This is a collab that was done with the wonderfully amazing Maybewolf, So you guys should go check out his work and whatnot
And these children that you spit on as they try to change their worlds;
are immune to your consultations, they're quite
aware of what they're going through
-David Bowie
Robbie's only ever been nervous. Ever since he can remember, there's been a tightly wound ball of anxiety in his chest. Maybe that's why he's only flirted with the idea of sleep for the past few days. It feels like he's just laid his head down when -
"Honey, you have to get out of bed now or you're going to be late."
It's a familiar refrain. Robbie doesn't quite have the inclination to sit upright, but he does manage to roll toward the door. His mom is standing in the doorway, hip angled against the frame. Her thin pianist's fingers are wound around a large mug of coffee and she's elegant in all the ways Robbie isn't.
Mom is gone by the time Robbie's falling down the stairs and into his clothes. He hears the faint rumble of her reversing out of the driveway. There's an open casting call today, a small independent movie of some sort, she'd said. Peering absently into his coffee, Robbie hopes she gets it. For a former valedictorian at Hollywood Arts, his mom's career hasn't ever really rocket into the stars like everybody had expected. Sometimes Robbie wonders if that's why she was so happy when he got his acceptance letter. Sometimes he also wonders if his mom is why he got his acceptance letter. He's never really felt exceptionally talented or anything. Maybe Hollywood Arts is just in his blood.
Downing the last of his coffee, Robbie drops his mug onto the counter and wanders back in the direction of the living room. His bag is sitting limply against the wall beside the front door, maybe still recovering from the several times Robbie had packed and repacked it over the weekend. Snatching it up, he resists the urge to reassess its contents and just opens the front door instead.
It was supposed to rain today, the weatherman had been so adamant about it. Yet, when Robbie steps outside, the sun is already beginning its slow ascent of the sky. There isn't even a wisp of cloud in the sky. It's beautiful. More then that, it's bright, exceptionally so. The glaring sun reminds Robbie of the blinding lights of his Hollywood Arts audition. He feels like a weed among the flowers all over again.
That creeping dread follows Robbie all the way over to his neighbour's driveway, nipping at his heels when he steps onto their porch. Raising a tentative hand, Robbie raps his knuckles against the door. There's a small commotion, and then Beck appears from behind the doorway. He's bleary eyed and yawning, still wiping the sleep from his eyes.
"Beck. It's our first day at the best high school in Hollywood; we're going to look terrible if we're late." Robbie hisses, eyes narrowing to slits. Beck's eyebrows rise slightly, but he mostly just looks apathetic in the wake of Robbie's outburst.
"S'fine. I'll be back in a minute." Beck announces, shoulders shrugging dispassionately as he disappears behind the door again.
Rocking on his heels, Robbie shoves his hands into his pockets. The thing about Beck though, is that he's been like that since the Oliver's moved in next door over the summer. He's tall and good looking, the exact type of person one might expect at Hollywood Arts. Robbie fully expects him to shake loose the stigma of being that foreign kid and assemble a legion of friends before the end of first period. Even still, Robbie's a little bit grateful that Beck had been – by his standards – fairly insistent that they walk to school together. He clings to it as a sign that maybe Beck isn't so relaxed about the prospect of high school at the most prestigious performing arts academy in Hollywood.
Or maybe he is.
Beck leads them through the gates, effortlessly cool in a disaffected way that Robbie wonders if all Canadians possess. He's the relentless calm to Robbie's manic energy. The hallways are huge, cavernous and winding. Everybody else looks so assured, like they know exactly where they are. Even Beck's fallen into that pattern. Robbie's eternally grateful that they're both late admissions, their lockers are together. He doesn't think he ever would have otherwise.
He's also eternally grateful that his first class is with Beck. They settle into their seats and for a cluster of stolen moments, things feel normal. Beck tells Robbie about another one of the bizarre movies they've watched over the summer. Apparently this one had been really good. Beck's sentences progress beyond monosyllabic. They're just falling into the easy rhythm of conversation when -
Uh, it's the homeless man Robbie had given his lunch money to on the way to school. Clutching his chair, Robbie feels on edge. He swallows hard, scanning the room. Nobody bats an eyelid.
"Good morning everybody," The vagrant booms, enunciating his words more than Robbie would have expected. "Before we begin, I'd like to thank the afro-headed young man for his not required, but very generous donation of five dollars."
The class laughs, and Robbie is officially a joke
When the bell rings, Robbie is quick to leap from his seat and fly toward the door, tugging his bag behind himself. Beck follows suit, trailing in Robbie's shadow for once. He hasn't quite amassed the following Robbie had expected. He hasn't really even bothered initiating conversation with anybody other than Robbie, actually.
They meander down the hallway, conversation centring on how weird their new school is. The bell, in particular, is particularly odd they agree. Beck might be Canadian, and thus unreliable in his assessment of Hollywood Arts being strange, but Robbie feels relieved nonetheless. At least its not just him. His relief is short-lived, though. Beck's eyes trace their timetables, and he says they'll have to catch up during lunch period. Robbie's been placed into advanced English, while Beck has Biology. Dismayed, Robbie waves limply to Beck's shrinking form.
English isn't so bad. Robbie ends up sitting beside a kid that's possibly stranger than he is. Buried beneath a wiry mop of blonde hair, the boy's features are almost as alien as the way he speaks. Words slither from his lips halfway between a murmur jostled from his lips and a sneer at the people around them. There's something unmistakably malignant simmering behind them, its unnerving. Some time into the class, Robbie learns that the boys name is Sinjin. Swallowing, Robbie belatedly introduces himself as well. The bell rings shortly afterwards, its an immense relief.
Robbie's next class is Chemistry. He sits alone this time, hovering at the edge of the class, wiry limbs all coiled up as the teacher goes over the semester syllabus. Robbie takes down illegible notes that period, fingers clumsy because of the girl sitting in the lab beside him. She's leaning heavily against the bench in front of her, chin resting in one palm as she absently twirls a pencil in her other hand. Ocasionally she etches something Mr Ferguson has said into her notebook, the pink tip of her tongue splitting her lips as she does so. Class ends before Robbie has the chance to get her name. He blinks and then the pretty girl is packing up her stationary, laughing at something her menacing friend – Jade apparently - has said. He blinks again, and then the pretty girl disappearing into the endless hallways.
Robbie has lunch period after that. The halls are alight with students when Robbie leaves the Chemistry labs, but Beck is posted against their lockers just like he said he would be. An army has surrounded him, a troop of sophomore girls, from the looks of it. Beck's shoulders are hunched, and it gives him the vague semblance of somebody under siege. Effortlessly, Robbie scares the girls away just by introducing himself. Yeah, it's a great special talent to have.
"I really appreciate that." Beck drawls, expelling a relieved breath. Corralling Robbie with his arm, Beck shepherds him in what's apparently the direction of the Hollywood Arts Cafeteria.
Well, it would have been the cafeteria if Hollywood Arts were a normal school. As it is, Robbie finds himself in the shadow of a large and somewhat grimy truck. Emblazoned across its roof is "Grub Truck", which is fairly disconcerting in and of its self.
"I know you gave away your lunch money and you can't eat like, food, so I got you this salad." Beck announces, moments later, returning from The Grub Truck and betraying a slightly sense of triumph.
"You're! This is – thanks man." Fighting the urge to gush, Robbie settles on a not quite emasculating thank you.
As they pick their way through the tables strewn around the quad, Robbie's surely grinning. He's never really been on good enough terms with somebody to have them buy lunch for him. It feels like Beck and himself had been hovering around that awkward line of friends and neighbours, but as of now, they've passed over it. The salad in Robbie's hands feels like a treasure, he feels slightly aggrieved that he'll have to eat it.
Beck eventually deems a table beneath some stairs as the perfect place to eat, dropping onto one of the steel benches. Like a machine whose gears aren't quite aligned correctly, Robbie jerks into motion and takes a seat as well. Beck tears into his burrito once they're both seated; inhaling it in roughly the time it takes Robbie to pry apart the packaging of his salad. The intermittent rumble of people rushing up and down the stairs is the soundtrack to their meal.
"So this is high school, huh?" Beck drops the words into the air with a dull thud, casting a discerning gaze past Robbie and around the quad.
"It's terrifying." Robbie looks down at his hands with the comment, sincerely meaning it. When Robbie looks up again, Beck's chuckling, smirking at him like he's some kind of great comic. Robbie might feel the slightest bit proud if he'd been aiming for irony.
"It's – Actually yeah, I'm with you Rob." The shift in Beck's tone is jarring, a slight but very sudden wave of panic ripping though it. Jerking his head in the direction of what Beck is staring at, Robbie finds himself looking at a cluster of freshmen girls. Out of context it's not so sinister, but Robbie knows they've been trailing Beck all morning.
"The girls here are so weird and not in a good way." Beck says after a moment, grimacing.
"You can be weird in a good way?" Honestly, the thoughts never occurred to Robbie. Ever since he tried to convince his Kindergarten class that his Dad's old puppet was a real boy, people have pretty much written him off. It's been a plague, infecting every semester since then. If past experience is anything to go by, Robbie knows the story will land at Hollywood Arts any day now. Maybe this time will be different though. Maybe this time he'll be waiting for it, a vaccine in the form of Beck's advice clutched in his hand. Anxiously, Robbie leans forward in his seat, eager for a cure.
"Yeah," Beck hums, face passive as he considers his next words. It's an agonizing wait before Beck elaborates; Robbie's foot begins to twitch, tapping against the ground. It's a nervous, maybe slightly impatient habit. "You don't think people thought Galileo was a normal dude, do you Rob? Everyone thought the universe revolved around us and there he was, all like no guys, we're revolving around the sun. That's weird."
Beck's words are murky. The kind of hippy wisdom one might stumble across in a street market. Robbie guesses its Beck's attempt at reassurance. It's better than the ugly duckling comparison that his mom makes at least once a month when she thinks he's looking particularly downtrodden at least.
"The girls here though, not Galileo weird." Beck muses, plucking Robbie from his thoughts. Swinging his head towards them momentarily, another shudder rips through Beck. "They're, I don't know, zombies or something. Like Children of the Corn weird I think."
The twinge of unease that's been swimming around in Robbie's stomach all morning vanishes. The guy he's been slightly intimidated by all morning vanishes. He's reminded of the intensely detailed and incredibly nerdy explanation Beck had given him on the lore behind Children of the Corn during the summer. He's reminded of the wide eyed kid in the hockey jersey that had turned up on his doorstep during the summer. He's reminded of the shanty town that they'd built in front of the television a few days later. The concept of Beck Oliver leading a cult of starry-eyed girls suddenly seems absurd.
"So you're saying that no, you don't want a cult?" Robbie asks dryly, recovering his penchant for sarcasm.
"Shockingly I do not want a cult. Too much trouble." Beck frowns at the notion or possibly the effort required. If his relentless cool is an act, the laziness that's been pulled into his character is the most authentic part. Some days Robbie wonders how his parents managed to get him all the way from Thunder Bay, Ontario to Los Angeles, California.
"Besides, if I'm going to commit to anything – which I'm probably not going to ever do, then I want it to be to a girl that has her own personality or something." Beck elaborates, features tightening slightly with the mention of commitment. "I just – I don't want to go through life thinking everything I do is right. If I've screwed up, I want her to tell me. I really - I don't want to date a robot or some brainwashed follower that's going to do everything I say."
"Yeah." Robbie comments ineloquently.
There's silence after that, but before it can quite solidify and become awkward, the sound of a guitar being strummed drifts across the quad. Soon a voice is weaving its way through the chords. Soft and sweet, angels wish they could sound that way. Robbie's eyes crawl over the crowded area, eventually singling out the source of the melody.
Huddled around a table that's slightly obscured by The Grub Truck, is a somebody Robbie recognises from first period. He'd introduced himself as Andre with a friendly handshake. His dreadlocks are gently swaying in time with the song he's coaxing from the guitar resting against the crook of his hip. To Andre's left, bobbing along with the beat, hands tapping lightly on the table, is the girl from his chemistry class. Her eyes are shut, eyebrows clinched together with concentration as she sings.
Robbie's Adam's apple bobs nervously in his throat. He can't quite shake the feeling that he should be paying to hear this. It just makes him feel more out of place then before. While he's doing battle with this, his latest insecurity, Andre is letting the last note of the song ring from his guitar. So far removed from the world is Robbie, that he doesn't notice the girl's eyelids part with the end of the song. She scans the quad, insecurity dictating the way she bites down on her bottom lip. Robbie doesn't notice that her eyes have frozen on him until he's drowning in their coffee depths.
Realising that she's looking at him, Robbie's heart twitches a mad beat, pounding against his chest. Belatedly, he whimpers and throws a textbook up between himself and the girl. Laughter he can take, derision he's used to. The curiosity in the way her eyes had lingered on him, he hadn't been ready for that. Sinking into his seat, Robbie tries to busy himself with studying the algebra equations in front of his eyes.
"Uh, what are you doing?" Beck asks, eyes flicking toward Robbie. It's not concern that edges his voice, its amusement.
"Studying." Robbie mumbles, entirely unconvincing.
"Yeah, okay. I'm sure this has nothing to do with cheekbones across the quad." Robbie's first reaction is to agree with Beck's assessment. His second reaction is to stain an incredibly unflattering shade of puce.
"She smiled when you freaked out, by the way." Beck adds, absentmindedly scrubbing the spot on his chin where he's attempting to cultivate facial hair.
Making a shrill sound of disagreement, Robbie slowly inches upright again. Peering surreptitiously over the top of his book, Robbie finds his mutinous eyes straying across the quad again. This girl – Cheekbones for now, he guesses – is smiling benignly at something Jade has said. Her cheekbones, high and perfect are flushed with a slight pink stain. Robbie guesses its something Jade has said. She seems the type to make an off colour remark. Illogical as it seems, Robbie finds himself wishing that they were cackling and impersonating the way he'd dove behind a book. It would make dulling the insistent thrum of his heart that little bit easier. As it is though, Robbie knows he'll continue to be poisoned by hope.
"I like her." Beck comments, eyebrow cocked. A sudden panic rises within Robbie. As much nerdiness as Beck might be smuggling behind his placid Canadian demeanour, he's still smuggling it beneath a winning smile and broad shoulders. He feels the cool sting of reality fighting off the hopeful infection in her heart.
"W-who Cheekbones?" Robbie asks, wincing with the horrible feeling that he doesn't even know the girls name.
"Tori." Beck corrects him, brushing off Robbie's impending demand of how he knows that with a casual wave. "And no, not her. The girl beside her." He adds, nodding appreciatively at Jade.
"Jade." Robbie states, a little bit stricken by the irony of it all. "She's a little Vampira for you, isn't she?" Robbie asks hopefully. The smile he twitches in Beck's direction clatters to the ground when Jade's furious eyes land on him. Squeaking pitifully, Robbie decides to never take her name in vein again. He doesn't even know how Jade heard him.
"In all the right ways." Beck nods, tone veering toward reverent as he glances over to Jade. Oddly, when Jade notices Beck leering at her, she doesn't regard him with the vicious intent Robbie had experienced. Her response is swift and brutal. Heaving an aggravated sigh, Jade slaps her hands against the table and flies to her feet. With practiced determination, Jade sinks her claws into Tori's shoulder and hauls the girl out of sight.
"I think she likes you." Robbie can't help himself, his lips split with a wide smile.
Rolling his eyes, Beck twists his lips as a thought strikes him. "So that Tori girl, you'd better ask her out fast Rob. Daniels was talking about her last period. I think he knows her from middle school or something because he kept commenting on how summer was really good to her."
Robbie freezes with that piece of information. A sickly combination of loathing and longing sticking to the inside of his throat. Daniels, he doesn't even know the guys first name. Tori, he wishes she were a permanent fixture in his life. Wedging his thumb between his teeth, Robbie gnaws at it anxiously. Since he can remember, Television has drilled it into Robbie's head that adolescence is needlessly complicated, but he never expected things to become so convoluted on his first day of High School.
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