X. First Day of School
Spencer stood in front of the mirror in the bathroom, doing his best – and still failing – to tame his newly cut hair. The locks didn't stay down whatever he tried; they all just curled back again as soon as he released them. In the end, he had to admit defeat and give it up as lost cause with a heavy sigh. This assignment was just getting better and better…
He entered his still bare bedroom; the previously purchased clothes, posters and books just haphazardly thrown to the floor, abandoned for later. He simply hadn't had the energy to pack them away yesterday.
He hated these clothes anyway… ('Well, it could be worse. It could be a private school with uniforms…' – He thought to himself.)
"Kiddo, are you ready?" – Came the shout from outside, immediately followed by a knock on his slightly ajar door.
"It's fine, Rossi. Come in." – He called back, pulling a black and white striped sweater over his head. When the older man stepped inside, he turned to show him his attire. – "Don't you think this style is ridiculous on me?" – He asked self-consciously, working on pulling the sweater a bit more down to hide the brown belt keeping his light blue jeans from falling. And the socks… plain, boring black ones… He'd need to go and do some shopping himself soon.
The chuckling senior profiler walked closer to him and righted his clothes, pulling the collar of the T-shirt out from under the sweater, smoothing them down elegantly before stepping back a bit, holding the boy at arm's length so that he could look him over better.
"Look at you: a proper high school student. The perfectly normal teenager." – He said, seeming a bit touched. – "I never thought I'd ever get the chance to accompany my son to his first day of school."
"Ahm… Rossi? You do remember I hold three PhDs and two BAs, right? It's hardly my first day at school…"
The older man was still suspiciously chocked up when he rubbed at his eyes frantically.
"I'm so proud" – He said, ignoring the boy's comment altogether. – "I always wished…" – Spencer wanted to find out more but the older man trailed off.
"You wished what?" – He pressed, hoping to get more information out of his newest team member he had admired so much in the beginning but who had soon rejected his every attempt at getting to know him better. Maybe now things would change…
Rossi sighed.
"I always wished for a son…" – He admitted. – "Did you know I had one? For a very short time…"
"What? No, I didn't! What happened? If you don't mind my asking, of course…"
"Yeah… James David Rossi. Born and died on April 26, 1979. He would be just a few years older than you are and exactly Stephen Gideon's age. My first wife, Carolyn and Jason's wife were pregnant together."
Reid felt horrible for his colleague. This could explain the older man's initial behavior towards him at any rate.
"Oh, God. I'm so sorry, Rossi! I never knew."
"It's okay, Kiddo. Nobody does, not even Aaron. Only Jason… See, you're not the only one who shared personal secrets with him, and only him… As a matter of fact, did you know that I'm Stephen's godfather?"
"Really?"
"Yes! He was even named after me; my middle name is Stephen."
"I didn't even know that. I'm so sorry, Rossi."
"Why are you sorry?" – Asked the man confusedly. The youngest profiler had nothing to be sorry for as far as he was concerned. It was rather the other way around…
"Because I don't think I tried enough to get to know you as a person when I was pestering you about your books and experiences. No wonder you wanted to get rid of me." – He hung his head in shame.
"No, Kiddo. I am sorry for how I behaved towards you. It's not your fault you reminded me of my deceased son and the godson I haven't seen for ages."
Spencer then decided to ask the dreaded question:
"Do you hate being reminded? Does it hurt seeing me and having me around then?"
"NO! I found it's actually doing me good." – Winked the older man. – "You're keeping me on my toes, Kiddo. Here I am now: father of a sixteen-year-old moody boy! Who would have thought it possible."
Spencer laughed.
"Well, I hope you're ready to deal with me because I'm not easy to get along with… My own father never took me to school and my mother was also too sick to do so. I've never had anyone standing up to me and my school years were some of the worst ones of my entire life, filled with neglect and bullying. I'm not very eager to go back but it's reassuring to know that this time, I won't be alone."
"No, you're certainly not alone and you'll never be. I promise you that. But it wouldn't do good for your reputation to be late on your very first day, so: shall we go, son?"
"Let's go, dad."
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The school building looked… impressive. Impressive and formidable at the same time; at least to Reid.
"You ready to go in?"
"No."
They stood for another two or three minutes staring at the frightful place and watching the students walk past them (sometimes they'd bump into them with a muttered curse like 'move out of the way, you Moron', or something similarly endearing).
"Are you ready now, Kiddo?"
"No… What about if we go home now and try it again tomorrow?" – Reid tried half-heartedly. – "Or better yet: next week when Dean will be here too? Why can't he begin today with me, anyway!?"
The older man sighed.
"We've talked about this: it would be too suspicious if we all turn up at the same time. Remember, they can't realize you know him." – He chided gently.
"I know… Hey, I've got a brilliant idea: why don't we quit the FBI and then when the BAU is looking for new people, we'll apply again! I'm sure Hotch would choose us!" – He smiled proudly at his genius way of thinking and Rossi hated to break the boy's confidence.
But he had to nonetheless.
"Nice try, Kiddo, but sadly: it's not an option. Come on, then." – With that, he grabbed the young man's arm and led him into the building.
Once inside, Reid looked around: hundreds and hundreds of students, all moving around in a colorful whirlwind of activity; chatting, shouting, blaring music from headphones, the sound of feet tapping on the floor, doors opening and closing, cell phones emitting various peeping sounds… it was too much! Way too much!
The youngest profiler tried to take it all in but he felt his brain starting to spin out of control at the amount of new information it was processing.
"Aaah!" – He groaned and grabbed his head in pain, squeezing his eyes firmly shut.
"Kiddo, what's wrong?" – Asked the senior profiler worriedly, pulling the boy's hands away from his face to look him in the eyes. – "Are you feeling sick?"
"I… Oh, God! It hurts, Rossi!"
"What hurts? Talk to me!"
"My head! Arrg!"
The older man looked around and spotted the restrooms not far away from them. He forcefully pulled the genius into the men's room before shutting the door behind them, locking out all the outside sounds – along with three angrily swearing students who had tried to enter after them. He then opened the tap and wetted his hands with cold water to wash the youngster's face; hoping it would calm him somewhat.
It seemed to work as the panic was slowly but surely disappearing.
"Better now?" – Rossi asked a few minutes later.
"Yeah… Thanks. I don't know what happened." – He was still panting heavily, just like two days before, after having just run 1,5 miles.
"Sensory overload, I'd say." – Informed him his colleague. – "With that enormous brain of yours it's no wonder this can happen sometimes." – He teased gently. – "You'll be fine, don't worry."
The boy didn't smile though.
"It's just that… my time at high school was far from enjoyable, you know? Being here again brings back memories. Bad ones. I hoped never to have to confront these feelings again." – He admitted sourly.
Rossi looked around to check if there was someone in the cubicles to hear them. Having made sure they were truly around, he assured:
"This time it will be different. You're not a child prodigy here, Spencer. They'll think you're just a normal teenager like everyone else. And in reality? You're the oldest now!"
Reid blinked.
"I haven't thought about it yet. For the first time in my life, I'm not the youngest somewhere!" – He exclaimed, only now realizing the implication. – "That means they can't hurt me now, right? I'm an FBI agent, I can take care of myself! Right, Rossi?"
"That's right, Kiddo. And you know what else is different now?"
"What?"
"You have me and five others looking out for you. You know and trust us all and we know and trust you. We're a team; nothing can happen. So, if you're ready, let's go meet the principal and get you settled."
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They found the main office easily on the first floor, right at the top of the stairs. The principal herself was a small, friendly woman in her mid-fifties, who was all smiles upon seeing her newest student – and especially his father.
"Mr. David Rossi! I'm so happy to see you here! It's an honor that you chose our school for you son, sir." – She said, shaking the stunned man's hand and ushering both 'father' and 'son' inside to take seats. – "I can assure you we'll do everything in our power to make him feel welcome here."
"That's very nice of you, ma'am."
"Oh, that's the least I can do for such a legend as you are!" – Reid and Rossi shared a look; Collins had told them the principal was a fan but this level of hero worship was still somewhat… unexpected. – "Mr…?" – She continued, looking for the first time at Reid.
"Spencer, ma'am. Spencer R- ossi. Rossi."
"Spencer. I hope you don't mind me calling you that?" – He shook his head to indicate that no, he didn't mind. – "Thank you. So, Spencer: I have your timetable here. Usually our students get to make their own, of course, but since you're joining us in the middle of the semester, I thought it makes more sense to do it for you in a way that could help you catch up the best. Is it all right?"
"Absolutely. I'm sure Spencer appreciates it, don't you, son?" – Asked Rossi, turning to his youngest colleague, clearly enjoying playing their roles. Maybe a bit too much so, at least in the young man's opinion…
Reid had to keep himself from rolling his eyes. He really couldn't care less what boring lessons he'd have to attend while here.
"Of course, it's fine. Thank you." – He also forced a smile for good measure.
It seemed to do the trick, for the woman positively glowed with happiness as she handed him the paper that held all the necessary information about his classes.
"Your father sent a letter a few days ago, explaining how incredibly smart you are, so I signed you up for particularly everything we have to offer for eleventh grade…" – She explained merrily. – "You'll have German and Spanish languages, Algebra II, Advanced Calculus, Business Math and Statistics, World History and American History, Physics, Biology, Psychology, Sociology. Geography and Economics too. Oh, and Government, English Literature, Advanced Grammar, Computer Sciences and Physical Education. This latter was especially requested for two times a week. We accommodated all the wished you sent us, Mr. Rossi." – She assured proudly.
Rossi had, of course, not sent any letters. They both knew who had done it though… Especially with all the classes the 'incredibly smart' boy had been signed up to, and the two PEs… Dean was going to get an earful.
"That sounds… plenty." – Swallowed the genius. He had, naturally, taken all these and some more when he had been at school for the first and real time but this time, he had other things to do besides attend classes and he had hoped for a bit more freedom…
"Should there be any problems with these or you don't find your classes fulfilling enough, don't hesitate to come to me, young man!" – She told him.
"I'll be sure to do that, ma'am…"
"Fantastic! So, here's a key to your locker, you'll find your books already inside, waiting for you. These tickets…" – She waved them in front is his eyes. – "… you can use in the school cafeteria to get your lunch. And this is your card, use this to come and go. You also asked for the school bus, right?" – At their nods, she continued. – "It has been arranged for you. Are there any questions?" – Reid couldn't even open his mouth, he was so overwhelmed with the whole ridiculous situation while Rossi was… well. Rossi. – "No. All right then. Young man, your second class today will be Economics, I suggest you get your books and look for your classroom. The first period is nearly over anyway."
The genius nodded and got up. As he was leaving he could hear the principal nervously asking his 'dad' if he could possibly visit a couple of Literature classes and give lectures to the students… Reid wondered if the members of the Organized Crime Unit were maybe better profilers than they had initially thought…
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'Open the locker' was easier said than done. Ten minutes later found Reid still hitting/pleading/threatening/wrenching the cursed thing and not an inch closer to his books. He was starting to understand why the overenthusiastic woman had said he should head straight for the second lesson; though at this rate he would miss even that.
"Come on, you disgustingly ugly metal construction! Whoever designed you must have been out of their mind! Open, Sesame! Arrg!" – After a hard (unsuccessful) pull he fell back, landing painfully on his backside.
He was still sitting on the floor, blinking confusedly up at the treacherous monster when a dark shadow loomed over him, belonging to an angry-looking security guard.
"May I help you, young man?" – He asked in a voice that immeadiately made Reid come to the brilliant conclusion, that the man didn't really want to 'help' with anything but throwing him out of the building.
"I'm a new student." – He hurriedly explained, standing up with some difficulty (admittedly, he was still a bit sore from all the training they'd done…) and trying to look as if he knew what he was doing. – "I just got this key from the principal but it seems to be faulty."
"Faulty…?" – Repeated the security guard, clearly unbelieving.
"Yes, sir. See, it won't even fit in the lock." – He demonstrated his problems, hoping the strict man would eventually understand him and help. – "See? A total disaster, this thing is. I sincerely hope, nobody got paid for it."
The security guard narrowed his eyes suspiciously.
"Sorry, I didn't catch your name." – He said. Of course, both knew the newcomer hadn't introduced himself.
"Spencer Re- Rossi. Spencer Rossi."
"I haven't heard we'd get a new student today. It's a bit unusual, at the end of March, isn't it?"
"Ah…" – Should a security guard be told at all? He didn't have an idea but he wouldn't have thought so. – "We just moved here with my dad recently…" – The explanation didn't appear to be nearly enough. – "Oh, and I have my card." – He pulled it out, showing it to the man who inspected it for a good minute, probably checking if it was fake, before sighing.
"All right. You just don't seem old enough to be here at all." – Ignoring the boy's indignant gape, he shrugged. – "But whatever. You push it a bit, then put the key inside, hit it twice and then give it a sudden pull. It should work." – With that, he was gone, having lost interest already. If he couldn't throw the kid out, there was no point to standing there, conversing with him.
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"Excuse me, you're standing in front of my locker." – Came a soft voice from somewhere behind Reid, bringing him back to reality. How much time had passed since the rude security guard had declared him, 21-year-old FBI agent to be too young for high school, effectively rendering him speechless and motionless!?
"What?" – He asked unintelligently, turning around to find… a beautiful girl with wavy blond hair and huge blue eyes standing there, looking at him expectantly.
"You're blocking my locker…" – She said again, motioning towards the one beside his own.
The young genius stared for a couple of seconds before the words managed to reach his momentarily fully dulled brain.
"Oh! I'm sorry!" – He jumped away as if he had been stuck by a needle and watched as the girl expertly opened the chest, just like the guard had told him to do. He couldn't help blurting out: – "It's amazing!"
"Ahm… Sorry?"
"You… I mean! Ahm… The way you just did that… thing… you know… ahm…" – Was he really blushing? Now? Of all the times he could blush did it have to be now!?
The girl gave him a funny look.
"You're new here, aren't you?" – She guessed. – "You can't open your locker?" – So, she must be a profiler too… Or a relative to Sherlock Holmes.
"Ahm…" – Come on, Spencer, try to stick two words together, for God's sake! – "Khm…" – Genial… Some genius you are!
She didn't seem offended though.
"Let me help you!" – She laughed, holding out her hand. Did she want Reid to touch it? Or what should he do now? He was starting to hyperventilate here… - "Key?"
"Oh!" – Feeling totally stupid (not an everyday occurance for him at all), he handed her the key, careful to avoid skin to skin contact.
She quickly worked her magic, making it look so simple…
"Aaaand! Here you go!"
"Wow. Thanks. I don't even know how to thank you…"
"You're a junior?"
"I… think so…" – In reality, he had no idea. When he had actually been at high school he had finished all the available classes (minus sports and different arts of course…) in less than two years. He didn't know how the system really worked. – "I just got my timetable, it's all a bit new for me. I transferred from a… well.. private school. With different rules and all." – He added, hoping it was enough of an explanation not to appear too alien. But who was he kidding? He was an alien to everyone he'd ever met…
"That's fine. Let me see." – Without further ado, she snatched his timetable out of his limply hanging hand, and studied it thoughtfully. – "Wow. I've never seen anyone take so many different classes in one semester. You must be pretty smart!"
"Ahm…" – Yeah, hadn't he just sounded smart during this whole conversation!? He had to repress the urge to roll his eyes at his own denseness.
"Do you really speak Spanish and German?"
"Sí… Ja… I mean… Yeah… Is it… you know… freakish?"
"No, I think it's brilliant! I wish I could learn at least one foreign language. I don't seem to be very talented in that area though."
"I could maybe… help you?" – Stupid, stupid, Spencer! Why would she want help from you!?
"Really? I would love that very much!" – She would!? She WOULD!? – "But I'm taking French, I don't know if-"
"It's okay! I speak French!"
"Are you a genius!?" – She laughed.
"NO! I'm just… really interested in languages. So, would you like me to help you? I'd be glad to, you know, in exchange for your helping me open this horrible patchwork of a cabinet."
"I'd be happier than you could imagine!" – She was glowing and Reid felt as if he were floating above the clouds. – "What's your name?"
"I'm…" – What was it again? Oh, yeah… - "Spencer. I'm Spencer. Re- Rossi. Spencer Rossi."
"And I'm Sydney May Evans. I'm in twelfth grade. Oh, and I need to be going, I'll have Speech Class with Mr. Moore. He doesn't tolerate us being late… So… Here's my number, call me when you have time." – She looked around for a piece of paper and when she couldn't find any, she grabbed Reid's hand and scribbled her number on his palm. It was… ticklish. – "Bye, then!" – And with a last wave, she disappeared.
Reid couldn't move for a while and when he did, he finally realized the harsh reality: he would be late for his very first class at high school.
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It was 4 PM and he had just entered their shared apartment after an agonizing ride on the school bus. Rossi was cooking some kind of pasta with Pomodoro sauce and humming under his breath when the newfound high school student greeted him tiredly.
"Oh, Kiddo! What was your first day like?" – He inquired brightly.
"Ahm… Uneventful…?" – He tried, thinking back to his day.
Of course, he had gotten late to Economics, especially since he hadn't been able to find the classroom as easily as he had hoped he would. ('This school is a maze!' – He had thought angrily by the third wrong turn.)
But other than the gentle scolding he had had to endure for his tardiness, nothing spectacular had happened in either of his classes that day:
Economics had been ridiculously boring, especially since Reid knew very well half of the theories were… well. Just that: theories. Having lived the way he had his whole life (especially since his father had left when he'd been 4 years old and he'd remained alone with a sick mother who couldn't even remember to eat on her own, let alone pay bills) had made him an expert at manipulating Adam Smith's Invisible Hand Theory and other economical principles. Just a bit of playing cards here and visiting casinos there could change the whole balance of the universe…
Physics had been fine, he was currently studying it at CalTech (distance education, which nobody knew about) for a fourth PhD after all, it wasn't as if the teacher had been able to tell him anything new. He'd only had to pay attention to not fall asleep right then and there, as boring as it had been to listen to the most basic things all over again.
English Literature was, at least, something he'd always liked reading, no matter how many times he had read and heard everything about it. Growing up with a mother whose memory had been usually limited to Chaucer and co., he had gotten used to this topic of conversation. It seemed like this year it would be Shakespeare for most part for the students, and Spencer was all right with it. He liked Shakespeare.
Spanish had also been an easy ride: being fluent in at least ten different languages did have its pros and cons – mostly pros, unless you counted the fact that this way, he could understand even more people calling him 'freak' and 'unnatural'.
Chemistry had been the same as Physics with the difference that he already had his PhD in it: he had just concentrated on looking as if he'd been listening, and that was it.
Soon, he had found himself sitting in the school bus, warily looking around for bullies to attack him and finding – to his immense surprise – that nobody had shown any interest in hurting him at all. Or even talking to him. It was, as if they hadn't even noticed him being there at all. Had he become invisible? He wouldn't mind it so much…
"Uneventful?" – Repeated Rossi in disbelief. – "Kiddo, it's the first day of high school… Yare you really sure nothing notable happened?"
Reid had a sudden image of beautiful, nice and funny Sydney writing on his palm, giving him her number for later use. To help her with French… Well, that could mean a lot of things… Arg, don't go there, Spencer! She's much younger than you are, don't forget it! Never forget!
He couldn't help the shy smile though and – of course – the senior profiler, being one of the bests at his job, noticed it right away. He raised his eyebrows expectantly at the younger man, waiting for an explanation.
Reid just looked at him seriously.
"Nothing, Rossi. Absolutely nothing notable happened."
His oldest colleague's smirk made it clear he wasn't buying a word of it.