Chapter One: Sharp Dressed Man
Hermann stepped in front of the mirror, carefully inspecting himself. His hair was combed flat to his head, neat and clean, and his shirt was so white it practically glowed. His tie sat straight along his torso, tucked neatly into his blazer, and not a single stray thread poked out from the Shatterdome Academy emblem embroidered on the jacket. He looked perfectly presentable, but he still felt anxious.
This was...well, only a few months from graduation, Hermann was thinking about all he'd hoped for since his kindergarten teacher had first used the word gifted to refer to him. Although not one to brag- very much anyway- Hermann was, well, a genius. He'd been labeled a child prodigy at ten, and Shatterdome was one of the most elite, selective boarding schools I the country.
Even getting in was a feat, and graduating was even more so. Hermann was so close he could taste it, the school already wrapped up in preparations for final exams. He'd done excellently all year, and there was absolutely no reason to worry. None, that was, except for art class.
Hermann had thought the class would be simple. What sort of difficulty could art preset, anway? And while his work ethic wouldn't allow him to swap it out for a free period, that's what he'd treated it as. Maybe that was why Mr. Pentecost, his art teacher, had seemingly began to despise him. It was the only explanation for his need to ruin Hermann's life. When he handed in a perfect assignment, following the guidelines to the letter, not a paint-stroke out of place, Mr. Pentecost wanted more. He said he wanted Hermann to open up, regardless of his grade. This simply didn't compute. It was a class, where grades reigned supreme. Hermann had one last chance to gain his perfect score and save his perfect GPA. This final project, a rather vague assignment without any real rubric. No pressure.
It was frustrating, watching other, lesser- at least in his opinion- do so well while he floundered. Tendo Choi, a scoundrel if ever he'd met one, hardly put any effort forth, so Mr. Pentecost labeled him a minimalist. Even Yancy Becket outperformed him, which was preposterous. Yancy was friendly, sure, and he knew his way around a classroom- in addition to the football field- but Hermann was still much more capable. Frustrating didn't even begin to describe how he felt when Newton Geiszler- who Hermann had decided was his arch-nemesis in a fit of melodrama- gave him that smug smile and winked as if to say "Wow, Hermann, look how better at this I am than you."
And that wasn't even the worst thing about Newton. Not only was he arrogant and rowdy, but Geiszler was well-liked, dare he say popular. he was a clown, and this past year he'd set his sights on Hermann. Every quip made in front of a bustling crowd of students was about him, and Hermann was constantly feeling the idiot's eyes on him. it was infuriating, but, alas, not only had Newton not actually done anything, he was one of the Academy's top students. Behind him, of course.
That was why Newton got away with murder. By murder, Hermann meant the unkempt state of his uniform, which was about the same, in his eyes. While Hermann took pride in his own appearance, and presenting himself perfectly, hewton seemed to delight in looking like a bum. his hair was so disheveled Hermann knew he must style it that way, and he almost never had his blazer on. His dress-shirt was wrinkled, the sleeves pushed up, the collar popped, and it never seemed to be tucked into his equally wrinkled trousers. His tie was a travesty, never knotted correctly, sometimes mangled into various types of bows, and he never seemed to wear the proper shoes. The converse that he did wear were scuffed, and all this, all this wasn't nearly as bad as Newton's incessant need to draw on himself. Mostly it was giant movie-monsters, like Godzilla, or...well, Hermann was hardly familiar with them. All he knew was that it looked ridiculous.
"Hermann, if you don't hurry you'll only be three minutes early to class," Aleksis Kaidonovsky, his roommate jokes. His words were tinged with a thick Russian accent.
"Yes thank you," Hermann told the much taller boy, ever polite. He didn't him, but they definitely weren't friends. No, Aleksis brought his girlfriend Sasha over much too much for Hermann to like him. Plucking his cane from it's place next to his bed, Hermann set off from his dorm room.
Hermann's first few classes were blessedly lacking in one Newton Geiszler, and the precise elegance of physics, the calming effect of mathematics practically erased his previous stress. While he worked he could pretend hadn't decided to take art. This had always been true for him. Math just made sense, the predictability of it, the foreseeable outcome.
But after this reprieve was the inevitable crash, and when Hermann came through Mr. Hansen's door into his history class, it was after a small bout of impatient muttering. He'd gotten trapped behind a bustle of younger girls, all giggles and hair-barrettes, which was uncomfortable enough without adding the ache in his leg from too much standing, and the sound of the bell chiming just after he got to his seat. On time might as well be late, he thought sourly.
"Wow, Gottlieb, didn't know you could be this late to class without breaking out in hives," Newton laughed. Hermann didn't bother reigning in his eye-roll. Mr. Hansen had yet to enter the room.
"Can you be allergic to tardiness?" Tendo asked, taking up a mocking English accent. Hermann didn't think it sounded anything like him.
"Well, Herms is. See how red his face is getting?"
"Don't call me that. My name is Hermann," he corrected.
"Yeah, yeah, yeah, Herms. I know that. Ya know, it really fits you," Newton remarked. "It's like the quintessential 'bitter old British man' name. That or Eustace!"
"Well I think you're preferred Newt is rather fitting as well. You remind me very much of a slimy amphibian," Hermann bit back.
But it only made Newt smile. "That was a good one," he admitted. Hermann felt like screaming, but Mr. Hansen's entrance stopped the unwelcome impulse.
Shatterdome offered endless options, electives and activities, most of them the best there was to offer, but only three history classes were required to graduate. The year before Hermann had taken the Government class, as expected, but he'd hardly enjoyed it. Still, he did enjoy history, and as this was his last year, he had extra spots for elective classes. AP World History had always been a student favorite, so Hermann had decided to learn what all the fuss was about. He'd not been disappointed. Mr. Hansen was an excellent instructor, expecting hard work, but not miracles, asking difficult, thought-provoking questions, but not humiliating you if you answered incorrectly. The only down-side was his seating arrangement. It was alphabetical, and unfortunately Andrea Gibbs wasn't in class with them, forcing Hermann to sit directly behind the most irritating person he'd ever met.
"Hey guys," Mr. Hansen greeted with a winning smile. He was very handsome. Hermann sighed internally at his own inappropriateness. Having a crush on your teacher was hopeless- and pathetic.
"Hiya Herc," Newt shot back, sweeping his own smile over the class. he hadn't bothered getting seated. Instead he perched on his desk-top. Hermann clenched his teeth so hard they ached.
"Well, Mr. Geiszler, I think we all know what I'm going to ask, so why don't you just hop to and save us all the trouble?"
"Oh, I don't know, Mr. Hanson. The year is coming to a close. I probably won't see you again for a while after graduation. How about one last time, you know for nostalgia's sake?"
Mr. Hansen had his grin well, but it was still there, and for an odd second Hermann felt just a little jealous. A shake of his head knocked that notion out, easing the way to ignoring that completely for the rest of his natural life.
"Alright Geiszler, bottom in the chair, class has started," he barked, his light tone betraying what he really thought about Newton's sense of humour. No one in class had taken that voice seriously since the first time he used it, but Newton still turned, sinking into the seat, grinning all the way.
Clapping once, Mr. Hansen paced to the front of the room. "Okay boys and girls." And with this, he launched into the lesson, but Hermann's focus was on the back of Newton's neck. He'd started with an inspection of his hair, ready to sneer at the sheer amount of product. Then he'd noticed something at the base of his neck, a flash of color, and he became much more interested. It looked like, oh, had Newton gotten a tattoo? Hermann's stomach knotted, because, first, seeing exactly what the tattoo was would mean seeing Newton without a shirt on, and second, tattoos were strictly prohibited at the academy.
Hermann hid his reflexive scoff. He'd been taught all his life that academia was a vicious world. You were nothing without the respect of your peers, and "body art", as they called it, came across as rebellious, juvenile. Plus, you'd have to be absolutely idiotic to step into a dingy tattoo parlor and ask them to poke you several thousand times with an ink filled needle with dubious sterilization at best.
He was so caught up in mentally scolding every tattooed person ever that Mr. Hansen's question escaped him. Fortunately, Hermann's inattention was unnoticed at first- or maybe it took them a while to catch on, because it was just so unprecedented.
"Mr. Gottlieb, what do you think?"
"What?" Hermann exclaimed, startled back into focus. At the sound of his confusion, the whole class trained their eyes on him. It was like they'd caught the scent of blood.
Mr. Hansen, forever patient, repeated his question, and Hermann spewed back something about communism. It might have ended there, if he were anyone else but himself, but alas, he was not, and some of his classmates continued to stare intently. he was tempted to go on a rampage with the business end of his cane. Newton particularly glanced back at him several times over the course of the lesson as if he'd grown another head. SO he'd been a little late, a little distracted. He wasn't an alien, he'd just had a bad day.
All the staring reminded him of his first day of middle school, back when he'd first been hurt, the words "irreparable damage" still echoing through his child's mind. He'd needed crutches then, though the doctors assured him one day all he'd need was a cane, as if that should make him happy.. People had looked at him one or two ways. Either they looked at him like a cautionary tale, all pity and sickly-sweetness, or they looked at him like he was contagious. At least now all they thought was that he'd been replaced with a much less responsible Hermann Gottlieb.
When class finally drew to a close, Hermann was gathering up his books, a veritable acrobatic masterpiece of stumbling and grunts, when Mr. Hansen, who'd learned early in the year just how little help was appreciated strode over to his desk.
"Hermann," he started. Hermann glanced up, books finally in hand.
"Yes, sir?" Hermann asked, shifting uncomfortably.
"I, well, you've been rather distracted," Mr. Hansen answered, obviously a little uncomfortable even bringing it up.
"Bad day, I guess, sir," Hermann answered, trying for casualty, leaning heavily on his cane.
"No, no, you've been off all week," he dismissed, mouth pursed in a frown.
"Sir, If my work had been unsatisfactory-" Hermann began, but Hansen waved him off.
"Hermann your work is perfect, as always, but you're...well I've caught you giving Geiszler quite the glare recently. I know he can be a bit of a clown, but if he's been unduly cruel to you, you'll let me know, yeah?"
Hermann was sure he'd gone firetruck red. That was the only logical reason for the intense burning in his cheeks. It was embarrassing enough catching himself staring at Newton- but other people had started to notice.. Mr. Hansen's insinuation that Newton was, what, bullying him was a little off. Sure, Newton could be irritating, and he poked fun, but the jokes almost gave Hermann the distinct impression that they didn't intend to be cruel. He'd never done anything Hermann would have been hurt by, like his limp Newton just assumed it was all in good fun. Besides, it was better than the bullies from before, kicking his cane out from under him and calling him cripple.
"No sir, Newton is, of course, irritating, but he's never gone over the line," Hermann assured him.
"And I doubt you'd tell me if he did," Mr. Hansen guessed. "Anyway, Hermann, don't hesitate to come around, you know, if anything comes up."
"Of course, sir."
"Now go. I don't want to make to on time for your next class."
In fact, Hermann had lunch next period, and as he made his way uncomfortably through the halls to the cafeteria, bag slung sloppily over his shoulder- he hoped no one saw just how flustered he look- the bell rang. This was even worse than just being on time. He had the horrible suspicion that the universe was converging on him, trying its damnedest to ruin his year.