I'm pretty sure ATBG ended with Ginger and co. starting high school (so 9th grade) and Carl and co. at the end of their elementary days (so 6th grade). Being said, this fic is a jumpstart three years ahead, so still in canon. If the characters seem OOC, you may need to think about how they would act three years later.
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Fandom: As Told By Ginger Pairing(s): tense Blake/Carl Words: 1,480 Warning(s): Light Slash; underage drinking and depression; high school
Blake Sophia Gripling is twelve years old. He isn't a normal twelve-year-old, though. He comes from a wealthy family, so he is often brought to school in a limousine, driven by his butler, chauffeur and friend Winston. Being two years younger than the rest of his class has isolated him despite the wealthy factor. It has been that way since he was advanced two grades in kindergarten. He didn't even have a normal toddler range. He had picked up reading skills and articulation at age two. Not that his parents bothered with that - only his tutor and Winston had noticed. His older sister Courtney had been five at the time, gaining popularity left and right.
His mother has always been busy with "more pressing matters." Oftentimes, these matters had merely been a planned-in-advance mani-pedi with Courtney or an urge to call one of her friends for gossip. His father hardly knows a thing about him. He leaves a chunk of cash addressed to his children ever-so-often on the counter, but Blake is sure he doesn't even make the trip to the house to do so. Blake's only source of expressionism is the tree house he and Winston had crafted when he was five.
Now, Blake's room has been downgraded. The walls are blank. He has a regular twin size bed with beige covers. His closet is oversized, as he has no use to buy a lot of clothes. He has a select number of tops and pants, as well as three pairs of shoes: loafers for school, fancy dress and casual sneakers. There is also a small vanity in the corner beside his work desk. There are only papers, pens and a lamp. He hardly ever uses his room. He instead heads to his tree house. He has everything he needs up there: some beanbag chairs, a hidden television with a few video games, a punching bag and a ton of notebooks. There is also a safe that only he knows about - containing his laptop, a passport and a few alcoholic bottles.
In the middle of his seventh grade year, he had formed a truce with Carl Foutley, and Hoodsey Bishop. They had been wary of each other for a couple months, but once they had found a common interest in (surprisingly) a certain rock group, they had become fast friends. The two know a lot about each other and often visit each other. This year, they have one (general studies) class together: home economics. As luck would have it, Hoodsey also shares this class.
Blake is in a relationship, but is bullied because of it. Openly bisexual Terrence, from their elementary school years, had come out to Blake last Halloween and they had shared a kiss. Since then, they have been candidly dating. Blake's father either doesn't care or hasn't taken notice. Blake's mother seems to hate him for it, saying he is "tarnishing the family." Courtney really sees nothing big about it, but that doesn't mean she is going to help her younger brother unless she can get something out of it.
Blake still keeps his grades up, desperately hoping his mother will notice and accept him once more. He is a straight-A student with affiliations on the Student Council and journalism - writing an advice blog on the school website. He works himself half to death, even helping the cleaning staff with what he can. His mother takes no notice and is slowly beginning to blur with Blake's father. No one in the family sees him for who he is, aside from Winston. Unfortunately, that is who Blake often takes it out on.
For the longest time, Winston had been the only person Blake could call a friend. Here lately (over the past few months), Blake has been pushing him away, yelling at him for not parking correctly or making the food too hot by the slightest degree. Only very recently (three weeks ago), he has discovered he had been treating his friend the way his mother had treated him through his childhood. He has since been attempting to fix things. However, his definition of fixing things only repairs things between he and Winston.
Blake doesn't take out his television and his notebooks are gone. He is gaining muscle by whaling on the punching bag for hours on end. He is angry about his life and Terrence doesn't understand. Blake often wonders why he is with the other boy in the first place, but then he remembers Terrence is his surrogate since he cannot be with Carl. Blake has currently been living in his tree house more than his actual house. He heads straight up there to complete his homework, eat dinner and whale on the bag to let his aggressions out. He wakes up with scraped-up or sometimes bloodied knuckles.
Winston is there for Blake to vent as the man gingerly cleans the cuts and covers them up. He has noticed Blake gaining muscle mass, but he wisely doesn't mention it. The blonde boy needs Winston in his life, but he doesn't need Terrence. The older boy has blown him off several times, still popular through football - probably because he still looks appreciatively toward girls despite being in a relationship with a fully gay boy. The anger has been boiling in Blake's blood for long enough. At lunch, Terrence walks over to him before he can join Carl and Hoodsey at their regular table.
"Hey, Blakey. Me and the guys were gonna go shoot some holes after school. We can check out the video arcade tom"
"No." Blake's anger seeps through, interrupting his boyfriend.
"Huh?" Terrence looks confused. Blake has always been compliant toward his wishes, so the sudden front is new to him. "Blakey, I ain't askin' you to come with us."
"I ain't askin' to go with you." Blake growls, inwardly twitching at the improper English. "I am telling you no."
Blake slams his tray against Terrence's knocking both to the floor in a loud clatter. They have gained the attention of most of the lunchroom. Blake stands strong and tall, despite being a full two feet shorter than his boyfriend. He pokes him in his chest.
"You can go play pool like an asshole, but when you come back for me, I won't be waiting." He seethes. "We. Are. Through."
"Are you," He laughs. "Are you breaking up with me?"
"Yes." Blake glares at him with the iciest of stares.
Terrence surprises him with a slap across the face. The student population had gasped at the display and most had the thought that Blake was crying. His shoulders had been shaking and Carl stands up. However, as he begins to make his way forward, he and the others notice Blake isn't crying. Instead, his shoulders are shaking from keeping his fury under control. He isn't successful. With all the torment Blake has been through after so long, he unleashes it.
He kicks Terrence hard in his groin, bringing him to his knees so the young Gripling can angrily punch the taller boy's face. The population is on their feet, half cheering Blake on and half just watching in amazement. The faculty had been on their feet in ample time. Terrence is sent to In-School Suspension, while Blake is sent to detention after school.
When Blake arrives in detention, he meets two familiar faces: Miranda and Carl. Miranda hardly pays him any attention and goes back to filing her nails and glaring out the window. Carl, on the other hand, pats the desk beside him with an eager grin. Blake sighs slightly and joins him there.
"Go ahead with the jokes, Foutley."
"No jokes, Gripling." He shakes his head lightly. "I just wanted to invite you to the annual FBL party."
Blake raises an eyebrow, voice raising at each question.. "The infamous Foutley-Bishop-
Lightfoot Christmas bash? Why me? Because of the brawl in the lunchroom?"
"Whoa, whoa, Blake. Calm down."
"Why the hell should I calm down just because the great Carl Fout"
His rampage is suddenly cut off by a pair of hands and a set of strong lips. Blake's sensibilities run astray as he instinctively kisses back. His hands graze through Carl's hair before realizing what is happening. Suddenly, he pulls back with a firm grasp still on Carl's hair.
"What the hell was that?" He demands in a dark, low voice.
It shocks Carl, not used to this side of Blake Gripling. "Blake, it was a kiss. I've been wanting to"
Blake backs away again, eliciting a scream from Carl. The blonde boy lets go of the older one's hair and backs away farther. Carl accepts this and sits at his desk, two away. He sighs and asks this time.
"Seriously, Blake. I want you to come to the FBL. Will you?"
Blake blinks at the verbal invitation. "Okay, Carl."
Carl beams. "Great. It's next Saturday. The first official day of Winter break."
Blake nods and sits at his own desk. When detention is over, Blake runs out of the school quick as he can and almost dives into the limo. When he gets home, he heads straight for the tree house, leaving his things in the car. He sends Winston away and locks himself away. So many thoughts circle around his mind, but the priority is how he feels about Carl and the invitation. Carl just saw him start a brawl in the middle of the cafeteria and invited him to a party in detention. He had initiated a kiss. In detention.
Blake feels as though he has just swallowed his heart. He has blown up at his ex-
boyfriend, humiliating him by destroying him in public. His childhood crush has kissed him without pretense other than to slow his rage. The only thing Blake feels he has on his side is his grades. With the thought on his mind, he remembers earlier that day. In English. He had written a six-page essay on Beowulf, but the teacher had given him an A-. He has been making As and A+s, but this is his first A- in two years. Perfection carries too much of a role in the Gripling household.
He unlocks his safe and grabs his alcohol. He has his father's bourbon, as well as some wine and his mother's chardonnay. He also has a few bottles buried around the house, though he is sure one or two of the cleaning staff members have discovered some hiding places. Right now, he doesn't want to deal with pressure. He doesn't want the need to think about anything. He swiftly opens the bourbon and takes a large swill. Though he shouldn't, the twelve-year-old has developed quite a tolerance for alcohol. However, he is ready to test the limitations. He falls onto one of his beanbag chairs, blocking out all his troubles. No more Terrence. No more parents. No more school. No more Christmas. No more kissing. No more Carl Foutley.
][][][][][][ I'm sorry about how I ended this one. It'll probably turn into a regular story next year (once the challenge is over and all). Let me know what you think unless all you have to say are hateful comments on my writing style. Honestly, if you don't like it, either don't read it or keep your comments to yourself. ][][][][][][