6Hannie Elise: Ninja, Spy and Kung Fu Master
by throwingstars
TWO
Of Camel Hair, Can-Can Koalas and Great Escapes
There's a small squeaking sound, but thankfully nobody notices.
It's repeated as I inch closer. Slowly, slowly, slowly...
Suddenly, there's a loud squeal that's quickly followed by my low curse.
Everyone around me jumps, including the graying man at the front. Their heads swivel towards me, but I ignore them and bend low over the source of the sounds, my desk.
The graying man, also known as my English teacher, Mr. Fullson, gives me a stern look but returns to grading our tests from last week. The others do the same, pencils scratching against their own papers.
The things Mr. Fullson has resorted to just to keep us quiet. Grammar work sheets, seriously?! My nine year old next door neighbor could do this, and his brain is all slimy and rotted from too many hours in front of the television with a control in his hands, blowing up aliens, stealing cars and working undercover as James Bond.
Okay, so the last one is cool.
Once I know Fullson & Co. are no longer watching me like I'm square, mounted on a wall with Sony stamped across my forehead and a satellite hooked up to me, I go back to my task.
Just a bit more, I think.
Finally, I'm but two feet from the door.
Thank God for an alphabetical seating order.
As quietly as I moved my desk, I push back in my chair and wait. When Fullson starts humming Rachmaninoff, I know I'm in the clear. Nothing can distract him from Rachmaninoff.
I stand, not caring if the other students notice.
Within the last two months, they've become fully aware of my part-time job and it's not a good idea to double cross a professional double crosser. It's not as if Fullson will miss me anyway, I handed in my work sheet a half hour ago and there's only ten minutes to final bell.
I dance outside the door, picking it up to a run when I enter the empty hallway. My textbooks are dropped in my locker. I've got all I need in my book bag, which I can feel bouncing at my back as I run.
I make my final (for today) escape to the outside world.
Glorious Freedom.
I shall make the most of it. Paint a dog, sing at the top of my lungs, run naked through the streets.
You know, the normal stuff.
I shall never be imprisoned again!
Until 8:00 tomorrow morning, when school starts again.
At the top of the school steps I stop and a familiar tune fills my head, one everyone knows. Completely happy with my most recent success, my grin is big enough to scare little kids. It isn't long before I'm singing like Cher incarnate and my dancing changes to involve a lot of twirling and fist pumping.
Plan number two complete. Now, where can I find a dog?
Eventually I drop myself down on the steps, and I'm faced with another wait. The problem with sneaking off early: waiting for the best friend who has the uber-strict teacher last period.
So I continue to sing, "It's the eye of the tiger, it's the cream of the fight…" and I ignore the guy by the bus stop that's staring at me like a Koala bear popped out of the top of my head and did the Can-Can, but it isn't long before I'm interrupted.
The final bell tolls.
And I make a note to myself on my hand that I should remember the sentence 'the final bell tolls' for the next writing assignment.
The doors behind me open, releasing a rush of people whose voices are louder than the two school buses stationed in front. With all the commotion, someone would think it was the last days of school rather than the beginning.
Dear, dear September. The month every student loves.
Some people, like me, stop at the steps to wait for friends or significant others. Others just lounge around with nothing to do. I usually just ignore all these people until Josey, the best friend, comes out but today, I notice a small group standing around the bottom railings.
I normally wouldn't eavesdrop- when I don't need to, that is- but when my name comes up I figure that's all the permission I need.
"Hannie Elise?" This voice sounds male, and very bewildered.
I glance to the side, and notice a small blonde girl holding a purple piece of paper, and I grin.
She mhmms to the group.
"What kind of name is Hannie?" Another girl.
I'm not offended.. I get that a lot. It is a pretty unusual name.
Apparently, the smaller one gets offended for me, because she scowls and waves the paper in their faces. "Who cares! Look at this, I found it taped on the side of the water fountain!"
Another guy chooses this moment to pipe in, smiling in realization. I guess he's seen my ad before.
"I saw this before! They popped up in the summer. They're all over town."
Oh look, I'm psychic.
I tune out as the conversation switches to questions like "Is this for real?" or "Do you think she's any good?"
Of course I am. I don't false advertise.
I'm not surprised that they're surprised, though. Like I said, I got business but word of mouth wasn't all that great. Then I let Louis make an advertisement for me in July, and come September, I'm the talk of Johnson Mills High.
Though I am surprised the guy found my ad; I didn't let Louis put many up around town. It's one thing for the school authorities to be after me, but it's another to get the actual authorities involved. Putting up flyers for a professional prank artist would definitely get them involved.
Besides, my services are usually only for teenagers.
I don't needed to be pranking anyone's cheating husband, who probably has an actual lawyer whereas I only have Josey, who I say is my lawyer but unless she's secretly attending law school at night, she's not much help.
Seen-it-before Guy adds another two cents, "My cousin in Montley even said there's a few of these over on that side too."
I definitely owe Louis a huge choco-fudge sundae the size of his head. And Louis has a big head.
It seems it wasn't only our little town of Heathington that knows of Hannie Elise. Montley, the next town over, was also whispering my name.
Truthfully, it doesn't say all that much, as the towns are side by side and hardly different towns at all. You could drive down Freemont Boulevard in Heathington and pass into Montley without even knowing it. There is even a Heathington-Montely High School positioned not too far from the thin, little, hardly noticeable line that separates the two towns.
Hell, I'm pretty sure the mayors' office for both Heathington and Montley are in the same building, though no one is sure why the towns have two different mayors as they just go along with each other anyway. The towns should just combine, locals already refer to this area as Heathley.
Or Montington to an idiotic few.
Montington, for God's sakes?
At least Heathley rolls off the tongue.
Either town wasn't all that big, probably somewhere between small to barely medium sized. Together, however, they created a good sized town. Heathley would have four supermarkets, two and a half malls (the half referring to a tiny outlet at the edge of Montley), a good number of department stores, every other necessary store and three high schools.
It was at this moment I wished Samantha Longe was at one of the other high schools, because she was fast approaching me and she did not look happy.
Funny. I don't remember ever pranking her.
I probably should have.
Johnson Mills was nowhere near like the ones in the movies. For the most part, there were no cliques and the cafeteria was free ground. People sat where they may. True, some are more popular than others, but I don't think anyone was really invisible here or anything that dramatic. There's no big feud between "Preps" and "Outcasts" or something.
We're all Free Range here.
Actually, from what I can remember last year Tim, Mr. Big Skater Dude, was dating Lina a tiny Popular and his group of friends were at odds with Alex's, Mr. Little Skater Dude. So cliques, at least like in the movies, were foreign at Johnson Mills.
Labels just didn't unite people like they used. Tsk, tsk.
In each grade, there were a fair sized group of people who were considered "the Populars." Not all that arrogant, jock-ish or particularly nasty, they were usually just people who everyone knows for one reason or another.
Samantha Longe, the scary brunette standing in front me, was a Popular of the Junior Class and one of the few stereotypical ones.
She glared down at my chest, and I floundered for a moment as to why she was having a staring contest with my boobs.
"You're Hannie Elise?"
Oh, right. I'd pinned a metal nametag there.
I looked between her and my nametag. No, I just stole this off the real Hannie Elise for fun.
"Indeedle-doo."
When in doubt (of someone else's intellect), go Flanders-style.
It confuses the pants off them.
Not that I need to see anymore of Samantha Longe- her short shorts and tight shirt do enough revealing. Though I'm sure if a reasonably good looking fellow tried it, they literally would soar off.
I don't think Longe would mind if a guy talked like Forest Gump as long as he had a pretty face.
She ignored my response.
Pity.
And moved to stand exactly two steps away from me with her hand on her hips and towering over me.
Not completely comfortable staring at her stomach, I stood as well and had to do a short victory lap (it's the eye of the tiger..) in my head when I noted I was taller than her.
From somewhere, God know's where on her little (literally) trendy outfit, she pulled out a piece of paper. I noticed it was a violent shade of orange and I didn't even need to be psychic to know what this was about.
A Popular has my ad. Damn, I was going to buy Louis two sundaes the size of his head.
She shook it in front of my face till all I could see was orange and it was like a pylon was attempting to kiss me. At least Louis had nixed the red writing, or I may have gone blind.
"Is there a meaning to this?"
"Is there a meaning to life?"
I figured the meaning was a little obvious, but I also figured it'd be entertaining to confuse her a little more. Josey was really late.
She paused, but I guess decided to ignore my response again. Hmm... maybe she should try discussing this with a brick wall. I have a feeling it'd be a similar experience for her.
"Is this true? You can prank and spy and all this stuff?"
"That's is what it says, no?"
Her glare was back, though this time it was actually deserved, "Quit the games. I want somebody pranked and you're going to do it. We'll see then if you're really all you say you are."
Actually, the ad was what Louis says I am, but I don't think Miss Prada Shoes would care.
Where do they even sell Prada in Heathley?
"My services aren't free."
"Name your price." She waved her hands like it didn't matter, and said it hard, acting haughty but sounding like she practiced this while watching mobster movies.
"What's the prank? The better and bigger, the more expensive."
"I want a boy pranked, a Junior. His name is James Trask."
I raised an eyebrow.
I love doing that.
"He's a jerk- gorgeous, but a jerk- he needs to know it. I don't care what you do, just do it."
I love it when they give me free reign.
My mind was already spinning, joyous with all the directions it could go.
I asked for his basic information. Locker number, lunch hour, basic description. Creepy Stalker Longe was able to give me his class schedule and locker combination.
Good information to have, but scary to know she had it.
"He has last period free, and he always leaves early. Do it then."
She said some more things, but my mind had finally chosen a direction and wandered in it so I barely heard what she said.
My feet began to wander as well, and I could feel her glare on my back.
"Where do you think you're going?"
Can't she take a hint?
"I'm going see a man about a dog."
I was sitting under a tree across the street, scribbling furiously in my little yellow notebook when Josey bounded up to me.
Finally.
I didn't look up, finishing my thoughts. I'd gotten such a burst of inspiration that I didn't care if Josey suddenly morphed into a gingerbread man hell bent on world domination, I needed to finish. I did acknowledge her presence though by telling her, "Just in time to stop me from stripping and running down the street."
Like Samantha Longe, she ignored me. Only, Josey ignored me because she was used to my random statements, not because she didn't know what to make of them.
"I hate Mrs. Walsch!"
"Noted." I wrote another sentence, and held up my notebook where, in big print, it said 'Josey Hates ' "See."
"She needs to take the yard stick out of her ass." She waved away the notebook, flapping her ring covered hands as she ranted. "I can't believe she's a Missus! I feel sorry for whoever married that broad!"
My eyes widened, "Imagine trying to sit with a yard stick up your wazoo? Or ride a bike? Do you think you'd have to get special made pants? There can't be enough room up there for a whole yard stick."
She huffed, blowing her short straight-across bangs out of her eyes. "Maybe that's why she always wears dresses. And not even pretty ones, those long old frilly grandma ones."
"I wouldn't be worrying about fashion either, if I had a big ruler up my butt."
Josey giggled like she always does, a squeaky little mewing sound, and threw herself in the grass next to me.
"So Hemingway, what'cha writing in that chicken scratch of yours?"
I handed her the notebook and it took her two seconds of looking it over before she realized what it was. She grinned and tossed it back to me, and I tucked the sheet of information Longe gave me into it, "Business good?"
"Soaring like eaglet on speed."
"So where to, Boss?" Her grin never faded, and I stood by my long running belief that Josey should do toothpaste commercials, "Junkyard, Hardware store, pawn shop, athletic outlet, hunting & camping store?"
We'd gone to each of those places and more for supplies, but today we were venturing into new territory. One we'd never entered, and probably never thought we would.
I grimaced, "Art store."
The glass mosaic door opened, and there was high pitched ringing as the bell jingled overhead.
Cautiously, we looked around and I led Josey in further, walking softly. We paused, and Josey peered over a large row of clearance bins while I glanced around a shelf full of paintbrushes, the sign above declaring that they sold all brushes from synthetic to camel hair.
I don't see what the difference is, they do the same thing. But what would I know? I'd once proclaimed I would never set foot into Tallyho's Art Emporium and look how that turned out.
Tallyho's was one of the quirky shops of Heathington. I say Heathington cause most of Montley is overrun by franchises, while Heathington boasts its privately owned, family businesses.
But Tallyho's was no family business.
It was owned by single man by the name of Mr. Tally. 'Tallyho' was probably the only decent pun he could find for his name, though probably not a good one for an art store. He was an older man, definitely getting up there in years, but still very fit. No one can guess his real age, but I don't think anyone really knows that much about him at all.
We have our fair share of quacks here, but Tally was by far the biggest. He kept his head covered by large, various hats, and his clothes were always spattered with paints and other stains. He spent a lot of time in his shop, and when he did venture out most people could find him in the park painting or frequenting a small club that liked to play Jazz music and host SLAM competitions.
He was like an odd mix of a hippie, beatnik and jazz man. For Mr. Tally loved his jazz. It was always blaring out of the store.
He didn't talk much and when he did, it was to accost people to tell them that they look artsy and should take up the noble practice. Or that's what he always did to me and Josey. He liked to think we had a hidden talent and passion for art.
Ha.
Apparently, he also liked to follow people around his shop, talking about the soul of art and how more people need to find the soul in art or showing people his paintings and describing how much or how little soul they had. Josey's little sister had once ventured in here, and she said that the paintings he deemed to have too little soul got a fist, foot or other limb through it.
"Maybe we can make it out of here fast," Josey whispered to me, eyeing the paintings on the wall, all of them signed with the swirly signature of Mr. Tally. A particular one looked sort of abstract, with a colorful shapely background that resembled nothing and a black and red thing dead centre. It was some sort of animal or creature.
I hoped she was right.
Or I at least hoped Tally had some happier paintings.
Most eccentricities of the town didn't surprise me anymore, and it's been awhile since I was creeped out by any but Tally was simply unpredictable and I didn't want to know what the man would do.
And I really didn't want talk about the feelings in a glob of paint.
"Let's just get the stuff, leave the money and get the hell out of here." Josey nodded, looking only too happy to agree with me.
With that, we both raced off to the left of the store, just past the brushes, where a large signed said PAINTS.
The store was wide, but how wide was hard to tell as it was very dark, the main lights being small spotlights that shone on the necessary areas, like sectional signs and the cash register. Paintings hung lined up on the uppermost part of the wall, all by Mr. Tally, some with price tags on them. They had their own spot lights.
The walls and tiled floor were black, and spattered with all colors of paint. The aisles were scarcely lit, the lights shining like glow sticks. It was like a cross between a rave and a indoor paintball place. It was such a change from the fluorescent lighting of big franchises, and the warm yellow lighting of the small, homey shops.
Even with the glow lights, the spotlights and the sparse light filtering in through the front windows, it was impossible to see into the corners.
Through the dark I could still tell the paint section was huge, and I could see everything from huge tubs of paint the size of barrels to tiny watercolor sets for kids.
Forgetting our plan to be quick, we stopped at stared at the selection.
"What do you need?"
Josey asked that as if I knew. This stuff might have been toxic waste for all I knew what to do with it.
"Uhmm... grab two of those small cans," I pointed to a shelf of cans the size of a coffee mug, "Whatever colors."
While she did that, I stepped forward and grabbed a medium sized container of bright yellow paint and bright purple. Purple is always good.
As we walked back down the aisle, I saw plastic containers hanging at the side of the shelves. They were filled with what appeared to be thick pens, or permanent markers. We got closer and I noted happily that they were all colored in neon colors. I gathered from the small price stickers that they were Paint Pens.
Huh.
I grabbed a handful.
Just as I was grabbing a few brushes (synthetic or camel hair, who knows.), there was a delighted laugh from behind me and Josey.
"Well, I just knew I'd see you two in here some day!"
Darn.
Turning, I sighed, defeated, and I think Josey did the same.
There was Mr. Tally, standing with his hands together like he was about to clap. Atop his head was a large beret, and he seemed to be wearing a large black smock that was speckled white and reminded me of pictures of the universe.
Hey, is that the Milkyway?
"I always knew you wouldn't be able to resist the call of Art. Art and soul go hand in hand, and when a person is meant to be an artist, Art calls to their soul." His voice was averagely pitched, but used in such a whimsical tone it sounded much higher and more feminine then it actually was.
Josey rolled her eyes and opened her mouth, but I cut her off. Arguing was useless and I just wanted to get out of here.
"Right. Well, the soul is saying to buy this cra- uh, stuff. So how much?"
There was that delighted laugh again, as he rang up what we brought to the counter.
"36.50. Can I interest you in any of these canvases? Or perhaps some ink and pen sets? Very underappreciated art form that is, ink drawing." I don't know from where, but he pulled all this stuff out in a matter of seconds, like they magically appeared in his hands as he said the name. "You're soul will love you for it." He shook the tin ink set under my nose, like they were cookies and the smell would entice me.
I stared at all of it, wondering what I'd ever do with it, but I shrugged.
I'd be billing Longe for this.
"Whatever. My soul could always do with some ink."
Josey gave me a look that clearly asked, 'What are you talking about?'
I gave her a similar look that clearly asked, 'How the hell should I know?'
"50.13, but we'll make it an even 50." He sighed, "It's such a beautiful thing when young people find their calling in art."
I handed over the money. Oh yeah, this bill was definitely going to Longe.
As we escaped from the store, a soft jazz number was blared from the speakers and I could distinctly hear Tally scatting over the loud music.
I normally wouldn't update this quick, but I'm excited to write this story. I really want to know what people think, and the first chapter was really short, so this one is much longer. It'll take a little longer for the next chapter, since I'm back in school and my courses are going to be quite difficult.
Read and review! Let me know if you spot any mistakes, or if anything seems confusing. Or if the explanations are too overdone.
Thanks to: Eternity is Calling, giRLAddiCted, ValSilph, and One Last Kiss for reviewing! And thanks to everyone who added this story to their favorites, or alerts! :)
A lot of you said Telephone is also called Chinese Whispers, which I think I may have heard before but growing up we always called it Telephone. Chinese Whispers sounds a lot prettier lol.
¤ throwingstars
09/05/09 edit: Sorry if you get an extra alert for this. I had to reupload the chapter, my friend could only see a blank page for some reason.