Resume
by Dorothy Parker
Razor's pain you;
Rivers are damp;
Acids stain you;
And drugs cause cramp.
Guns aren't lawful;
Nooses give;
Gas smells awful;
You might as well live.
The List
Chapter One
"Fraaaaank!" screamed seventeen-year-old, blond-headed, blue-eyed, six foot Joe Hardy up the stairway to his inch taller, year older, brown-haired, brown-eyed brother. "Get down here. Now!"
Hearing the urgency in his brother's voice, Frank got up fromt he computer and ran tot he steps, not bothering to close the file he had been working on. "What..." he started to ask but broke off as the loud wail of a baby filled the air.
Frank increased his speed and found Joe in the living room with a baby lying on the coffee table. Joe was in the process of removing the baby's soggy diaper.
"Where did that come from?" Frank asked, his eyes wide as he neared the baby.
"The stork," Joe responded haggardly. "Go get the diaper bag, would you?" he asked.
"Where is it?" Frank inquired.
"Still on the back porch," Joe replied, leaning over and tickling the baby's feet to try and get it to quieten down.
When Frank came back into the living room, it was much quieter. The baby was no longer crying, but Joe was making cooing sounds to keep the baby laughing. Frank set the diaper bag down on the sofa and pulled out a fresh diaper and handed it to Joe. Then he pulled out some wet wipes and baby powder. Sitting on the floor beside the table, Frank handed over the items and tickled the baby's chin.
"So why do you have a baby?" Frank asked. "Who are you babysitting for?"
"I don't know," Joe answered, avoiding looking at him.
"What?" Frank demanded. "You mean someone just left the baby on the back porch?"
"Not exactly," Joe told him, putting on the clean diaper. "There was this girl in trouble at the park. We talked and she mentioned something about not being able to take care of her baby anymore."
"And?" Frank prodded, wondering what Joe had gotten them into.
"I told her we would take care of it for a couple of days ans she could come back then and pick her up."
"You what?!" Frank shouted in disbelief, startling the baby and causing it to start crying again.
Joe shot Frank and evil look as he finished fastening the diaper and picked the baby up. "Shh, it's okay," Joe soothed the baby as he gently shook it up and down as she rested her head against his shoulder.
"What's her name?" Frank asked, a frown on his face.
"Annabell," Joe answered. "It's such a pretty name," he cooed at the baby.
"I mean the mother," Frank said, fighting the urge to laugh at seeing Joe talk babyish.
"I'm not sure," Joe answered, but refused to look at Frank for the second time in just a few minutes. "She just seemed to need help, so I voulunteered," he added.
"Look, it's only for a couple of days," Joe coaxed Frank. "She was going to put her up for adoption or something."
"And you honestly expect her to come back in two days?" Frank demanded.
"If she isn't, we'll call Social Services and let them take Annabell," Joe said, although the look on Joe's face when he said it left Frank wondering if Joe would keep his word on this one. "Please?" Joe begged. "She'll be gone before mom and dad get back Friday."
"All right," Frank finally agreed. "But she sleeps in your room."
"Deal," Joe said, putting Annabell back into her bassinet. "But while I watch her, you need to run to the store and pick up a few things," he added, a huge grin taking shape on his face.
"What for?" Frank demanded warily.
Joe pulled a slip of paper fromhis shirt pocket and handed it to Frank. "They make a prepared infant formula now so we don't have to worry about that. But when you get back, we do need to sterlize the bottles before we put the formula in them."
"We?" Frank demanded witht he lift of an eyebrow.
"You can either watch the baby while I do them, or you can fix the bottles," Joe explained.
Frank groaned good-naturedly and rose to his feet. "I have to go and save the document I was working on and then I'll go," he said.
"School doesn't start for five more days," Joe said. "What are you working on?"
"I got my course schedule in the mail this morning," Frank informed Joe. "Mr. Davidson always requires a twenty-five page autobiography during the first two weeks. I thought I would get a head start."
"Only twenty-five pages?" Joe asked in all seriousness. "For you that shouldn't be a problem."
Frank shrugged his shoulders and turned red. "I didn't want to write about the mysteries we solve," he said. "It would be too much like bragging."
"What if he doesn't give the assignment this year?" Joe asked.
"Katy Dolenz, the school secretary, said he had given this assignment every year since he started teaching in Bayport," Frank answered. "Sounds like great odds to me."
"Why would she tell you that?" Joe asked.
"I needed to make an appointment with the guidance counselor but she wasn't available so I talked to Ms. Dolenz," Frank explained. He went upstairs, leaving Joe alone with the baby.
"Well, Annabell, just between you and me, I don't care what courses I get. Except for study hall," he amended. "That way, I won't have to bring home any homework."
"What's wrong?" Frank asked Joe, noticing the frown he wore on his face.
"I was looking at my course schedule for this term," Joe told Frank, looking up at him. "I got one I didn't sign up for."
"What is it?" Frank asked curiously, reaching out and grabbing the card Joe held in his hands. "Creative Expression?" Frank asked, his face lightening up as he broke out laughing.
Joe shot him a sour expression and snatched his schedule back. "Very funny," he growled. "They took away my study hall."
"Poor baby," Frank cooed. "Now you'll have to take a book home once in a while." Joe narrowed his blue eyes at Frank and gave another low growl before taking off. Frank was still laughing at Joe's sour disposition as Joe climbed the steps leading up to the counselor's office.
Joe rapped lightly on the open door and looked in at the new guidance counselor. A pretty woman with hazel eyes who wore her long blond hair in a pony tail was dressed in a pale blue linen skirt with an off-white blouse. She looked up at Joe's knock.
"I..." Joe began but lost his train of thought when she smiled at him. She took his hand in hers and pulled him into the room. "I'm the new guidance counselor, Patricia Merriweather," she introduced herself. "But I insist everyone call me Patty," she continued, leading Joe to a chair and gently easing him down.
She returned to her chair, still smiling brightly, and clasped her hands together on top of her desk. "Now, what can I do for you?" she asked, looking at Joe intently, her smile never waivering.
"Uh..uh," Joe tried to speak but felt as if he had been sucked into a whirlwind. He held out his course schedule.
Patty took the card from Joe and looked at it. "Was there something wrong with your schedule?" she asked him.
"Uh, I wanted study hall, not Creative Expression," Joe said, finally regaining his senses.
"I see," Patty said softly. "Creative Expression is a new course which is having it's debut here at Bayport High," she informed him. "I, uh, was asked to find students for the class," she continued, looking into his eyes. "I'm sorry," she added. "From your school records, I thought you would be perfect for the class."
"Oh, uh," Joe stuttered, clearly unsure what he should do.
"It's going to be an interesting course," she coaxed. "Music; art; poetry; things along that line."
"Well, I guess it wouldn't hurt to give it a try," Joe said with a slight shrug. "If I don't like it, can I have study hall next semester?" he inquired.
"Of course you may," Patty readily agreed, giving Joe another brilliant smile. "I think you'll like your teacher," she continued. "Amelia Norway is a wonderful person. I met her two weeks ago and we've become great friends."
Joe smiled at her and stood up. "I guess I had better get going or I'll be late for Algebra," he said.
"Don't be a stranger," she said, standing up and walking him to her door. "Drop in any time."
Joe made it to his Algebra class with a minute to spare. Seventeen-year-old, blond-headed, brown-eyed, Chet Morton had saved him a seat and waved Joe over as he entered the room. "Where have you been?" Chet asked as Joe sat down.
"Guidance counselor's," Joe replied. "They switched a course on me," he explained.
"I thought you only cared about study hall," Chet said with the lift of a brow as the bell rang.
"That's the one they took away," Joe replied, then gave his attention to the teacher.
After class, Chet followed Joe down the hall. "What did they give you instead?" he inquired.
"Creative Expression." Joe said, wrinkling his nose in distaste.
Chet broke out laughing. "You're kidding," he said. "Guess who else got saddled with that course?"
"Who?" Joe asked warily.
"Aaron Wissel," Chet replied, watching Joe's face.
"That trouble maker?" Joe demanded in disbelief. He shook his head. "If nothing else, this class should be interesting if only because of the students."
Joe opened his locker and put up his Algebra book. He shook his head as he closed his locker. "This is going to be a great year," he said sarcastically. "Even homework on the first day and from my first class yet!"
Chet laughed as he stored his book in his own locker. He had homework too, but he didn't mind it as much as Joe did.
Lunch time finally arrived and Joe joined his brother, Chet, and their friends, blond and beefy, blue-eyed, seventeen-year-old, Biff Hooper, wiry, dark-headed, dark-eyed, eighteen-year-old Tony Prito, bookish eighteen-year-old, sandy-haired, Phil Cohen who wore glasses covering his hazel eyes, Callie Shaw, a seventeen-year-old, blond-headed, green-eyed, girl who dated his brother, and Vanessa Bender, Joe's blond-headed, brown-eyed, seventeen-year-old girlfriend.
"Okay, spill," Callie ordered Joe when he sat down with his tray.
"What?" Joe asked, having no idea what she wanted to know.
"Everyone is talking about the new course, Creative Expression," Vanessa told him. "It's a closed course so only the people who were reassigned can take it and Frank just told us you were one of the lucky few."
"Oh," Joe said, his expression turning sour.
"Aw, come on," Callie said, seeing his face. "It sounds like fun."
"Study hall would have been funner," Joe insisted stoically.
"Then why didn't you get it changed?" Frank asked with a frown.
"Patty said..." Joe began, only to be interuppted by shouts from everyone. "Patty---Patricia Merriweather, the new guidance counselor," Joe explained. "She said everyone calls her Patty. Anyway, she said she was asked to pick out the students for this course and wanted me to try it for a semester," he ended with a shrug of his shoulders.
"When is your class?" Chet asked.
"Sixth period," Callie answered for him. "It's the only one being offered."
"Why don't we all meet at Mr. Pizza after school and Joe can tell us all about it," Biff suggested, looking over the table at Joe.
"Sure," Joe agreed.
Frank's next class was at the opposite end of school so he left lunch a little early and headed down the hall. He was passing Principal Dylan's office when he heard something which made him stop outside and listen.
"And all the students are still signed up for this course?" Frank heard Principal Dylan ask. "Even Joe Hardy?"
"Relax," a bright voice assured him. "I spoke with Joe this morning," she continued, making Frank believe she was the new guidance counselor. "He agreed to a semester's trial period."
"That's good," Principal Dylan said in a relieved voice. "I never would have thought Joe was a candidate for a class like this if you hadn't shown me that chapter in your book," he continued.
"I know," Patty replied. "It's a shame there are so many students here at Bayport who have either tried to kill themselves or live in the same situations where others have committed suicide. But Joe Hardy," she added. "He's a classic textbook example of a suicide victim. Add the fact that his girlfriend was murdered before his own eyes and, well... I'm surprised he hasn't killed himself already."
by Dorothy Parker
Razor's pain you;
Rivers are damp;
Acids stain you;
And drugs cause cramp.
Guns aren't lawful;
Nooses give;
Gas smells awful;
You might as well live.
The List
Chapter One
"Fraaaaank!" screamed seventeen-year-old, blond-headed, blue-eyed, six foot Joe Hardy up the stairway to his inch taller, year older, brown-haired, brown-eyed brother. "Get down here. Now!"
Hearing the urgency in his brother's voice, Frank got up fromt he computer and ran tot he steps, not bothering to close the file he had been working on. "What..." he started to ask but broke off as the loud wail of a baby filled the air.
Frank increased his speed and found Joe in the living room with a baby lying on the coffee table. Joe was in the process of removing the baby's soggy diaper.
"Where did that come from?" Frank asked, his eyes wide as he neared the baby.
"The stork," Joe responded haggardly. "Go get the diaper bag, would you?" he asked.
"Where is it?" Frank inquired.
"Still on the back porch," Joe replied, leaning over and tickling the baby's feet to try and get it to quieten down.
When Frank came back into the living room, it was much quieter. The baby was no longer crying, but Joe was making cooing sounds to keep the baby laughing. Frank set the diaper bag down on the sofa and pulled out a fresh diaper and handed it to Joe. Then he pulled out some wet wipes and baby powder. Sitting on the floor beside the table, Frank handed over the items and tickled the baby's chin.
"So why do you have a baby?" Frank asked. "Who are you babysitting for?"
"I don't know," Joe answered, avoiding looking at him.
"What?" Frank demanded. "You mean someone just left the baby on the back porch?"
"Not exactly," Joe told him, putting on the clean diaper. "There was this girl in trouble at the park. We talked and she mentioned something about not being able to take care of her baby anymore."
"And?" Frank prodded, wondering what Joe had gotten them into.
"I told her we would take care of it for a couple of days ans she could come back then and pick her up."
"You what?!" Frank shouted in disbelief, startling the baby and causing it to start crying again.
Joe shot Frank and evil look as he finished fastening the diaper and picked the baby up. "Shh, it's okay," Joe soothed the baby as he gently shook it up and down as she rested her head against his shoulder.
"What's her name?" Frank asked, a frown on his face.
"Annabell," Joe answered. "It's such a pretty name," he cooed at the baby.
"I mean the mother," Frank said, fighting the urge to laugh at seeing Joe talk babyish.
"I'm not sure," Joe answered, but refused to look at Frank for the second time in just a few minutes. "She just seemed to need help, so I voulunteered," he added.
"Look, it's only for a couple of days," Joe coaxed Frank. "She was going to put her up for adoption or something."
"And you honestly expect her to come back in two days?" Frank demanded.
"If she isn't, we'll call Social Services and let them take Annabell," Joe said, although the look on Joe's face when he said it left Frank wondering if Joe would keep his word on this one. "Please?" Joe begged. "She'll be gone before mom and dad get back Friday."
"All right," Frank finally agreed. "But she sleeps in your room."
"Deal," Joe said, putting Annabell back into her bassinet. "But while I watch her, you need to run to the store and pick up a few things," he added, a huge grin taking shape on his face.
"What for?" Frank demanded warily.
Joe pulled a slip of paper fromhis shirt pocket and handed it to Frank. "They make a prepared infant formula now so we don't have to worry about that. But when you get back, we do need to sterlize the bottles before we put the formula in them."
"We?" Frank demanded witht he lift of an eyebrow.
"You can either watch the baby while I do them, or you can fix the bottles," Joe explained.
Frank groaned good-naturedly and rose to his feet. "I have to go and save the document I was working on and then I'll go," he said.
"School doesn't start for five more days," Joe said. "What are you working on?"
"I got my course schedule in the mail this morning," Frank informed Joe. "Mr. Davidson always requires a twenty-five page autobiography during the first two weeks. I thought I would get a head start."
"Only twenty-five pages?" Joe asked in all seriousness. "For you that shouldn't be a problem."
Frank shrugged his shoulders and turned red. "I didn't want to write about the mysteries we solve," he said. "It would be too much like bragging."
"What if he doesn't give the assignment this year?" Joe asked.
"Katy Dolenz, the school secretary, said he had given this assignment every year since he started teaching in Bayport," Frank answered. "Sounds like great odds to me."
"Why would she tell you that?" Joe asked.
"I needed to make an appointment with the guidance counselor but she wasn't available so I talked to Ms. Dolenz," Frank explained. He went upstairs, leaving Joe alone with the baby.
"Well, Annabell, just between you and me, I don't care what courses I get. Except for study hall," he amended. "That way, I won't have to bring home any homework."
"What's wrong?" Frank asked Joe, noticing the frown he wore on his face.
"I was looking at my course schedule for this term," Joe told Frank, looking up at him. "I got one I didn't sign up for."
"What is it?" Frank asked curiously, reaching out and grabbing the card Joe held in his hands. "Creative Expression?" Frank asked, his face lightening up as he broke out laughing.
Joe shot him a sour expression and snatched his schedule back. "Very funny," he growled. "They took away my study hall."
"Poor baby," Frank cooed. "Now you'll have to take a book home once in a while." Joe narrowed his blue eyes at Frank and gave another low growl before taking off. Frank was still laughing at Joe's sour disposition as Joe climbed the steps leading up to the counselor's office.
Joe rapped lightly on the open door and looked in at the new guidance counselor. A pretty woman with hazel eyes who wore her long blond hair in a pony tail was dressed in a pale blue linen skirt with an off-white blouse. She looked up at Joe's knock.
"I..." Joe began but lost his train of thought when she smiled at him. She took his hand in hers and pulled him into the room. "I'm the new guidance counselor, Patricia Merriweather," she introduced herself. "But I insist everyone call me Patty," she continued, leading Joe to a chair and gently easing him down.
She returned to her chair, still smiling brightly, and clasped her hands together on top of her desk. "Now, what can I do for you?" she asked, looking at Joe intently, her smile never waivering.
"Uh..uh," Joe tried to speak but felt as if he had been sucked into a whirlwind. He held out his course schedule.
Patty took the card from Joe and looked at it. "Was there something wrong with your schedule?" she asked him.
"Uh, I wanted study hall, not Creative Expression," Joe said, finally regaining his senses.
"I see," Patty said softly. "Creative Expression is a new course which is having it's debut here at Bayport High," she informed him. "I, uh, was asked to find students for the class," she continued, looking into his eyes. "I'm sorry," she added. "From your school records, I thought you would be perfect for the class."
"Oh, uh," Joe stuttered, clearly unsure what he should do.
"It's going to be an interesting course," she coaxed. "Music; art; poetry; things along that line."
"Well, I guess it wouldn't hurt to give it a try," Joe said with a slight shrug. "If I don't like it, can I have study hall next semester?" he inquired.
"Of course you may," Patty readily agreed, giving Joe another brilliant smile. "I think you'll like your teacher," she continued. "Amelia Norway is a wonderful person. I met her two weeks ago and we've become great friends."
Joe smiled at her and stood up. "I guess I had better get going or I'll be late for Algebra," he said.
"Don't be a stranger," she said, standing up and walking him to her door. "Drop in any time."
Joe made it to his Algebra class with a minute to spare. Seventeen-year-old, blond-headed, brown-eyed, Chet Morton had saved him a seat and waved Joe over as he entered the room. "Where have you been?" Chet asked as Joe sat down.
"Guidance counselor's," Joe replied. "They switched a course on me," he explained.
"I thought you only cared about study hall," Chet said with the lift of a brow as the bell rang.
"That's the one they took away," Joe replied, then gave his attention to the teacher.
After class, Chet followed Joe down the hall. "What did they give you instead?" he inquired.
"Creative Expression." Joe said, wrinkling his nose in distaste.
Chet broke out laughing. "You're kidding," he said. "Guess who else got saddled with that course?"
"Who?" Joe asked warily.
"Aaron Wissel," Chet replied, watching Joe's face.
"That trouble maker?" Joe demanded in disbelief. He shook his head. "If nothing else, this class should be interesting if only because of the students."
Joe opened his locker and put up his Algebra book. He shook his head as he closed his locker. "This is going to be a great year," he said sarcastically. "Even homework on the first day and from my first class yet!"
Chet laughed as he stored his book in his own locker. He had homework too, but he didn't mind it as much as Joe did.
Lunch time finally arrived and Joe joined his brother, Chet, and their friends, blond and beefy, blue-eyed, seventeen-year-old, Biff Hooper, wiry, dark-headed, dark-eyed, eighteen-year-old Tony Prito, bookish eighteen-year-old, sandy-haired, Phil Cohen who wore glasses covering his hazel eyes, Callie Shaw, a seventeen-year-old, blond-headed, green-eyed, girl who dated his brother, and Vanessa Bender, Joe's blond-headed, brown-eyed, seventeen-year-old girlfriend.
"Okay, spill," Callie ordered Joe when he sat down with his tray.
"What?" Joe asked, having no idea what she wanted to know.
"Everyone is talking about the new course, Creative Expression," Vanessa told him. "It's a closed course so only the people who were reassigned can take it and Frank just told us you were one of the lucky few."
"Oh," Joe said, his expression turning sour.
"Aw, come on," Callie said, seeing his face. "It sounds like fun."
"Study hall would have been funner," Joe insisted stoically.
"Then why didn't you get it changed?" Frank asked with a frown.
"Patty said..." Joe began, only to be interuppted by shouts from everyone. "Patty---Patricia Merriweather, the new guidance counselor," Joe explained. "She said everyone calls her Patty. Anyway, she said she was asked to pick out the students for this course and wanted me to try it for a semester," he ended with a shrug of his shoulders.
"When is your class?" Chet asked.
"Sixth period," Callie answered for him. "It's the only one being offered."
"Why don't we all meet at Mr. Pizza after school and Joe can tell us all about it," Biff suggested, looking over the table at Joe.
"Sure," Joe agreed.
Frank's next class was at the opposite end of school so he left lunch a little early and headed down the hall. He was passing Principal Dylan's office when he heard something which made him stop outside and listen.
"And all the students are still signed up for this course?" Frank heard Principal Dylan ask. "Even Joe Hardy?"
"Relax," a bright voice assured him. "I spoke with Joe this morning," she continued, making Frank believe she was the new guidance counselor. "He agreed to a semester's trial period."
"That's good," Principal Dylan said in a relieved voice. "I never would have thought Joe was a candidate for a class like this if you hadn't shown me that chapter in your book," he continued.
"I know," Patty replied. "It's a shame there are so many students here at Bayport who have either tried to kill themselves or live in the same situations where others have committed suicide. But Joe Hardy," she added. "He's a classic textbook example of a suicide victim. Add the fact that his girlfriend was murdered before his own eyes and, well... I'm surprised he hasn't killed himself already."