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This is the story of Atticus, the famous band from Jacksonville Alabama. They have over five billion copies of their first album, Noir, sold all over the world. They hold several dozens of awards for their music. They have had over three world tours since their debut six years ago. Their story to their fame is like many others, filled with adversary.

But unlike those stories, this one is filled with Mai Lynn adversary. I trust that this statement plunges the reader into an immediate spasm of questions:

What�s she gonna do? Is there going to be rape? Violence, abuse? Are they going to actually stay alive? Will they have to fight some super natural force? Will they live a normal life?!?!?

Who knows the outcome? After all, it is a story. And stories cannot be told, only experienced.

Let us experience then, shall we?

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The lights flared in tune to the pumping music of the high school DJ, who was currently switching the CDs to meet the demand of the swarming mass of bodies below. The gym floor was filled with students, all dressed in apparel that they deemed popular. The normally spacious gym was crowded, especially since it had been cut in half. A large tarp connected to the center beam of the gymnasium separated the dancing throng of young bodies from the darkness engulfing the other side. Across from the tapestry was a large platform where the DJ's speakers and system sat.

It was Jacksonville High's Sophomore Exclusive dance; a dance for the students who were still too young in high school, yet too old to be considered fresh meat.

Regardless of their status, the students were lost in the sea of rhythm and hormones, hopping and swaying to each other, guided by the steady tempo and bass vibrating throughout the small building. Their black and neon world slowly began to stop however, as the music began to fade and the base turned into nothing more but shallow echoes.

The teenagers, feeling lost without their momentum, turned their heads in the darkened room. Murmurs began filling the hollow silence and although a word could not be deciphered from the low noise, all seemed to hold the same question:

Where's the music?

As though to answer the unspoken, yet spoken, question, the sudden shrill note of a guitar pierced the sophomores into silence. It was followed by another, yet more subtle note. The students felt the vibration of drums. It was akin to the beat of a heart; the sound one hears pounding in his ears after running for a long time. The sophomores were confused. Where did the music come from? In time with the growing speed of the guitars and drums, a low mellow voice softly sang over the gymnasium, demanding to be heard.

The world has come to an end

Oh wait, that�s just in my head

Boredom, the ultimate weapon

Mr. Whoever, the inane killer

Augh, just freakin� SHUT IT!

At the building scream of the male voice, the two guitars suddenly screamed into life and the black curtain at the far end of the gymnasium lifted. The lights flew back into life, streaming across the student body with their neon wings. The students found themselves screaming into the music without reason, joining their entertainers.

Teacher, raise the hand

Can�t speak, can�t demand

Teacher, democracy is at an end

Can�t lead, can�t command

The entertainers were three people; two boys and one girl. One of the boys, a bit stockier than the other, lifted his head to the microphone, his mouth open and crooning the tense words. The students could not stop their bodies as they joined in the flight to the music, swaying their bodies as one to the pounding live music. It sent shivers up their spines, fire onto their skin, and a curling scream from their throats.

They felt as one.

Aw, little Ms. Mary Jane

Lookin� sweet in that outfit

Gah, you sluts are so freakin� lame

Whores and killers leaning science and art

Augh, just freakin� KILL IT!

To the right of the lead singer and guitarist, was another boy. The bass of the band, he also felt the rising ambition of the crowd and began to play with more fever. Shivering with excitement, he looked over to the lead singer. The teenager was currently lost in the song, bellowing the lyrics at the top of his lungs while moving his body erratically to the beat of the drums pounding behind him, and to the guitars surrounding his ears.

The boy shook his head with disbelief as he sung along with his leader, closing his eyes and enjoying the lights flashing around his closed lids.

Teacher, raise the hand

Can�t speak, can�t demand

Teacher, democracy is at an end

Can�t lead, can�t demand

Closing her eyes, the drummer slammed her sticks onto the drums before her again and again, her foot stomping in tune with the song. She knew this song by heart, had been playing it for a long time. But now it was in front of an audience, in the gym full of her peers and with the two people she loved as brothers. Laughing aloud, she opened her eyes to see the swarm of bodies jumping and moving, the blur of the lights sweeping across the gym floor. Her own two band mates, their bodies swaying to the music as though they were apart of the audience down below.

Feeling another unusual burst of laughter swell in her chest, she grinned and closed her eyes, surrendering herself to the rhythm of the drums once more and allowing her body to do something she often times held it back from doing; acting like a teenager.

Why the hell am I still here?

Held back a grade due to your

Failure at life as a teacher

I�m not the one who is wrong, your sluts are

Augh, freakin� STOP IT!

Teacher, raise the hand

Can�t speak, can�t demand

Teacher, democracy is at an end

Can�t lead, can�t demand

�Whoo!� The last strings of the guitar ended the song Teacher�s Whore, the crowd below them going insane with their yelling. The lead singer grinned toothily, looking over to his bass player and to his drummer.

�What�d I tell ya�ll?� He laughed, �We play �n git their respect.� While the drummer only rolled her eyes, the bass player couldn�t help but to laugh along.

�Only in your mind, Atticus��� He joked, but as he looked at the crowd full of sophomores like them yelling for more, he knew that his leader was right.

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�Atticus! Atticus!� The sweet southern voice, Alabama dialect to be exact, slid through the student body of Jacksonville High like a shark through choppy waters.

Just like a shark, it reached its prey. The boy whose name was being called turned his cobalt eyes, rummaging through the crowd to find the source of his name. The boy grinned his usual confident smirk as he spotted Melbourne. Walking over to his friend, he held a hand in the air, which was met with another that, was covered in black leather.

�G�mornin�.� Melbourne greeted, his pale blue eyes were a bit calmer than his friend�s radiant, piercing stare, �Ready to start our practice for auditions?�

Atticus only laughed, ruffling his bass player�s whitish blonde hair, �Bah! We ain�t ready fo� no audition!�

Mel�s face looked slightly confused as the two started to walk into the old building. The grey morning was freezing cold, as it was around six thirty. The sun barely rose above the far auburn horizon, leaving all that lay in shadows to shiver in a chilling arctic schoolyard.

Melbourne followed Atticus into the warm old building, �What ya mean �not ready�?�

�Ain�t ready. Don�t go puttin� words in mah mouth, boy. Lest ya�ll find yaself a new hair style.� Atticus smoothly threatened, to which Melbourne, just as smoothly, smacked the back of Atticus� head. The boy grabbed his dark brown hair, faking a squeal of pain.

�Augh! Mel�s kickin� mah ass!�

�Go on and speak louder, get yourself in trouble.� The two boys turned around to see their auburn haired, ice cold blue eyed female drummer.

�Well, g�mornin� to ya, Princess!� Atticus playfully sneered. The girl only snorted rolling her eyes. This action certainly provoked another sly comment, �Why, ya�ll turnin� into Mel here each day. What�s next, cross dressin�? WHOA! Yer already there!� Cackling, he quickly dodged the fist that would definitely have left a bruise on his boyish face.

His comment was hardly true, however, as Sadie dressed just as he did, but with a more feminine flare. Sure, she had never worn a dress, not even a skirt, since she was five. Regardless, the trio definitely had a style that was theirs. Even with people going around and buying �punk� material from the local Hot Topic (they preferred to call it Fake-R-Us), the trio stuck to their style.

Other kids had called them posers�� At least until they heard the music of their band, Atticus, in the Sophomore Exclusive Dance naught but two weeks ago. After listening to their pounding lyrics and music that made most drool, the band was exempt from the poser category by most of the school.

Even the Fierce Taipans, a group of white male juniors and seniors who believed the followings of the KKK, refrained from teasing the three. No longer labeled �posers�, the group felt the freedom of no teasing that most juniors felt. Each band member had a style of clothing that was completely theirs, to the point where no one could copy them without recognition.

For instance, Atticus, the lead singer and lead guitarist, loved to wear long shorts that extended to his mid-calf. Thick black socks (sometimes blue) covered any leg skin, white sneakers on his feet. The pants were usually cut to his desired length. Any left over material usually went into making arm warmers for his pale arms. Give the boy a hoodie and he�ll cut off the sleeves (also to go into arm warmer making). With a t-shirt underneath the hoodie, whether it was just a plain color or with a design on the front, the shirt completed his outfit for the day.

Melbourne dressed slightly more conservative. He usually went out to buy fur items; coats, jackets, purses, anything that had fur on it, whether it was fake or real. Then he would cut it up and attach it to the collar of his many short jean jackets. The shirts under the jackets were usually of thin material, white, and extended to his mid thigh. Despite the long shirts, he constantly wore a thick leather belt about his lithe waist. Around his hands were leather finger gloves, and a small leather collar around his neck. Usually accompanied by several silver chains from old necklaces of long past, his usual attire always included big brown boots.

Finally, Sadie, who was from the �Yankee� states, wore a style similar to Atticus. She too, loved to cut up clothing and make it to her own style. She made her own arm warmers from left over sweaters that her mother would throw away, even a few of her scarves. Her shirts were hybrids of other shirts, torn up to make patterns that she loved. She also loved to sew embroidery designs onto her jeans and color her white shoes black. To the drummer, the texture of a black Sharpie compared to boring store bought black shoes added more life to her style. Sadie also streaked her auburn hair with silver sometimes, but wore no make-up on her face.

That is the band Atticus, not named after the lead singer, but after the father in To Kill a Mockingbird. The man who would treat his kids as adults, and try to make his hometown into a justly hometown, defending a case that would never have any hope of winning against racism and the unfair minds of the descendants of former slave owners.

�He�ll fight fo� his own morals �n principals, even when an entire nation under segregation �n racism is tellin� him he�s wrong.� Atticus had once explained to the school newspaper, �We feel the same, �cause we�re a punk band down here in Alabama singin� �bout what we believe in, even if our parents and our peers dun like it. We still sing it.�

All three of the members were juniors in Jacksonville Alabama, and ready to prove that their three year career as a �garage� band deserved national recognition.

All but one member, at least.

�So why don�t you think we�re ready?� Mel asked Atticus as first period began with the usual droning bell. The boy only grinned to his friend, winking.

�I say it�s time t�add a new member.� Sliding his shirt off, he began getting ready for gym class. Mel�s eyes stared at him in disbelief, refraining from undressing at the current moment.

�What!?� He finally sputtered out. Other Juniors and a few Seniors filtered into the room, chatting loudly on the bright September morning.

�What?!� Atticus mocked him before pulling on his gym shorts. �Hm�� I�m thinkin� of goin� shirtless today. What ya think?� The teenager flexed his muscles. While a bit stocky, the 17-year-old actually had a bit of muscle. Atticus was known for being shirtless as much as possible- especially during the summer.

�I think you�re nuts!� Mel took off his fur collared jacket, hanging it on the hook in the boy�s room locker, �A new member? We�ve been together for-�

�Fer three years �n I have some new ideas.� Atticus looked to his friend with a serious expression, �An� the way I figure it, we need a new member. Jus� the three of us won�t make it, Mel. It�s still a month �n some �fore auditions start. We got time.� Mel sighed, placing a hand to his head.

�I swear, ev�ry day you somehow find a new way to give me a headache�.� Atticus only laughed, slapping the back of his comrade. Mel winced, biting his lip and giving Atticus a frown. Getting on his shirt for gym, Atticus hopped in place a few times before grinning to his friend.

�Headache or not, hurry up �n change, we got dodge ball t�day!� The dark haired boy patted Mel�s shoulder as he left with the other boys, leaving Melbourne alone.

Making sure no one was there, Mel quickly dressed into his gym clothes. Sighing, he began to walk out of the locker room and into the gym.

�Dodge ball�. Just what I need�..� He thought. Although that bothered him immensely, the thought of a new band mate was worse. Looking around at all of the kinds gathering on the white taped line to the old wooden floor, Melbourne found that he wasn�t too keen on the idea.

�Any of them could be it�.� He looked between the Juniors and Seniors. Jocks, nerds, farm boys, posers, all sorts were there, standing with their shorts and their shirts, ready to start exercising.

Melbourne couldn�t stand the thought of sharing his Mecca with them at all.

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