I finally finished it guys! Finally another chapter to this story. The next installments should not be as long a wait, I'm already half way through Chapter 5 and am planning to finish Chapter 7's first draft by the end of the summer. When I'll be able to pick them up for the second and third I cant say, and I'm actually going to wait for my beta readers to have some time to look at them from now on. Its just been so long I thought I owed you guys a chapter, even if I'll end up reposting it with the minor details fixed
I honestly feel like this is a boring chapter. Three, Four and Five have been way more fun to write because we actually start to get into plot. This chapter is necessary though, so I hope you enjoy it!
In every other school Matthew had attended, lunch periods were organized by grade. Ninth grade would have its own lunch, followed by eleventh or any other combination similar to that. This school, however, was different. It seemed whoever happened to have the period open found themselves sitting at the lines of long tables with benches built in. The food, disappointingly though, was one hundred percent familiar.
Bad food was better than no food. Mathew had forgotten to grab a snack or steal a few dollars when he'd stormed out of the house. He'd go hungry today due to his carelessness, but this wasn't the first time.
Matthew swallowed thickly, glancing out at the freshman through seniors. They all mingled together, chatting and gossiping in there little clicks without a care in the world. He stood, just removed from the scene, against the wall. Why'd he come in here at all? It wasn't as if he had any money for food. He knew there would be no magic opening for him to sit. Same story, different chapter.
But occasionally there would be someone to sit with. But as he scanned the room he didn't see anyone who would welcome his company. Maybe if Ivan had been there Matthew would have joined him, despite Arthur's weird warning. The only kids he really recognized were his lab partner Lovino sitting with his little brother and a few of his friends and the loud brown haired girl (Elizabeta maybe?) in a large group. Besides that was some blond guy in his calculus class.
He might have attempted to sit next to the platinum blond girl with the large bow in her hair. She sat alone, carefully spooning a packed lunch that a lot of love seemed to have gone into. But her aura was so scary that Matthew was afraid of the idea of passing her in the hall, let alone sitting next to her at lunch.
So he supposed he'd be figuring it out on his own. That wasn't such a new thing. He hadn't met any teachers that had taken pity on him specifically, or generally just offered their room to anyone who didn't want to go down to lunch, so that wasn't an option. The library also proved to be a no, it was closed during lunch. That meant the bathroom was his only real option. He turned from the lunch room scene and walked a few yards right to lay his hand on the men's restroom door handle.
"Hey." said a voice. Matthew turned. The guy who had called his name raised his eyebrow. "You really going to go in there." He asked.
Mathew didn't answer, just fled into the restroom and closed the door behind him.
The bathroom was a very average high school bathroom. Grey floor, white walls, black stalls. It was a little small, only four stalls and two sinks. Matthew headed for one of the second stall. When kids didn't think about hygiene, but instead convenience, they took the nearest one. Others head straight for the back, reasoning that with slightly less accessibility the farthest would have less use. But from Mathew's experience, he'd determined that the middle was the safest bet, and he had spent a lot of time in bathrooms.
When Mathew ducked in, he realized he was alone. That was kind of strange for the middle of the lunch period. But he didn't think much about it, he was too busy marveling at the incredible amount of graffiti on the walls.
The bathroom stall was covered with colorful red sharpie, all the same color, all in the same hand writing. How one person had been able to keep anybody else from defacing the stall was beyond Mathew. But he'd always loved little mysteries like that. He'd never know the real answer, but he could imagine ones that were probably more interesting.
On the door was the only exception to the red. Three single words in black sharpie, yet still the same handwriting.
Bad Friends Trio.
Matthew was squinting at the writings all over the stall when the bell rang. He sighed, unhappy to leave such an interesting array of seemingly meaningless statements and drawings. Maybe just one more second, to finish the sentence he was on.
That one second soon turned into several minutes. It wasn't until the second bell had rung that he was jolted out of his studies. Shit, that meant he was already late.
He bolted out of the bathroom. The lunch room had emptied of people. Only a few custodians turned and gave him looks before returning to their work. Shouldn't there be another lunch period here by now? Maybe he was the last one. Regardless, he needed to get to class.
Out of the lunch room and into the hall. Which hallway? What room number? Matthew fished the paper with all his class information out and glanced at it. He was going in the complete opposite direction. Matthew stopped on a dime and swiveled one hundred and eighty degrees.
He was going to be very late.
The door opened before Matthew had a chance to knock. A tall boy gave Matthew a nervous look before retreating out of view. Looking in, he was met with a whole class of worried faces.
"Mr. Jones?" came a heavily accented voice. He jumped to attention and swung his head wildly, trying to locate the speaker.
"Well how marvelous." French, the accent was French. "Class began six minutes ago, but if it is your desire to start the year off with detention, who am I to stop you?"
The boy who'd opened the door was just about to take his seat, and again Matthew was struck by just how tall he was. Or maybe it wasn't exactly that. Maybe it was just the sheer contrast between the pupal and the teacher. Standing next to the tall boy was a short man. Well, he wasn't that short, it was the contrast really. Still, there must have been three feet of difference, and Matthew found it all he could focus on. Worse yet, he felt wild laughter bubble up inside him. Mostly though, he wanted to bolt. There were way too many eyes focused on him.
"Do you, Mr. Jones, find the prospect of detention funny? If so I would be more than willing to amuse you after school the rest of the week."
"I'm fine." Matthew giggled.
This really couldn't be going any worse. If Matthew had been the teacher he would hate himself, and this man didn't seem like the kind hearted, forgiving type. The tall boy, however, really needed to sit down. Other people were starting to notice. Whatever spell of intimidation this teacher had weaved over the class was breaking, and Matthew was only beginning to laugh louder and louder.
"Nonsense! My room after school until 4:30, and for every extra minute you're late you'll stay for three more." The man promptly turned his attention to the rest of the class. "Where's Jones's seat?" He asked.
There was some shifting around and the noise slowly died down.
"Well?"
Nobody said a word.
"You've all caught the trembles from Tori's eh?" The teacher sighed loudly and bent down to sift through papers laying on top of the projector. He paused for a second, glancing up at the tall kid. "You're not where you're supposed to be Toris." He remarked. Toris jumped up and stammered out a few apologies before rushing back to his seat.
The teacher looked back down and began to scan a piece of paper. He pointed, without a word, to an island of four desks pushed together where two girls, a blond smallish one and a lanky African American sat diagonal from each other.
Matthew looked back. He was pretty sure he knew what the teacher wanted but he didn't want to screw up yet again.
"To your seat Jones." The teacher said slowly, as if talking to a small child who wasn't quite getting it.
Matthew took a step forward and soon found himself lowering into the seat next to the African American girl. Looking around, he saw that any wave Mathew had made in his unceremonious entrance had been completely erased. Everyone was quiet, gazing up in the teacher with a mix of fear and resentment, but no mirth. Matthew settled down into the uncomfortable chair, resigning himself. He'd had plenty of teachers like this before and he already knew that this class would be by far his worst.
"Now, seven minutes after class was supposed to start, we begin. My name is Mr. Bonaparte and that is how you will address me. Not 'you' and not..."
Yup, this was going to be terrible.
One more class left.
That's all Matthew had to survive. On this horrible horrible day.
The bell had rung moments ago but Matthew was still shuffling the hundreds of vocab words and a page of endings into a folder. Vocab words that were sorted into twenty five word sections that were to be memorized each week, and that didn't even take into account the endings, or the homework. Everyone else had been somewhat prepared however, or just less organized. They had all been ready to shoot up out of their chairs and flee immediately. The mass exodus looked ridiculous, sure, but it didn't seem unwarranted.
"Jones hmm?" Mr. Bonaparte mused. Matthew flinched. He turned around to see what his teacher wanted, but it didn't look like he was talking to Matthew. Mr. Bonaparte was absorbed in his grading, or work, or some such and must have been talking to himself. "Jones." He said again before letting out a long chuckle "Figures."
Mathew needed to get out of here.
What was left? Art, Mathew checked his schedule just to make sure.
Yes, art. That couldn't be too strange now could it?
He was so wrong.
Stepping into the room he was disconcerted immediately.
Matthew wasn't exactly sure what the protocol for the extent to which teachers could decorate their rooms in this school, or any school was. But he was pretty sure that painting vast murals on all of the walls wasn't encouraged. That hadn't stopped this guy. But that wasn't even the weirdest part. No, that award went to the fact that everything, from the ceiling, to the chairs, to the nails, to the projector, was blue.
Everything.
That wasn't to say that everything was the same colors blue, oh no. There were dozens, hundreds, thousands (twenty at most) different shades of blue. The tables were one, the chairs were a few more, the cabinets were very dark, while the countertops were rather light. The tiles on the floor varied from royal blue to sky blue to almost white. In all fairness, though, the almost white tiles looked orange, because of how tired Matthew's eyes were already of seeing only blue.
But if that wasn't enough, a second later he noticed his brother sitting in the front row. Next to him was Arthur, and they were arguing. They were so absorbed in each other that they didn't notice Mathew walking in, or anything else really. For one of the more notable times in his life, he was glad his brother was oblivious to his existence.
It wouldn't last long.
Matthew looked around desperately for someone he knew. He noticed the red headed boy from PE (Lovino's older brother?), and a hulking blond boy next to him. Finally scanning the back of the room he saw Tino. While Matthew didn't know him well, the other boy has been nice enough to him in periods earlier and Matthew wasn't exactly left with allot of other options.
There was an empty seat to the right of Tino. He looked up and smiled at Matthew, motioning for him to sit down. " Mr. Picasso doesn't believe in assigned seats." He explained as Matthew lowered himself into the seat. "He's a little weird, but cool. You'll see."
Just then a man appeared out of a door at the side of the room. He was younger, tanned skin and brown hair slicked to the side. His eyes were the most notable thing about his face, wide brown pool, an unfathomable depth. It seemed to Matthew there was some unspeakable sadness inside them. He looked right at home in the dreary hues all around him.
"The room is something else isn't it." Tino commented. Matthew nodded in agreement.
Mr. Picasso started taking role, but when the name Jones came along, he only said Alfred. After a while Tino took notice. "What's your last name again?" he asked, and then "Isn't Alfred your brother?" Matthew shrugged at both of the questions.
"Is there anyone's name I haven't called?" asked the art teacher in a slight Spanish accent.
Mathew really didn't feel like drawing attention to himself. Maybe he'd just let today slide. But Tino wasn't having it. "Mathew-" he announced.
"Jones." Matthew squeaked out.
All heads turned backward. Mathew found any excuse to avoid his brother's eyes. Instead he stared up at Mr. Picasso, who was busy rummaging through his papers.
"Matthew Jones?" one of the boys asked in a deep voice.
"Ciao!" Matthew's gaze drifted to the left. Lovino's brother was waving exuberantly. "You're the hockey guy right! Wow, you were so good!" Matthew blushed. "Well my name is Feliciano, and this is Ludwig!" he gestured at the blond kid next to him.
"Nice try!" Tino laughed "But you wont turn him into some soccer player so easily." His tone was light enough, but when Matthew turned toward him his expression told a different story. Tino's smile was ice, and his gaze pierced the red head with a fiery intensity. Feliciano seem unphased but Ludwig looked slightly intimidated.
"I don't seem to have a Mathew Jones on the list." Mr. Picasso said. He rubbed his chin for a moment, reading through the attendance list again. Ludwig raised his hand.
"Yes Ludwig?" the teacher asked.
"Could Mr. Hohenzollern have pulled him?" Ludwig asked.
"Is he still up to that? I thought Churchill put a stop to that-"
"Apparently."
Mr. Picasso turned and sat down in front of his laptop. After a few moments of scrolling he nodded. "Yep, Matthew Jones is supposed to be in room D118. That is the band room correct?"
"Yeah," Ludwig nodded and shot Mathew a sympathetic look.
Tino patted Matthew on the shoulder, "Good luck!"
"W-what?" Matthew asked.
Feliciano shrugged, still smiling. "They're kind of weird."
Third times the charm, or at least that's what Matthew was telling himself. Room D118? Was that what Mr. Picasso said? Or was it D108, or D181? No, he was pretty sure it was D118. But he had been pretty sure he had art last period also. He remembered the response he'd received the period before for being late and suddenly he wished he'd thought to stay long enough to receive a hall pass. Too late for that now.
He stopped in front of two wooden doors. Panic was taking hold of his stomach again as he frantically tried to assure himself that D118 was in fact the room number, and it was still last period, and he hadn't misunderstood that art teacher when he'd told Matthew to go here. No, he was exactly where he was supposed to be. His name would be on the attendance list for sure here, probably.
He took a deep breath and pushed forward.
It was a heavy door, probably not even hallow, either that or it was stuck. Matthew struggled against it for a moment then took a step back. He braced his shoulder against the door and leaned all his weight onto it.
Maybe all his weight hadn't been the best idea, but Matthew had never thought the best when he was nervous. He didn't fall, thank god, but he didn't find himself stumbling into the room wildly. Everyone was looking at him now. He didn't need to see their eyes, he could feel them. Just like the period before, only there were probably three times as many people here.
"Hey" came a voice. "Hey, I'll help you up."
Mathew's breath caught in his chest. That voice, Matthew couldn't shake the feeling he'd heard it before. Both authoritative and full of delighted motherly kindnesses. He looked up and met the green eyes of a smiling girl. Defiantly motherly all right, but scary as fuck to. She looked like she could kick his ass. Still, she had a warm glow about her that instantly made Mathew like her.
Matthew felt the gazes of everyone else in the room melt away as he smiled involuntarily.
She was still grinning when she stuck out her hand. "Name's Elizabeta." she said
Matthew shook her hand, think how odd it was that they were shaking hands. "
Have we met before?" he asked
She narrowed her eyes and tilted her head. "I don't think so." she said slowly. In a moment, though recognition jolted in her eyes "Oh of course we have!" She jumped excitedly "You, you're that boy uh-" she snapped her fingers together, trying to recall something
"I can't think where I could have-" he cut himself off, a thought flashing through his mind.
"You're the boy from first block!" She clapped her hands together. "The one that pissed Arthur off! In Algebra 2, right?"
Matthew's heart sank, remembering who had Algebra 2 first block. "Uh, no. I think you may have me confused with my brother."
"Oh!" Elizabeta nodded "Right! You look really similar though."
"Y-yeah, I've heard that before." He muttered, that insane thought fading away.
"Alright!" came an enthused voice "Looks like we have a new aspiring musician among us!"
Matthew froze. Aspiring musician? What on earth?
Well, it was a Band class. That probably meant he needed some ability with an instrument. He had been so disconcerting by the art teacher that obvious implication of being placed in a Band class had completely passed him by.
The man approached him with a wide smile. And impossibly, this man was the strangest person he'd met that day. Weirder than the perpetually pissed of Lovino, or the mysterious Ivan or even the dictator French teacher, no this man took the cake.
He was older, maybe early fifties, with a wrinkly face that alluded to both great happiness and great pain. He wore what Matthew was sure was a white wig, braided elaborately in the back like some American Revolutionary War figure or early president. He wore what was obviously an expensive suit but it was made for a much taller man and fit awkwardly on his average frame. Yet he didn't seem lesser, like a boy trying to fill his father's shoes. He did all the filling he needed to with his excitement and passion.
His brown eyes danced to Mathew, trying, a probably succeeding at extracting his secrets with his will. "Come now boy, what's your name and what do you play?"
Well that question wasn't unfamiliar, and Matthew had no better response than the one he'd offered in fourth period. He found himself wishing the strange boy Ivan was here to point to an instrument and say "that one." He wished more though for the raw talent he'd found inside himself suddenly on the pitch. He doubted however that expecting either was realistic.
"I, uh, don't."
"Don't what?" This wasn't like PE where it just seemed to be taken for granted that everyone played a sport.
"Play an instrument" his voice seemed to loud for his own ears and he cringed back. A look of confusion crossed the band teacher's face.
"The art kid?" came another voice. Matthew turned his head to a boy who'd appeared next to the teacher. "Right? You came from art?"
"Mathew." The teacher said, Almost as if the word itself was s novelty. "Mathew Jones."
"Excuse me?"
"That is your name?" Elizabeta asked.
"Y-yes?"
The girl grinned "Thought so. Now you have any preferences about instrument."
"Preferably something I can help you with, since you're starting from scratch." said the boy
"So that basically means no to the drums." said Elizabeta
Matthew looked back and forth between the two of them. Everyone else around was starting to talk again, murmuring in low voices and giggling into their hands. He recognized some of the phrases and words and shrank back at the 'what is he even-' and 'instrument' and 'important to know' that really could have meant anything, but obviously must be about him.
"Why not the violin?" The teacher asked. His voice was soft, but it carried over the din.
The two stopped arguing immediately and turned in shock toward the band teacher.
"The violin?" The boy spluttered.
"Why not?"
"Why not?" asked Elizabeta in disbelief. "We're short two flutes; he'd be of much better use-"
"We need to recruit for the quartet, you know that. And the chorus still needs its accompaniment."
"Roderich can do that!" Elizabeta snapped. The boy stiffened, but reluctantly nodded his assent
"And we don't need a string quartet, just yet." The boy, probably Roderich said.
The teacher said "Homecoming is coming up," and the two had no answer for that. "Roderich can teach Mathew during and after class-"
"When will I learn my pieces? I do have other things to do!"
Elizabeta snorted.
"I'm sure you'll manage" the teacher said dryly. He turned to Matthew. "I don't think I ever told you my name." Matthew stared up blankly, not knowing if this was one of those rhetorical statements or if he actually wanted Matthew to nod or shake his head. In any case, the teacher continued. "Frederick Hohenzollern."
"Just call me Frederick." The teacher smiled. Matthew nodded back. "Now!" Mr. Frederick clapped his hands and turned to Roderich "where's our violin?"
Almost an hour and a half passed after the last bell rang before Matthew walked out of the school. He breathed a sigh of relief. Roderich, he'd learned pretty quickly, was an asshole. An impatient, perfectionist, asshole who expected you to get everything right on your first try. Still, he had an undeniable way with music and somehow coaxed something 'passable' out of Mathew's fumbling fingers.
It was about a thirty minute walk to the house. That gave him time to do some thinking. Surprisingly, he found that he didn't really want to switch out. There was something familiar about the class; in fact, he'd been running into deja vu all day. It was almost like he'd been there before, but it was less about the place and more about the people. (He hoped he would have remembered an art room painted blue.) But how could he have met the whole student body before? It was a mystery, and probably just some bullshit his disoriented mind made up to make him feel more comfortable.
Thoughts swirled in his mind and the walk, which was taking longer than thirty minutes, but didn't seem long at all. He almost got lost twice and he barely even realized he was at the house until he was on the front step.
His father's car was in the driveway, so Alfred had already been picked up, guess there hadn't been tryouts today. Then again he was too late. Regardless, the raised voices from inside the house could've told him as much. It was a bit startling, his father and Alfred rarely fought, at least in front of him.
"I just don't want to!" came Alfred's frustrated voice as Matthew fumbled with the door. He hadn't had time to snatch a key yet. But he'd taught himself to pick locks online one day when he was fourteen. He fished inside his bag for the wrench and pick.
"Years of training and you give it up because just don't want to?" shouted his father. New locks always gave Matthew trouble, just a few more moments.
"They don't have football and I don't want to play soccer. What's wrong with one year off?" Matthew's hand slipped as he registered exactly what Alfred was implying. He was quitting football?
Mathew's father said just what Matthew was thinking "That's the thing you've got going for you! You're decent at school, but football! Alfred, that's who you are!"
"Maybe that's not who I want to be!" Matthew wasn't even fumbling with the pick anymore, to shocked at the conversation he was overhearing. "It's my senior year! I want to enjoy my life for once! Instead of constantly doing what you think is best." His volume was lowering, growing embarrassed at his words even as he said then.
"Collages!" Matthew felt a jolt go through him. That was one thing he didn't want to think about, but probably should be. "Alfred what are you-" the lock clicked and Matthew turned the door, pushing into the house. The door creaked and his father's voice cut off. They must have heard. There were a few muffled words and Matthew heard the sliding glass door opening in the back of the house. Matthew waited a moment to hear the door slam before stepping into the kitchen.
Alfred stood by the window, eyes on his father. Daniel Jones wheeled out across the stone patio. There was barely any grass in the yard, just solid stone and then concrete where a pool had been filled in by the last owners. It was probably of the reasons their father had picked it.
Alfred turned and glanced at Mathew. He had something to say. Matthew was curious himself about whether Alfred was actually quitting, and why. But the two brothers rarely spoke, there father was always under foot. Even when he wasn't, what was there to say? They were simply strangers living together. It had been a long time since they could have actually called each other brothers.
Matthew found himself losing confidence, but then in a strange moment, Alfred was the one to bridge the gap.
"So I met this guy."
Matthew looked up, startled. Their eyes connected for a brief second but Matthew looked away. He almost let the moment pass, Alfred probably expected him to. But in that moment, probably drawing from idiotic confidence from winning the field hockey game, he stood up straight and looked Alfred back in the face.
"Yeah Arthur right?" He tried to keep his voice even, but in reality, talking to his brother was harder than talking to his father ever could have been. He felt as if he was standing in front of a thousand people, as if he were at a congress meeting, filibustering for a bill nobody wanted passed. "Yeah why are you quitting football?" That had been abrupt. Fuck.
"Um, yeah." Alfred shifted uncomfortably. "All the sports are weird and shit and I don't want to really, uh-" he waved his hands "do it." he finished lamely. Then he smiled. And In that smile it was easy to see why his parents had loved Alfred so much better than they had their other son. "Arthur, yeah."
"Yeah," and then Matthew realized something horrible.
He'd forgotten detention.
Next chapter we'll actually see some connection to Invisible Boy! For those readers who aren't invested in that, don't worry. I'll reveal everything you need to know little by little. However, even though prucan is the main paring here, don't hold your breath for Gilbert to show up. Carlos however...
But I wont spoil anything!
