Storm Undercover

Here's Chapter 2. I think some humor starts in this one. :)

Storm waited for Logan. She looked up at him questioningly as he exited the classroom with a smile on his face. Logan shrugged.

“He just said sorry for talking about my injury,” Logan answered the unasked question.

“You like history, I see,” Storm commented. “It wasn’t anywhere near as boring with you and Kensington trading shots.”

“Do you have lunch this period?” Logan asked. “I know Tracy does.”

“Yes.”

“Good, want to sit with us?”

“Sure, but don’t you hang out with the guys?” Storm joked.

“Not if I can hang out with two hotties.”

“Hotties?”

“Sorry, did I say that out loud? Did you brown bag today?”

“Right again,” Storm replied, as she kept pace with Logan through the crowded noisy hallway. “Lunch is in my book bag here. I don’t have anything to drink though.”

“We’ll get it on the way outside. We eat over by the track. It’s nice there, if it’s not raining.”

Tracy waved from under a tree bordering the fenced in track. She had spread out two black plastic garbage bags. She munched on a sandwich as Logan and Storm walked up the grassy hill from the surrounding sidewalk. Tracy was giggling, and pointing at the two of them as they approached.

“What are you laughin’ at?” Logan asked, giving Storm a hand with her bag as she sat down.

“You really haven’t put it together yet? The rest of the school has.”

Logan looked at Storm. “Do you know what amuses food face?”

“Nope,” Storm answered truthfully.

“The X-men, Wolverine and Storm,” Tracy said patiently.

“Dave already hit me up about the X-men this morning,” Storm said. “What does Wolverine have to do with it?”

Logan smacked himself in the forehead with the palm of his hand, as Tracy started nodding and laughing. “Logan. Wolverine’s name is Logan. Storm has white hair in the comics.”

“Too bad you don’t have Wolvy’s healing factor, huh Jarhead?” Tracy chortled.

“Yea, that would’ve come in handy,” Logan admitted, grinning back at his friend. “You aren’t too into the X-Men, huh Storm?”

“I didn’t just land on the planet today,” Storm replied. “But I admit it, I’ve never seen the movies and I don’t read comic books. Are we really a big joke now? Logan and I have only walked down the school hallway together twice.”

“Just a little one,” Tracy answered, holding up her hand with forefinger and thumb held slightly apart. “I may have exaggerated slightly with the whole school comment. Get ready for a few X-Man jokes though.”

“Wolverine, huh?” Storm said, looking at Logan appraisingly, with hand under her chin. “He’s the little hairy guy with claws, right?”

“Heh, heh, heh, very funny,” Logan replied, as Tracy began laughing again. “You two want to swing by the King for free fast food later? It’s on me.”

“I’ll check with my folks.” Tracy nodded. “I’m sure it’ll be okay. They’re a little freaked about the kids disappearing from around Perkins Park. My Dad told me if he sees my car anywhere near there I’ll wish I had been kidnapped.”

“Storm mentioned the park too,” Logan added. “I guess I’m not up on this stuff except I know five kids went missing in a short time.”

“I think my folks will let me go,” Storm replied to Logan’s initial invitation, listening closely to her friends’ talk about the kidnappings.

“I’ll pick you up,” Tracy offered. “Where do you live?”

“On Willard Ave,” Storm answered, taking a notepad out of her book bag. “Here, I’ll write the address for you. Where do you live?”

“Linden,” Tracy replied, taking the paper from Storm. “Hulk here lives over on Franklin so we’re all within a mile of each other. I’ll swing by and get you around six.”

“Okay, now what about this study group talk?”

“Saturday during the day is good for me,” Logan said. “I work the three to eleven shift at the King on Saturday.”

“Kevin and Nancy are in,” Tracy told them, looking pointedly at Storm. “Now, where are we going to hold this love fest? Any ideas, Storm?”

“Well… I…”

“You are an only child, Ms. Crandall,” Tracy persisted. “The rest of us have fellow brood members.”

“How do you know I’m… oh yeah, Powanda’s class intro. Okay, I’ll ask tonight. Do either of you know if they came up with anything connecting those kids who were taken?”

“I don’t…” Tracy hesitated. “They were all from Harding, but different grades. I think I read they were all girls too. Why, you writin’ a detective novel, Nancy Drew?”

“I watch a lot of CSI,” Storm answered, thinking of her earlier conversation with the Chemistry teacher, Mrs. Deemer. “I can’t figure out why…”

“You want to know why monsters do monstrous things,” Logan cut in abruptly. “They do them because they’re monsters. To catch a monster you must think like a monster. If this really interests you I’ll ask around at work. In the meantime, don’t play around with this. Interest is one thing. Not respecting danger is another.”

Logan’s intensity ended the talk of kidnappings in Perkins Park. Storm shivered. The wind picked up making it chilly despite the sun being out.

“You should have worn your Secret Squirrel coat, girl,” Tracy teased her. She laughed when Storm looked up at her in surprise. “Dave’s comment from this morning was overheard and repeated a few times at school.”

“Oh no, not the fashion police!” Storm exclaimed with false candor, evoking more laughter from her friends. “I guess everything is fair game around here. You’re a little too up on every rumor and comment made at school, friend.”

“It’s a curse.” Tracy shrugged.

“We better head back,” Logan suggested, looking at an old Timex watch he had on his right wrist. “One bad thing about work after school is if I get detention I’m toast at work.”

“They give detention for being late to study hall?” Tracy kidded him.

“Three guesses who monitors my study hall, and two don’t count,” Logan retorted, getting up quickly and pulling his two friends to their feet. They groaned in unison.

“Mrs. Deemer,” Tracy stated knowingly as the three walked down to the sidewalk off the small hill. “That explains your clock watchin’ toward the end of lunch every day. Trig’s the last class, Storm. Why don’t I take you home and see where you live then.”

“Sure, if you don’t mind,” Storm agreed.

“To get the ride, you need to help me with two Trig problems I didn’t get done.” Tracy winked at Logan.

“That seems like harmless extortion. Deal.”

* * * *

Storm waved at Tracy as she pulled away from the curb after having driven Storm home. Storm walked the few paces up the walkway, leading to her front porch. She paused for a moment, looking up at the two story red brick house and then side to side at her neighbors’ similar structures. Storm missed the city, but this could be a real short stay here in Warren if she were able to actually help.

“Coming in, folks,” Storm said quietly enough to be received inside, but not loud enough for anyone further than five feet away to hear. She opened the front door slowly and stepped inside the small foyer.

By the time she hung up her coat and wiped her feet, a woman in her late thirties with light brown hair and angular features walked through the living room to meet her. She was slightly taller than Storm and nearly twenty pounds heavier. Storm smiled, seeing the black slacks and pale blue blouse the woman wore.

“Hi, Janet, I see Ted has ordered you out of your Men In Black look.”

“Never mind.” Janet grinned, waving a warning finger at Storm. “Remember, Ted and I have a whole lot of ammo to fire back with after today, Miss Popularity.”

“Uh oh.”

“Yea, the shit hit the fan today, didn’t it?” Janet chuckled, gesturing for Storm to follow her. “I should have quit driving you to school the second day.”

Janet whipped around in time to see Storm just about to speak. “No I told you so, brat. I’ve been hearing enough of that today from your pet monkey, Ted.”

“Does he know you call him my pet monkey?” Storm gasped in fake surprise, knowing the two FBI agents traded much more salty terms between the two of them.

“Hey, I want to remind you I almost had to blow our covers this morning and kick those three gang wannabes’ asses. Don’t give me that know it all look either.”

“I did point them out to you all last week when they were torturing other innocent kids going to school,” Storm reminded her. “If you’d found a way to put them in juvy for the next month they wouldn’t have jeopardized my first on foot school approach. These things happen at high school. It led to some decent progress for a change. I told…”

“Jesus H… I mean… stop with the I told you so shit,” Janet cut her off. She continued into the kitchen and then through a door leading down to the cellar. “We know the sophomore in with the big kids gig was tough to pull off, but it ain’t like we’re getting anywhere running around with teams of profilers.”

“Nice work out there today, kid,” a sandy haired man, sitting in front of a computer station with multiple monitors and keyboards called out without looking up. “You made up for a week of nothing in one day.”

“Thanks, Ted,” Storm replied, looking over the man’s shoulder as Janet sat down in a seat near him. “Did you know you’re my…”

“Pet monkey.” Ted sighed audibly. “Yeah, I know. Genius here forgot in two seconds the little fact you were still on speaker.”

“What makes you think so, Archibald?” Janet fired back, but Storm could see from her expression she had forgotten. “Tell this little criminal it was a damn good thing we didn’t pick up her welcoming committee before.”

“Little crim…” Storm began, but then shut up as Janet glanced back at her with an I got you look. “Okay, his old man is County Commissioner, so what? We’re the FBI.”

“We…we?” Janet repeated in sarcastic tone. “Ted and I are FBI. You’re a little computer hacker who could be spending time till her eighteenth birthday in hard case juvy. You’ve got skills, Nancy Drew, but don’t think for a moment…”

“Heyyyyyy… easy there, Scully,” Storm put up her hands in mock surrender. “It was just an innocent editorial we. Besides, because of me, the FBI was able to shore up a hole in their Homeland Security database. They should have pinned a medal on me and…”

“Why you…” Janet started out of her chair. A laughing Ted caught her arm, pulling Janet back down. “If it weren’t for your parents’ upstanding reputation in the community, you’d be in an orange jumpsuit, smart-ass. You aren’t doing her any favors egging her on, Archibald.”

“Storm’s holding up her end of the deal,” Ted reminded Janet. “I’m not egging her on. You just keep feeding her hanging sliders. She keeps popping them over the center field fence. Whoever’s grabbing these girls is going to hit again. We have zero leads: no bodies, no ransom notes, no DNA, no nothing. One of these kids at the school knows something. Storm’s our only chance of getting a back door into this.”

“Her parents calling every few hours is driving me nuts,” Janet retorted. “Give her a damn throwaway cell-phone and let her check in with them.”

“I had a talk with her Dad,” Ted replied, trying to calm his partner down while Storm looked on in amusement. “They’re going to limit the calls to one a day when she’s here. We should give her a cell-phone though, just in case our bug gets zapped. Can we trust her Jan?”

“They don’t allow cell-phone use in school anyway so it’d be emergency only,” Storm reasoned excitedly, warming to the idea of having a cell-phone again.

“I don’t know, Ted, she’s a criminal. Hey, we lose contact with you and I’ll be standing next to you in two minutes,” Janet stated in no uncertain terms. “We aren’t using you as bait. I’m not facing your parents if…”

“The only way anything will happen to me is if I wander around the Perkins Park area,” Storm interrupted. “Every one of those girls…”

“Yeah, yeah… we know,” Janet cut her off. “No one’s letting their kids skip around in that park any more and they have patrols in the area 24/7. This weasel will strike outside his usual haunts - wait and see.”

“If Storm can find some link between the five girls, we might…” Ted began.

“The damn profilers have been over everything those kids did in their entire lives. The only thing they have in common is they all went to Harding High School,” Janet interrupted, beginning to tick off points on her fingers. “They were different races, though not all different. They were in three different age groups, one sophomore, two juniors, and two seniors. We had rich and poor. They lived…”

“They had one thing we know of in common,” Storm broke in, before Janet could tick off her last finger. “They were all scholastic honor roll. It was in the summary you gave me on them.”

“So?”

“You don’t think there were underachievers who frequented Perkins Park? We’re tossing out facts, right?”

“You may have a point,” Ted replied. “I’ll check and see if our profiling team picked up on it. We heard you’re heading out for a fast food dinner. I like those two kids you attracted, if you can call an ex-marine with combat experience and a Navy Cross a kid.”

“He’s not an ex-marine. If he does well in school, the Marines want to make him an officer after he gets out of classes,” Storm explained.

“Definitely not a kid.” Ted nodded approvingly.

“He sure turned off the jerks chasing Storm,” Janet agreed. “Why didn’t we pick up on that kid before? With the shots I took the first week driving her into school, coupled with the hidden video pickup on the back of Storm’s bag, we should have had the Logan boy singled out the first day.”

“Can’t get everything the first go round.” Ted shrugged dismissively. “We have every sneeze since childhood on him now. His story about where he was during the kidnappings checked out. During the first snatches, he was still in Iraq.”

“Your friend Tracy’s as good as gold too,” Janet added. “Her Dad’s first gen from Haiti and worked his way through college with scholarships and grant money. He’s a CPA with Jennings Glass Company. Her Mom’s local, born and raised, with a nursing degree. She has one sibling in junior high school, a thirteen year old brother, and a twenty year old brother you’ve already heard about. He’s a marine stationed in San Diego.”

“I’m sure you heard the details of a study group Tracy volunteered our house for. Would it be a big problem, or can I tell her we’ll do it?”

“We did hear about it. Jan figures we can manage it within an hour’s warning,” Ted answered, glancing over at his partner for confirmation.

“Just as long as I don’t have to provide snacks, I don’t care,” Janet added.

“Logan’s parents are on the other rung of the economic ladder.” Ted pointed at his computer screen, returning to the business at hand. “Dad’s a machinist. Mom takes care of the home and Logan’s three younger sisters. Two are in grammar school. One’s in seventh grade. Looks like you have a solid base you can trust. We’re working on the others you talked to but they seem harmless.”

“What about that punk Dave and the twins?” Storm asked, peering at the screen.

“We were kind of waiting for you to polish up your computer skills,” Ted answered, trading venomous stares with Janet. “I’ve assured Jan I’ll be with you every moment.”

Storm’s countenance changed completely. She raised her hands up and did a remarkable job mimicking a typist in full work mode. She had only been allowed to use the base programs loaded on an old Dell laptop for her homework. Storm had been rewarded with a brand new Apple state of the art laptop for her fifteenth birthday after maintaining a 4.0 grade point average throughout junior high school. It had been equipped with six gigabytes of RAM, and dual processors. Storm had promptly taken a dare from friends to begin her hacking career. She learned quickly over the next few months, picking up tips and programming backdoors from websites her parents knew nothing about. Her Dad had monitored her with what little knowledge he had. Watching the computer prodigy endlessly typing lines of computer programming data simply convinced him his daughter was indeed learning to be a computer whiz, rather than a criminal. Three months before her sixteenth birthday, FBI agents showed up at their door. They took Storm into custody. Storm’s hacking days were over.

“I’ll be watching you,” Janet stated, shifting her forefinger and middle-finger from her eyes to Storm’s in a comically warning fashion.

“What more can I do? I made a mistake and hacked in where I didn’t belong. How did I know I would actually get through to the FBI database?”

“That was where you were headed,” Ted reminded her. “Anyway, you’ll have to earn your way back from the dark side. This is a good start, but we take no chances, understood?”

“I understand, but having you two listening into every word is humiliating.”

“Ah, poor baby.” Janet chuckled. “That bit Tracy and apparently the rest of the school picked up on having to do with the X-Men was really funny. Even your pet monkey was cracking up.”

“I couldn’t believe you’re not up on the X-Men,” Ted chimed in, as he stood up away from his seat and motioned Storm into it.

“Oh yeah, don’t be doing any of that voodoo stuff on the internet either,” Janet ordered. “We read your rap sheet from the last high school you terrorized.”

“Terrorized?!” Storm swiveled toward Janet from Ted’s computer seat in surprise. “What the hell did they have… oh… you mean the incident at the dance.”

“One and the same. You made another girl’s clothes disappear. What was that all about and what did it have to do with the internet?”

“I…I don’t know what happened to her clothes,” Storm answered, returning her attention to the computer screen. “It was a gag. I’d been hacking into sites on-line with claims of being part of a world wide witch coven with supernatural origins. My friends thought it was cool I could get into it. I hacked through the site and into one of the so-called Order’s high up member’s files while they were on line.”

“My girlfriends and I sifted through all the weirdo spells and incantations, looking for God knows what. It was all in Latin which bored the crap out of my friends. They left, and I downloaded a cipher program from a college database which translated Latin. From there I found a few things of interest and started experimenting. At…”

“You mean casting spells?” Ted asked, sitting down in a chair on the other side of Storm.

“Just some simple stuff that didn’t involve parts of animals or sacrifices. My friends and I were standing in our official place at the dance, gossiping to cover the fact we weren’t there with boyfriends, when this bitch walked by. Suzan Grenville was one of those cheerleading freakazoids they made the movie ‘Mean Girls’ about. Anyway, she made some remark about my friend Kathy’s dress that made her tear up. I watched her walk away and chanted the spell for making material things disappear, thinking of her clothes. There was this shimmering sensation in the air and the next moment there was mean Suzy standing in the buff on bare feet. My…”

“Oh come on!” Janet cut her off. “You think Ted and I just dropped in from the moon. Are you trying to tell us…”

“Let her finish,” Ted insisted. “You asked her about it. The chaperone’s story who heard Storm chanting matches what she’s told us. It freaked the woman out enough to call the police on you, although they naturally blamed it on a stunt by this girl Suzan involving tear away clothing.”

“You think Mrs. Greevy was freaked, you should have seen my friends.” Storm sighed, leaning on the computer desk and putting her head in her hands. “They inched away from me as if they were in the elevator scene from Ghostbusters, where the geek fires up his nuclear accelerator, and the other Ghostbusters backed away from him like he was about to explode. I was a loner from then on. You should have seen that bitch Suzy though. It was worth it.”

“So you actually think you made the clothes disappear?” Ted asked quietly.

“Well, I don’t know where they went. They were on her before I chanted the spell.”

“Bullshit!” Janet exclaimed, giving Storm the wave-off with her hand. “Make my clothes disappear, Wendy. C’mon, we want to see you do your trick.”

“I…I’ve tried it since then,” Storm admitted, her fingers flying over the keyboard as Ted watched her in amazement. “Nothing happened. I thought maybe it was due to the anger intermixed with doing the spell. For a moment at the dance I believed I could do it while I was chanting. I haven’t been able to duplicate the feelings or concentration or whatever made it work.”

“I don’t know about witchcraft but you have some serious skills on the keyboard,” Ted remarked, gesturing for Janet to look more closely at the rapidly moving screens. “You will tell us if you ever have a repeat of your little magic trick, won’t you?”

“Oh, come on, Ted!” Janet looked at her partner with undisguised exasperation. “If it ever gets out we’re buying into Wendy’s witchcraft fantasy, they’ll tag us as Scully and Spooky Mulder all over the department. What… holy crap… those three little punks have been in trouble since they were born.”

“Storm!” Ted exclaimed. “Those juvy records are sealed. You can’t… how the…”

“Go, Wendy!” Janet pushed Ted aside and put her hands on Storm’s shoulders. “Now this kind of witchcraft I can go along with.”

“If she gets caught, we’re up…”

“I’m out,” Storm said calmly. “I never made a ripple and with this server, I banged the signal all over the Western Hemisphere. No worries, Ted.”

“Jesus,” Ted whispered, looking at Dave’s juvenile record. “This kid has been into everything from torturing animals to burglary and car theft. How the hell does his old man get him off on this kind of trouble?”

“I don’t know,” Janet replied excitedly. “But I think we have our first real suspect.”

“As much as I can’t stand to look at this guy,” Storm sighed, pushing back from the desk, “Dave doesn’t have the brains to spell kidnapping let alone pull off five of them without leaving a clue. If the twins ever had a thought between them, it died of loneliness. I wanted to see what they were capable of in reality, so I don’t get blindsided in school.”

“This isn’t New York City, Storm.” Janet returned to her seat and began typing at her own keyboard. “Ted and I know something about monsters. Small cities like Warren have a finite number of monsters and potential monsters. If Dave and his moron sidekicks don’t know the real monster, odds are they’ve run across him scurrying around in their favorite rat’s nests.”

“Jan’s right,” Ted agreed, sitting down in his chair again. “You have done well, young Jedi. Let the old pros turn these guys lives inside out and see what pops up.”

“Okay, Spooky, I’ll go do my homework until Tracy picks me up. I’m trading in on my dazzling intelligence to make friends. You and Scully play nice.”

“Not funny,” Janet called out, as Storm trekked up the stairs. “Don’t you dare turn off the wire when you go out either.”

Storm retreated a couple of steps. “Hey, can I have a cell-phone. I give you my word I will not…”

“It’s on the kitchen table. We were screwing with you,” Ted broke in. “We decided to give you one the moment you agreed to go out tonight. It’s bugged so keep it with you. Jan will be out and about. I wouldn’t advise getting to know Wolverine in the biblical sense.”

“Only if you promise not to fool around with Scully here behind my back,” Storm fired off a last shot before running toward the steps.

“You little… let me go Ted… I’m gonna’ smack Wendy around until her teeth rattle.” Janet tried to get out of Ted’s iron grip, but he held on to her, still chuckling over a sixteen year old who could keep pushing their buttons without breaking a sweat.

“Ease up, it was my fault for feeding her the Wolvy line,” Ted pointed out. “She’s fast on her feet and with her mouth. All good things on this gig.”

Janet stared in the direction of the stairs a moment longer before slumping back in her seat. “One of these days, you won’t be around to watch over Wendy. Then her and I will have the Mother/Daughter talk her own Mom should have had with her already: the one about be careful who you disrespect, they might just kick your ass.”

“It is disconcerting to be constantly pinged by a teenager,” Ted agreed. “After she’s out with her friends, want to fool around a little, Scully?”

“You wish, Spooky,” Janet retorted, pushing Ted’s shoulder roughly.

“I wish Wendy would have made your clothes disappear.” Ted laughed, blocking the elbow Janet immediately launched toward his ribcage.

Seminar

We’re waiting at Oakland International for our flight to Las Vegas. My wife has an X-Ray Tech conference to attend for the next few days there and I’ll be going to the Matco Tools trade show. We’ll be staying at Wynn’s Encore where her seminar is. I hope to have some funny stuff to report along with a picture or two. I will be posting Chapter Two of Storm also for anyone who liked the first chapter.

A guy just violated a security area. He went behind our flight desk and popped open the door for some unknown reason. Now he’s standing there while a voice tells him he has violated an airport security area. The automatic voice is telling him to stay where he is. (This reminds me of when I was flying with the kids and wife. My wife sent me for something to drink. I no sooner reached the cashier than the alarm started sounding for someone opening a gate door. I look up. It’s my daughter standing there with the deer in the headlights look.) A security guy just reset things. At least they didn’t send one of the guys with a helmet and M16. I still can't figure out what the guy thought he was doing. It looks like the security guy can't figure it either. He's laughing though so all is well. Well, on to the home of CSI. :)

YA

This is a YA novel I titled ‘Storm’. Here’s the Hook and my first chapter. If anyone gets a chance to read through it, let me know what you think.

The FBI blackmailed Storm Crandall, but only after Storm hacked their database. At sixteen, she’s under cover at a high school, looking for clues involving five missing girls. Besides computer skills, Storm has game in the magic department. A sect of the Temple of Set soon finds out power comes in many guises.

With two FBI agents posing as her parents in the city of Warren, Ohio, Storm finds love, allies, and tragedy in her hunt for answers. By fulfilling her end of the bargain, Storm can buy her way out of spending the days until her eighteenth birthday in a juvenile detention facility.

Storm’s FBI handlers discover their young charge can do more than type fast. Their first encounter with the creature behind the disappearances shows the agents they need Storm for far more than information gathering as a high school spy.

Teaming up with an enigmatic young man attending classes with her, Storm begins unraveling a horror no one anticipated. When the case morphs from serial kidnapping into a supernatural witch hunt, Storm and her friends, under the guidance of the FBI agents, scramble to stay alive while tracking down monsters, both human and inhuman.

Chapter 1

Storm

She shoved her hands deeper into trench-coat pockets too shallow of depth for her wrists, shivering as an early fall breeze instantly induced visions complete with motherly reminders to dress warm. She hadn’t. Rounding the corner, with her book-bag shifting uncomfortably against the small of her back, she glanced up in time to see three of Harding High School’s resident thugs. Speeding up as the three young men fell in around her, she refused to acknowledge their presence.

“Hey, Secret Squirrel, what’s the mission today?” The young man mocked, leaning down toward her from the right. “Slow down. We’re the Harding High School welcoming committee. What’s your name? We saw your Mommy drop you off all last week. It’s good you’re hoofin’ it. We can get to know each other.”

The girl sighed, remembering how she had watched this same welcoming committee bothering other students from the car window. She had been driven to school during the first week since transferring to Warren G. Harding. Instead of continuing with the stalker escort, she came to an abrupt halt.

“My name is Storm Crandall. Can I go now?”

Her three unwanted companions started laughing. Storm noticed all three boys were at least four inches taller than her five foot four height. The one who had spoken to her, with long unruly dark brown hair, sounded shrill when he laughed and looked to be nearly six feet tall. His lean face contorted as he kept repeating her first name. The other two looked like twins. Both wore their sandy hair cut short and their stocky frames made them appear shorter than they actually were. Other kids were streaming by them, anxious to get past and glad someone else was filling in as a before school target.

“You an X-Man, Stormy?” The talkative one asked derisively, moving to block her from going on.

“It’s a hippy thing,” Storm answered with a shrug, used to having her name held up to ridicule and never shy about defending it. “I’m named after my Grandma. She was a flower child until she married my Grandpa when he was in the Marines.”

“It must be the hair, Dave,” one of the twins commented, gesturing at Storm’s hair. “It’s almost white. We thought maybe you’re an albino or somethin’.”

“Nope.” Dave looked into Storm’s eyes. “She’s no albino. Albino’s have pink eyes. Hers are… I don’t know… green or something. Anyway, Stormy, this is Chuck and his brother Marty. I’m Dave. Now we’re all friends. What you have in your bag there, Stormy?”

“Books and a lunch,” Storm answered, trying to edge around Dave. “Look, I don’t want to be late.”

“We have plenty of time, Stormy,” Chuck’s brother, Marty spoke for the first time, running a hand under the book bag strap on her left shoulder. His voice sounded like ground glass, caught in a mode between man and boy, changing tone with every word. “We always inspect new kids’ bags.”

Marty tried to pull the strap down off her shoulder. Storm drove her heel down onto Marty’s instep, causing the boy to fall sideways on the wet sidewalk, gripping his injured foot and howling in pain. Storm used the ensuing confusion to make a run for the school. With Dave and Chuck in avid pursuit, Storm ran around a tall figure standing in her path. As she glanced back, trying to gauge if she would make the school entrance or not, Storm saw the boy she had passed stop Dave and Chuck with only a gesture of his hand. Slowing to a walk, she watched as Dave waved his hand angrily, while yelling something about Marty. In the next instant, the hooded figure she had passed engulfed the waving hand in his own. A moment later Dave was on his knees, twisting in pain. Chuck backed away at a gesture from the boy still gripping Dave’s hand.

A crowd began gathering, watching the event, well away from the action. The boy holding Dave’s hand shook it slightly and then released it. Turning, the taller figure sifted through the crowd as Storm made it to the school entrance. The young man walked quickly toward the school, his head down and hands stuffed inside the pockets of his denim jacket. He looked familiar to Storm, but the warning bell sounded, indicating students had five minutes to reach their first period class. Storm glanced once more at the approaching figure before hurrying off, hoping to make a stop at her locker before first period class.

Distracted by the incident outside, Storm had been able to forget for a moment she was the only supposed sophomore in her first period Physics class. The juniors and seniors sharing the class with her had looked at Storm as if she had a third eye. It struck her then - the reason Storm thought the young man stopping Dave and Chuck had looked familiar. He was in her Physics class. She remembered the denim jacketed figure at the back of her class when she had been forced to introduce herself on the first day of her transfer. Although the figure wearing it had never looked up from his desktop, she remembered the Marine Corps insignia on the jacket from having seen it on the old uniforms of both her Father and Grandfather’s pictures. Passing him on the sidewalk, Storm had noticed the same Marine Corps eagle, globe, and anchor insignia on the left shoulder of his denim jacket.

Hurrying to her locker, Storm felt the first pangs of excitement since being reassigned to Warren, Ohio from Columbus. She walked quickly through the long halls to her Physics class. Glancing at the left rear corner of the classroom, Storm saw the denim jacketed figure was indeed a member of her class. His attention again was focused on his desktop where he wrote diligently on a notepad without looking up. Storm took her seat at the front center of the class as the tall, lanky teacher, Mr. Powanda, wrote formulas on the chalkboard. Powanda faced his murmuring class as the final bell rang.

“Who can tell me what this formula means?” Powanda asked, pointing at the first line on the chalkboard.

“Final velocity equals initial velocity plus the product of acceleration and time elapsed,” Storm answered, as Powanda gestured at the only student with a hand in the air.

“Quite right, Ms. Crandall. Now then…” Powanda listed values in a word problem, involving the formula.

Storm could feel enmity rising around her as she quickly noted and solved the problem in her notepad. Again, she was the only one to volunteer the answer. When Powanda asked about the second equation, he had a second volunteer. Storm heard a smooth tenor voice recite the formula definition without hesitation. She turned in time to see the young man in denim finish his answer. His black hair was cut military style, white-walled around the sides and back, with a short patch of black at the top. Burn scars from a point at his lower left eye socket down in a spreading fashion over his cheek bone and jaw stood out in sharp relief to his lean features.

Everyone else studiously refrained from looking back at the speaker. Storm watched him finish reciting with interest, until the young man glanced her way. She met his glance for a long moment before turning her attention to the front slowly, heart pounding inexplicably. A beautiful young woman with coffee colored skin smiled over at her knowingly. Storm thought she looked like the singer, Beyonce.

“That is correct, Mr. Stanfield,” Powanda said, launching into another story problem involving the formula’s use. “I’m going to give you a few minutes and if I don’t see more hands up, I’ll be picking volunteers.”

Storm concentrated on solving Physics equations. The first period passed quickly. As the bell rang indicating the end of first period, Storm gathered up her book and papers and slipped out of her seat lithely. Threading her way through the other students, Storm reached Stanfield’s desk as he stood up.

“Hi, I’m Storm Crandall,” she told the young man with only a slight tremor of tone. “I…I wanted to thank you for helping me this morning.”

Stanfield looked down at Storm appraisingly, a slight grin relieving his grim countenance. He held out his hand. “No problem. Logan Stanfield. Nice move out there. I think you had them beat anyway.”

Storm shook his hand, smiling up at him as current raced through her hand and straight into her brain. “I’ll have to come up with a different route from now on.”

“No you won’t,” Logan said, the grin disappearing ominously, as other students walked by them with curious looks. “Dave and his pet twins won’t be stopping anyone in front of the school from now on. I don’t like them.”

“Hey, cool off, jarhead,” an amused voice ordered from behind Storm. “I see that look of foreboding washing over that ugly ass face of yours.”

“Hi, Tracy,” Logan smiled once again, easing the tension in his features. “This is Tracy Washington, Storm. She’s a friend.”

Storm shook Tracy’s outstretched hand. It was the girl who had been sitting next to her. Great, he already has a girlfriend, Storm thought. Tracy wore a tight fitting black skirt and white blouse. Her hair was tied back sharply from her face in a ponytail. The medium heels she wore gave her a slight height advantage over Storm. Looking down for a moment self consciously at her slacks and tennis shoes, Storm reminded herself she would never have made good her escape without pants and comfortable shoes. Way to legitimize the lame look, she mused, glad she’d left the trench coat in her locker before class.

“We’re in a few classes together,” Tracy told her. “You make the rest of us look bad, girl. “Please tell me you aren’t a sophomore.”

“I’m a sophomore,” Storm shrugged. “We have chemistry together next too, don’t we?”

“Uh huh.” Tracy nodded, elbowing Logan, who blocked it with the palm of his hand effortlessly. “The Hulk here is in with us later in Trig. I had my eye on you last week laying the groundwork for ruining the curve. Hulk and I are juniors, so we order you into our study group, Einstein. It’s the least you can do if you’re going to wreck the bell curve.”

“Powanda refuses to use the curve anyway,” Logan inserted. “I have a long trek to English, so I’ll catch up with you both later.”

Logan turned away, but spun around to face Tracy and Storm again. His happy face had disappeared. “If Dave or the twins approach you let me know, Storm. They’re not to be played around with, okay?”

“Ah… sure,” Storm agreed and a split second later, Logan was out the classroom door. “What did he mean by that?”

“He likes you. He doesn’t like them,” Tracy answered, taking Storm’s arm and guiding her toward the door. “Logan’s been asking about you since he saw you in class a week ago.”

“Logan doesn’t know me,” Storm whispered, letting Tracy lead her toward chemistry class.

“Long white blond hair, nice figure, IQ off the charts, he’s hooked,” Tracy said, patting Storm’s back. “Logan doesn’t like many people.”

“Why’s he like you?”

“Logan and my older brother served together in Iraq,” Tracy whispered, leaning into Storm. “Logan saved his life.”

“Tha…that’s impossible,” Storm stammered, looking into Tracy’s eyes as they walked. “Logan can’t be much older than… those scars. He…”

“He pulled three guys out of their armored vehicle after a damn supped up IUD went off under them. That’s where he earned the scars, and one of the guys he saved was my brother,” Tracy explained quietly while they jostled through the students heading to their next class. “You can’t tell him I told you. I was sworn to secrecy.”

“Holy crap,” Storm intoned with a gasp of breath. “How’s your brother?”

“TDS, San Diego for the time being.”

“TDS? Oh, temp duty station, right?” Storm asked absently, her mind racing from one fact to another. “How the heck could Logan have…”

“Ran away after his fifteenth birthday, forged birth certificate, and forged driver’s license,” Tracy related calmly, anticipating the question. “The Marines need more than a few good men, sweetie. They were on the last week of a year deployment when those bast… I mean Islamic Extremists bombed them. When Logan was wounded, his DNA matched a missing kid report his parents made.”

“Wha…what’s he doing here?” Storm began making serious calculations in her head.

“Finishing high school,” Tracy continued as the two of them entered the chemistry classroom. “The Marines want him back in officer’s training if he gets good grades here.”

“You mean he wants to go back in?” Storm asked incredulously, sitting down at the front of the classroom with Tracy taking the desk next to her.

“You ain’t one of those anti-war, Kum Ba Ya whackos, are you?” Tracy retorted, leaning over to look closely into Storm’s eyes suspiciously.

Storm giggled, pushing Tracy away.

“You baby sittin’, Tracy?” A girl, resembling a young Brittany Spears asked, as she sat down behind Tracy.

“Why, you need watchin’, Carol?” Tracy retorted, drawing laughs from Carol’s two friends sitting down at the same time on either side of her. “This is Storm Crandall and we’re making up a study group. Want to join?”

“Why not?” The young man who had taken the seat behind Storm replied. “I can use all the help I can get. Smart mouth here is Carol Wangden. The red head is Nancy Alverson on the other side of her. I’m Kevin MacGraff, Storm. I saw Logan interrupt your intro to that jerk Dave and his twin adolescent nitwits, Dumb and Dumber. Marty’s still limpin’. Nice stomp.”

“I watched them hassling other kids last week when I was riding to school,” Storm said, giving the three newcomers a little wave of recognition. “How do they get away with it? In the school I transferred from, they’d have probably been expelled.”

“Dave’s old man is a County Commissioner,” Kevin answered.

“So he’s untouchable?” Storm persisted.

“You ask a lot of questions,” Carol commented, looking at Storm with some annoyance. “You’re a sophomore, right? We shouldn’t even be talking to you.”

“You need the most help in here, Marie Curie,” Tracy quipped before Storm could speak. “We’re getting a study group together. You in or out?”

“Who’s Marie Curie?” Carol asked in confusion, garnering immediate laughter.

“I rest my case,” Tracy stated simply, giving Carol the wave off as their teacher moved quickly to the front of the room.

Mrs. Deemer, iron gray hair tied back in a bun, with ankle length print dress covering her rail thin figure, looked around the room with almost an angry stare. She tapped her right hand on her thigh repeatedly as she scoured the classroom, a grim set to her features. Storm had grown used to this repeated formidable opening gambit. It quieted the room without a word. The rather tall middle aged woman instantly knew who was missing without an attendance sheet. As in days past in Mrs. Deemer’s chemistry class, the final bell rang seconds after her mental attendance tally. A pale, lanky young man with unkempt brown hair hurried into the room, slipping into a seat still unoccupied near the door. Mrs. Deemer smiled. It was not an attractive facial expression on her.

“Detention, Mr. Cavanaugh,” Mrs. Deemer called out happily. “That should give you time to do today’s homework paper you didn’t do last night and get a good start on tonight’s assignment. See you after school.”

“But…” Cavanaugh objected, as an undercurrent of light laughter tittered through the room as everyone could tell the young man had not done the day’s assignment. “I…”

“Aye, yi, yi… I know all about it,” Mrs. Deemer finished for him. “Now then, who can tell me the symbol for Neptunium, since all of you were supposed to be memorizing the periodic table since school began? Yes, Storm.”

“Np.”

“Good guess, now the atomic number?”

“93,” Storm answered, smiling at Mrs. Deemer’s insinuation she guessed.

“Hmmm… maybe not a guess,” Mrs. Deemer replied. “Number of neutrons?”

“144.”

“Photographic memory?”

“I wish,” Storm replied, causing a slight stir of amusement amongst her classmates, who had been groaning with each of her answers.

“Let’s go for the bonus round.” Mrs. Deemer nodded. “Melting point?”

“Six hundred and forty degrees Centigrade,” Storm stated after a moment’s hesitation and then added, “sometimes I get the melting and boiling points reversed.”

“I’m afraid, my dear, you will have to remain quiet for the remainder of class so I may put the rest of these less enlightened guppies through their paces,” Mrs. Deemer said, approvingly.

Tracy looked behind her at Carol with ‘I told you so’ written in block letters on her features and received an irritated grimace in response. Class proceeded without incident. Mrs. Deemer provided just the right amount of carrot and stick encouragement to hold her classes’ attention as well as respect. The period bell sounded. Mrs. Deemer motioned for Storm to stay. Tracy mouthed a see you at lunch and walked out with the rest of the class.

“You’ve been very impressive since transferring in,” Mrs. Deemer told Storm. “I see you’re only a sophomore. Are the sciences an endeavor you wish to pursue?”

“I want to be a forensic pathologist,” Storm answered.

“You wouldn’t be putting an old woman on, would you, my dear?” Mrs. Deemer asked, smiling with a more benign look. “A CSI fan, huh?”

“I know I’m probably too young to know what I’ll end up to be in the job market,” Storm admitted with a shrug. “But with the science mixed in with day to day breakthroughs in technology, I just don’t see any end to the challenges.”

“How are your math scores?”

“Straight A’s so far.”

“Well,” Mrs. Deemer considered thoughtfully. “A young woman with drive and a head for math and science can write her own ticket. If you need any help or guidance, I hope you will think of me. You know my office hours. I have some projects you might be interested in helping me with if you have the time.”

“I’d love to assist you in anything you have in mind,” Storm replied with enthusiasm. “It means a lot to me.”

“I’ve been teaching a long time,” Mrs. Deemer sighed. “It means even more to me. You better get going to your next class. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“I’ll be here,” Storm said happily, quickly gathering her things and speeding up her pace to compensate for lost time. Her next class was World History. While Storm did well in the subject, it held the bottom position on her list of required classes. Logan was waiting outside the classroom for her.

“We have history together too,” Logan said, in reply to her questioning look. “I thought I’d sit up front with you if that’s okay.”

“I didn’t even notice you in there,” Storm admitted, smiling up at the much taller Logan. He had stored his denim jacket since first period. He had on a pullover black sweater, which highlighted his muscle tone impressively.

“Yea, I get that a lot,” Logan joked.

The two walked into the class, taking seats in the front center row, with Storm in the first seat and Logan behind her. Although the class had almost been filled when they entered, no one gave them more than a cursory glance before looking away from Logan. Nancy Alverson waved at Storm from two rows over and Storm waved back.

“With the in crowd already, huh?” Logan commented.

“Tracy was recruiting study group members in chem,” Storm explained.

“Just what we need,” Logan grinned as Storm glanced back at him, “more study group members.”

“Are you taking chemistry in another period?” Storm asked, changing the subject and blushing at Logan’s inference.

“I received permission to take it in summer school at Kent State.”

“Without trig?”

“I passed the prerequisite exam they gave me,” Logan replied. “I needed a study hall to give me some time to do my school stuff. I work right after school at Burger King over on Main Ave.”

“That’s over by Perkins’ Park where all those kids disappeared, isn’t it?” Storm asked, remembering the map she had been shown.

“I’ve only been working at the King since school started. The last disappearance happened the week before I started work there. I stayed with my Grandfather nearer to Kent State this past summer. That’s a pretty bad deal - five kids gone in a space of six months time. I hear they called in the FBI.”

“I read they don’t have a clue,” Storm continued casually, as the World History teacher walked by them and took up a position to the front right of Storm.

Mr. Kensington immediately picked up the clipboard from his desk, and began calling out attendance. He looked as if he should have been sitting in the class rather than teaching it. His long light brown hair tied in a ponytail at the back of his neck seemed more an affectation rather than his choice of hair style. Kensington taught as if he was the font of all knowledge in the universe. Although over six feet tall, the extra thirty pounds he carried gave him a baby faced look. Storm knew he had to be in at least his mid twenties but the pouting condescension in his teaching mannerisms suggested an immaturity many years younger.

“We are going to discuss gun control as a world wide thesis, and the United Nations’ highly intentioned goal to take away the right of private firearm ownership,” Kensington stated succinctly. “Many of you will wonder what this has to do with World History. Anyone want to take a stab at what this bold endeavor by the UN would have to do with World History? Yes, ah… Logan, is it?”

“Yes sir,” Logan said, lowering his hand. “Adolf Hitler once said: ‘The most foolish mistake we could possibly make would be to allow the subject races to possess arms. History shows that all conquerors who have allowed their subject races to carry arms have prepared their own downfall by so doing’. I would assume the UN attempt at disarming the common man would be as dangerous to World History as Hitler’s perception of how to keep the masses under control by disarming them.”

Kensington’s mouth worked for a moment before he was able to speak.

“I…I don’t think you… ah… where did you get that quote?”

“Hitler's Table Talk: His Private Conversations, Second Edition (1973), Pg. 425-426,” Logan answered. “I wrote a paper on it for a civics class. His view of world domination and actual implementation of it was cataclysmic.”

“Yes… ah…” Kensington jotted down some notes. “Don’t you think firearm regulation has legitimate points as per the UN attempt to control… I mean limit… violence?”

“No, sir,” Logan said firmly. “Not unless we wish to be subjugated. Our Bill of Rights only exists because we still have the Second Amendment. Without the common citizen’s right to bear arms all other amendments are meaningless. They would be subject to the whim of those in power. The Second Amendment doesn’t exist to protect duck hunting. It exists as the citizens’ last line of defense against a tyrannical government.”

“Life is not guided by colloquial quotes,” Kensington chuckled, rolling his eyes. “The Founding Fathers did not mean the Second Amendment to be an excuse for thwarting the government’s attempt to protect us.”

“You asked for comments, Sir, and the quotes I gave reflect my feelings on any attempt to take away our Second Amendment rights,” Logan continued politely. “As to the Founding Fathers, George Washington said this: ‘Government is not reason. It is not eloquence. It is a force, like fire; a dangerous servant and a terrible master’.”

There was an undercurrent of approval as Kensington hearing the buzz looked around the room sternly. He turned again to Logan, his face reddening now. The direction he had intended steering the class had already been lost.

“You must really feel used then, Mr. Stanfield,” Kensington pointed out with a hint of annoyance in his tone. “Our government sent you off to be maimed in a war based on lies.”

A momentary stillness seeped over the classroom. Storm watched Logan closely. The only change in his expression revealed itself in a slight smile.

“We are at war for Western Civilization, Sir,” Logan stated finally. “I volunteered to fight in it. The enemy was streaming into Iraq to fight us. I’m proud I was able to be a part of it. British Philosopher, John Stewart Mills said this: ‘War is an ugly thing, but not the ugliest of things. The decayed and degraded state of moral and patriotic feeling which thinks that nothing is worth war is much worse. The person who has nothing for which he is willing to fight, nothing which is more important than his own personal safety, is a miserable creature and has no chance of being free unless made and kept so by the exertions of better men than himself’.”

Storm thought Kensington looked as if his head would explode. The hand not holding the clipboard clenched into a fist, as vocal agreement in his class was clearly audible.

“You are quite the one with quotes, young man,” Kensington said finally. “Turn to page 127 in your books. We will discuss Greek contributions to Mr. Stanfield’s Western Civilization.”

After class, Logan stood up, and allowed Storm to walk out in front of him. Kensington put a hand on Logan’s arm.

“I was out of line, calling attention to your injury,” Kensington said quietly.

“No trouble, Mr. Kensington.” Logan grinned. “I enjoyed your class very much. It’s nice to use some of those quotes I have rattling around in my head.”

“Yes,” Kensington sighed. “You used them very well. Good day, Mr. Stanfield.”

Older Market

This is my week for funny anecdotes from the shop. A customer of mine for twenty-eight years came in with her 1982 Buick Regal leaking coolant. She’s ninety-one and must wait for the vehicle to be done even if it means hours sitting in my office. Her radiator was leaking so I had to make sure it and the hoses were available for immediate delivery. The second thing I must make sure of is getting the car out at the exact time I say I will. My parts house was late delivering a battery for her car and she rode me like a hobby horse every five minutes wanting to know when it would be there. Needless to say, I am very careful about job completion time. She always brings a book with her to read. I was especially interested in seeing she had a big print Harlequin Romance but I couldn’t see the title.

I finished the job with ten minutes to spare, thank you Lord. The delivery guys arrived in very good time with the parts and all went well. While she was making out the check I managed to glimpse the title of the book. The ninety-one year old youngster was reading ‘Cop On Loan’ by Jeannie Watt. Ms. Watt has wide appeal apparently.

Couple of neat news flashes here - if we can see, we’ll still be reading at ninety-one and the ninety-one year old customer had just passed her California driver’s license test. She doesn’t jog out to her car, but neither do I. :)

Bambi

This just in: even us old time East Oakland shop owners can get fooled. I didn’t have an appointment for my eight o’clock slot this morning, so I was busy writing in the backroom when a neatly dressed woman rushed in the front garage door. She gasped for breath, calling out:

“Excuse meeeeeee… anyone here!?”

Having some experience in the past with kids and teenagers getting chased into my shop, I grabbed the cut off steel rocker arm shaft with taped handle. Cut me some slack. I'm almost sixty. :) I met the woman halfway, watching for pursuers. She grabbed my arm in a pleading manner.

“Please… Highland Hospital called. My Mom’s been in an accident. They’re admitting her right now. Can I borrow two dollars for the bus?”

I admit it. It was early in the morning and I was distracted. Her eyes appeared in the Bat-cave’s lighting to be full of tears and she sported an agonizing look of worry.

“C’mon,” I told her, walking toward my pull-down front door. “I don’t have anyone coming in for an hour. I’ll drive you over. Give me a second to close up.”

“No… I don’t want to be a bother. I’ll take the bus.”

Okay, now the bells are ringing. Hello, Bambi, how many years have you been running this place in East Oakland again? I will be known as Bambi for the rest of this post - a deserved limited title of ridicule.

“It’s no bother. I’ll take you to Highland right now,” Bambi insists.

Gone went the agonized expression. Gone went the tear filled eyes. Her mouth turns up at the corner in either amusement or arrogance. I’m not sure which. It’s an overcast day and I don’t have all the lights on in the Bat-cave. Her pleading arms drop limply to her sides.

“I’ll take a ride down to McArthur,” she tells Bambi matter-of-factly.

“Ah… no, you won’t,” Bambi replies, gesturing for the young woman to hit the bricks.

“You were ready to take me to Highland a moment ago! What’s a quick run to McArthur?”

Incredulously, Ms. Stat’s pleading has evolved into anger at Bambi. Bambi is having none of it.

“Leave now,” Bambi directs, “or I call Oakland PD, and have them give you a ride.”

“&*#$ you!” Ms. Stat tells me and storms out.

Bambi can’t help wishing Connor and Ellie were driving by(my fictional novel Oakland police officers for any newcomers to the blog). Ellie could hop out and give the young woman a nice nudge with her stun gun. On the bright side, Bambi headed into the back room again to post this and continue working on his Connor and Ellie manuscript which is nearing the 70,000 word mark. :)

Ford Coil-Boot Assembly

I had a great response in E-mails after my Ford Expedition post, so I thought I'd clarify a point I made about expensive tune-ups on Fords with individual coil-boot assemblies.

I mentioned how costly Ford tune-ups can be. The above pictures illustrate what Ford has replaced the spark plug wires and coil with in the last decade. The boot and coil assembly you see above is mounted on each cylinder spark plug. Although Ford doesn’t call for replacement of the spark plugs before 60,000 miles and later, when the spark plugs are replaced these boot and coil assemblies should be replaced with them. It’s expensive, but will save the added cost of a diagnostic check and computer scan later due to a misfire code causing the check engine light to come on. If a misfire takes place for an extended period the catalytic converter assembly will be damaged. On Ford, that cost makes the tune-up seem cheap in comparison.

The labor cost really adds to the expense of a tune-up on Ford’s vans. Removing and replacing the spark plugs and these coil and boot assemblies is quite time consuming – especially if doing the job in a van’s restricted engine compartment. These vehicles run extremely well, but like all the others rolling down the road, they have their quirks. 

That’s all for this update, but if you’re appreciative of the information, here is a link to my new novel COLD BLOODED for Nook and Kindle. If you’re kind enough to read it and like it, please review it on the site you purchase it from. Thank You! Every little bit helps my writing gig. :)

Funny Quote

I ran across this quote from the old-time actor and comedian W.C. Fields while doing research on a scene I'm adding.

W. C. Fields was quoted as saying:

"I once spent a year in Philadelphia, I think it was on a Sunday."

Please, if you're from Philly, no hate E-mails. I'm originally from Ohio. Here's an Ohio joke.

"A guy in a bar leans over to the guy next to him and says, “Wanna hear a Buckeye joke?”

The guy replies, “Well, before you tell that joke, you should know something. I am 6′ tall, 200 lbs. and I am an Ohio State graduate. The guy sitting next to me is 6′2″, 225 lbs., and he is an Ohio State graduate. The guy right next to him is 6′5″, 250lbs., and he is also an Ohio State graduate. Now, you still wanna tell me that joke?”

The first guy says, “No, not if I’m going to have to explain it three times.”