Disclaimer: I don't own Newsies, Empress of the World, or and other media references I may make.
Emperor of the World
June 19th, 7:30 am, Specs's and My Room
This time Specs was the one who threw a book at me. I think he was waiting until just the right time. This is the first time he's been awake before me.
My face was stuck to the pillowcase and overnight it had become puffy and red. The tears had dried and left an itchy residue on my cheek. I looked like crap.
Specs seemed to notice because when I sat up he apologized quickly and I sunk back down into my blankets. I didn't want to get up. I wanted to stay in bed all day and just sigh melodramatically and listen to very loud, angry music. Except I don't like loud, angry music. I like The Flaming Lips' 'Fight Test' and the occasional song by Eels or The Smiths. Otherwise I would rather not.
Specs heaves himself out of bed and brushes his teeth. He even pulls on a clean pair of jeans obviously and looks at me.
"Get out of bed Dutchy," he says, "you're impossible."
I groan and literally roll out of bed so that I hit the ground. It hurts a lot because I land on my small and scattered collection of CDs, but I'm sure I will have a satisfyingly huge bruise.
I struggle to stand up and I throw my wrinkled sheets over my bed. Then I pull off my shirt and on another one that I find on the ground and pull cords on over the same boxers I was wearing yesterday.
"You're wearing the same underwear?" asks Specs, disbelievingly.
I don't answer because I don't like talking at the moment. I wish I could go back to bed.
My hair is standing up, I can feel it, but I leave it and open the door. I don't see anyone in the hall so I walk to the cafeteria alone. I much prefer to be alone right now anyways.
At our regular table are Jack, Skittery and Isabel. Isabel is slurping her cereal and Jack is once again fiddling with his camera. Skittery has his forehead against the table and doesn't see me. I go right to the food line.
Breakfast is continental today. I hate continental breakfasts, the fruit is always soggy and the toast is always stale. And I hate cereal.
I smother a bagel in cream cheese and shovel a couple of pieces of sad looking cantaloupe onto my plate. Then I walk to our table slowly. When I get there I sit as far from Skittery as possible without looking like I'm obviously avoiding someone.
Skittery isn't moving, I realize after watching him for a few seconds. He has a couple leaves in his hair and a pine needle attached to his shirt. He is wearing the same clothes as yesterday. I don't say anything, I just eat my bagel. Jack doesn't say anything, he just plays with his camera, Skittery doesn't even move, let alone say anything, Isabel clears her throat.
"Morning Dutchy," she says, a rather delayed greeting.
"Hi," I say softly, still looking at Skittery.
"Skittery's hung over," she says quietly, as if not to disturb him. "He won't tell us why, except that it's from rum."
I nod deftly and take another bite of my bagel.
Racetrack arrives, his tray laden down with cereal, fruit, a stack of toast and a large glass of orange juice. "Morning everyone!" he says cheerfully.
"Morning," mutter Jack, Isabel and I. Skittery groans.
Racetrack looks at Skittery, smiling that cocky smile he adapts for times like this, and sets his tray down heavily. "What's up Skitts?' he asks loudly.
Skittery looks up. His face is red and puffy too and his eyes have purple-blue bags under them. He looks artistically distressed. "Shut up Race, I drank the whole bottle of rum."
I want to protest and say that I helped a little, and Skittery even looks at me, as if daring me to do so, but I say nothing.
"You drank the whole damn bottle?" asks Racetrack, incredulously. "Skitts, you're going to get food poisoning or something."
Skittery groans again and covers his eyes.
Jade and Medda arrive at the same time, slightly after Specs. Jade fusses over Skittery and Medda watches them, amused. Jade's blonde hair is rippling as she tosses it around. I really want to cut it off. My mouth grows dry so that I can't even chew the cantaloupe; it just sits on my tongue, turning to mush.
Skittery sits up. "Jade, just leave me alone," he says. Then he looks at me pointedly and stands up slowly. "I'm going to class, see you all later."
Isabel jumps up seconds later. "Oh shit," she hisses. "Just a sec Skittery! Wait up, I'll come with you!" she calls after him.
But he doesn't even pause; he just keeps walking through the doors.
June 19th, 12:00 pm, The Cafeteria
Skittery doesn't show up for lunch, but Isabel does. She tells me that Skittery fell asleep during class because he had 'a headache the size of Texas'.
"Did he really drink a whole bottle of rum?" she asks me.
I shrug. "I don't know," I lie. "He must have."
She believes me.
June 19th, 6:30 pm, The Courtyard
I am in the courtyard by our hall where Skittery and I did our stretches before we went running. I am sitting on a bench here, sketching the building for a cheap memoir. Skittery walks out the front, I assume on his way to dinner.
I don't call out to him because I am deathly afraid that he will never talk to me again and that I shouldn't make things worse.
To my surprise he walks towards me. "Hi Dutchy," he says.
"Hi Skittery," I say.
Se stare at each other stupidly for a few minutes.
He breathes deeply for a few minutes and I don't hear much else.
"I...uh...I want to show you something," he says.
I am taken aback and probably appear hesitant. Skittery, however, begins to walk, as if signalling for me to follow.
We walk into a building that smells like paint and mould, perhaps with a slight after-stench of cigarette smoke. The sign on the front door reads 'Art Department' in creative, curly letters. We walk past the doors to the Art History room and into a hallway. After this we proceed down a flight of stairs and into a large studio, the walls of which are covered in paint and papers that have been stapled there. Skittery stops in front of one of them.
The picture is of a very blonde boy with open blue eyes and his head tilted back slightly. Purple and red blankets surround him and his face is smiling. Below him is a crowd of adoring people, fawning and waiting on him.
We don't say anything. Skittery steps forward and touches the boy's face with the ends of his fingertips and sighs very lightly.
"Who is that?" I ask after a few seconds of prolonged and uncomfortable silence.
Skittery looks at me unnervingly for a while, his eyes dart over my face and he takes his hand from the boy's features.
"There is an ancient myth," he says steadily, "about a young boy. He was the son of a farmer and they had very little to get by and they often went to bed hungry. The boy promised that when he grew up he would never have to work in the fields again.
"When he reached the age of sixteen he arrived at the palace of the king, to offer his services in any way he could. They put him in charge of the King's gardens and it was there that he met a young woman who kept the plots with him. She was horribly scarred on her face, but the young boy fell in love with her because she loved to garden and he saw her as truly beautiful.
"When he was eighteen years old he asked her to marry him and it was then that he found out that she was the eldest daughter of the king, himself. Later, they wed and the boy became the rightful king, therefore inheriting all of the king's land. The king loved the boy because the boy loved his daughter for her soul, not for her face. He was a great ruler and was known in history as The Emperor of the World."
Skittery stops talking abruptly.
"So...what does this have to do with anything?" I ask, sceptically.
"Can't you see it Dutchy?" he asks. "The boy looks just like you."
I look at the painting again. Maybe he resembled me, but surly we didn't look the same.
"One of the art students painted this," says Skittery. "Emperor of the World, he calls it."
And without thinking we lean in and kiss. It just seems right. It is so casual, like we've been doing it forever. Skittery isn't drunk and he is, if I am not mistaken, attempting to be romantic.
I close my eyes and when I open them I can see the sun setting outside the window. It sets the studio in an orange light, making all the paintings seem warmer. The Emperor is still smiling radiantly, glowing in appreciation.
"Let's go back to the dorms," I say, taking Skittery's hand.
Skittery smiles. "OK," he says, lacing his fingers in mine.
My stomach flutters and we walk back up the studio stairs.
End Chapter
Phew! The boys made up...and kind of out. Aren't you happy? I sure am! But the story's far from over! I smell plot twists!
Oh yeah, just a fun little note, I got Coin's fanfiction author of the moment! That made me feel so warm and fuzzy! Who knew that my time killing hobby would be so appreciated?
Shoutouts:
Nakaia Aiden-Sun—I think everyone prefers to laugh.
Charile!Muse: I prefer to make people cry. Does that count?
Me: habe you been bullying the others again?
Charile!Muse: no.
All Others: yes!
Eagle Higgins-Conlon—welcome back Mush, glad to see you got over your terrible flu. Awful stuff, the flu.
Itey!Muse: I haven't ever had the flu. What's it like?
Tom!Muse: not good.
Spitzer!Muse: how do you know? You're Superman, for God's sake!
I hope I updated fast enough!
Madison Square—yeah, it's a great running line, isn't it? When I was supposed to be doing my homework today I was. I also checked fanfiction and my emails. Shh, don't tell!