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store on the west side. It was apparently chock full of nuclear test equipment that has been discarded.
    “Trying to sell you a can of plutonium, was he?” Travis chuckled to himself before taking a swig of his coffee.
    Scott glanced at him, shook his head and fixed his stare back on the road.
    “Who were the others?” he asked curiously, clasping his hands around his cup and watching the steam swirl upwards.
    “They’re his sister’s kin … yeah, I think that’s what he said, and they’re visiting from out of state.” Scott cast a sideways glance at Travis. “Why?”
    “Ah, nothing really, I just hadn’t seen them around the town, they certainly don’t go to LAHS.” He feigned disinterest, staring out the window, pondering again the intensity he spotted in the eyes of the girl.
    He flicked on the radio and leaned back, resting his feet on the dash. “… It’s another beautiful day in Los Alamos. I’m Art Logan, coming to you from the town—where discoveries are made—and this is 105.2 Jolt Radio: your daily jolt of the unexplained,” the voice hollered before music kicked in.
    Los Alamos High School stood out like a sore thumb; it was hard to miss from the road with its cream and chocolate high-rise brick. If it wasn’t for the short stone sign on the west side and the dark green letters, LAHS HILLTOPPERS, emblazoned across the other side, a person could easily mistake it for an old crumbling down penitentiary. Travis wasn’t sure what gave him the creeps the most, the look of the place or how it made him feel each time he pulled up in front of it. Maybe it was a bit of both.
    “You’d think there would be another high school to go to in this town,” he blurted out.
    “Travis, you can’t be serious, LAHS has been …”
    Travis tuned out.
    He had heard it countless times, enough that he could mouth the words verbatim … academically recognized, visited by presidents, won eight-five state championships and is one of the best high schools in America …. His father was beginning to sound like an infomercial.
    Travis rolled his eyes.
    “Wait!” shouted Travis, startling Scott in mid-sentence and nearly causing him to lose control of the car . “… And let me guess, if you join today, we’ll even throw in for free a pair of super-duper nail clippers.” Travis yawned.
    Scott shook his head. “You kids … don’t know a good thing when it’s staring you in the face.”
    Yeah, you forgot the rampant drug use, and constant pressure to perform, yeah, real good, Travis told himself.
    The truck ground to a halt. Hordes of kids were milling around outside, leaning against walls. Others exited buses, quickly dispersing and forming their groups.
    Everyone lived on top of each other in this town and with only one high school it meant kids knew each other well—probably too well. It also meant that it suffered from its fair share of cliques and stereotypical baboons, like the jocks in LAHS were the track and soccer players. Then you had the academic whiz kids, the withdrawn emos, the over-the-top queen bees who thought the sun shone out there backsides. And then there were the in-betweens, the ones who never really quite fit into any crowd.
    “You think you can swing by the store this evening? I’ve got to cover Mom’s shift and I could use a ride home,” Travis asked before slipping one leg out the truck.
    Scott huffed.
    Travis could hear the reluctance in his voice. “Forget it, I’ll walk.”
    Scott gave in. “Look, just be ready. I have an important errand to run and I can’t be late,” he answered.
    “Maybe we could pick up the bike, too?” He knew he was pushing his luck but it was worth a shot.
    “Are you kidding?”
    Travis shrugged and strolled off towards the building, dodging the throngs of kids.

 
    Chapter Three

     
    Scott made his way through the routine access stop at the entrance area. Security measures had been increased after a recent leak of classified information. One