Dislcaimer: Don't own Newsies, don't own The Scarlet Letter... Don't own Vanilla Coke... Yeah, I don't own much besides the story.
Quick A/N: I LOVE YOU SATURDAY!
"Hello?" Snap. Snap. "Snitch?" Snap. "HEY!" CLAP.
"AHH!" I yelped loudly, ignoring the various glares and "shh"s I was receiving from my teachers. We were sitting in our school's church, or "chapel", listening to our priest preach about good ethics. Well, the rest of the high school was listening. I was—
"... drooling over Michael Reeves again!" I sighed, rolling my eyes as my best friend, Dominic, or Bumlets, as I call him, scolded me in a loud whisper. "I mean, come on, I know he's pretty good looking, and he has a band, but really, Snitch, how can you possibly have a crush on Michael Reeves?!"
God, here we go again.
"Why the hell do you care so much? What exactly is wrong with the guy, Bumlets?!"
Bumlets stared at me like I was the biggest idiot he'd ever seen. Seriously, that kid can be such a drama queen...
"I'll give you three reasons," Bumlets whispered determinedly, holding up three of his fingers. "One, he's straight, Snitch. Do you really think he'll just turn gay if you told him you liked him?"
"... It could happen..."
"Two, he's two years older than you!"
"Age is but a number..."
"And three—."
"Oh, shit, he saw me staring at him! HIDE ME."
"You can go hide yourself. Chapel's over." He stood up, grabbing my arm and dragging me along with him.
"You are a cruel, cruel friend."
"I'm just an honest friend."
"Honest, yes, but still very cruel."
Bumlets had been like that all his life, never giving you anything but the cold, hard truth. It used to bug me a lot when we were younger. Hell, it still bugs me, but on some level, I'm grateful he's that way. I know that he'll never lie to me, or tell me bullshit just to make me feel better. Then again, there are some times when I need that bullshit to keep me sane.
A firm hand on my shoulder jerked me roughly out of my thoughts. I whipped around, meeting the fierce gaze of my math teacher, and detention supervisor, Mr. Pearson. Now, on the outside, this guy may look like some random white dude who's obsessed with Bob Marley, but deep down, we all knew what he really was... Some random white dude who's obsessed with Bob Marley. Yet, we never remembered that, because we were too intimidated by that evil stare of his.
"You were talking throughout that whole sermon, Mr. Adler," he said, looking down at me. It was weird. No matter how tall you were, Pearson always seemed to tower over you. I was about an inch taller than he was, but somehow I had managed to shrink down the size of a fourth grader.
Luckily enough, instincts kicked in. "That is a very true statement, sir, but I assure you, I was talking with my friend here about the sermon." That's it, Snitch, just bullshit your way out of this...
"Were you?" Pearson replied, raising an eyebrow suspiciously.
"Oh, yes, sir. We were discussing Metaethics. That's critical and analytical thinking about priest objections to normative ethics."
Pearson was about to respond when a loud cry of "OH, FUCK!" rang in the air. He whipped around, searching for the culprit, most likely about to pull out his handy-dandy notebook and jot down another detention for whoever it was who was cursing profusely, right outside the chapel, no less.
I caught a glimpse of a broken saxophone and two male students, one kneeling beside the instrument about to rip out his hair, and the other nearly doubled over with laughter. The one on the ground was who I noticed first, considering it was my good friend, Marvin "Kid Blink" Schiff.
My gaze slowly drifted from Blink to the guy laughing, and I felt my heart begin to race. There was Michael Reeves, guitar slung casually over his back, now having to lean against the chapel wall to keep himself from falling over with laughter.
I probably would have been mad at him for laughing at my friend if his perfect laugh wasn't sending me into a coma at that moment.
Wait a minute. Blink was in the chapel band?
Lucky bastard.
Whoa, anyway, before I could come up with some random conversation to start, Pearson had already begun scolding Michael and Blink, and Bumlets snapping his fingers in front of my face again had jerked me back into reality.
"SNITCH! We're going to be late for class!"
"But I—."
But before I knew it, I was being dragged away again.
Japanese class had never been so long.
It felt like I was trapped in that freezing cold classroom for hours, but every time I glanced at the clock, only a couple minutes had gone by.
"Nihongo no shiken wa getsuyoobi desu."
Twelve-oh-five...
"Tango ga arimasu."
Twelve-oh-eight...
"Kanji mo arimasu."
Twelve-thirteen...
Finally, the clock struck twelve-fifteen, and I zoomed out of the classroom, making my way toward the vendors that sold lunch on the school lanai. Everyone always had to try to get there early, because if you're there later than twelve-twenty, the vultures, or "seventh graders" attack.
I was just turning the corner of the library, when for the first time since school started, there was Michael Reeves, walking toward me. It was as if time stopped... literally. I'm pretty sure no one around me was moving but him and me. You ever seen those movies where the guy sees his dream girl in slow motion, and the girl's hair is blowing in the wind with this angelic glow around her? Well, this was exactly like that.
Only he was a guy. And, er, he wasn't staring at me with a seductive grin. He was sort of just staring straight ahead. All right, that just ruined the moment.
"HI," I heard myself say, right as he was about to pass me. I mentally kicked myself for talking to him. I wasn't ready for this, I barely knew the guy! No wait, I didn't know him at all! God, I'm such an idiot.
Apparently, the stare he was giving me reaffirmed that thought.
"Hi..." he said slowly, raising an eyebrow. "Uh... Can I help you?"
Awkward silence.
"Hello?"
"SO, you're in the chapel band, right?" I am Captain Obvious. Come aboard my ship and we'll sail to the Land of Idiocy together!
"... Yeah..."
"That's neato."
He gave me that stare again. Of course, who wouldn't have? Wasn't "neato" considered officially "out", like, a million years ago?!
"Uh, thanks," he said, blinking. "I'm gonna go, now... See you, I guess."
"Uh, yeah, see you. Heh."
"BUUUUUUUMMMMLEEETTTSSSS!"
"OH MY DEAR SWEET LORD, DON'T YELL, YOU INSANE MINION OF SATAN!"
"... What have you been drinking?"
"Vanilla Coke. Want some?"
"Er, no thanks." I dropped my bag and quickly took a seat in front of my hyperactive friend.
"Soooo, guess what just happened," I said excitedly, pulling out the chicken and rice I had just bought.
"Ooh, let me guess," Bumlets replied, taking another sip of his Vanilla Coke. "Michael Reeves acknowledged your existence, serenaded you with a song on his guitar, before sweeping you off your feet and kissing you passionately?"
"Am I right?"
"If you were right, do you really think I'd be sitting here talking to you?" I stabbed at my rice with my fork somewhat glumly.
"Good point. So, what happened?"
"I talked to him," I replied with a small smile. "But only now do I realize how idiotic I must have sounded."
Bumlets raised an eyebrow, downing the rest of his Coke before grabbing another one out of his bag and opening it. "What did you say, exactly?"
"How many of those are you drinking?!"
"Well, no wonder he thought you were an idiot."
"No, I meant you!" I rolled my eyes. "Anyway, I said 'SO, you're in the chapel band?'"
There was a long pause, during which Bumlets took a swig of his Coke. He put the can down, and let out a sigh.
"I hate to say it, but that was pretty stupid."
"Thank you, Bumlets, thank you," I replied, slamming my head down onto the table. "Ow."
"Heh, at least you didn't slam your head into the chicken and rice," Bumlets replied, moving my lunch aside and patting my head. "Think of it this way, there are lots more things you could have said that would have sounded even more stupid."
"Like what?" I said, not lifting my head from the table. "I'm pretty sure that was dumbest of dumb."
"You could have said, 'OH MY GOD, YOU LOOK JUST LIKE MICHAEL JACKSON!'"
I lifted my head up, wondering if it was possible for someone to OD on Vanilla Coke. "You're really weird, Bumlets."
"Hey, better him thinking you're stupid than him thinking you're stupid, blind, AND in love with Michael Jackson."
"Thanks for that."
I sighed, leaning back in my chair and lowering my gaze to the floor. What if Michael really did think I was an idiot? He probably thinks I'm just some stupid, little sophomore. This sucks.
"Hey," I heard Bumlets say, snapping me out of my thoughts. "Don't worry about it, okay?"
I smiled for a moment, happy that Bumlets was actually being sincere for once.
"I just don't know how I'm going to face him again..."
"Oh, dear god, you're being such a drama queen."
Never mind.
I sat in the library during last period "reading" The Scarlet Letter, and trying not to fall asleep. Bumlets had drama class, so I left with no one but Hester Prynne to keep me company. I was halfway through the fourth chapter when someone tossed their bag roughly onto the table a few feet away from me.
"Shit," came a familiar voice. I glanced over and saw Michael Reeves slump down into a chair, staring at what looked like a math test. He heaved a sigh.
"Um, you okay?" I asked, unable to stop myself.
He turned toward me, looking somewhat embarrassed, as if he didn't know that I had been there the whole time. After a slight pause, he nodded.
"Yeah," he said, dropping the test onto the table. "Just failed another math test is all."
QUICK BRAIN CALCULATION:
Me: Good at math
Him: Bad at math
MeANDHim: TUTORING SESSION!
"I could help you if you want," I said, reaching for the test. "I'm pretty good at—."
"No thanks," he said quickly, snatching the test out of my reach. "I don't need any help, really."
Ack.
I turned away, picking The Scarlet Letter back up and reopening it to where I left off. "S-Sorry," I said, embarrassedly. "I just thought... I mean... Well, what I was trying to..." I trailed off, deciding it was best if I didn't talk. Had I offended him somehow? Good job, Snitch, you fucking moron.
"Don't be sorry," Michael said, beginning to glance over the test once more. "I just don't want anyone knowing how completely stupid I am."
"Just because you failed a math test doesn't mean you're stupid. I've failed a bunch of math tests before—."
"Maybe you're stupid." Ow.
I looked over at him, and found him smiling at me.
"Relax, Lukas, it was a joke," he said. "Or do you go by Luke? Which is it?"
I smiled. Muahaha, progress.
"Actually, most people just call me Snitch. Except for Pearson, who just calls me by my last name. What about you? Michael? Mike? Mikey?"
"Don't make me hurt you."
"That was a joke, too."
"Gotcha."
"Anyway, I go by Skittery."
Remember that feeling of time stopping, and that angelic glow that I told you about earlier? Yeah, it happened again. Only this time, the school bell snapped me back into consciousness, and the universal question popped into my head:
Why did they put a school bell in a library?
"Bah, why the hell did they put a school bell in a library?" Mich—Er, Skittery, said.
"That's exactly what I was thinking!"
"Hah, cool," he replied, picking up his bag and slinging it onto one of his shoulders. "So, I guess I'll see you later, then."
"Heh, yeah, see you."
That night after I got home, I was sitting at my desk finishing up the rest of my English assignment when the phone rang. I remember this distinctly, because not only did the ringing break the silence, but it scared the shit out of me and I banged my elbow against the corner of the table.
"Hello?" I said into the phone, rubbing my sore elbow.
"Um... May I speak to Lukas? Or... Snitch... Or—."
"Skittery?"
Holy fuck.
"Snitch?"
"Yeah, it's me," I said. Holy fuck. HOLY FUCK. Skittery... called... me? No way... NO WAY. "Uh... What's up?"
"Oh, um... You know how you said that you could help me with math?"
"Yes..."
"Well, my mom found out about it and wants you to, er, tutor me."
If I hadn't been sitting down, I would have leapt for joy. Or did a little dance. But, unfortunately, I was sitting down, so grinning like an idiot had to suffice.
But I couldn't let him know that... Okay, Snitch. Act. Natural.
"Uh, sure... Hm, everyone's got study hall first period. How about we meet in your first period classroom?"
"Er, actually... Can we meet somewhere else? Somewhere where there's... well, less people?"
"Uh, okay, sure... How about the library?"
"Sounds good."
"Okay, well... I'll see you tomorrow, then."
"Wait. Uh, you can't tell anyone about this, okay?"
Over-thinking process: He doesn't want people to know about him being tutored - he doesn't want people to know that I'M tutoring him - he doesn't want people to know that he was hanging around me...
In conclusion, he doesn't like me, or, at least, he doesn't think I'm "cool" enough to hang around him.
"Ouch," I thought aloud. I clapped my hand over my mouth. God, Snitch, you're stupid.
"... What?" Small pause. "Oh, shit, if you thought that meant that I didn't want to—It's not you... I just don't want..." I heard him sigh in exasperation. "You'll find out tomorrow."
"Um... Alright."
"See you."
"Bye."
Click.
Hanging up the phone, I leaned back in my chair, tapping my pencil idly onto the desktop.
Today had been a pretty fucking eventful day.
I was early to the library the next morning, so busied myself by doing what I do best.
Sleeping.
I had The Scarlet Letter propped up in front of me and was snoozing away behind it. Well, what? I went to bed really late the night before, and having to wake up at 6:45 is not exactly my favorite thing in the world.
I was rudely awoken by someone poking me in the head. I hated being poked.
"Don't poke me," I mumbled sleepily, covering my head with my book.
"But... I just did." My eyes snapped open, and I glanced up to find Skittery smirking at me. I slowly sat up straight and closed The Scarlet Letter.
"Good morning," Skittery said, dropping his bag and taking a seat across from me.
"Goomerg," I said groggily. He raised an eyebrow at me. "Sorry... I didn't sleep well last night..."
"I can tell," he said with a smile, dropping his bag onto the floor and taking a seat in front of me. "Looks like that book isn't too interesting either, huh?"
I immediately went into 'exasperated Snitch' mode. "I KNOW. It's so fucking boring! I mean, who ACTUALLY cares about Hester Prynne and that damned letter on her dress? And fuck, that's not even the worst part! Nathaniel Hawthorn's wording is confusing as hell! I mean, it's beautiful and all, but--."
"That's the last time I ask you about a book..."
I shook my head. "Sorry... I hate American Literature."
"Haha, yeah."
A small silence ensued after that, broken only by me clearing my throat.
"So," I said, stuffing The Scarlet Letter into my bag, not caring what condition it ended up in. "We should probably start working on math..."
At the mention of 'math', I noticed Skittery's gaze lower to the floor as he bit his lip.
"Or," he said, looking back at me. "We could, er, just talk..."
"But I thought you needed help with math," I said, tilting my head slightly.
"Well, I do... It's just that--."
"I've just heard from one of your parents that you're being tutored," came an all too familiar voice from behind me. I turned around, and found none other than Mr. Pearson himself, watching Skittery with that piercing gaze of his.
Oh, yeah, Pearson happens to be the toughest math teacher in our school, as well as the detention supervisor. That's also what made him seem so intimidating.
"Uh, yeah, I am," Skittery replied, motioning toward me. "He's helping me."
Pearson then rounded on me. "Well, then, you'd better start with this." He dropped one of the pieces of paper from the stack on his clipboard he usually carried around into my hands. With that, he walked away.
I looked down at the paper in my hands:
"So, what did I get?" Skittery said, trying to sound like he didn't care.
"An 'F'," I replied, still scanning over the test.
"Figures."
That's when I noticed the heading of the test:
ALGEBRA II
TEST #22
"Algebra II?" I asked aloud. "... You're taking ninth grade math?" I looked over at him. He seemed to have become completely fascinated with the hem of his school uniform shirt.
"Yeah, well," he replied, not looking up. "When I moved here, they pushed me back a grade... And I was never too good with math to begin with..."
"Is this why you didn't want me to help you with math?" I asked.
"Of course. Why else?"
"I don't know... You could have told me."
"I didn't want you to know."
"Why not?"
He didn't answer right away. Instead, he reached over and took the test paper out of my grasp. Scanning over it, and trying to hide as much of his face as possible, he said quietly, "Because you would never like me if you knew I was stupid."
I felt my eyes widen as he finished his sentence. He didn't want me to know what math he was taking because he liked me? It was too good to be true... But it was true. As much as I tried to wake myself up, the reality of the whole situation began to sink in.
"W-Well," I started. "I do like you, and not being good in math doesn't make you stupid."
"Wait a minute, back up," Skittery said, looking up at me and raising an eyebrow. "You like me?"
I smiled somewhat sheepishly. "Yeah... For a long time now, actually... And to think, yesterday I thought you thought I was a complete idiot."
"What? Why?"
"Because of that random conversation! 'So, you're in the chapel band, right?' I mean... how idiotic was that?"
"I was too overwhelmed by the fact that you were talking to me to notice how idiotic it was. ... But now that you mention it..."
"Oh, shut up."
We laughed for a little while, before the librarian yelled at us to be quiet. Skittery looked at me with a small, devious smirk on his face.
"What?"
"You were planning on kissing me sometime soon, weren't you?"
And the rest... was history. Well, until Pearson came back and gave us detentions for not working.
Then, suddenly, something hit me like the random conversation of the day before...
I never did find out what Bumlets' third reason was.
A/N: Muahaha, how'd you like THAT? ((coughs)) Okay, so, this was for my good friend, Saturday, who is effing awesome and you should ALL check out her fics if you haven't already! Go! My Incubus CD commandeth you! ((flees))
((shady character enters)) But don't forget to review... ((exits))