DISCLAIMER: Most of the characters and the universe this story is set in are from Gossip Girl.
He finds something otherwordly within the sound of a school locker opening, and how the swinging door has the potential to temporarily seal him from his surroundings.
The boy knows the value of this small sanctuary better than most. While his fingers search for the books he'll need during the coming weekend, he blocks out the noise around him, as one of many similar conversations he's had with his father in the past plays in his head about his high school choices. While he had insisted good grades would look good regardless of where they came from, his father played the "give you opportunities I never had" card at all the right moments.
And since he knows how much it costs to be where he currently is, he tries to make the most of these occasional shelters of sanity during the day. Other than that, he keeps his nose clean and hopes that the next few years go by faster than he thinks they will. He's a patient person, but there's only so much patience he feels one can spare to his classmates at St. Jude's.
A pocket of chatter behind him breaks his 'bubble' as he's double-checking his backpack. The boy closes his locker and follows behind a group of six or seven students on their way out. There's loud cheering, much false bravado and hopes of another amazing night on the town later on.
He remembers Ralph Ellison's words, reciting them in his head. Even if written from an entirely different context, they seem almost applicable now.
I am an invisible man.
"So Nate, are you coming with us or what?"
"Oh, he most definitely is," someone speaking barely above the tone of a whisper answers for Nate; this 'Nate' being none other than Nathaniel Fitzwilliam Archibald, and damned is he who doubts that this is not a name fit for a king or a future president. His father is a big-shot business magnate, a man that only answers by Captain Archibald (and the thought that most of his friends must never bother asking what his real name is amuses the boy shadowing them to no end).
No, I am not a spook like those who haunted Edgar Allan Poe; nor am I one of your Hollywood-movie ectoplasms.
"Why are you pushing so hard today, Chuck? You know I have …" (Chuck is Charles Bartholomew Bass, heir of Bass Industries; he believes this introduction always suffices)
"… You cannot mean that petty competition Blair signed up for? Nathaniel, your first-lady can win a dozen of those a week if she so desires. Why would you waste time surrounded by those literary types when you can join me and experience the very things they long to write about?"
The boy's eyebrows shoot up at the mention of the word literary, but he keeps quiet, his footsteps lost behind their laughter and teasing towards each other.
I am a man of substance, of flesh and bone, fiber and liquids—and I might even be said to possess a mind.
They haven't left the school premises yet, but Nate seems to have already agreed to enter the town car Chuck claims is waiting for all of them. Just another corridor or two now …
"Daniel!"
The voice comes from behind them and startles the boy. He turns around and sees Professor Hawthorne walking his way. He looks back once, only to see Nate and Chuck's small entourage crossing the doors, letting New York's mild wind in for the briefest of moments.
They never paused to begin with.
I am invisible, understand, simply because people refuse to see me. Like the bodiless heads you see sometimes in circus sideshows, it is as though I have surrounded by mirrors of hard, distorting glass.
Daniel doesn't sigh; this doesn't sting, it doesn't hurt. These aren't his friends and he has no love for this place.
"Professor Hawthorne," he greets the man only now approaching him, Daniel's calmest smile pasted to his face. "Is something wrong?"
"Oh, no, not at all! I was just wondering if you could do me a small favor."
"Nothing illegal, I hope," he quips. Just the kind of humor you are expected to hit a teacher with. And Hawthorne laughs.
"Of course not! I simply need you to deliver this – he presents a sealed envelope and offers it to Daniel – to Professor Abernathy. I'd do it myself, but I'm in a bit of a hurry, you see."
Sure you are. "Yeah, I understand. Where can I find him, sir?"
"Oh, he should be at the auditorium. This year's ladies' essay competition between New York's finest institutions will be held there today. In less than 15 minutes, actually, and he's one of the hosts, so if you could …"
"Consider it done. Have a good weekend, Professor." Daniel doesn't really pay attention to Hawthorne's parting words, if there are any; it takes him less than five minutes to reach the auditorium, which makes the boy wonder what kind of urgency prevented Hawthorne from doing this himself.
Constance Billard School for Girls shares its space with St. Jude's, forming a co-ed powerhouse inside New York's educational system. You make it here, you make it to Ivy – and, even though he has a hard time admitting it to himself at times … that is exactly where Daniel wants to be.
He wastes no time surveying the auditorium – filled with what he assumes are family members and faculty members – in search of Professor Abernathy.
"Mr. Humphrey," his professor greets him. He likes Abernathy. "What brings you here?"
He offers the envelope.
"And where is Hawthorne?"
"He said he was in a hurry, sir. That's all I know."
"I see. Well, since you're already here, why don't you take a seat?"
"Sir?"
Abernathy looks at his student from over his glasses. "I understand you're quite interested in literature, Daniel. While this is a ladies-only competition – his professor sighs, apparently displeased with the gender restriction – I'm sure you'll find at least some of it to your liking, yes?" he says, giving Daniel a pat on the shoulder and a discreet wink before leaving. Looking around, he decides his teacher may have a valid point and finds a quiet corner at the back of the auditorium, resting his backpack on the floor next to him.
Considering the usual flair these institutions carry themselves with, he finds the whole ceremony rather simple. The finalists are presented one by one, rising from their seats briefly, with small parts of their essays presented to the public. Some of it bores Dan half to death – there are more political pieces that don't even feel like they were written by high-school students.
But some stand out; there is decent prose here and there, and even a very intelligent counterpoint made with turn-of-the-century authors' quotes at some point. A particularly provocative essay comes from Constance Billard's top bet, Blair Waldorf. There's assertiveness into her writing that he appreciates; this is clearly not a girl that likes to be contradicted, and she makes a solid effort not to be.
Daniel plays the name in his head for a few seconds before he realizes that's probably Nate Archibald's girlfriend. Only partially able to see her from where he is, Dan wonders if her constant staring at her own lap means she's checking her phone for signs of her boyfriend – or her family, for that matter; she seems surrounded by other students as it is.
His curiosity is sated when Blair is finally proclaimed – to Daniel's complete and pointless agreement – the winner of the competition, rising from her seat delicately and climbing the steps to receive the award.
She walks like she's used to this, he thinks, clapping absent-mindedly. While it bugs him that her own boyfriend wouldn't want to be here to witness this, it isn't nearly as disconcerting to him as the fact that her family isn't there – Daniel makes a mental note to find out is she has any family to begin with.
There are pictures being taken now, and some people are already rising from their seats when Daniel listens to the lonely click of a camera close to him. A row ahead, some five seats to his right, a girl puts her camera down, checking a photo and shaking her head.
He is not entirely sure why he feels the need to move a few seats closer and open his mouth, but he does it nevertheless.
"Bad angle?" he whispers, instantly regretting it. Dark brown eyes turn to meet his; at least she's not spooked, nor offended by the question. She even smiles. Lightly.
"Oh, no; money shot, actually. See for yourself," she offers the camera. Dan takes a quick peek at the bright screen and he has to agree it's a perfect frame of Blair happily looking down at her elaborate glass trophy.
"Sorry. You just looked like you were disappointed with it."
"Shouldn't you be looking at the stage instead of me?" she teases him.
"I … uh. Well," he starts, but is interrupted by hushed giggles.
"I'm just messing with you. I know the click, click draws attention when it's quieter. And I was disappointed, but not with this one. When she looked back up her smile was there, but it was – well, different. She didn't look happy about it anymore."
She clicks a button on her camera and the next photo shows him exactly what she means.
"Kind of breaks your heart, huh?"
Kind of does, he thinks.
Daniel returns the camera to the girl, and she continues to flip from one frame to another. "It's like: "Now you see me", and …"
"… "And now you don't"," he agrees.
By the time he looks back at the stage, Blair Waldorf is already gone.
When they approach me they see only my surroundings, themselves, or figments of their imagination- indeed, everything and anything except me.
AUTHOR NOTE: I'm not sure if this scene is the beginning of something bigger, or if it's reached its destination already; I just felt like writing a different take to the infamous "essay competition", so think of it as an experimental balloon. Thanks in advance for taking the time to read it; feel free to drop a word or two in if you want to.