***05/25/2021: Hey! I'm currently re-editing this project because looking back on the first half of this four plus years later is straight up yikes. For those reading for the first time or are rereading, I highly recommend checking out my profile to know what chapters have been reedited already. It'll be there for the distinction of where you'll find a discrepancy in writing. I understand wanting to binge read, but I do warn that when you go beyond what has been already been reedited will sound different from the chapters beforehand and will look different after I do get to reediting it. So yeah, if you're still down to binge read, cool as shit. If you're willing to be patient with me and read along with the reediting, that'll be cool, too! Anyways, thank you for understanding and please enjoy!***
Hey Everyone.
With this story, I've decided to have the characters not be related, but also for them to have different ethnic backgrounds.
Blossom- French
Boomer- Native Hawaiian and Swedish
Brick- Scottish
Bubbles- Puerto Rican
Butch- Brazilian
Buttercup- Japanese
With that said, I hope you enjoy. Thank you!
As the city bus slowly approached his destination, Brick's stomach lurched. Gazing out the window, he grew a little familiar with his new surroundings, distracting himself. He knew applying to Townsville Academy was the most intelligent thing he could do after out-pacing his old school—and he knew he would be easily accepted; Brick didn't anticipate what moving to the entire opposite coast without knowing a single soul would feel like.
However, deep down, he knew he'll be fine.
The bus came to a steady stop in front of the Academy. Exiting the public transportation, Brick happily stretched his legs. Being stuck in a confined space for an extended period is definitely a disadvantage of being 6'2".
Mussing a hand through his copper locks under his hat, Brick reluctantly headed straight towards the campus's main office. He was informed via email of needing to visit there first to receive a tour of the campus. Needless to say, Brick didn't see the point after virtually touring the school just a week ago. Nor the point of being treated like a damn tourist.
Townsville Academy's campus has a colonial-style appeal, brick buildings swallowed by verdant ivy leaves. The academic buildings surrounded a sizable courtyard, where a large marble fountain was the centerpiece. Oak trees crowded along the pathways–most starting to lose their foliage for their autumn routine. Picnic tables laid under every other oak, waiting to be occupied by students.
The architecture and greenery reminded Brick of an Ivy League university. He smirked, believing this to be a sign of making the right choice.
Brick entered the office, which appeared more like a Grand Morbucks' hotel lobby than anything. Greeted warmly by the secretary, she informed Brick of how he'll need to have an introduction with the Principal, directing him towards their office.
Brick founded his new Principal speaking on the phone. He was sitting in an oversized, the back of his leather chair facing Brick. Taking a step out of the office, Brick didn't feel like intruding. However, the Principal stuck out a hand, motioning for Brick to take a seat.
Selecting one of the two chairs in front of the desk, Brick glanced around the room. There was an overwhelming, thick fruity odor in the air that overwhelmed your tongue and nose. The office was painted a bold red with a fluffy, pink carpet for the flooring (Brick found the color selection pretty fucking tacky). Pictures covered the walls, varying from past school events to personal photos. A shelf hung on the western wall, full knickknacks that were types of crustaceans. Brick scrunched his nose, arching an eyebrow by the eclectic choice of collectibles. The plaque on the desk stated Principal Him in bold lettering.
What the hell kind of last name is Him?
Principal Him spun his chair around, meeting Brick's face but avoiding eye contact. Brick straighten his face as Him was still consumed by the phone conversation. He wrote something down furiously, his voice echoing throughout the office, even though he spoke in a whispery, feather-like tone.
The Principal had slick, black hair styled in a ponytail and a pointy goatee. Pink-pigmented skin that easily flushed, sharp features, and high cheekbones. A spindly frame noticeable in his slim-fitted black suit. In spite of this, Brick found the most grotesque thing about Him to be his big sausage fingers. They were almost claw-like.
Brick, now, understood Him's obsession with crustaceans.
"I've told you already! Juvenile behavior will not be acceptable. If you do not discipline that little brat, you will be fired!" Him roared, slamming down the phone, changing from a whisper to a coarse, loud speech. His face burning red all over.
Brick blinked at the sudden outburst, his muscles clenching taut for a second or two. So, he's definitely not pissing him off...
He waited for Him to say something. Instead of apologizing for the erratic behavior, Him closed his eyes, massaging a hand along his narrow face. Him then flashed an oily smile at Brick, his skin fading from scarlet to pink.
"Hello. You must be Brick Adams."
Brick nodded slowly, knitting his brows to Him's quick change to a chirper tone. What a fucking weirdo.
"It's such a pleasure to meet you. I'm glad you've decided to transfer to Townsville Academy. I read your file the other day, and may I say, you're quite the fit for this school. I'm extremely impressed by your football stats and your entrance exam score. It's actually the second-best score we've ever received–Oh, where are my manners? I'd forgot to introduce myself." Him straighten out his claw of a hand, and Brick stared at it for a second, reluctantly shaking it. "I'm Principal Him–Now, where was I? Oh yes, I would like to address some general rules we have here at TA. First, absolutely no cheating of any kind on your assignments, or you'll be dealing with expulsion. Second, you must maintain a minimum GPA of 3.0—which from your file, you'll have no problem doing. Third, you're not allowed to enter any of the opposite sex's dorm room. Do you understand?"
Brick nodded again, trying to keep up with Him's rapid pace of speaking. The only things he got from the introduction is Him's name and how "glad" he is for Brick to be here. Whoop-de-fucking-do...
"Splendid! Here's your schedule, room key, and other information you'll be needing. Mr. Kealoha should be by the front desk. He'll be showing you," Him said. "I hope you have a heavenly day!"
"Thanks," Brick muttered out, rushing out of the office. He'll be happy to not be back there for the rest of his time spent at the Academy.
Approaching the front desk, he scanned for his welcoming committee. There were three other people in the office: the secretary, a blond male, and a brown-haired girl. The blond and the girl were engaged in a light conversation, the latter giggling at something said. Given that Principal Him told his tour guide would be male, Brick wasted a brain cell of figuring out the obvious, tapping on the blond's shoulder.
"You're Kealoha, right?" Brick asked dubiously, shifting his crimson eyes between the two strangers. The girl shared a smile before excusing herself. Brick learned her name is Robin from Kealoha shouting out a goodbye.
Cerulean eyes met Brick's, smiling. "That's my last name." They stood there silently as a few seconds passed, his blue eyes widening. "Oooh. You must be the new kid?" Brick nodded, lips pressed tightly together. The blond grinned lazily, resting a hand on his chest. "Gnarly, dude. I'm Boomer."
Boomer was about two or three inches shorter, wiry and lean. His blond hair almost completely bleached from prolonged sun exposure. The rich, bronze tone of his skin greatly contrasted with the ocean blue hue of his eyes—a lost Beach Boys member, in the flesh and in front of Brick.
"Brick."
"I guess we should start the tour," he said as Brick followed alongside him into the courtyard. "What do you want to see first?"
"Doesn't matter," Brick shrugged.
Throwing an arm over an uncomfortable and squirmy Brick's shoulders (What the actual fuck? Did he think he'll lose Brick or some shit?), Boomer escorted him around the exterior of the campus, telling him about the Academy's history—or, at least, tried to. Someone didn't brush on their history well enough to finish a thought or story without jumping to the next or adding a shit ton of "uh..." or "umm..."
They entered McCracken Hall—or, as Boomer dubbed it, the "only hall that matters." Brightly illuminated, the white-tiled floor shined underneath their feet (Brick could practically see his reflection in the tiles. The fucking tiles!). Lockers sequenced in turquoise and cherry red, matching the school colors—flyers for clubs and sports filled and covered any spare surface of the walls.
As Boomer turned around to show Brick the gymnasium, the bell rang, the hallway flooding with students. He navigated Brick through the current of classmates, waving and smiling at some. They were close to leaving when Boomer got distracted by something, guiding Brick as he mumbled, "I should probably introduce you to—"
Brick didn't catch the rest, thanks to the reverberating chaos of the hall. He furrowed his reddish-brown brows together, however, as Boomer brought him to a girl's locker.
"Blossom, I want you to meet the new kid." Blossom, who'd been searching through her locker, turned to them, arching a brow. "This is Brick Adams," Boomer said, pointing to Brick's chest. Brick glared at him, brushing his hand away. "And this is our class president, co-head cheerleader, and dance team captain. Blossom Blanchette," Boomer informed before (finally!) letting go of Brick and drifting away to talk with another classmate.
"Someone is an overachiever," Brick said sardonically, crossing his arms.
She was shorter than him but held herself in a way that made their height difference barely noticeable. Her skin like flawless porcelain; her light orange hair could be passable as a bronzey blonde. Plump lips, rosy cheeks, and watermelon-pink eyes, she had a delicate appearance. Almost doll-like.
"This school is for overachievers. Mediocrity isn't going get you anywhere," Blossom said flatly, flitting her gaze to beyond them.
"Right."
An awkward silence fell between them, and Brick wasn't going to be the one to say anything. What did he care?
Eventually, Blossom let out a quiet sigh, sagging her shoulders as she met Brick's gaze again. He angled his head a little, recognizing that sigh. He knew—
Blossom gave him a wan smile, stepping to the side. "It's nice to meet you, Brick Adams. I'll have to get to know you better later. Got French right now."
She took a step or two before stopping, glancing back at him. "Also. As Class President, I should inform you, you're breaking dress code with that hat of yours." She turned her back to him. "You're lucky it's your first day," she promised in such a quiet voice. Brick almost didn't hear her as Boomer rejoined his side.
"How did that go?" Boomer asked with all the goodness and delight similar to a dog who just got a lengthy belly rub.
"She's," Brick paused, searching for the right word. "Incongruous."
"Dude." Boomer clipped his shoulder, which Brick shrugged off. Why is he so damn touchy? "I have no clue what that means, but it sounds cool." Brick opened his mouth to explain, but all that came out was an exasperated breath as Boomer, yet again, threw an arm around Brick's shoulders—There's no use fighting it, is there? This is what Brick's life has unfortunately come to. "Blossom can kind of be intimidating at first, but once you get to know her, she's a pretty solid lady," Boomer rambled, leading Brick to the gym. "You know if she likes you."
"How you liking campus?" Boomer asked, leading Brick through the lunch line, deciding between getting an apple or an orange. He shrugged his shoulders, taking both with a grin.
"Bigger than I'd thought," Brick said, exiting the line.
"That's usually the new kids say–except, we've only had three over the past couple of years. You're the third–"
"Boom, who's the ginger?" A dark-haired male shouted across the courtyard, earning him a lot of stares. He caught up with them amid their search for a picnic table.
Two inches taller than Brick, his dark curls were gelled messily. Making it look as if he'd just rolled out of bed, but not in a sloppy way. Sinewy and well-defined muscles, he had a deep tan complexion.
"Butch, this is Brick. The new kid I'd told you about," Boomer informed, taking a step back to let them interact. "He used to play varsity football at his old school."
Butch grinned, his forest-green eyes lighting with interest. "Varsity, huh? What position?"
"Wide Receiver."
"Any good?"
Brick snorted. "I'd scored at least one touchdown per game, went for almost twelve hundred yards last season. Also played cornerback a few times because of injuries."
Butch raised a brow. "Did–"
"We won two championships," Brick answered with a smug grin. What? Humility and he weren't such great friends.
"No shit?" Butch chuckled. "So you're definitely joining our team then."
"Well-"
"It's going to be fucking epic to finally have someone who can catch a ball for once."
"Sure," Brick said cautiously, and before any more could be said, the three heard Boomer's name being called. Brick let out a breath of relief, easing the tension in his shoulders as they made their way to his saviors (Overdramatic? Maybe, but it's been a long day, and it wasn't even past noon yet).
One of those at the table was Blossom. The other two was a tall, lithe girl with chin-length hair and rounded eyes. The other was curvy with dirty blonde curls. Boomer immediately went to sit down next to the blonde, kissing her cheek.
Girlfriend, Brick gathered. He didn't know how but whatever. Good for him.
Butch sat across from Blossom, who was next to Bubbles and Boomer, forcing Brick to sit in between Butch and the dark-haired girl.
"This pretty lady is Bubbles," Boomer said, smiling like a kid who just received the gigantic lollipop of their dreams. He then nodded to the girl next to him. "And that's Buttercup."
"It's very nice to meet you," Bubbles greeted. Her voice so sugary sweet, Brick was afraid of catching a cavity.
"Totally," deadpanned Buttercup.
"Buttercup and Bubbles?" Brick arched a brow, letting out a wry laugh.
"What."
"Nothing. It's just... That's really your names?"
Blossom and Boomer were already ridiculous names, but Buttercup and Bubbles? That's some hippy-dippy shit right there.
"Yes and no. Bubbles is a nickname that Butch gave me freshmen year–"
"She has a bubbly personality," Butch explained, unasked and unneeded while stuffing his mouth with fries. The entire table scrunched their noses at his ill manners.
Bubbles giggled, catching Brick's attention again. "My real name is Olivia, but everyone calls me Bubbles. I actually prefer, too." She took a sip of her soda. "Blossom and Boomer are nicknames too."
"And it'll haunt you for the rest of your entire high school career," Blossom said frostily. "I'm named after my grandmother, Rosemarie, but now I share the same name as a 90s sitcom character."
"I gave you that name because you're as beautiful as a flower, not because whoever the hell you're referencing," Butch defended.
"Don't suck up now, Butch."
"Why not? It's gotten me this far." He reached across the table for her hand, stroking a thumb along her knuckle. "Think I'll keep it up."
Blossom rolled her eyes, a soft smile curving her lips. "You love making me miserable, don't you?"
"It's what I look forward to every day."
Brick furrowed his brows at them. So there are two couples here. He glanced to Buttercup beside him, slightly narrowing his eyes. Is this a set-up? The perfect trifecta? If so, Brick wasn't into the idea. Solely based on the first impression, he could already tell Buttercup would never, never, never ever be his type. And―
"Do you have a problem?" Buttercup whispered sharply to him.
His eyes flitted away, keeping his composure. "No." He sipped from his water bottle, barely giving her another look as he said, "Just wondering if Buttercup is your real name."
"Sort of," she answered after a moment. Her voice had a throaty grit to it, the grinding of salt rocks in Brick's ears. "It's the translation of my name."
"Which would be..."
"Batākappu." Brick creased his brows, and she let out an exasperated breath. He could feel her eyeroll, the strength of it and the stars she must have seen after. "It's Japanese."
"Ah. That's," Brick paused, shrugging. "That's cool, I guess."
"Thanks. Was dying for your opinion," she said mordant.
He almost cut her a burning glare, but Bubbles spoke up, and Brick didn't care anymore about this Buttercup girl and her cheap comment.
"While we're talking about our names, why Boomer is Boomer?"
"It has been three years, and we still don't know why," added Buttercup.
Butch let out a laugh. "He reminded me of a boomerang when I'd spent freshmen year trying to get rid of him, but he would never leave. Boomerang is too long, so Boomer was it."
"Wow. I never knew," Boomer awed, which Brick didn't get. "My mind is completely blown."
"Did you hear the part about him wanting to get rid of you? Because your "best friend" is an asshole, Boom."
"Can't go one day without starting shit, huh?" Butch fired back.
"Butters, it's fine," reassured Boomer. "It's all cool. We can be chill, alright?"
"Boomer is right. Chill out," Blossom said in such a commanding tone, both Buttercup and Butch shut their mouths, sagging into the bench like it was quicksand.
"Still don't know Boomer's real name," Buttercup said after some tense and silence-filled minutes.
"It's nothing awesome. It's–"
Before Boomer could answer, an all too familiar voice rang through the school's PA system.
"Attention, students. I'm very pleased about our new school year. I know this'll be the best one yet. I can't wait for the memories we'll make and for your progress." Principal Him paused. "I would also like to inform you that your lunch period is now officially over."
Everyone in the courtyard stared at each other, unsure if they heard Him correctly or not.
"I thought lunch wasn't over for another ten minutes?" Bubbles asked, innocuous.
As if Principal Him heard her personally, he came back on the PA, but this time, with a more berating tone.
"That means to get to class! Now!"
Moving like they were trapped in a building about to go out in blazing glory, students rushed to their feet, practically scattering in every direction, sending the newly formed group of six separate ways.
The group reunited by seventh period, sharing the same final class. Creative Writing with Ms. Keane, a requirement for seniors.
A popular teacher among the upperclassmen, Ms. Keane had previously taught their English class the year before and decided to follow them up a grade level too. To some, she was like a mentor, a mother figure.
Her class lined up outside in the hall, waiting for her to come back from her lunch break. To pass the time, Bubbles and Boomer shared a set of earbuds, silently singing together. Buttercup did the same, nodding along to her own music. Butch chatted Blossom's ear off, and from the face she's making, Brick could tell she did not approve of what he's saying.
Brick stood between all of them, not sure where or what to do. He would be like a flame surrounded by moths at his old school, but now, he was the new kid. The person you really want to get to know, yet don't because you didn't care enough to. The thought of spending his senior year practically alone wasn't awful, but it also wasn't desired.
Fuck. He has to make friends, huh? Just another shortfall he didn't consider upon his transferring.
He looked at his classmates, trying to find someone unoccupied. He only found two. Buttercup and a short, red-headed boy reading a book. Not to give into old-dated stereotypes, but based on his appearance (thick glasses, sweater vest, pressed khakis, Sketchers that Brick swore light up), Brick could take a guess he was the "school nerd." Which, nope. Brick would rather not.
Brick glanced to Buttercup, deciding on whether to approach her. As if she already knew what he's thinking, she sent him a scorching glare, slowly shaking her head once.
So... That's a big fat fucking no.
Brick let out an exasperated sigh, turning to his only option. Did he really need a friend? How important are they? Brick wouldn't know. He didn't care to. But to be alone for his senior year?
We all got to make scarifies sometimes.
Dubiously, Brick stood beside the redhead, who's about a foot shorter, tapping on his shoulder. The boy didn't dare to look up from the book he was reading.
"Yes? what is it?" he asked with a slight lisp. "Is Ms. Keane finally back?"
"No. I—"
"Then why bother me?
Brick chewed down his tongue, keeping his face neutral. "Wanted to introduce myself. My name's Brick. I just transferred—"
"Transferred?" he gasped, shutting his book and shoving it into his overstuffed backpack. He readjusted his glasses, narrowing his opal eyes. "No one told me about a transfer student. Tell me. What qualified you to even step foot on this campus? What's your grade point average? Extracurricular activities? Entrance exam score?" he quizzed, unimpressively eyeing Brick up and down.
"Um." Brick blinked, feeling he was being interrogated. What the fuck? He didn't need this. He didn't need a friend if this the shit he'll have to go through... but is this chump questioning his intelligence? Brick shouldn't care. He didn't care. Yet, he wasn't going to walk away from a challenge like this. Brick cleared his throat, matching the boy's dissecting stare. "I have a 3.9 GPA unweighted and 4.7 weighted—"
"I guess that's decent enough. Most of the Neanderthals here can only amount to a 3.2. Although it's not as impressive as my 4.0 unweighted and 5.1 weighted," he interrupted, nodding his head.
"I'd played varsity football—"
"Ugh, sports." He scrunched his nose, waving Brick off dismissively, turning away. "You've already lost me. You're just going to be another Butch."
Brick ground his teeth together, his chest hollowing. Another Butch?
Why did everyone think—Why couldn't it be just him? Why did he care?
The last thing Brick needed to do was entertain this boy who couldn't even ride most of the rollercoasters at Disneyland. Inhaling deeply, Brick angled his chin a little.
"Then I guess you'll never know my entrance exam score," Brick shrugged.
The short boy slowly turned his head, sighing. "Fine. I could use a good laugh, anyway."
"I got 982," Brick said, his voice cold as steel, watching as the light in the nerd's eyes go out. Good. "Second-best score."
He stared, his mouth agape. "But, but—That's impossible. You couldn't have done better than me." He took off his glass, rubbing them clean on his sweater vest. "A dumb jock did better than me," he muttered, shaking his head full of scarlet curls. A few seconds passed, and for some reason, he extended his hand to Brick. "Somehow, in some way, you did better than me. A task that only one other at this school could ever. Because of that, I will respect you from now on. Congratulations."
Brick reluctantly took his hand, noting the wimp handshake. This place is so fucking weird.
"Thanks."
"I'm Dexter. Dexter O'Reilly."
"Right," Brick nodded. Well, he apparently made a friend, not that Brick has figured out yet if he wanted this sort of friend.
Thankfully he didn't need to as someone shouted about Ms. Keane's arrival. Dexter promptly ran to the door to be the first seated, leaving Brick alone. The rest of the class followed, lining up against the wall as Ms. Keane took roll, assigning a seat to each student.
"Come on, Keane. You're not really going to giving us a seating chart," Butch said, slightly on the whiny side. His crossed arms reminded Brick of a toddler throwing a fit over not receiving the toy they'd wanted. "We're seniors, not kindergartners."
"Mr. Santos, if you want me to be honest, I made this chart because of you. After your antics with Mr. Ramirez and Mr. Mitchelson last year that cut into my class time so much, I was unable to go over Macbeth, House of Mirth—"
"What a fucking tragedy," Butch said sardonically, which Ms. Keane ignored.
"—Which was a big part of your final exam. And if I do remember correctly, you'd almost failed—"
"That's private information," he whispered harshly for everyone to hear.
Ms. Keane raised a brow in challenge, steely in her disposition. "If that's not enough to reason with you, I'm sure your classmates wouldn't want to go through another year of you constantly trying to impress Miss. Blanchette."
"She's right," Buttercup monotoned from the back of the line, earning a skin-cutting glare from Butch.
"But—"
"Butch, just go sit down already," Blossom said softly, blood filling cheeks red from Ms. Keane's previous comment. Brick could see to fight in Butch, but he eventually sagging his shoulders in defeat, asking where his seat was again.
Before he went in, Blossom grabbed his shoulder, pecking his lips. "Don't get worked up over the little things, alright?" she told him, and he smiled in return.
Within a few minutes, there was only one more desk to be filled, and that was Brick's.
"You must be the new student." Brick nodded, despite the fact having aged like milk in just a few short hours. "It's a pleasure meeting you, Mr. Adams," she said, genuine and kind, staring down at her clipboard. "Now let's see... You're seated by the window. Right behind Miss. Blanchette and in front of Mr. Ramirez."
"Thanks."
In his seat, Brick glanced around the room, noticing the relatable disquietude of the room. Butch sat right in front of Ms. Keane's desk, Buttercup to the right of him. The two exchanged dirty looks whenever the other wasn't looking.
Next to Buttercup was Dexter engrossed in his book again. Boomer and Bubbles were on opposite sides of the classroom. Blossom's head was turned to stare out the window beside her and Brick. The guy behind him wore a pair of sunglasses to hide he'd fallen asleep.
Brick didn't blame him, wishing to do the same. Or maybe he just wanted the end of the day.
In months, he'll realize it would be the school year.
Brick planned on settling into his dorm. In the morning, the papers he was given didn't state who's his roommate, only his room was in Kenny Hall and was number 112.
On his tour, Boomer said that he'll be in the same hall, which probably meant unprovoked visits by him. Yay...
When he found his room, Brick wasn't unsure whether to knock or simply open the door with his key.
Ah, fuck it.
Brick shoved the key into the slot, turning it.
His roommate wasn't there as Brick glanced around the 15x15 foot room that would be his new home for the next year. It's much bigger than his room back home, and luckily, there's a bathroom installed in the room, which was on Brick's will-be-side of the room. The closet he would be sharing was on his roommate's side.
A pile of dirty clothes laid next to the closet, almost able to rival Mount Everest in height. His roommate didn't bother with making his bed, leaving his camo-printed bedding a wrinkled mess. A collection of sports equipment hung in a bag on the mahogany door, apparently an athlete of some kind.
The room came with two desks, and his roommate neglected to use his. A bible and picture frame were the only things on the vacant desk.
Brick picked up the frame, examining the photo. He frowned, expecting some kind of family photo, but instead, it was of his roommate and girlfriend. He had his arms wrapped around her waist while she grabbed onto his muscular arms. Lovestruck smiles on their lips, too busy with each other to look at the camera. The girl's bright orange hair still stood out like it did earlier in the day.
The doorknob began to jingling behind him, alerting Brick to put the photo back down. He rushed over to his desk chair, keeping a cool demeanor like he'd been sitting there the whole time.
"What the fuck?" Butch shouted when entering the room, throwing his key at Brick's head. He missed by an inch. Brick arched a brow as Butch clutched his chest, flaring his eyes at Brick. "Jesus fucking Christ! Why are you in my room? Wait—How did you get in here?"
Brick jingled his room key. "Looks like we're roommates."
"Roommate?" Butch repeated, scrunching his nose at the thought neither liked. "Nothing against you, but no one told me about a roommate, and—Ah dude, this means I can't have Blossom sleepover now. This fucking blows," Butch exhaled dramatically. Brick arched his brow more, crossing his arms. Butch rubbed at the back of his neck. "I'm making you feel unwelcomed, aren't I?"
"No, go on," Brick smirked.
Butch inhaled sharply. "Still working on the whole talking without a filter thing."
"It's whatever."
"Sure," Butch nodded. He gestured around the room. "Need a tour?"
"I think I've seen enough."
"You're missing out on one hell of a tour," Butch chuckled, opening the bathroom door. "I'mma take a shower. If you have to piss, Boomer's room is across the hall."
With Butch in the shower, Brick took the time to set up his side of the room. He didn't bring much with him, didn't have much to bring. He only brought his favorite pillow, a month and a half worth of clothes, his red hat and watch, sports equipment, and a couple pictures of him and his mom.
As he hung the last photo, the room looked decent. Livable if he has to. He sighed, sinking into his firm, twin-sized bed, closing his eyes for a few minutes.
In what he'd thought was only a small moment of dozing off had actually been three hours, as Brick was awoken by Butch.
"What the fuck?" he muttered.
"Kickback tonight," Butch informed him, innocuous as if he didn't awaken Brick from the deepest nap he's ever had, lacing his AF1s from his side of the room. "Want to go?"
"I'll pass." Brick turned his hat frontwards, lowering it to cover his eyes. He was tired from the day, starting to feel his jet lag.
"Come on," Butch said, pulling his hat off. Brick glared at him, snatching out it of his hand. "This is a good chance to get to know everyone. Make some friends. Maybe even make some lady friends." Butch made a kissy face, and Brick flicked him off. Butch bellowed out a laugh like a hyena as Brick rolled his eyes, mussed his short hair, putting his hat back on. "Fine. Be lame."
Brick's jaw twitched. How come it's been less than twenty-four hours, and he's been called lame and questioned of his intelligence? Oh, and his ability to overachieve.
Time to prove them wrong, huh?
"No," he groaned. "I'll go.
Butch grinned. "Great. We leave in fifteen."
The kickback was on campus in an abandoned building. Butch said it used to be for the Agricultural program before Him cut it out of the curriculum. Now the building was vacant during the day, and where students partied after hours.
Butch also says it's one of the best places to hook up on campus, which created many images Brick didn't need in his head.
From the outside, it appeared like no one has stepped foot in the brick building in years. Inside, there must have been a hundred people. A dance floor was in the center of the space, speakers blasted an old but popular Rihanna song. In one corner, an intense beer pong competition was underway. Between, friends socialized, couples mysteriously disappeared, and Brick stood solemnly, drinking a beer while leaning against a wall, wondering why did come again.
Oh, right. To prove people wrong.
He sipped on his beer, letting the malty bitterness refresh his tongue—so much fun.
"Not your scene, huh?"
Brick glanced at the person beside him. "Back home, it would be. Here, it's kind of…"
"Uncomfortable?
"Boring," he corrected, eyeing her a bit more. She wore makeup now. Deep-red eyeshadow, thick coat of mascara, pink-glossed lips. In a plaid, black and red minidress, her skin looked white and pristine as snow. Her strawberry-blonde hair was loose and flowy, reaching her waist.
Brick must have looked at her a little too long because lines creased on her forehead.
"What?" she asked tentatively.
Brick shook his head. "Don't worry about it."
"You have a staring problem," she said, crossing her arms.
"No. I don't." He sipped on his beer, chuckling in his head. Staring problem? What is there to look at? Well— "Didn't expect this to be your scene. That's all."
Blossom let out a quiet breath, leaning back into the wall. "It isn't, but I have to show up. I really only enjoy the dancing and Butch," she smiled faintly, catching his eyes. "Most of the time, anyways."
He flitted his eyes. "Where is Butch? I lost him after we got here."
"Defending his beer pong title. Going 41 games strong."
"Aren't you a cheerleader? Shouldn't you be cheering him on?" Brick said sardonically.
"Can't. He claims I'm too distracting."
"Prince Charming, huh?"
She let out what Brick couldn't consider a laugh but was probably close to one. "You can say that."
"Then I have to ask," he said, meeting her gaze again and holding onto it this time. "How does it feel to be dating a beer pong legend?"
Blossom took the time to think over her answer, and Brick didn't know if that was ridiculous or commendable. "Never dull and surprisingly sweet." She paused, grimacing a little. "Except for when he wants to make out after downing twelve drinks. Beer breath isn't lovely."
"That's hilarious," Brick smirked.
"Trust me. It's not."
"I've probably been there. More likely, I was Butch."
"Okay, so you have no right to find this amusing. You've probably traumatized some poor girls in…"
"Boston," he finished.
Blossom nodded, probably downloading and cataloging the fact in the supercomputer brain he presumed she had. "You've probably traumatized some poor girls in Boston just as I've been."
He smirked at her again. "Maybe you should ban beer pong. That could solve your problem." Blossom opened her mouth to reply but closed it. She stared at him thoughtfully, and Brick furrowed his eyebrow. "You're not seriously thinking about it?"
"It'll be too much, logistically."
"Right. Logistically."
"But a girl can dream," she sighed.
"Dreams are overrated."
She snorted. "Okay, Fall Out Boy."
Brick screwed his face at the reference, about to rebuke it—
"Don't you have one?" Blossom asked, quiet and soft. Her pink eyes studied him intently. "Everyone has a dream."
"Nope."
"What about football?"
Brick's jaw twitched. "What about it?"
Blossom shrugged, flitting her eyes across the wide room. Brick followed her gaze, leading to Butch. Oblivious to their conversation and her eyes on him as he egged on a classmate to chug a beer. "He told me you're once in a generation talent." She tilted her chin back up to Brick. "Butch doesn't compliment others so easily. Not when it comes to competition."
Brick drank his beer. He should say something. These people (except for that Buttercup girl) have been so nice to him, and all he's done is snark, dismiss and shrug them off.
But he's Brick, and Brick wasn't known to be nice.
"Not a dream for me."
An awkward silence fell between them as they watched the group on the dance floor—Ariana Grande's "Into You" filling the air. Brick expected for her to leave, but Blossom stayed, pushing her hair to one side and using her hand as a fan.
Should Brick have dressed up more? Butch said a kickback, which meant super casual in Brick's head. Plain white shirt and black jeans. Yet, here's Blossom in a... nice dress that didn't look cheaply made like the other girls wore back home, and Brick felt so underdressed. So outclassed.
He narrowed his eyes, unintentionally inching closer to her. His arm brushing against hers, the coolness of her skin lingering for a moment that neither noticed nor acknowledged.
"You don't like it here," Blossom said bluntly, and Brick almost let out a laugh. How did she—
"Never said I didn't."
"It's obvious."
"What's not to like?"
Blossom's eyes were on Butch again. "It's new and weird. It's rigid. It's too much."
She had a point.
"Try making friends," Blossom advised when Brick didn't say anything back.
"Pretty sure Boomer wants to get matching tattoos with me after today," Brick deadpanned.
"Boomer is a good boy," she smiled. "And Bubbles is the sweetest person ever. You wouldn't have to do much to win her over." She flitted her eyes to Brick and then back to Butch. "He's psyched about you being here. Just needs to come to terms with the roommate arrangement."
He let out a dry chuckle. "Didn't mean to get in-between you and him."
The corner of her mouth lifted. "As if you would."
Brick lowered his stare to the empty cup in his hand. "What about the other one?"
"She has a name," Blossom said, and Brick could hear the protective edge to her voice. "Buttercup is very picky about people. Has a no asshole policy."
Does she apply it to herself, Brick almost asked, but that would mean caring about this Buttercup girl and her opinion. "Good policy."
"It is," Blossom said. "You'll do well here."
Brick smirked, his chest loosening. "That's nice to know."
"Dexter is an odd one, but he needs a friend too—"
"What."
Blossom coolly slid her eyes to meet his. "Saw you talking to him today. Looked friendly."
Yeah, sure. Got told he wasn't good enough just because he likes to catch a ball—the absolute definition of friendship.
"He is an odd one," Brick put politely. He wanted more beer. He should get some more. He should go back to his dorm and sleep the night away. "What about you?"
Blossom blinked. For a second, Brick swore he saw it again, but the look was frozen over swiftly. "What do you want me to think?"
Brick tilted his head, squinting his eyes. "That's not a good question."
"Says you."
"Ask anyone else. They'll agree."
"But I'd asked you."
Brick wanted to say something, to walk away.
Instead, he smiled. Just faintly, just for a second or two.
"You did."
Incongruous, indeed.
"You're way better than the last new kid," she admitted after a moment. "He's not—"
"My, my, Blossom. It's not in good taste to talk about people behind their backs," a lanky guy said. Brick had no clue where he came from, almost close to believing he teleported or some shit. He lowered his shades (which, sunglasses at night? What a loser). Greasy, long black hair and a face full of acne scars, Brick recognized him as the guy who'd fallen asleep behind him in Ms. Keane's class.
"Ace," she said frigidly.
"Who's your new friend?" Ace raised an eyebrow, shifting his gaze between the two, and Brick pressed his lips together tightly, stepping away from her a little.
"Brick," he answered for Blossom, terse.
"Uh-huh." He treated the information like it was sewage to ignore, keeping his focus on Blossom. "Where's Butch?"
Blossom stared at him so coolly, Brick thought Ace would freeze in place. "Where do you suppose?"
"Why so rude? We're all friends here," Ace smiled oily. "Just trying to catch up. Know what's going on with you."
"Nothing is going on," she said. "You should go. Butch probably would like you to back him up in his game."
Ace narrowed his eyes, a sign of unrelenting at the signal of defeat, a feeling Brick knew all too well. "He probably does," he said, turning his back to her. "See you around, Blossom."
"He doesn't qualify for the no asshole policy," Brick said sardonically as Blossom and him watched Ace joined Butch.
Blossom let out what sounded like a tight breath caught between a laugh. "You'll be surprised who does." She glanced at the dance floor as Drake's "One Dance" played. "I'm going to dance," she said, pushing off of the wall. Her eyes lingered on Brick. "Want to join?
"I'm not much of a dancer," Brick said, feeling his bed calling out to him the louder and louder as he stood there. "Need a few more beers in me."
"More of a reason for why you should," Blossom replied. "Let yourself have fun."
And that's precisely what Brick decided he'll do.
Next Chapter: Blossom and Butch have a disagreement. Brick deals with a previous decision.