just like starting over
Tyler Langley sat at the very bottom of the staircase just outside the Adam Delancey Memorial High School, a piece of paper sitting in his lap. Nobody but the janitors ever used this staircase, since the doors that led into and out of the school just above him were always locked. Tyler, however, had mastered the art of picking the old lock on one of the three doors while he was still a freshman, and could usually be found there before and in between classes, if anyone had been bothering to look for him; and since the doors were located on the far side of the school, where the dirty lake wrapped around the building and the parking lot was always fenced off, he almost always had the place to himself. At the moment, however, he was waiting for the only other person he had ever bothered to show his secret hiding place to.
Tyler half-turned at the sound of the metal hinges scraping as the old door was pushed open. “You know you shouldn’t be out here, kid.” Tyler turned away from the janitor that was now hauling a large black trash bag out onto the steps.
“I’m waiting for someone,” said Tyler vaguely, clutching the paper in his lap when a thick passing breeze threatened to carry it away. He sighed slightly, wrinkling his noise when the breeze bought with it the smell of the lake, which was, despite the assurances of the town council, most likely filled with radioactive sewage from the plant just next door.
“A girl,” grunted the janitor smartly, lifting the rather huge bag over his shoulder and beginning his slow trek down the stairs, obviously heading for the large trash bin a few feet away from the stairs. Tyler took a good look at him; he was not as old as he had first appeared, maybe not even out of his forties. The skin around his eyes was wrinkled and his hair was short and black and touched with gray.
“Not quite,” he said, grinning sardonically to himself, and clutching the paper even more tightly. The janitor gave him a funny look, but didn’t say any more as he finally reached the bottom of the stairs and now headed for the garbage bin.
“Tyler!” a voice shouted. Damien Winters was hopping down the stairs, three by three, toward him.
Tyler half-turned at the sound of the metal hinges scraping as the old door was pushed open. “You know you shouldn’t be out here, kid.” Tyler turned away from the janitor that was now hauling a large black trash bag out onto the steps.
“I’m waiting for someone,” said Tyler vaguely, clutching the paper in his lap when a thick passing breeze threatened to carry it away. He sighed slightly, wrinkling his noise when the breeze bought with it the smell of the lake, which was, despite the assurances of the town council, most likely filled with radioactive sewage from the plant just next door.
“A girl,” grunted the janitor smartly, lifting the rather huge bag over his shoulder and beginning his slow trek down the stairs, obviously heading for the large trash bin a few feet away from the stairs. Tyler took a good look at him; he was not as old as he had first appeared, maybe not even out of his forties. The skin around his eyes was wrinkled and his hair was short and black and touched with gray.
“Not quite,” he said, grinning sardonically to himself, and clutching the paper even more tightly. The janitor gave him a funny look, but didn’t say any more as he finally reached the bottom of the stairs and now headed for the garbage bin.
“Tyler!” a voice shouted. Damien Winters was hopping down the stairs, three by three, toward him.