Total Drama Island ended in August. They gave us the tiniest shred of a parole in order to go home and recoup. I really mean it when I say a tiny shred. They didn't even give us a chance to get back to school. No opportunity to even sample our ordinary lives. By September, we were back on the road, back on TV. And the worst part was that I didn't even need to be there. My presence was a publicity stunt.
Sure, I took my books with me. I kept up-to-date online of all my assignments, and without even spending a moment in class, I still managed to do better in IB-level classes than many of my peers. I'm mostly irked by the fact that I had assured my spot in the student council, claimed a spot in the safe grad committee, and possibly attained line-head for the prom, but my absence theoretically forced me to relinquish all these privileges.
Instead of being a political player and an intellectual accomplishment, I'm a ghost-student who can't get his service hours in. All this, and I don't even have the chance to win any money. I'm there as a bystander, fully useless.
The slightest benefit can be merited from being a non-competitor, and that is the fact that I did get some opportunities to go home – an opportunity I only once took advantage of. It would require me to make the arduous trek a province over, a few hours in a plane or a few decades by Via Rail, just for two or three days at home, in which I made a symbolic, if anything, appearance in class, a quick hello to my parents, former friends, and whichever siblings felt the need to drop in that week, and like a menstrual period, I disappeared for another month.
I spent my seventeenth birthday in this ridiculous soundstage, and as it was early on in the competition, I spent it mostly alone. Cody stayed with me, at least, with a crude card made of folded paper with an angry-looking smiley face on it. I'm grateful for that, at least. I got a call from my parents and 5 out of 8 siblings, which is actually a better proportion than last year. The only other people I really had capacity to hang out with were the scragglers who, like me, were ineligible for competition, none of which I felt particularly attached to, and Geoff and Bridgette, who gave me a half-hearted congratulations before resuming their diet of frequent fornication. I do feel as though I was anointed with one birthday blessing: that Izzy was only eliminated that evening, sparing me her uncomfortable presence, and that Trent was not eliminated until the following episodes, keeping him far away from me on my unfortunately destined birthdate (don't even ask.)
The show ended in late October and we were allowed home. For the first time in a long time - or probably ever, due to my avoidance of over-dramatism - I felt the urge to collapse in front of the little Jesus figurine on a cross we keep hanging over the kitchen threshold. I almost wanted to plead with it, to say to it: 'Please, O Lord, I feel I've suffered enough for my former sins. Do not allow Chris McLean to produce a third season of that wretched show.' I decided to sweeten the pot: 'It's a breeding ground of pride, greed, and immorality. Actually, just smite reality TV out of existence. Please.'
I realized that everything I'd said I'd mumbled out loud, and looked around to make sure no one was watching me talk to a Jesus figurine, because I can't be sure whether that falls under 'devout' or 'nutjob' in this family.
I peered around corners to see if any of my family was home to greet me. I would be seriously peeved if they weren't around to see my grand return.
No one was in the kitchen.
No one was in the living room.
I dragged my suitcase upstairs towards my long-empty bedroom. I allowed it to collapse on the floor. I pulled off my navy and red sweatervest roughly, tossing it on the ground.
"I never want to wear you again for as long as I live!" I let out a snicker. Yelling at a shirt is definitely weirder than talking to a wooden Jesus.
I collapsed on my bed.
That's where I am right now.
My eyes are shut lightly, enjoying the comfort of my familiar bed without succumbing to sleep. I slept almost the entire time on the train – it was an overnight – and it was only about ten in the morning right now. I hear the door to my room creek lightly and I open my eyes.
"Noah, is that you?" My mother peers through the cracked door before opening it fully to reveal her form.
"Mom." I say simply. Mom smiles tenderly at my very presence.
My Mother is a real work of nature. Despite having so many children – nine to be exact, in the span of thirteen years – her figure is only barely distended, a slight paunch in her gut from organs that inflated and deflated cyclically like a great lung over the years. I figure her body became so used to being pregnant that her organs remembered how to re-configure as an oft-repeated exercise. She maintains a fairly sophisticated but not overly-restrained sense of style that camouflages her years and any struggles that accompanied them. She has her hair pulled back behind her head in a woven braid that reaches about the navel. At fifty-two, her hair retains its glossy coffee-brown, marred by only a few threads of grey beside the ears.
"Are you glad to be home?" She says, with joy spreading to the corners of her mouth.
"No Mom, I'm devastated." I say with a grin. She's habituated to my sarcasm after seventeen years. I twist my legs off the bed, leaving them dangling over the edge. She shuffles in and sits beside me. With a restrained squeal, she wraps her arms around me in a welcoming embrace. My mother is not the kind who is a doting hen: this kind of parenting is a luxury that one can no longer afford if the number of offspring exceeds three, but though she's given birth to many babies, she only has one baby, and occasionally, when my siblings aren't paying attention, I can tell she will occasionally give me the slightest air of favouritism. Maybe it's because I'm the smartest, and both of my parents are intelligent academics. Both have put their time in at McGill university: my mother in linguistics and religion, and my father in microbiology (although his weakness for eastern religions led them to cross paths, so many years ago.)
"What's dad up to?"
Hearing my call, he appears at the door. His hair is thinner and lighter in colour than my mother's, but his eyes, however lined by crow's feet they are, maintain a youthful glow that people who spend lots of time in science labs have an unexplainable tendency to keep throughout their years.
"Guys, do we need to have a welcome party in my room, I'm hardly decent." I say, indicating my bare chest. My parents make a show of feigned embarrassment as I climb towards my dresser to find a shirt. "So what are the sibs up to?" I dig deep to select anything I haven't put on in several months. I come across a shirt that I recall fondly from ninth grade, a real time capsule, at the bottom of my drawer.
"Um, well as you know, Avery started school." My Mom says, rooting through her mind for news. I push my head through the neck-hole of my shirt, and let out an affirmative 'mh-hm.' "And Mark finally got a job that doesn't involve operating a cash register."
I pull my shirt down over my stomach. "That only took him, ah, three years?" I go back to my bed and sit down. "What about Isaiah? I haven't heard from him really since before I left for the first season of Hell-camp."
My dad shrugs. "Honestly, neither have we. Not a whole lot, at least."
My mother continues. "Michael and Rebecca will be back for Christmas."
Much to my surprise, the thought of seeing my siblings again excites me a bit. I spent so much of my life being suffocated and overlooked by my extensive collection of brothers and sisters that I began to resent their very existence, but after living several months with a disturbed grab-bag of over twenty surrogate family members - and I use that term lightly seeing as I made out with some of these 'siblings'- I began to appreciate the harmony of my family situation, or at the very least, I appreciated that none of my brothers or sisters are wanted by the RCMP, morbidly obese, have an IQ under 80, or want to hurt me in any way. At least to my knowledge. "Will anyone be here tonight?"
My father nods. "Eh, probably just the three of us. It's been pretty lonely lately without you. The thought of an empty nest is scary when you really think of how big the nest is."
"You probably didn't think it was big when we were all under 14."
"Selling the second minivan was actually the greatest moment of my life." My father utters with a grunt. I give him a smile as mom and I rise from the bed. I give my father a pat on the shoulder. He's not very tall, though a bit taller than me. My mother is a positively shrimpy 5'1" – she must have looked like a snail when she was pregnant.
"So if it's just the three of us, anything special you'd like for supper?"
"It's like ten in the morning." I snip.
"But it's your home-coming day!"
I expel a small laugh. "Give me the most stereotypically Indian thing you can possibly concoct."
"Of course."
I came home on a Friday. On Monday, October 26th, I make my return to school, the first bona-fide and un-destroyable day of my senior year. The day begins with English. Mondays starting with English has become routine to my classmates, but it's novel to me. I enter the classroom with the same apprehension and disengaged excitement as any kid would on a first day of school.
The desk up front that was mine for the two previous years remains unoccupied. I feel a mild hint of warm joy, as if I wasn't forgotten here. I feel like such a sap, so I immediately shut down the sentimental train of thought. The teacher comes over to me and hands me a copy of 'Waiting for Godot', uttering a quick but sincere 'Welcome Back!' as I crack open the book.
Fortunately, they hadn't started reading the book yet – they were handed out on Thursday and the class decided unanimously to wait until the following week to begin out oral read-along.
When I was in tenth grade I never liked to read out loud, but as of late, I've gotten used to all the attention, so unsurprisingly, my hand shoots up as volunteers are cast. I decide to read for Vladimir. He reminds me of myself, curmudgeonly, pragmatic and occasionally dark, with his companion Estragon always vying for his attention. Estragon's constant injury and slightly less grounded outlook remind me of a certain someone, as well.
Following English, I have Chemistry, then Economics. I feel a little lost at times, but I manage to navigate through the work without excessive difficulty. Trying to re-incorporate myself into the class dynamic is a little harder – it seems someone else always has the sarcastic quip to jam into the discussion before I even get the chance. I'll get my mojo back, I'm sure, but it's a little disjointing to be a stranger in a familiar land.
Lunch time is the time I most waited for, because it's at this time I'm at free range to reconcile with my long-abandoned friends. I stand at the microwave heating up the last leftovers from the massive pot of chickpea biryani my parents had made me as a welcome-home. I tap on the metal roof of the microwave, empty-headed.
"Noah!" My blank reverie is interrupted by a voice resurrected from the past. "Hey, I haven't seen you in forever!" She says. "Well, I saw you in first-period English, but we didn't talk. How's it been?"
Jenna smiles at me earnestly. "Hellish. You changed your hair."
"I got tired of the light streaks, dyed the whole thing dark."
"Looks alright." I say offhandedly, as the microwave beeps. "Who are you going to eat with?" I absently touch the white-hot Tupperware and jerk my hand back at the burning sensation. I pull a paper towel from my bag and wrap it around my hand before attempting again to remove my food from the microwave.
"Um, Molly, Andrew, Eddie. Like the whole group from the right side of English class." She says with a giggle.
"I'll join you in a minute, that is, if I don't need skin grafts by the time I get this shit out of the microwave." I pull the container out roughly and drop it on the top of the microwave. "I haven't seen those guys in ages except those two days I came back to school at the end of September."
"I forgot that even happened."
"Waste of my Goddamn time, is what it was."
Jenna leads me over to a table packed with familiar faces. I wave meekly before taking a seat at the end of the table. Molly gives Andrew a quick tap on the side to shut him up as I sit down. Their eyes all turn to me, and with Andrew silenced, not a peep escapes the gang. I scan them slowly with a perplexed look.
"Hey…" I say awkwardly. "Remember me…? Noah Khosla, we may have met… We kinda take a lot of classes together."
Andrew snorts. "Noah! Man, we missed you in class. It gets so dry in English without anyone to do back-and-forth with Mr. White."
"Or maybe not dry enough." Eddie adds.
"So we've been, like, on the edge of our seats. How was it? Why were you gone so long? Who won!?" Molly barrels excitedly over her friends' attempts at questions. I take a deep breath and recite a speech I've been mentally practicing since forever:
"Due to contractual promises with Teleteen incorporated, a subordinate company of Corus Entertainment group, I am forbidden to release any confidential information pertaining to the results of any contests in which I was present, including but not limited to Total Drama Island, Total Drama Action, and any current or future spin-offs and tie-ins, without consent of Chris McLean or other named authority of Teleteen, and/or before the results become publicly known through official televised releases."
I'm met with blank stares around the table.
"I signed a non-disclosure, we all did." I say shortly.
"God, I missed you, man." Eddie finally adds with a laugh.
"So as I was saying!" Molly says with a squeak "How was it? Have any secrets? "
"Actually, I have everything that happened documented on film, it's almost like my experience was a tv show or something." I say, rolling my eyes.
"The cameras can't show everything! " the skinny girl replies.
"I've been back for like four hours and you're already looking for secrets. Andrew, man, how do you handle it?" I raise a finger, hesitantly. "You two are still dating, right? Or else I just made things weird."
They nod affirmatively, glancing at each other.
"How about you?" Eddie prods. "Did you meet a special someone?" He waggles his brow a bit, and I realize that although he is my friend, I kind of hate this kid. He's that one kid that always follows the group around that we've accepted as a friend despite being terminally uncool. He's the kind of kid who wears shirts over his shirts, a trend most of us abandoned in the awkward days of sixth grade. He is also a complete foil to me, because his ability to detect sarcasm is severely impaired and he has the obnoxious tendency to explain jokes, never recognizing the error of his ways. He's the kind of kid you grow to love from familiarity, if not from his objective qualities.
I shift attention away from his posed question. "Secrets! Um, secrets. About who? About anyone? Uh, Heather has a soft side, but it's a complete broken bird type. I talked to her many times when we were alone. Don't get me wrong, she is a huge bitch, but there's almost a justifiable reason for it. Cody didn't actually get torn apart by a bear – he has a scar on his chest and it looks pretty badass, but he obviously came out alive. Also, watch out for Trent. Trent is actually fucked." I shift a bit. "You'll see."
"Cody's the guy from the awake-a-thon episode." Eddie snarks.
"And I can't thank you enough for reminding me, Edward." I snarl.
"Ooh!" Molly exclaims as she leans forward. "So the internet is right! You are secret lovers!"
I can't thoroughly describe the appalled look I give them – maybe because I'm unable to see it for myself. "The internet? Did someone let Izzy make a Twitter?"
Andrew shrugs. "People talk."
I rub my temples. "Let me get this straight - and I need a minute to fully absorb the irony- at this moment, 13-year-old-girls making fanart know more about me being gay than my own parents do. If I'm wrong, please correct me."
"Well, it's not just you." Jenna soothes.
"It's mostly you." Andrew chides.
I stare at them unwavering. I lift my box of iced tea and take a swig without letting my eyes leave my friends.
"So is there anything new around here?" I ultimately say. The group looks to each other, searching for adequate answers. I raise my eyebrows.
"Um, there was, ah…" Jenna searches for some news.
"A fire alarm?" Andrew adds. "Okay, I've got nothing. We've had a lot of work – senior year and all – and we've let drama and other such nonsense take a back seat."
"I envy you. If I hear the word 'drama' again I might snap." I say
"But you get to hang out with colourful characters and jump off cliffs and stuff!" Eddie exclaims.
"Yep, because 'jumping off cliffs' is on everyone's bucket list. I know for me it was right up there with staying up for two days straight." I immediately regret adding the second part.
"So I take it, based on your response to the internet fandom, that that Cody kid was your biggest mistake of the season?"
"Hoo boy." I say, after sucking the last of my iced tea out of the box. "He's a lot more than just a mistake."
"Cute." Andrew says with a smug smile.
"Who has a free last period? Like all of us who are in French, right? Cause I kind of think I'd like to see this 'internet' stuff. I mean, I'm going to deeply regret it instantaneously, but I'd still like to take a look, if only out of a cruel sense of masochism."
I stand behind Eddie in the school library as he scrolls through several pages of a Total Drama fanworks blog, and I can say for certainty, I'm aghast.
"Okay, the me being gay this I can chalk up to an intrepid, or at least intrusive mind. But why on earth are they pairing me with Duncan? Why is this a thing? Duncan is gross. He has a unibrow. I'm Indian and I can keep that shit in check, so he should too."
Eddie scrolls further and Jenna alternates between giggling and grimacing at the images that appear on screen.
"Okay, now that one isn't even well-drawn. I'm nowhere near that buff, nor do I want to be."
We scroll a little further and come across a brightly coloured image of Cody and me as 'chibi' characters – nothing too twisted, just fluffy. My mouth defies my mind and my lips contort into a smile. "Okay." I sigh. "I'll admit that's kind cute. The kiss was an accident though, why can't fans accept that?"
Eddie smiles at me coyly. "You liked it though."
I speak with hushed rage. "No I didn't! If you woke up surrounded by a camera crew in the process of inadvertently fondling someone in your sleep, you would not like it. Even if it was the hottest person on the planet! Shit's embarrassing!"
Jenna and Eddie glance at each other knowingly, then back to me.
"I'm not saying he's not cute, I'm saying I am not proud of molesting him, and ugh, it's turned into this sick fodder for depraved fans, like what if they start sending me mail?" I let my voice slow to a calmer tone. "Also, excuse me for not wanted to get outed on a reality TV show for the world to see."
"We've known for like two years. So has literally everyone in the school, except the East-wing kids who are too busy smoking pot between classes to worry about what some IB nerd does in his private life."
"I'm not talking about you guys though."
"Dude, I met your Mom." Eddie says while turning around in his seat. "She's super chill. They'd be totally cool with it."
"Well most little gay kids need to tell their Mom and Dad, maybe a sibling or two, I gotta go through this absurdity eleven times over. That's if I don't tell extended family." I drag my fingers through my hair. My glance falls upon the chibi drawing of me and Cody holding hands, red-faced and sickeningly saccharine, but undeniably adorable. "You think I should do it?" I say as I divert my attention back to my friends.
"Someday, I guess."
I kick off my shoes as I enter my front door.
"Anyone home?" I call out.
I hear a vague sound of affirmation come from down the hallway – I identify it as my father's voice. I pad down the hallway and peer in at my dad, who's devouring National Geographic yet again.
"Hey Dad?"
"Hm?" He says, arching his eyebrows but only briefly glancing at me before returning his gaze to the glossy pages.
"Um, where's Gabe been?"
"He's doing a shoot for an ad for something or other on Thursday or…something…I think that Mom would like this article, it's about the importance of religion in the establishment of permanent societies in ancient Turkey."
"Dad, focus. Where is Gabriel going to be?"
"I dunno Noah, you'll have to call him."
I feel frustration for a fleeting moment at my father's divided attention, but my frustration fades into comfortable sympathy – the habit of sinking into a reading and cutting off the outside world is a habit we share.
I shut the door behind me as I enter the room, tossing my bookbag on the floor. Other than an Economics quiz on Thursday, I'm not overloaded with work this week.
I slip my phone out of my pocket and scroll through my contacts until I reach G, under which there are only two contacts: Gabriel Khosla and Geoffrey van der Leer. Since I'm clearly not looking for a TDI reunion party anytime soon, I select Gabriel's number and hover my fingers over the keypad, contemplating my plan of action.
"Hey Gabe, your fav bro is back in town at last. Dad says you have a shoot or something on Thursday, mind if I catch up with you afterwards? Tell me where 2 meet."
I add: "I have some news." But I hold down backspace until the line disappears.
I add: "There's something I'd like to talk about." But I erase that line, too.
I look at the message once more before hitting send. 'Someday' is coming sooner than I thought.
So this story is basically my garbage bin of ideas, so I can write more Noah stuff whenever I get stuck in my main story (which is now, because nothing happens in TDA!) I don't think this will be finished until AC4/20F is done, but I'll nibble at it whenever I feel like it, and since I don't have a canon to follow and the chapters are shorter, it's more of a recreational thing to write. This story doesn't contain a whole lot of TDI characters, it centres mostly on Noah's family, but I'm sure there are a few people who've wanted to know what they were like :) I feel like I might be losing my grip on Noah's narrative voice, I better reel it in.
In addition, I avoided anything too spoilerific in this fic so if you read this without reading A Concert you can still read that without being spoiled :)