At 8 a.m. a melee of post-pubescent teens spewed into the parking lot in a roar of indistinct chitters. Random shrieks shot from the crowd, quickly muted by the growls of revving motorcycles in the background. The asphalt glowed with dew that smelled of tar and Aqua Net, and someone somewhere had fired up a boom box—the silky bends of Drop Dead Legs began to slink into the morning air while teachers dismissed the cigarettes already burning between fingers. Estancia High was