disclaimer: the chocolate war is not mine

He was surprisingly small for an eighth grader.

His clothes fit badly, often expensive, foreign things bought by his father for a son that he had dreamed would be much larger than Archie had turned out to be. You're a Costello, he'd kept saying. You've got to hit that growth spurt sometime.

But 'that growth spurt' didn't seem to have ever happened. Archie wasn't an idiot, he knew that he was only fourteen and there was a long, sprawling period of time in front of him. But fourteen seemed to be permanent. Fourteen, fifteen, sixteen...they would all be the same.

At least that was what he thought as he was shoved against a locker by a tall boy in a sports jersey. This boy seemed to be under the impression that he was much taller than he really was, when in reality he wasn't too much larger than Archie by comparison.

Archie brushed himself off and strode over to the other boy brusquely. "What was that for?"

"Get lost, lame-ass," the boy said. This pathetic sort of insulting was common among people in his age group, Archie had noted. Throw in a few swears and a snarky tone, and you were set for life in the hallways of the Monument middle school.

Archie folded his arms and stared at the lettering on the back of his jersey, trying to think of a suitable name to call him, and only came up with the name on his jersey. "Be careful what you say, Anthony."

"That's not my name," he said.

"It's as much your name as mine is lame-ass."

"Fine, Costello. Whatever you say."

"Still not my name," Archie teased.

"Archie."

Archie smiled in satisfaction. "There. That's it."

The boy glared at him. He wasn't too brutish looking up close, not really. His dark hair was uncombed and his face was angular and shrewd, with dark, cobalt eyes. "Obie Harrison," he said. "Not that you need to know."

"Who knows? I may need to sometime." Archie said, a slight smirk playing on his lips. That was the fun of school. Playing with people who were too dumb to realize that they were only your prey, like a rat being tossed between the paws of a bored cat. Obie wasn't dumb, per se, but he was dense. Dense enough to let a bit of surprised emotion flash onto his face when Archie approached him with what could be a hint of friendship.

"Don't give me any of that crap," Obie said irritably, and started down the hallway. "I've got class in a minute."

"Say, Obie, isn't it, you've got English next, correct?" It was a wild guess, but Archie being bold enough to guess would probably scare Obie sufficiently.

"Uh..." Obie looked up at the ceiling. "Yeah. I do."

"Are you any good at English?" Archie smiled again. "Say, how would you feel about a tutor?"

"You're really pissing me off, Archie."

"That's why I'm here, my friend." The use of the word friend made Obie swallow hard. He obviously thought that he was prime at hiding his own feelings. Archie bit back a small giggle. This was the fun part.

"Look, you're just some loser who hasn't got any friends, and I'm not going to be your first. Leave me alone."

"Oh, but, Obie..." He let the name roll off his tongue. "Obie, don't tell me that you don't want better grades? Higher social stature? A girlfriend, perhaps?"

"The way you say my name gives me the creeps."

"Eh?" Archie cocked his head, smiling. "Alright, then. Obie," he said, drawing out every last syllable in a falsetto tone.

"Okay, I'll take your stupid tutoring! Just leave me alone!"

Archie interlaced his fingers, his smile turning to a pleased grin. "Ah. Good. Say, Obie, have you got any friends?"

"This conversation is over, lame-ass," Obie said, and started down the hallway for real. His hurried footsteps were an obvious sign of nervousness.

"Meet me at five sharp, tonight!" Archie called after him. He started in the opposite direction, looking down at his feet.

Power was what school was really all about. Control was key, if you had at least somebody under your wing then you could easily get through school without a problem. Friendship was a lie, a façade for the idea of power and survival.

He'd listened to his father on the phone for hours at night, not sleeping but sitting outside of his office, just listening to the constant arguing and comparing of rates and bad-mouthing of customers. Insurance is serious business, Archie, he would always say, and then ruffle his son's hair.

Some nights, it was the divorce lawyer his father spoke with. His mother, with her garish sweaters and miles and miles of knitted scarves, would sit down there with him, listening to him talk. Only listening. Never taking part in ripping apart her own marital union.

If love and friendship were sacred, then Archie had never seen that side of them.

He'd had one once. Daniel, his name had been, he'd been the son of a lawyer and a small, frail woman who didn't talk much. He and Daniel had slid down the railings of his house and one day, Daniel had fallen and had something that at the time, Archie had only known as a spurt of blood spilling terrifyingly from his friend's skull, and now, Archie knew as a fracture.

Needless to say, Daniel hadn't returned to their house.

Archie sat down in class, the hard, cold plastic of the seat soaking through his oversized blazer and sending a shiver down his spine. The math room was always cold for whatever reason. Perhaps the mathematics department just didn't know how to master the oh-so-complicated heating system. (Really, Archie himself could have fixed the heating.)

As he was about to take out his notebook, someone walking past shoved his chair against his desk, causing a sharp pain in his chest and loss of breath for a moment.

He only smiled. Someday, there would be no more of this. With the discovery of Obie, he could have at least somebody to push those taller kids against the wall and tell them not to mess with him. There would be no more insults, because he'd have someone covering for him.

One might ask how he was so sure of this, how he was so sure that Obie would fall right into his hands and become what he needed to survive this last year of middle school without ending up as a story in the paper about a kid being beaten to death.

He was sure because Obie wanted it. Obie would never say it, not to anybody, but Obie wanted someone to protect, someone to think that he was the best thing in their life. And all Archie had to do was pretend, really. He'd never been a great actor, but kindness was the easiest thing to imitate, because of how false it often was.

With a bit of pretending, he'd get the Obie he wanted, his protector in the hallways who would be there whenever for whatever he needed or wanted.

And Archie Costello always, always got what he wanted.

wow okay um this idea was in my head for a really long time i really shouldn't start more multichapters but paper birds only has a few more chapters left and ah who cares i do what i want