TITLE: High School Confidential 1 AUTHOR: ficklemuse SUMMARY: Pre-series. Pre-reality. All the gang in one high school at one time. PAIRING: None at the moments. RATING: PG FANDOM: Queer as Folk DISCLAIMER: Not mine. WARNINGS: Don’t talk to strangers. NOTES: This is the most AU thing I’ve ever written. But I had this plot bunny and it wouldn’t let go. Bear with me.   “Come on Michael. Maybe this year it won’t be so bad.” Deb finished packing Michael’s lunch with a frown. It hardly seemed like enough for a growing boy; a turkey sandwich, a few measly grapes and money for milk. “Besides, it’s not like you’re on your own anymore. You’ve got Brian.” “I know Ma. But Brian’s got student government and soccer. He’s taking all those advanced placement classes. The only thing we have together is lunch.” Michael picked up his lunch and stuffed it into his backpack. “It’ll be okay sweetie. You’ll see.” Deb patted Michael’s cheek. “Now listen, I’m working a split shift tonight okay? So come by the diner after school and I’ll get you something to bring home for dinner. Do your homework, your laundry and clean up your room.” When Michael made a face, Deb rolled her eyes. “Fine. At least shovel a path between the door, your bed and the closet.” “Okay Ma.” Michael kissed his mother on the cheek and walked out the front door. Tracy was waiting for him as usual. They’d walked to school together every day since fourth grade. “Heya Mike!” “Hi Trace.” Michael walked over to Tracy and the two of them started on the way to Franklin Delano Roosevelt High. “So what classes have you got for the semester?” “Home Ec, Art, Algebra II, World Geography, Physical Science, American Lit. and I’m a T.A for Mrs. Ibbotson in the library.” “No study hall?” Michael asked with a sinking feeling. The only way he’d been able to slide through geometry last year was because Tracy had tutored him during their study hall. “Nope. But Mrs. Ibbotson won’t care what I do when I’m in the library so long as the books get shelved. I’m in there 6th period.” Tracy cast a sideways look at Michael. “You can just get a hall pass to go to the library during study hall.” They stopped at the cross walk and were joined by other students from the neighborhood. “So what have you got this semester Mike?” “Advanced English Comp, World History, Algebra II, Chemistry, U.S History…” Michael recited then sighed heavily. “Study hall and P.E with Mr. Phillips.” Tracy groaned. “Oh no! Why do they keep putting you in his class? He’s such a *jerk*!” “I know. My Ma even tried talking to Vice Principal Keller about it but he said that he can’t ‘go arranging student’s schedules to suit our delusions of persecution’.” Michael imitated the Vice Principal’s nasal twang perfectly. “And I’m going to have him next semester too.” Michael added. “Because I have to make up all the classes I missed last year.” “But that wasn’t your fault! You have asthma!” Tracy cried out indignant on her friend’s behalf. “Oh Mike! What are you going to do?” “Stay in the back of the gym and hope he forgets about me. Same as I’ve done for the last two years.” Michael said. “But at least this year I have a note from the doctor saying he can’t make me do the mile run outside.” “Well I suppose that’s something at least.” Tracy dragged Michael to a stop a block before they reached the school, pulled him behind some hedges and shoved her book bag into his arms. “Just a second.” Michael rolled his eyes knowing what was coming. Tracy’s parents were very strict about what she could and couldn’t wear. They sent her off to school wearing a calf length skirt, a long sleeved, high neck collar and a jacket. But every day Tracy transformed her clothes into something more high school friendly with just a few minor alterations. As annoying as it was to have to wait for her, Michael kind of admired his friend’s perseverance. She quickly and carefully unzipped the skirt from it’s satin lining and stuffed the ugly outer shell into her open backpack. Then she opened the buttons on her blouse revealing some sort of undershirt. Michael made sure not to look too long at her half naked body. Brian already teased him about Tracy being his ‘wife’. Michael didn’t really want to encourage her. By the time Michael looked back Tracy looked like a normal teenager instead of some missionary. “Can we go now?” “Sure.” Tracy smiled and kissed Michael’s cheek. “You’re a lifesaver Mike. Just you wait and see. Some girl this year is gonna snap you right up.” She teased before disappearing out of the hedges. Michael planted his face in his hands and briefly considered going back home and playing sick for the rest of the year.   Kinney Household: Brian stormed back into the kitchen, slamming the door hard enough to make the panes of glass shake and his mother jump. “Brian! What is the matter?” Joan clasped her hand over her heart with one hand and surreptitiously replaced the bottle of vodka under the sink with the other. “Funny but I seem to have misplaced something.” Brian drawled. At his mother’s blank look, Brian growled. “My car mother. My car is missing.” “Oh! That’s that you’re upset about. Dear, Claire missed the bus to the community college this morning so she borrowed your car. She said you told her it was alright so I gave her your spare key.” “Mother? Have I ever given Claire permission to touch anything of mine? Where does she get off stealing the car I worked two jobs to pay for?” Brian stalked past his mother, up the stairs to his sister’s bedroom, threw open her closet door and selected his victim. Back down in the kitchen Brian grabbed a box of matches and a bottle of cooking sherry out of the cupboard. Setting Claire’s $400 cashmere sweater in the sink he doused it with sherry and set it on fire. “BRIAN!” Joan watched open mouthed and aghast. “That was your sister’s favorite sweater! The one Grandma Kinney got her for Christmas last year!” “When my sister gets home today you should tell her that every time she touches my shit she’s going to lose something of hers.” Brian informed his mother. And with a cold glance to the cabinet under the sink tossed over his shoulder. “We now return you to your regularly scheduled Bloody Mary.”   “Is that what you’re wearing today?” Mrs. Petersen asked from the doorway of Lindsay’s bathroom. Lindsay paused in the middle of pulling her hair into a ponytail and eyed her outfit critically. “Why? Is it not right?” “No no dear. If you like it that’s what’s important.” Mrs. Petersen said even as she moved to Lindsay’s closet. “I just think you look so feminine in the pink. It’s just such a lovely color on you…” She produced a pink silk shell and the matching crotched sweater, holding it out. Lindsay bit her tongue and slipped out of the sea green top she’d bought specifically for the first day of school and put on the outfit her mother picked out. She thanked her mother and went to finish her hair, all the while reminding herself that in two more years she’d be in college and her mother wouldn’t have any say on how she dressed. When Lindsay came out of the bathroom every hair was in place as well as just a hint of lip gloss. She surveyed her pink and white bedroom, pausing to close the closet door before gathering her books and heading downstairs. In the dining room she stopped to kiss her father on the cheek and sat down at her place between her mother and father. “Daddy?” “Yes baby?” Mr. Petersen asked from behind his newspaper. “Can you pick me up from school today on your way home from work?” Lindsay reached for the orange juice and poured herself a glass to go with her French toast. “Why so late?” “Student Council meeting. I can’t miss it.” “Oh Lindsay I wish you would have stuck with cheerleading.” “Student Council will be good for my college applications too mother. And I’m still on the golf team.” Mrs. Petersen gave a discontented sigh. “You looked so pretty in the uniform.” Lynette made a nasty snicker. “Yeah, except she kept falling on her butt in the middle of the routines.” “That’s enough Lynette. You two had better eat up and get going.” “Yes Mother.” Lindsay said as she bit into her French toast and tried to ignore her sister’s mocking laughter.   “Now remember, when we get to the high school you don’t know me.” Emmett shifted in his too big shoes. They were hand me downs from his behemoth brother Royce who was the one lecturing him as they dropped off their younger siblings at the elementary school, and the junior high before moving down the street to the high school. “Right. Because Honeycutt is such a common name in Pittsburgh. I bet nobody will make the connection.” Emmett drawled. He hated Pittsburgh already. Everybody had a funny accent, it was too cold for September, the house they were living in wasn’t big enough and in spite of all the promises that were made to his father – the money at the steel mill wasn’t that much better than the money at the coal mines. And Pittsburgh seemed uglier. Not that Hazlehurst Mississippi was much to look at, but there was beauty there if you knew where to look for it. At least there had been until his Aunt Lula died. After that Emmett hadn’t really cared where they went. Pittsburgh, Poughkeepsie - it was all the same to him. At least their postman in Pittsburgh hadn’t spit on him yet. Royce shoved Emmett off the sidewalk. “I don’t want people knowing my brother’s a fag.” He hissed. “Just stay away from me while we’re in school. You don’t know me and I don’t know you.” Emmett rolled with the shove. He was used to it. Royce had been shoving him around since they were in the crib together. And if his big dumb brother wanted to delude himself into thinking that the kids of Franklin Delano Roosevelt High School were going to be jumping at the chance to be a poor hill billy redneck’s friend any faster than they would a queers, well that was just Royce’s problem. He’d figure it out soon enough. Aunt Lula had always said that money cut across all lines. Color, sex, orientation. It didn’t matter. Poor was always at the bottom no matter what. The Honeycutts weren’t a little poor, they were dirt poor without much chance of ever being anything *but* dirt poor. Seven little mouths to feed, two big ones and one gambling habit to feed and money went through their family like water through a sieve. Emmett was just biding his time until he could get his diploma and get out. But until then he rolled with the punches, both literal and figurative. As they approached the high school, Emmett let out a little gasp. The school was bigger than all of Hazlehurst put together. Royce gave him another shove and took off for the school. Emmett sighed, bent down to pick up his books and continued to walk. He had a feeling it was going to be a very long day.   “Have you got everything?” “Yes Mom.” Justin fidgeted in the hallway. “Can I go now? Daphne’s mom is waiting for me!” Jennifer Taylor pushed Justin’s blonde hair out of his eyes and frowned. “I wish you had let me get you a haircut. It’s so shaggy. You can’t even see!” Annoyed, Justin smoothed his hair back down and scowled. They’d had this same fight for two weeks. “MOM! Come on!” “Fine. Go and say goodbye to your father.” Jennifer placed a kiss on Justin’s cheek as Justin reluctantly turned and walked back into the kitchen. “Bye Dad!” “Hey! Hold up there sport!” Craig stood up from the kitchen table. “First day of high school is a pretty big deal huh? I can’t help but wish you were going to St. James like your old man. But what with the scandal – I just can’t help think you’re better off in public school.” Craig clapped a hand on Justin’s shoulder with enough force to make the 14 year old stagger back a few steps. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a couple of twenties. “Lunch money and a little something in case you wind up doing something after school.” “Thanks Dad.” Justin looked at the clock on the wall. Daphne was going to kill him if he made her late the first day. “I gotta go. Mrs. Chanders is waiting for me.” “Okay. But promise me you’ll ask around about the soccer team. Soccer could really be your sport. You’re fast like your old man!” “Alright Dad.” Justin slipped out of the kitchen and rolled his eyes so hard they hurt. His father was just painful. He refused to give up on the dream that he was someday going to wake up and have an all American athlete for a son. But Justin kept on disappointing him. First with Pee Wee football when he’d broken two fingers, then Little League when he accidentally hit the Coach in the balls with the baseball, then hockey which was a great idea except Justin was horrible on skates. The only sports left were basketball, track or soccer. This week his dad was a soccer fan. Next week he’d be talking basketball. Justin could only hope his father didn’t expect him to try the luge. He arrived as Daphne’s just as her mother was pulling out of the driveway. Mrs. Chanders stopped and let him climb in the backseat. “We were worried you weren’t going to make it.” Daphne’s mother said. “She was worried. I was annoyed!” Daphne punched Justin’s arm. “I am not going to be late because of you. Where were you?” “My dad.” Justin and Daphne rolled their eyes together. His brows furrowed. “I still don’t know what the ‘big scandal’ was at St. James that made everybody pull all their kids out. Do you?” Daphne shook her head. “Mom?” “Yes baby?” Mrs. Chanders looked in the rearview mirror. “What are you two whispering about back there?” “What happened at St. James?” Mrs. Chanders sighed heavily. “It’s adult business. We don’t need to rehash that all. I’ve gone over it with your father a million times already.” “But MOM…” Justin grinned. Nobody could wheedle information better than Daphne. She was a pro. He wouldn’t be surprised if she wound up working for the CIA some time de-briefing prisoners. “Fine! Two of the teachers were caught having a relationship. The parents got concerned and they, including that pigheaded father decided not to send you all to St. James.” Daphne frowned. “That’s it? That’s all? Two teachers were dating?” “They were both men.” Mrs. Chanders answered. “Some people think that it’s their business what two grown adults do in the privacy of their bedroom. Some of us, I like to think the more tolerant of us, do not. Don’t let your father’s or the other parents prejudice influence your thinking. You’re old enough and smart enough to make your own decisions.” Daphne winked at Justin. “So that means I can make the decision to get a tattoo?” “Of course you can honey. Just like I can make the decision to paddle you raw if you so much as consider it.” Justin sat back in his seat only half listening to the banter around him. Two men. All the school meetings and emergency phone calls just because two men were having sex. He rubbed his face with both hands. He could just imagine his father’s reaction to that piece of news. He suddenly had a very sick feeling in the pit of his stomach.