Just a little Dasey ficlet, written to help get my mind off of two MAJOR cases of writer's block. :)
"The Natural"
T for mild language.
"Can you turn that down please? I'm trying to study!" Casey was hunched over a pile of textbooks.
"Sorry! Can't hear you!" Derek's voice slammed into her with as much force as the music blaring from his room.
"Then how can you answer me, smartass?" Casey muttered. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath before looking at the clock. Nine. Okay, she could deal with that. She could get this done. Everything else that was due tomorrow was finished. It was just one stupid essay, she could do this.
She just had to figure out the damn book first.
English had always been so easy for her, but this book was impossible to figure out. A novel about sports- what was she supposed to do with that? She'd already read it three times, and still didn't make sense. It was supposed to be a classic, filled with all kinds of metaphors and complex ideas, but she couldn't see them.
"The Natural." She opened to the first page, again, and started reading. "Roy Hobbs pawed at the glass before thinking to prick a match with his thumbnail and hold the spurting flame in his cupped palm close to the lower berth window, but by then he had figured out it was a tunnel they were passing through and was no longer surprised at the bright sight of himself holding a yellow light over his head, peering back in…"
By ten, she'd read nearly half the book again, and it still didn't make any more sense than it had at nine. Derek's music was as loud as ever. She hurled the book at the wall that separated their rooms, and buried her face in hands.
English class should have been easier than ever this year. After all, Derek wasn't in her class anymore. He hadn't been held back, but Paul had been kind enough to ensure that even if he was still in her grade, she wouldn't have to share courses with him.
But he was still making it impossible to do as well as she ought to. If he'd just turn his music down, she was sure she'd be able to figure out the book and finish the essay in no time. The music was the only problem. It was all because of the music. Because of Derek. It was all Derek's fault, all his fault-
She leapt off her bed, grabbed the book off the floor and virtually flew down the hall to Derek's room. Maybe he could ignore her if she yelled from her room, but he couldn't ignore her if she was pounding on his door hard enough to make it rattle in its frame.
She almost fell into him when he opened it.
"Let me guess, you want the music turned off?"
"Yes!"
"No can do, babe. I am enjoying some me time, so… Run along now! Bye-bye!" He gave her a cheery little wave and started to close the door.
Casey stuck her foot between the door and the frame.
"Hey- whoa, whoa, back off crazy girl."
"Derek, you need to turn that music off. I can't concentrate, I have a huge project due tomorrow, I can't work with this noise."
"Sure you can. You always get this stuff done, A+ grade, right on time."
"Well not this time!"
He frowned. "Casey, wha-"
"No! No! I can't do this! I haven't started the essay, I don't understand the book!" She was gesturing with the book. "I have no idea what to write! I'm going to fail this project no matter how much grubbing I do and I'll have to grub not to fail the class after I don't turn in my term project and then I'll be the grubber who failed and with that music I can't even think!" She gasped for breath, blinking back tears.
"O- o- okay… Don't cry-"
"Why shouldn't I?" She sniffed and hugged the hated book to her chest.
"I hate it when you cry." He spoke almost to softly for her to hear. "Okay, Casey, I'll turn off the music, alright?" He looked at her, waiting for an answer.
She sniffed again, nodded.
"Okay. Okay," he held his hands up, palms towards her in a stay put gesture. Then he leapt across the room and turned off the stereo. He leapt back, folded his arms across his chest and looked at her. She was still sniffling, looking at her shoes. "That's not going to fix your problem, is it Casey?"
She shook her head. "Thank you, Derek. I'll actually be able to work now."
She turned to go, only to be pulled back by Derek, who flung his arms around her shoulders from behind.
"Hey! Let me go!"
"No can do, babe. Let me see that." He plucked the book out her arms.
"Derek, give me my book-"
"The Natural by Bernard Malamud-"
"It's not like you read anyway-"
"This is a great book. I can't believe you're having trouble with it."
There was a pause. "You… you've read this?"
Derek gave her an impish grin. "Is that so hard to believe?"
"Actually… Yes."
The grin vanished. "Well, thanks. Look, do you want my help or not?"
"I- I don't even know how to respond to that."
"I'll take that as a yes."
Fifteen minutes later, they were both in her room. Casey was at her desk, taking notes and Derek was sprawled on her bed, flipping through the book, talking.
"Now, look, you know the stories about King Arthur, right?"
She gave him one of her infamous looks.
"Right. Of course you do. Sorry. Anyway- Roy is Sir Percival. That's the metaphor with the biggest follow through."
"So… If Roy is Percival… Then, his coach is King Arthur?"
"No."
"Okay, so… Who represents King Arthur?"
"Wrong question."
Casey frowned. She chewed on her bottom lip. Derek's grin faded.
"What's wrong? Derek?"
"What?"
"I said, what's wrong? You're looking at me funny."
"I just… Realized… How incredibly… ugly you are."
"Gee. Thanks. So, what's the right question?"
"Oh, come on, Casey. Even an ugly grubbie can figure this one out."
She glared at him, huffed and started to speak. "Okay, so… what do I know? I know Roy is Percival. I know his coach is not King Arthur. I know the important question is not 'who represents Arthur?' So… The question must be… Who… Who does the coach represent?"
"Yes!"
"Okay. Who does he represent?"
"Casey!"
"I know, I know! I just... This is so..."
"It's because you're a snob, Casey." He was looking at her with an expression that seemed almost blank. It wasn't annoyance, or amusement, or anger... But it wasn't blank. It was strong, and still, and she couldn't put a name to it.
"What do you mean by that?"
"The book is about baseball. You don't value sports. You hate them-"
"No I-"
"Hate them, so when you see that this book about sports, you refuse to apply yourself. You think it's beneath you, so you stop thinking."
She looked down at her paper. There a few scribbled notes on the page. He'd told her more about the book than what she'd written down. Even with him sitting here, helping her step by step, she refused to find meaning in the book. "Is that why you do so badly at everything but sports, Derek? Do you think everything else is beneath you?"
He snorted. "No." He pushed himself off her bed, stood for a moment. "Catch, Casey." He tossed her the book, which hit her square on the nose.
"Derek!"
"Sorry! Sorry!" He took one of his long, bouncing steps over to her, picked up the book from the floor (laughed as thought of the way it had bounced off her face), put a hand on her shoulder. "Sorry. Look, Casey, I can't write the paper for you. You'd really fail if that happened-"
"At this point it might not make a diff-"
"But listen. Roy is Percival. The Coach is the Fisher King. The field is the-"
"Waste Land?"
"Yeah." He smiled at her, too subdued for the Derek she was used to. "Yeah, and the manager is-"
"That's okay, I think I get a paper out of this."
"You sure?"
"Yes. I'm sure."
dcdcdcdcd
It hadn't been Casey's first all-nighter, but it might have been one of the worst. The paper came along smoothly enough, but she found herself distracted, her thoughts running back to the odd looks Derek had given her. The stillness and intensity of his expression when his smirks had faded seemed unsuited to his person and unnerved her.
The clock read six forty-five am when she hit the print button, six fifty am when she stapled her paper together. It was seven when she headed for the bathroom, change of clothes in hand, only to see Derek reaching for the door. She groaned and the noise caught his attention. He gave another one of those looks.
"Casey... The bathroom's all yours."
"Wait... What?"
"I got a good night's sleep yesterday, Casey. You," he walked up too her, "on the other hand," fluffed her hair, "look like shit."
"That... Is the nicest mean thing anyone has ever said to me."
"See? You're a mess. You can't even get angry. Go! You'll smell like a skunk if you don't!" He laughed, and pushed her toward the bathroom.
dcdcdcdcd
Showered, dressed, famished and exhausted, Casey didn't bother to see who she was pushing aside in her quest for food.
"Whoa, Casey, careful! If you don't watch out, you're going to turn into me."
She looked at the speaker. "Derek. Sorry. Hungry."
"Right..." He was smiling at her. Not smirking, not grinning, but smiling, almost softly.
"So, uh, thanks for... You know... Those, uh, pointers."
"Anytime."
"Lair."
"Of peerless caliber. So, did you manage to write a paper?"
"Yes. Yes, I did. It came out very well, thank you."
"May I read it?"
She stared at him. "May you... Did you just ask for something politely?"
"Yes. So... May I read it?"
Cautiously, Casey opened her backpack and removed her essay. She did not hand it to him. "Why?"
"Casey-"
"Why?"
"I want to see what you wrote! This is the first time I've ever helped anyone with a paper!"
"Why isn't that a surprise? Here."
He accepted it, looked at the cover page, ran a finger down the length of the paper and handed it back to her.
"You didn't read it."
"Nope."
"Why not?"
"I don't need to. I know it's great."
"Derek, what's gotten into you?"
"Can't I be nice without being subjected to the Spanish Inquisition?"
"No, Derek. Other people can, maybe, but not you."
"I just... I felt like helping you, okay?" His expression turned sour and defensive. "God, you give me shit when I'm mean to you, you give me shit when I'm nice to you-"
"Exactly, Derek! Nice to me! You aren't nice to me. You just aren't. Did you actually start thinking of me as a sister?"
His face adopted that eerie blankness again, and Casey wished she'd kept her mouth shut. "I don't think of your as a sister." His words were curt. He slung his backpack over a shoulder, scowled and pushed past her toward the door.
"Derek!"
"What?"
"Why did you help me?"
He turned to look at her, a sort of stress she'd never seen him display before prominently written across his features. His voice was soft. "I don't think of you as a sister." He turned, went out of the house slowly, shoulders were slumped the way they always were after a particularly awful defeat in hockey.
She looked down at the paper, heard his words in her mind, thought of his not-quite-blank expression, that emotion she couldn't name. The name presented itself to her, all at once, and she felt ill.
"Mom!"
"What, Casey?"
"Can you drive me to school this morning?"
"Why?"
"Just- my term paper- I have to- Can you do it or not?"
"Yes, Casey, what's-"
"Never mind, I'll be back downstairs in a minute."
dcdcdcdcd
In her room, Casey printed another copy of her paper, attached a cover sheet, and grabbed a sharpie. In big letters, she wrote across the paper: I know I've already handed this in, and I know you said you didn't have to read it, but it would mean a lot to me if you would, and if you would tell me what you thought. Thank you.
She pulled her hand back, held it trembling over the page, and then added, slowly: P.S., I think maybe I don't think of you as a brother, either.
She looked at what she had written, tracing the letters with her fingertips.
"Casey? We have to leave!"
"Coming, Mom!"
She hesitated before taking the paper to Derek's room and took longer than she needed to place it on his bed.
"Casey! Let's go!"
"Okay!"
She took a long look at his room before closing the door. In the hall, she leaned her forehead against the doorjamb, and whispered.
"I don't think of you as a brother."
FIN
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