As Caitlin took a bite of her teriyaki chicken, I decided it was best to be direct.
            "I've...recently found another lover."
            "Can you tell me who she is?" Instead of being angry like I had expected, Caitlin's eyes sparkled with curiosity.
            "Well...'she' is a he...."
            "Then can you tell me who he is?"
            "It's Landon." I felt a strange sense of relief after saying that. I thought I was insulting the relationship I had with Caitlin when I first recognized the way I felt about him, but Caitlin seemed to think otherwise.
            "I think very highly of Landon. He is an excellent man and your relationship has my blessing." Caitlin looked to the side. "By the way, there's something I need to tell you too." I took another bite of rice. "I never told you that I was autistic."
            "Why not?" It was strange for Caitlin to keep something like this from me, especially when it made so much sense of some of her baffling antics. I thought the hand flapping thing was another one of her quirks. To be honest, I was better able to read her hands than her face.
            "I didn't know what you'd think of me." She averted her eyes. "I was afraid that you'd leave me to die or use it against me." Now, why would I do that? Had I known, I would have invested in therapy, reducing sensory strains, and, well, anything I could do to help. Now that it was too late, I felt a more intense regret than I've ever felt before.  "I'd love to stay forever, but my time here is limited. I have one last task for you before I go."
            "What is that?"
            "Tell Landon that Rachel forgives him." Who's Rachel?

Just like that, I woke up back in my own bed as tears started forming in my eyes. Blinking them back, I realized again that I was too late. I could have saved Caitlin if I had been more attentive and moved quickly enough. I've had scads of girlfriends in high school whose emotions I've played with for my own pleasure, but I missed one shot I had at a meaningful relationship. I didn't deserve Caitlin's affection, so why should I pretend that I deserve Landon's?



       

Getting it Done (Jordan)

Well, this whole magic sword thing was a lot easier than I expected. I just treated the sword parts and the human parts as necessary. Now, if this kid would polish or sharpen their sword once in a while, that'd be great. I pulled a fresh batch of butter cookies out of the oven and let them cool. There's no way Alex won't eat these. I'm probably going to have organic food moms breathing down my neck for the next month, but, since Alex sometimes won't eat at all, I needed to get some calories in her.

I went back to repairing a bow. The thing was simple and had some vine engravings, which usually represent longevity and prosperity. The bowstring had snapped right in the center, presumably from excessive tension. Generally, people who tighten their bowstrings too much are of a high-strung (no pun intended) nature while those who do not do it enough or at all are more laid-back. I threaded a new bowstring and tensed it to perfection. This person should be out having sniper duels with skeletons in no time.

I checked the clock. Assuming that the severe wind warning is just another overreaction on the media's part, Ali should arrive in no time. I put some cookies on a plate for Alex and took them up to her room. She took a bite. We'll visit another psychologist in about a week. The time window will allow Alex to sort through her emotions and articulate them more effectively. Outside, the wind picked up and roared angrily.

I found Ali waiting outside the door. Liz was as good as new, but, to prevent further problems, I threw in polish and an anti-rust treatment free of charge. They took the regalia and left, leaving me with a relatively fat wad of cash. Considering that the psychologist doesn't accept money from the blockchain, this would come in handy.

Lost and Won (Mark)

I cannot believe how stupid people can be.

First, I had to deal with a fight that broke out between my students. This wasn't just a little dispute over a broken reed, but it was a full on hair-pulling face-scratching brawl between two female flutes. Anyone who isn't afraid of a girl fight has obviously never seen one. When girls fight, they pull out all the stops. They throw water, scream, and kick the girl who's down. Having taught high school band for four years now, I've learned about many different kinds of fights.

From what I could tell, these girls weren't fighting over anything in particular. They were just on edge in the same space and somehow set each other off. Here in Mineplex High School, it happens all the time. After dragging them to administration, I went back to teaching the songs: Colonial Song and Foundry.

Our stellar low brass would have carried us through Colonial Song if not for a flat second flute and a saxophone that was playing an entirely different chord progression. After checking some notes and making sure our new contrabass clarinetist wasn't going to pass out, we ran some parts again to make sure everything was good. It was. Our piccolo player took a tacet for this one.

Next came Foundry. One of my first clarinet's reeds decided to just completely snap; the thing broke cleanly into two parts. Considering that this clarinetist took excellent care of their reeds, this came as a surprise. After changing reeds, we ran the beginning and some percussion stuff again. For some reason, they weren't all together. Having been a percussionist myself, I knew exactly what was wrong: They weren't listening to each other.
          "Why aren't you guys listening to each other?"
          "We are."
          "Doesn't sound like it. Play it again." Again, they had the same disconnect. What has gotten into the percussion section? Normally, they can blend their sounds like butter, even on a sight read. After the bell rang, they all left except for Catalina, my aide and contrabass clarinetist.
          "Mr. Navoa," I handed the originals to Catalina for her to copy. "I've been following #Caitgate for a while." Oh no. Not this again. "I need to do this project for my journalism class on a current event. May I ask a few questions?"
          "Go right ahead." I was prepared to answer anything.
          "What is your stance on Caitgate?"
          "Caitlin Netherfield was harassed into suicide. I have screenshots and URLs to prove it." Currently, the organization had turned towards pretending to sympathize with those who mourned her death.
          "Can you show me?"
          "Some of the things they said I cannot show to students, but I do have a few that may interest you." As Catalina read the screenshots, she covered her mouth in shock.
          "Who would do such a thing?"
          "These people, I guess. It's a battle lost and won."
          "Why do you say that?"
          "The battle's lost because a key figure in our lives passed on in such a horrible way, but it's also won because it exposes something about the organization that not a lot of people are aware of."
          "Thank you for your time." Catalina took the copies and left. I went on Twitter to find that some idiot spammed me with borderline nonsensical DMs.

If you're going to pick a side, pick the right side! You side with Caitlin and her edgelord friends! 

Quit pretending that you didn't see any problems with her opinions.

You're an ableist oppressive homophobic bigot.

I'll dox you if you don't side with us. 

We'll do it to your students too.

Good. Keep going. You're shooting yourself in the foot. I took screenshots as they went on.

You can't see that your privilege is a problem because you're committing serious microaggressions with it.  

What are those?

You enforce the gender binary by tone policing. 

You should be ashamed of yourself. 

I checked their biography and, sure enough, this user identified themselves as a nonbinary girl with xirself pronouns and an anarcho-communist totalitarian. They were 28 years old too. Despite my initial impulses, I decided not to respond.

Again, I've lost and won.

The Dream (Landon)

Sensing that I needed to be there, I pushed through the crowds. Surprisingly, no one tried to fight me, not even the police. Although the school was mostly a charred mess, a few residual flames burned. Somehow, I knew to follow the flames.

I found a boy with red hair who looked to be about 15. He was dressed in all black with a bandanna around his nose and mouth. Weeping penitently and bitterly, I wondered if he was mourning his friends not knowing if they were dead or alive. When I found the bow at his side, I realized that he had done the deed. He scrounged around for an arrow, presumably to plant it through his head.

I approached him slowly and got down on his level. Upon looking more closely at the boy, I realized that he was my past self. I put my hand on his shoulder and he did not flinch. Instead, he clung to me and didn't seem to keen on letting go.
         "Let's get out of here. This place is a mess." I led my past self out of the building and into the light.

As I led him out, the crowd began to fight us. Someone knocked past me down and, oddly enough, I felt compelled to defend him. I told him to get out while he could and took hit after hit. Leaving the bandanna behind, he escaped. My vision started blurring and fading to black until I finally woke up.

Usually, in my past self dreams, I end up arguing with and fighting with 15 year old Landon and he usually ended up trying to kill me. Sometimes, he succeeded. At other times, I managed to get away. Ever since I started my presentation research, I began to realize why talking about Havencraft from my perspective mattered to me. Not only did I want to debunk rumors that I'm a sociopath, I want to help students like me who are going through similar things I want through. No student should feel the need to open fire on their classmates.

I was taught about preventing weapon violence in schools, but it was all the same witch hunt kind of stuff. As an example of what vigilante justice does, a student was expelled from DesiredCraft High School for listening to the song World Domination How-To by Neru. All the student did was listen to the song. Staff claimed that that the song "encouraged weapon violence" when that's not even the predominant focus of the song. All the incident told me was that the fine arts department, no less, had no idea how to read a composer's intentions. Tsuji and Azuma, the characters in the video, were two students who felt that they had no place in life. They were worried that they were going that things weren't going to end for them, that they would end up stuck with some boring desk job bullied by bosses and coworkers just like in high school. The flying desks are just symbols of Tsuji and Azuma breaking out of their hopelessness and realizing that they can break the cycle.

Caitlin was my Azuma. She, too, felt lonely, out of place, and was at odds with the world. I knew it the moment I saw her face. At first, I took out some unchecked anger and insecurity on her.  I saw an adversary, another version of myself in Caitlin. Eventually, she got the guts to confront me...to my face...in front of other people. No one's ever done that for me before. Thanks to her, I had a fresh start. I had the opportunity to at least try to understand my 15 year old self and not fight him.

Checking the calendar, I realized that it was my birthday: March 28. I am 22 years old today. I have a Gudetama T-shirt on and my life is of reasonable quality. I evaded the death penalty by a hair and now I'm making something good out of my life and serving something greater than myself. As I finished reading the article on sociopathy, I heard the doorbell ring. This had better not be more death threat mail.
         A delivery person handed me a cake. Hmm...cake? I'd hate for it to be poisoned, but, if I died eating cake, I died eating cake. On top, it featured some art of Tsuji and Mamoru from Neru's songs. Wow. Someone knows my tastes very well. I looked at the description on the receipt. The cake itself was lemon on top and chocolate on the bottom. Those are my two favorite cake flavors. I can't say which one I like more, though.
         "Thank you so much." I accepted the cake, left a generous tip of two emeralds, and took picture of the cake with my phone. After that, I read the note. It was in Helvetica this time. Is it my mysterious secret admirer again?

Will you be my Tsuji? -Mamoru

Hmm. That's pretty cryptic. Was it a Twitter troll? Nah. A Twitter troll wouldn't know where I live--or give me something this nice, for that matter. I looked at the back. There was nothing else, so I couldn't tell who "Mamoru" was...at least, not without a little reasoning.

Between the presence of the note, and the fact that "Mamoru" knew where I lived, I narrowed it down to two options: Steve or Mark. That left me to look more at the cake itself, which had blue frosting around the border. It was a signature Steve move to use symbolic colors, but Mark was familiar enough with Steve that he could imitate him pretty well. The blue frosting could have been a Mark move as well. I looked at the sprinkles on the frosting border: purple hearts, blue sand sugar, green smiles, and red flames. That was awfully specific. Mark wouldn't have gone to the trouble to incorporate this level of symbolism into a cake...or would he? The doorbell rang again.
          "Someone decided to order you a none pizza with left beef." The other delivery person paused. "Oh, and this person also ordered a giant bottle of pink lemonade for you. Whoever they are, they must have a great sense of humor." I left another tip and found a note with the pizza. It was handwritten.

I think my friend here likes you. I'll give you three clues to this person's identity. If nothing else, there was a good chance that Mark sent the none pizza with left beef. Steve is much more tasteful than that. If Steve sent me a pizza, he would at least send me one that had sauce and cheese.

1. Male
2. Plays a brass instrument
3. Band director

Those aren't very helpful clues! There are many people who could fit that description. I unfolded the note some more.

Ha! Just kidding. Here are the real clues.

1. Likes the color blue
2. Famous
3. Ex-violin prodigy

So it was Steve! I didn't know how to feel. Did he feel the same way about me? My heart started racing and my face must have turned as red as my hair. Impulsively, I took a bite from the none pizza with left beef and thought of the future I could have with him. 

With the Orchestra (Steve)

         "Um, Mr. Lowell." It was Lisette. I let her ask her question. "Do you want vibrato on my solo?" What kind of question is that? Of course I want vibrato on that violin solo! The problem I have with most violin solos is the lack of vibrato.
         "Yes. As much as you can." How do I turn a shy, but rather talented freshman into an excellent concertmaster? By bolstering her confidence, that's how. "You set the example for the rest of the violins."

This move will get me accused of nepotism, but Lisette was honestly the best out of all the violins. Not only did she play well, she had a good heart. I interviewed ten potential concertmaster candidates and most of them, from what I would tell, just wanted something to slap something on a resumé. Looking back, I remembered how unbearably arrogant I was in the past and I didn't want my students to have to suffer under that kind of leadership.
         
Lisette played again, this time with vibrato. We rejoined the others in time and I led them as a conductor. Alongside me, Lisette would lead with her violin. After running through and refining our solo viola (Kenji)'s entrance, I fixed some bowing problems in the cellos and the basses dragging so much that everyone was a measure behind. Kyle skipped one of his classes to rehearse the timpani and chimes parts with us. As usual, I made sure he didn't drown anyone out.
         "I just want an excuse to get out of pre-calc." Kyle laughed.

Don't we all?

Not Forgotten (Landon)

I opened my door to find these two people just standing, staring at me blankly. It was raining. Obviously, if they didn't intend to do something important, they wouldn't be here.
        "What do you want?" That deters a lot of the people who come to give me death threats. On the other hand, if they're radical true crime fans who want me to have their babies, I'm slamming the door in their faces. They looked at each other and decided to introduce themselves.
        "I'm Juliette Kurfield with Daggerfall News."
        "And?" Is this TMZ in disguise? It better not be. Juliette and her assistant looked too poised to be TMZ people.
        "I'm here to interview you." Sounds good.
        "Okay, but you must adhere to one condition: You cannot release any of this to TMZ, The Enquirer, or any similar "journalism" of that sort."
        "Noted. I was sent to conduct research on school shootings." No. Not this. Anything but this. I started to smell smoke and burning flesh as the memories came back.
        "Are you familiar with the Havencraft High School shooting?" Believe me, I was.
        "Yes, I am."
        "Why do you think Landon LaCoste did what he did?" This was getting worse and worse. Other than declaring my love for Steve wearing nothing but a rainbow loincloth, there were a thousand things I'd rather do than answer that question.

On one hand, I could just answer the question like anyone else and say "I don't know" or I could be honest and give others a perspective that seems to be a missing link. To be honest, I didn't really know why I did it myself. I guess it was a snowballing of a lot of things.
        "Well, lucky for you, I am Landon LaCoste." My name sounded disgusting, but I put on the old Landon charm because I was useless without it. "It was a lot of things, but, mainly, I was sick of being pushed around by my peers and teachers. I thought I could show them that I was not to be messed with. I started stockpiling arrows and studying advanced combat techniques so that I could prove that, for once, I could do something right and maybe...not be forgotten." That made more sense in my head than it did coming out of my mouth. Now, there's nothing I wouldn't give to be forgotten since I was remembered in a way that I hated.
        "How do you think future tragedies could be prevented?" It was her assistant this time, Xavier.
        "It needs to start with one's self. I was warned about dying in a school shooting, but I wasn't warned that I could end up doing the killing. Instead of going on 'vigilante witch hunts' as one of my friends said, we should make sure that no one ends up like me."
         "Thank you for your time." Juliette took off her press badge and slipped it into a pocket. "Now, I have another question to ask of you."
         "And this is off the record, right?"
         "Yes." I can't tell you how many times undercover Enquirer "reporters" had told me that my words would be off the record, but later ran off and blabbed about it to the world.
         "How can I be sure of that?"
         "Just trust us." They seemed pretty reputable.
         "We're offering you a deal. You should get a public speaking gig talking about this stuff."
         "Really?" Who would want to listen to me talk?
         "You have a perspective that no one else has and can clear up a lot of misconceptions on school shootings. Your speeches could save lives." I could right the wrongs of my actions through...public speaking? Was it possible?

According to Juliette: Yes, it was.