He parked and went inside. The halls were painted a pale, institutional shade of green and smelled of chalk dust and floor wax. The old wooden floor creaked, and banks of battered lockers ran the length of the walls. He wasn't impressed, especially since his high school in the Keys had been newly built and outfitted with the latest equipment. He found the main office, talked to a secretary about transferring his records up from Florida, filled out paperwork, and was told he'd receive room assignments in late August. He was given a packet and was leaving the office when a guy about his age said, “Hey, man. You're new, huh?” Brett turned and faced a short, muscular kid with bleached blond hair, an ear stud, and a big grin. “Sure am” Brett said, liking the guy at once. “I'm Douglas Tredmont, but everyone calls me Dooley. I wasn't eavesdropping, but I did hear you registering. So you're from Key West? Long way from here.” “Tell me about it.”
