Author's Note: A while back, I was talking about Spamalot High School AUs with the awesome KennyWithaK on DA and we were also talking about the relationship between Prince Herbert and Princess Lucky. Plot bunnies ensued. I really liked the idea of writing Herbert being an out cheerleader having a crush on Lance, the closeted wide-receiver, and so here we are. The title comes from the song "My Junk" from Spring Awakening, which is about being blinded by crushes. The lyrics to the song, of course, belong to that musical and Duncan Sheik and Steven Sater and characters belong to the Monty Python troupe. Virtual cookies goes to anyone who can spot the Meaning of Life allusion!
They Say You Go Blind
There was nothing like a Friday night football game, in Herbert's eyes. Such a high school stereotype, but he loved the energy, the life of it all. Those eight nights in the fall were like wading in tidal waves of sensory. The smell of hotdogs and hot coca wafting through the air from the concession stand, the occasional squeaking of the announcer's microphone, even the cold that turned his cheeks pink and made the squad huddle into their sweats were thing so distinctly fall Friday night .
But for right now, it didn't matter that he was at the bottom of the pyramid because Herbert Swampcastle felt as though he was on the top of the world, basking the heavy glow of the football field's lighting and the energy of the swell of Camelot Knight fans in the belchers during the last few seconds of the fourth quarter. The gold-and-white colored crowd were practically jumping all over each as the announcer was screaming out the play-by-play of wide-receiver Lance Cockburn's miraculous catch from the quarterback, Arthur Pendragon.
"And he's running, and running, and running but nobody can catch him!" The commentator's voice shrieked through the stadium. The cowbells, the screams amplified into a tsunami of voices' over the cheerleading squad. Dingo Morrison had dropped from her position atop the support of the hands of the cheerleaders just in time for Herbert to whip around and watch as Lance bolted across the end zone and scored that touchdown.
"And Lance Cockburn has made the score 15-8 to what everyone thought was going to be a tied game! Once again, he leads the Camelot Knights to victory!"
The crowd went berserk.
It was a fairytale, Herbert realized as the cheerleaders joined in the frantic excitement of the fans. Right out of the screen-play of a high school drama, it seemed as he watch the Knights surround the hero, pumping their fists in the air and slapping him on the back. The man of the hour's helmet came off and Herbert could have sworn that the heavy glow of the football field was that of a movie crew, perfectly angled to catch the gleam of sweat and pride on his that sculpted face of his.
Herbert could live in this moment forever.
He watched as the Knights walked down the field and high-fived the opposing team, the Lakeview Bullfrogs, as they trudged to the locker rooms. He watched as Lance's number eight on the back of his jersey faded to an undistinguishable blob until the figure disappeared all together.
"Ground control to Major Herbert! Come in Major Herbert!" A voice called after him and he came back down to reality.
The dazed cheerleader looked around to find his best friend, Lucky Conell, standing by the chain-link fence, bundled up a scarlet-colored pea coat and a white knitted beret, the matching scarf dangling around her neck.
She smirked and called after him, "You need a ride home or are you footin' it?"
Herbert walked over to the fence. Lucky, with her recently-attained driver's license and car for her seventeenth birthday, liked to flaunt it around that she could drive and Herbert couldn't. In reality, the both of them lived about a half a mile from the school and they both could easily walk home.
"Or," she added, "to better rephrase that question, do you want to go to Friendly's with me and grab a Fribble or are you watching your figure for homecoming?"
Actually, the reason why Lucky typically drove to the football games was the she planned on stopping by Friendly's to grab one of the restaurant's infamously thick milkshakes. That, and she usually went by her friends' houses and picked them up to accompany her to the football games.
"I don't think a Happy Ending sundae is going to ruin this killer physique," Herbert said jokingly, motioning to his body and then to his cheerleading uniform. "I'm going to go change but I'll meet you at the gates `kay?"
"Sure."
Herbert then grabbed his gym bag sitting by the fence and managed to snake his way through the swarms of escaping fans to the men's room. He went into the surprisingly empty bathroom and to the handicapped stall just like he did every Friday night. Herbert slipped out of the gold and white Camelot Knights cheerleading suit, the magic of the night starting to fade away. He was Cinderella attending the ball and once the clock ran out, it was back to being Herbert.
As he left the men's room he caught himself in the mirror. He had forgotten that Gwen had applied sparkles – the Fairy Godmother's leftover glitter from her wand – to his cheeks. He sat the gym bag on the counter and ran a scratchy paper towel under some water and wiped away the last of the spell.
Whatever was left of this Herbert tried to offer a smile to the timid-looking boy in the mirror, offering him something akin to a glimmer of hope to the boy who was hiding himself to hide from his father.
He sighed.
Snuggled in his green Property of Camp Walden hoodie, he walked away from that mirror, toting along his gym bag that hid his ball gown.
Lucky was leaning against the brick wall outside the men's room. "Ready to head out?"
Herbert nodded. She might have noticed that he was a little upset, so he tried his best to sound his normal upbeat self.
"I was wondering where Aggie and Tegan were," Herbert implored as they walked through the gates that lead to the emptying parking lot. Now that he thought about it, it was strange that Lucky had gone to the football game by herself. It always seemed like she was surrounded by a gang of giggling girls, much more interested in their talking than the actual football game.
"Nobody felt like going," Lucky said. She paused and added, "Truth is, I didn't want to go alone, but mom and dad were having a lame dinner party with some coworkers tonight and it was either stick around and receive variations of the same comment of how much of a lady I've turned into or watch a bunch of guys toss around a ball and give each other concussions by myself. I chose the latter."
"Oh gee, that hurt my feelings," Herbert said, mockingly pressing a hand to his heart. "I thought you came to support me, Camelot High School's sassiest and only male cheerleader."
"Oh yeah. That, too," Lucky added, waving her hand at him, fishing through her purse to find her car keys.
"Your best friend , by the way, who can write an embarrassing tell-out book about your life and who buys you Ben and Jerry's and watches Enchanted and Beauty and the Beast with you every month . . ."
"You can cool it on the guilt, Herb," Lucky grumbled as she pulled out her keys from the dark depths of her large purse.
Herbert blinked his doe-like eyes at her as she rolled her own. "Just get in the car."
Herbert slid himself into the passenger seat of Lucky's convertible. It was an older model and used, but Herbert knew that Lucky's parents were well off enough to spring for a right-off the production line car. The used car thing came from concern for their daughter's safety.
Lucky started the engine and backed out of the school's parking lot as the radio switched from a loud commercial for a mattress store to Simple Plan's "Don't You Forget about Me", complete with gutair and chorus of "heys".
In what seemed like geeky and planned unison, Lucky and Herbert looked over to each other as the car pulled into a stop, no doubt thinking about the same memory.
"You should put the hood down," Herbert suggested as Lucky coursed down the road leading from the high school.
"We're not becoming those people," she replied, shaking her head.
"What people?"
"Those people screaming out The Breakfast Club theme as we drive to Friendly's with the top down in the middle of October," she explained. "We're weird enough."
Still, Herbert couldn't help but sigh that sigh of nostalgia as he remembered something while they drove along the road in silence.
Lucky looked over at him briefly. "What?"
"What what?"
"You got that look on your face like you've just had a childhood flashback."
"Do you remember the time when we were twelve and we watched The Breakfast Club for the first time and we made a big secret out of it because it was rated 'R' and there was no way in hell our parents would have let us watch it without us doing it behind their backs?"
A smile played at the corner of Lucky's lips. Herbert knew she remembered the time the two of them crouched before the old TV in the Swampcastles' damp basement, the volume set on low, subtitles turned on and the washing machine running so it might muffle out the sounds of what they were watching, the remote perched in Herbert's hand in the emergency that they heard adult footsteps come anywhere close to the basement door.
"Remember when we thought that was what high school was going to be like?"
"I remember."
"And look at us now!" Herbert exclaimed. "Juniors in high school! We survived! "
"We're still those stereotypes like The Breakfast Club," Lucky quipped. "I'm that geeky rich girl. You're the sassy gay friend and cheerleader all rolled into one. It wasn't that far off from our predictions of high school. All you need is the football player love interest."
Herbert's face suddenly felt hot. He subconsciously rolled up the sleeves of his sweatshirt, even if it was still a little chilly in the car. "Me? With a football player? That's a laugh."
Lucky didn't say another word on the subject, and Herbert thanked his stars for that. And he thanked them again that they were just pulling into the parking lot of Friendly's, under the glow of the red neon sign, the big black letters advertising a special on senior meals.
Lucky parked the car and soon they were seated in a red leather booth by the large window overlooking the shopping center across the roadway. The waitress had been quick and had dropped off some ice-water after the both of them telling her they only wanted ice-cream. It wasn't all that busy and the empty tables and quiet seemed eerie.
"Should I go vanilla or chocolate or strawberry tonight?" Lucky asked, not even looking up from the plastic and strangely sticky ice-cream menu.
Herbert gave an undesive "mmm".
"I know you're going to say strawberry since that's your favorite, but I might be breaking out of the mold and going for a coffee-flavored Fribble. Oh wait . . . that Forbidden Fudge Brownie sundae looks pretty good, too . . . so does that Reese's Pieces one. Damn, why do they make everything look so good here?"
Herbert was much more focused on squeezing the lemon into his ice water than helping his friend make up her mind on dessert. It just so happened that he managed to look up for a brief moment, only for his eyes to catch sight of him.
It was him standing at the hostess stand, wearing his Lettermen's jacket and he was glanced his way.
"Major Herbert is lost in space once again . . ." Lucky waved her hand in front of him. "You've obliterated your lemon, by the way."
Herbert snapped back to reality and saw that the lemon rind was squashed completely between his hands, the lemon juice oozing over his fingers. The water had become misty and the pulp and seeds either floated lazily in the water on the top or sank right to the bottom. He quickly rubbed threw the lemon rind into the glass and cleaned up his hands with a napkin.
"Sorry," Herbert mumbled thickly as he took a ginger sip of what once-was-water-but-now-was-strong-lemonade. He tried hard, but he couldn't help himself and peak back over to were Lance was standing and oh, god, he waved.
Herbert waved back to Lance like it was nothing, but on the inside, it felt as though his heart had leapt up but suddenly dropped back to its place, melting into a puddle as Lance passed by the table behind the tired-looking hostess to another section.
Try as he might, Lucky could see past him and sense that Herbert was trying to keep his smitten self under control.
"Looks like somebody has a lil' crush . . ." she sang softly.
"I-" Herbert tried to defend himself but he didn't finish – or rather, didn't feel like finishing.
"That's cute," Lucky said with a smirk. "You do have a football player love interest."
"He's not my boyfriend," Herbert murmured thickly, but boyfriend wasn't a word that even remotely described what happened between him and Lance. Lucky looked at him before he corrected, "He's not my love interest."
"That may be true, but we need a bucket over here because you're drooling over him." Lucky took a sip of her ice water. She leaned a little to her left, looking over Herbert's shoulder before announcing, "Make that the cleaning lady because he's coming over here."
Herbert whipped his head around and saw that ever-so casually Lance had gotten up out of his seat and was strolling right towards their booth. Quickly, Herbert tried his best to look as natural as possible, sitting up straight and looking like he was deeply examining the menu.
And suddenly there was a presence over Herbert. The boy looked over his shoulder and up at the football player, smiling down at him. "Hey, Lucky. Herbert."
Herbert cupped his hands around his ice water, desperately trying to keep his whole body from melting. He gave Lance a coy smile back.
"Lance Cockburn. What brings you here to Friendly's on this fine Friday night?" Lucky asked.
"Ah, well, I usually stop here after football games with the guys," he said, shrugging. "Everyone's gone to the party at Arthur's."
"That's what I meant," Lucky told him. "What are you doing here, and not livin' it up over at Avalon Heights? You are the concurring hero of the Camelot Knights."
"That was a nice play tonight, by the way," Herbert added, quietly. Lance flashed him another grin and Herbert gripped the plastic water glass harder.
"Thanks. And I'm afraid I'm not really in the mood to party," he confessed. "Since Elaine and I broke up, anyway. Parties aren't really the same without a dance partner . . ." He shook his head, like he was trying to forget about it, shaking away the memory. "Sorry, I didn't mean to get so personal. But uh, I just came over here to apologize again, Herbert, for hitting you with a football earlier this week."
From the corner of his eye, he caught Lucky sending him a curious look and mouthing he hit you with a football?!
"Well, I'm not dead, so I think I'm doing alright," Herbert said and tapped his head lightly. "Nothing wrong with this head except for uncontrollable hair, so we're all good."
"Good." Lance confirmed with a smile and then shifted his attention to Lucky. "Other reason I came over here was to ask you about the French exam today. Madame posted the scores on Home-Access-Center."
"Thirty-eight out of fifty," Lucky admitted, scowling with her hatred for French verb conjugation. "I really didn't study. But that's what, a seventy-six percent and a 'C'? Could be worse. What did you get?"
"Forty-six," Lance admitted reluctantly
"I hate you," Lucky grimaced, scrunching her nose up in disgust.
"Yeah, well, I can speak French well enough, but yet I fall on my face with English," Lance said as he sat down and slid in next to Herbert and their thighs were touching. Herbert's breathing hitched. "I have to have Concorde tutor me and . . ." He looked over to Herbert and asked, "Aren't you in French?"
"Me?" Herbert was taken off his guard. "French? Uh, no. I take Spanish. I'm in the same class as Gwen Roberts."
"Oh, right, yeah," Lance nodded like he remembered. He looked back to his table and said, "Do you mind if I sit with you guys? I'm a bit lonely over there."
"Sure," Lucky said and then looked around. "At eleven o'clock at night, this place looked like everyone died. We survivors have to stick together."
"What if that idea was legit movie, people surviving the apocalypse at an ice-cream place? Fighting back zombies by blinding them with whipped cream and scolding them with caramel and . . ." Herbert began, but stopped once he heard Lance laughing beside him. His face turned pink.
"Sounds like a blockbuster," Lucky said, sarcastically. "I hope I get on the VIP list for the premiere."
"I'd go," Lance offered, looking over to the other boy sitting beside him. "And actually, since you mentioned killing off flesh-eating zombies with ice-cream, I think I might just skip over the burger I was gonna get and just get some ice-cream."
"That's what we were planning to do, anyway," Herbert told him. He pointed to the menu before him, at Friendly's slogan on the top of the page. "Ice cream might make the meal, but what if it is actually is the meal?"
"I guess then Friendly's will have to revise their slogan?"
"'Where ice-cream is the meal' isn't as good as 'where ice-cream makes the meal'." Herbert shrugged and just at that moment the waitress walked up to the table, ready to take their ice-cream/dinner orders after Lance informed her that he switched tables.
On the outside, it seemed so normal. Three teenagers on a Friday night, laughing and talking, straws clinking on the plastic glass of their Fribbles. But inside, Herbert was walking a tightrope. One side, nonchalant, like this was the most natural thing to do with having dinner with the guy you've had a crush on since the seventh grade. Other side, freaking out that this was happening, worrying if he was going to say something stupid or that Lance was silently putting the puzzle pieces together through the conversation that Herbert had crush on him.
But, those milkshakes were gone to quickly, Herbert realized, as Lance finished the last of his chocolate Fribble and the waitress handed them the receipt.
"I'll pay," he offered, pulling out several a ten and a five from his wallet just as Lucky had bent to dig around her purse.
"You don't have to -" she began but was stopped.
"My treat," he said, throwing the bills down on the table and tucking his wallet back into his jean pocket. He stood up. "And, well, not to get personal again, but I really needed someone to talk after this break up. So, thanks." He smiled and stuffed his hands back into his Letterman's jacket. "I'll see you in French, Lucky. Bye, Herbert."
And with that, Lance left. Herbert watched as the gold-shrouded figure walked through the maze of tables and headed out the door, into the glow of the Friendly's parking lot. Only then he felt like he could let his guard down and stop his balancing act. He sighed and fell against the backing of the booth.
"Do you know how hard it is to sit next to him?" Herbert sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. "I've had a crush on him since middle school and he's finally noticing me and it feels like –"
Lucky cut him off. "I know how you feel. I had a crush on Lance, too."
Herbert blinked. "You had a crush on him?"
"Freshmen French class. Had to sit behind him the entire year," Lucky confessed. "Besides, everyone has a crush on Lance Cockburn at one point or another. It's kind of hard not to." She took one final sip of her water before slipping out of the booth.
"Do you still have a crush on him?" Herbert asked, following Lucky suit.
It took Lucky a minute to think of her answer. "I still sit behind him in French and he still is hot. But I've moved on." She motion with a nod of her head towards the door, retying the scarf around her neck . "And we should, too. You're dad might go ape if you stay out any longer."
As they walked out, Herbert asked, "Would you say you've kicked it? The crush, I mean."
"Not entirely," Lucky confided. "It's had to 'kick' something like Lance Cockburn."
"Is it like he's your lover, or like your ghost?"
Lucky looked down at her best friend. "What are you talking about?" But then the familiar tune that had often droned from Herbert's bedroom CD player came to mind. "Really, Herb? Bringing musical theatre into this?"
"I try and just kick it, but what can I do?" Herbert sang and with a smirk added, "We've all got our junk, and my junk is you."
"Really? Spring Awakening? Really?" They walked out the door and the waitress, not at all concerned that there was a public rendition of "My Junk" by a teenaged boy going on in her restaurant, mumbled, "Have a goodnight."
"See us winter walkin' after a storm It's chill in the wind but it's warm in your arms. . ."
They walked out into the cold October night, braving the sudden wind that had picked up as they walked to Lucky's convertible
"You're such a stereotype, Herb."
"We stop all snow blind . . ."Herbert walked closer to Lucky hoping that she'd join in, having heard the song before. "We've all got our junk and my junk is you . . ."
"We've become those people now, you know."