here are the next couple of paragraphs for my story and then the outline for the rest of it:
My history teacher Mr. Fritch seemed undaunted by the days events.
“Good thing my car was in the shop today.” He grunted. Mr. Fritch was a slightly stout, balding man in his mid-forties. Beneath his paunch and hairless head, one could tell that he had been attractive in his day. I imagined that his gruff behavior stemmed from his annoyance over the massive toll that age and gravity had taken on his body. There was something off about Mr. Fritch, but I couldn’t put my finger on it. The class as a whole tended to shift away from him to the back of the room, leaving the front rows for the unlucky latecomers. He was one of those teachers who seemed to live at school; he popped out of corners and ate canned green beans from a massive stash under his desk. Mr. Fritch was completely unqualified for a history teaching position. He actually seemed completely unqualified for a teaching position in general. Nevertheless, the man dutifully grumbled his incomprehensible monologue to my World History class everyday for forty-five minutes.
The morning’s excitement flooded back to me as I traveled past the crime scene at the end of the day. The courts had been cleared of evidence, but still remained blocked off. A couple of officials loitered around chatting with each other. The crowd from this morning had dispersed as well and only a few rubberneckers slowed traffic as they drove by.
I scrambled on the number 7 in front of the highly successful, yet extremely disgusting “Ross” on Shattuck Avenue. Students from multiple East Bay schools packed the small rectangle of bus. I held on as we lurched forward. After a couple of stops, I had been shoved into the back. I nearly toppled on top of Parker’s buddies. His best friend Matt Douglass, a short blonde kid sporting an excessively large Raiders jersey, was too distraught and irate to notice me practically sitting in his lap.
“Who the fuck would do this? I bet it was Tony and his gang! They’re hella shady dicks!” He vented.
“Naw, they’re shady for sure, but they’re applying to college this year.” His baggy-pants friend responded.
“Yeah, I heard Tony got in early to Stanford.” Interjected another.
“Isn’t that some crazy shit? Then who would have murdered Parker?” Matt questioned sadly.
Parker? Murdered? The bus slammed to a stop and I almost topped again onto Matt. I could not, would not process this new information. The bus suddenly seemed even more jammed than before. My breathing grew rapid and my body burned as if on fire. I thrust myself off the bus and landed across the street from the UC Berkeley Clark Kerr dorms.
i decide to investigate the story
Interview soccer coach who had late night practice
Talk to older family friend/ sister smoking weed in park
Talk to Layla in Star Market
check autobody shop that Mr. Fritch brought his car to
Tell story to friend at Jacket (Berkeley High newspaper)
End (knowledge that justice will be served)
Mr. Fritch used to be a tennis coach but was fired after being caught spying on girls in locker room. He was rehired as my history teacher, but is still on probation. Layla (Parker's girl friend) caught him spying on her. Parker confronted him. Mr. Fritch runs him over with his car to avoid being caught and losing his job again (or jail!).