s*t*a*r*s - pt 3

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            Rylee dashes off the plane; she knows a car is waiting for her, her mother has arranged it.  Sad about leaving her parents so suddenly, but Rylee feels as if she has to hide herself since telling her parents that she is gay.  It had been a gut wrenching thing for her, since her own mother had been an only child, and her father as well, Rylee had always imagined that she’d be the next to carry on the generation.  Her father had seemingly taken it well, and Rylee suspected that her father had already known.  Her mother, Emma, who is away much more often due to her job, had been stunned.  Then it had seems just like today, it is okay, but Rylee didn’t feel like it is okay.  So, she has run away, but at least it is to school, thought Rylee wryly.

            Rylee’s mother has always been an enigma to her, because Rylee didn’t see how her mother could do what she did.  Day in and day out, Emma hunts and chases killers and monsters, finding them when no one else can.  Yet, at home, she is normal, loves clothes and can get lost a whole day in a book while she sits out on the warm beach that lay before their house.  Rylee adores her mother, but is daddy’s little girl through and through.  Even now, as Rylee tries to get a firm grip on who she is, she wonders if that has affected her choice, or has made her who she is.  Is it because her father had taught her to play football and not with dolls that she preferred women to men?  Rylee sighs as she gets into the car that is waiting for her.  It doesn’t matter, she is who she is, Rylee Jo Scott is gay, and after Rylee deals with that, the world will have too also.


            Spencer Andrews slings her olive green Army surplus bag over her shoulder, trudging to the administration’s office.  The map that had come along with her admittance papers is nice; it saves her from the embarrassment of having to ask a second or third year student where anything is.  Unless, or course, you can ‘t read a map as one of the other freshman had just been lamenting about to her right.  Complaining about not having her cell phone and a GPS system, Spencer simply rolls her eyes and keeps walking.  Spencer didn’t do well with technology, computers, cell phones, all of them seems to react, well, violently to her.  So, Spencer keeps them at arm’s length at all times.  TV’s seems to get very snowy when she is around and once, she’d almost forced an airplane to land when she’d awaken from a bad dream in midflight.  So, cell phones and GPS systems mean little to Spencer, who prefers to write papers out in long hand to typing them on a computer. 

The paper work she’d received has instructed her to report to Eric Storm.  Not even one hour on the island, and she is in trouble.  Edging the door open, she is greeted by a smiling secretary. 

            “Take a seat, dear,” the older woman says to her.  Spencer smiles wryly, who is she calling dear?  Well, the woman is going to get to know her.  If there is trouble, it usually falls on Spencer’s back, even if she hasn’t done it.

            “Well, if it isn’t Spencer Andrews, welcome to Haven Island,” says Eric Storm from the doorway.  “Please, come in,” he says in his accented voice. 

Spencer tosses a look at her bag, and then leaves it where it is.  There is nothing in there that anyone will want.  Rubbing her hands on her faded jeans and entering the room, she is sure she is going to see it often in the next four years, if she lasts that long.

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