Evening ca.
From Sue and Tommy, Locke learned the story behind their neighbor, Carrie White. It was just as he had suspected: Carrie's mother was a religious fanatic. Unlike most believers who simply attended church, Margaret White was paranoid and obsessive, running a small laundry and tailoring shop in town.
As for Carrie's father? No one knew. Rumor had it Carrie was born at ho; by the ti paradics arrived, the bed was a bloodbath, and Carrie was supposedly found with a pair of scissors in her hand. If help hadn't arrived, it was uncertain if she would have survived.
Tommy and Sue ntioned a darker rumor—that Carrie's mother viewed her daughter as "unclean," a child of sin, suspecting Carrie was the product of a forced encounter. While perhaps not entirely factual, the theory held weight. It was the only way to explain why a mother would treat her daughter the way she did.
"Lucky for ..." Locke remarked, sitting on the sofa. "I'm an orphan."
Gwen, walking down the stairs, paused as she heard him. "I hate to say it, Locke, but you don't live like an orphan at all."
Locke turned and smiled at her. "I an, I'm suddenly glad I don't have parents if that's what the alternative looks like. If I were Carrie, I don't know what I would have beco."
Actually, he did know. He would have run away and made himself an orphan. A good family could double your progress; a bad one could cut it in half. Being an orphan was a standard, neutral start—unless you hit the jackpot with a family as harmonious as Gwen's, an orphan start was often better than a bad draw.
Gwen sat beside him, nodding. "Still, those are just rumors. If Carrie were truly being mistreated, CPS should have intervened."
In the U.S., being a parent was almost like being under constant examination by Child Protective Services. If they deed you a failure—like if you hit your child—they had the power to strip you of custody.
Locke chuckled. "CPS only knows what's reported. If Carrie doesn't speak up, they'll never know."
Gwen looked at him intently. "You seem to know a lot about that."
Locke shook his head. "I understand the psychology of those kids. Because I was one of them."
Gwen froze for a second, then looked at him softly. "I'm sorry, I didn't an it like that."
Locke smiled. "It's fine. It's not like I let anyone bully ."
The family that had tried to take him in just for the foster care checks? They had "mysteriously disappeared" long ago. He preferred the welfare center where he could keep his personal items in his system inventory or Chester's basent. Once he hit sixteen, he applied for emancipation and finally moved past the "newbie phase."
...
"So," Gwen changed the subject. "What do you think of Sue and Tommy's suggestion?"
"The Winter Ball?"
Gwen nodded. "The dance is on the 8th. Our flight back is on the 10th."
Locke shrugged. "Sure. If you want to go, it'll be a nice change of pace."
Gwen crossed her legs. "We definitely won't be able to attend Midtown's Winter Ball."
"Why?"
Gwen gave him a look. "Because the Midtown Winter Ball is on December 23rd."
*The Poseidon.*
Locke rembered and grinned. "So, does this an you've accepted my invitation?" Gwen hadn't formally answered whether she'd spend New Year's on the ship with him.
Gwen laughed. "I'll go... as long as you can get past Dad."
Locke went silent. Passing George? That was a high-level boss fight. A weekend date was one thing. Christmas? To George, that would be like a wild boar breaking into his garden and running off with his favorite flower pot.
Gwen blinked at his silence. "Don't tell you're scared?"
Locke snapped out of it. "Don't worry. I'll handle him."
Scared? Not in his dictionary. If all else failed, he could just find an excuse to wing George—then Helen would be at the hospital, and he could whisk Gwen away.
'Wait... no.' If George got shot, Gwen wouldn't be in the mood for a cruise. He'd have to find a better way.
...
The next day, as Locke drove Gwen, Cindy, and Kahn to Augusta High, he noticed sothing felt off the mont they stepped out of the R8. The number of eyes following him had increased significantly.
In the hallways:
"Is that the guy from New York?"
"Which one?"
"The most handso one. In the trench coat."
"Wow, he really is good-looking."
"But why is he into Carrie? Is he blind?"
"He's from the big city. Probably just looking for sothing... 'exotic'."
Locke's lip twitched. 'Exotic? What the hell?'
Kahn's face was also dark. He'd heard a few girls call him average compared to the New York Heartthrob. 'These country hicks have no taste,' Kahn thought.
Locke saw Kahn's expression and laughed. "Don't mind them. Focus on the competition."
Kahn grunted. "I know. Even if we New Yorkers wanted to explore sothing 'exotic,' we wouldn't look for a girl."
Locke: "..."
'Not look for a girl? What are you looking for then?' Locke gave Kahn a suspicious look. This kid's interests were becoming increasingly alarming. Gwen, sensing the weird energy, grabbed Cindy and moved away from Kahn.
...
December 5th.
When Carrie arrived at school, she felt the weight of the gazes on her again. She was used to being stared at, but these past few days were different. There was a new intensity.
However, Carrie didn't care. She had found sothing exciting: she had power. She might actually be a witch.
She walked into the small auditorium, head down as usual, clutching her chemistry textbook. This was the site of the high school chemistry competition finals.
Locke, Gwen, Cindy, and Kahn were seated, wearing their Midtown High jackets. In front of each student was a buzzer. The competition consisted of 100 questions—first to buzz gets to answer. Correct: 1. Incorrect: -2. Highest score wins.
Mrs. Cord sat in the audience, not even looking at the stage. She was busy reviewing files of local Augusta students with high athletic or academic potential. She was here to "scout"—essentially, to see which students Midtown could "buy" with scholarships. It was a common business for small-town schools.
The chemistry teacher was even more relaxed. Compared to the nervous teacher from Augusta, he looked like he was on vacation. With two "Study Gods" on his team, losing was mathematically improbable. He recalled the mountains of practice papers Locke had insisted on taking under "exam conditions."
'Study Gods have quirks,' he figured. Just like how rumors claid Kahn had... "unique" interests. That was a job for the guidance counselor, not him.
As expected, there was no suspense. In less than an hour, it was over.
The score?
75 to 25.
Midtown High had crushed the locals.
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