Disclaimer: I don't own Newsies, Empress of the World, or and other media references I may make.
Emperor of the World
June 20th, 7:30 am, Specs's and My Room
My sheets are miraculously warm. I can't believe that just twenty-four hours ago I was waking up with dried tears on my face. Now if feel refreshed and exhilarated. I jump out of the bed quickly and wake Specs.
I change into brand new clothes, clean from the wash, and brush my teeth quickly. I brush my hair down against my head and put my glasses on.
Someone knocks on the door.
I walk over to it and open it quickly, sending it flying backwards swiftly, knocking it on the wall. Skittery is standing there, looking bashful, but also a bit amused.
"Oh, hi. Good morning," I say.
"Morning," he says, rubbing his arm awkwardly. "I was thinking we could walk to breakfast together?"
Barely able to contain myself, I nod and grab my backpack, hoist it on my back, and shut the door behind me.
We walk down the hall in awkward silence. I struggle with my backpack, which is sitting unevenly on my shoulders. I teeter to the side and Skittery grabs my hand before I fall. I stare at his hand, grasping mine, and so does he. When I stand up properly he keeps his hand there.
I shoot glances at it as we walk down the hall. Slowly I shift it so that our palms are touching. Skittery laces his fingers into mine.
The cafeteria is filling steadily. I see Jack at the table. He always seems to be the first one to get to breakfast. We sit down and Jack looks up. He stares at our hands, their digits still interlocked and resting on the table, and then to our faces.
"What's up?" he asks, showing no sign of surprise in his voice.
Skittery brushes his thumb over my knuckles and my spine shivers.
"Nothing," I say.
"Nothing," says Skittery.
"Nothing?" says Jack, raising his eyebrows.
I blush and Skittery fixes Jack with a mild gaze. "Yeah," he says. "How about you?"
Jack's eyes linger on our hands before clearing his throat and continuing. "Yeah, I'm doing OK. I've got a portfolio due later this week. Do you mind if I take a picture of you guys?" he asks.
I stiffen. Skittery smiles. "Sure," he says.
Instead of fixing the camera on our faces, Jack turns it to our hands. He hits the button a few times and resurfaces from behind the Canon.
"This is very artistic," he says, pleased with his work, beaming lovingly at his camera.
I furrow my brow. "Why?" I ask.
"Because, look at your hands," demands Jack.
I do. They just look like hands. Intertwined, slightly pink and calloused, knuckles bent slightly, white bones bending with the joints, making them shiny and white.
"Whose hands are they?" he asks.
I look up at him like he's crazy. Skittery doesn't say anything. "Mine and Skittery's," I say obviously.
Jack smiles victoriously. "But, if you didn't know they were yours, whose would you think they were?" he asks.
I shrug. They're just hands.
'They could be anyone's hands," answers Jack to his own question. "Anyone's at all. You could both be boys, girls, one of each. And think that I'm developing this in black and white, you wouldn't have a race."
I look at my hand again. Does he really see this when he looks at our hands?
Skittery grins. Racetrack arrives, shoots me a look, which includes a smirk, and sets his tray down, laden down with French toast and orange slices. My stomach growls ravenously. I stand up, leaving Skittery's hand, alone, on the tabletop.
"I'm starving," I say, walking towards the food line. Skittery follows me.
When we get there I place my arm around his waist, and he places his over my shoulders. We get a few looks from the cheerleader girls, including some directed at Skittery that look disappointed.
Medda, Specs and Isabel are shortly behind us in line. Jade is nowhere to be seen, not that I mind, exactly.
June 25th, 3:30 pm, Siegel Institute Library
It has been five days since Skittery and I officially 'came out'. Medda thinks it's cute. Racetrack thinks it's 'destiny' and Jade hasn't noticed.
"Tomorrow's parent's night," Specs reminds us.
My parents won't be coming, I tell everyone. Neither are Racetrack's. But everyone else's are.
"Where would they all stay?" I ask.
Medda shrugs. "I have no idea," she admits. "My parents are divorced anyways, so I hope they don't expect them to share rooms."
Medda hasn't stopped smoking, though she says she's considering taking Jack up on his offer to buy her nicotine patches.
Skittery and I are currently sitting in the library. It is two whole stories, larger than the auditorium where we had the welcoming speech and 'ceremony'. There is a staircase right up the middle and books on every single shelf. There is every book in the world in here. Times two.
Skittery has a heavy textbook titled 'VanGogh and His Works' and I have one that has a painting of some epic battle on the cover and the scrawling words 'World History, Revised'.
"How can history be revised?" I ask pointedly.
Skittery shrugs and follows the words across the paper with his pencil.
"No really," I say, "how can it be? History can't be changed."
Skittery looks up and smiles. He chuckles and leans forward, his lips meeting my forehead. "Dutchy," he says with a sigh of amusement. "I can't believe you even care."
I smile too and take his hand. We turn back to our work.
In 1812 the French...
"Excuse me boys," the librarian is standing above us. She thrusts a piece of paper under our noses.
Public Displays of Affection reads the heading.
"Please fill this out," she says.
I reach for a pen.
Name, Parent(s) name, Telephone number, Class, Dorm and Dorm Room, Time, Date, Place of Inappropriate—
"What the hell is this?" hisses Skittery.
"I don't know," I say, turning the page over in my hands.
I glance up at the librarian. She sees me.
"Do you not understand the form?" she asks loudly, bustling over.
"I understand the form perfectly well you old—"
I clear my throat, cutting Skittery off. "No, I was just wondering what we did to get this."
She smiles demonically. "You boys were kissing," she says as if we had just killed a small animal: with contempt and disgust dripping from her voice.
"But what's with the fucking form?" asks Skittery forcefully.
The librarian grins wider. "We need your personal information so you can be put on file. We also will be contacting your parents."
All the fighting in Skittery's eyes disappears. His hand falls limp. He turns to the page and begins to fill it in.
June 26th, Dorm D, Main Hallway, 5:30 pm
I can hear only the one-sided telephone station.
It's Skittery talking to his mom.
"So, you're not coming?...OK, I guess...no, mom, I didn't...it's not...you don't know anything about him...damn the church! I don't give a...you didn't have to not come though, at least...you can't," an emptiness appears on Skittery's face. He places the receiver back on the cradle.
I walk over to him and wrap my arms around his body. He tenses. I look up at his face, which is streaked with tears.
She shrugs me off. "Leave me alone Dutchy," he says.
I step backwards. "What's wrong?" I ask softly.
"Just leave me the hell alone. They've kicked me out."
I don't know what to say. Skittery glares at me reproachingly.
"Skittery, I didn't know. How would I—"
"Just leave me alone Dutchy," he hisses, "you've helped enough."
He tears have stopped. Skittery is standing very firm before me, filled with rage. I back away.
"I really didn't mean to," I say quietly, though I am not sure he can hear me.
As I turn to go I swear I see a falter in Skittery's angry gaze, but when I glance over my shoulder it is still there, glinting and spiteful.
My heart aches.
June 16th, Specs's and My Room, 8:00 pm
Fight Test by the Flaming Lips plays over and over in my head.
"Thought I was wrong, thought I was right, thought it better not to fight, I thought there was a virtue in always staying cool..."
And I begin to think. If maybe I hadn't stayed 'cool' maybe Skittery wouldn't have let me walk away. Maybe if I had told him it wasn't our fault, that we could make things work, move somewhere together.
But who am I kidding? I'm only sixteen.
Specs is still at parent's night. So is most of the hall, so it's very quiet in my room. I wonder what Skittery is doing.
No. I don't.
I don't think about Skittery. I don't want to. But I can't help it.
His hair, his hands, entwined in mine, his green eyes, his chest as it rises and falls...
Someone knocks on my door. I don't want to get up, but at the slim chance it might be Skittery, I do.
It's Racetrack.
"Hey," he says, coming in and sitting down on Specs' bed.
"Hullo," I say.
"This is Spot," he introduces the boy bedside him.
Spot has short blonde hair and blue eyes. He is wearing a blue shirt that reads 'Graduating Class of '98' on it in yellow suede writing. He is wearing jeans with a brown belt and is chewing gum.
"Oh, hi," I say. "Nice to meet you."
Racetrack smiles. "So, where's Skittery?" he winks. My stomach flops.
"He dumped me," I say.
Racetrack's face falls. Spot stops chewing his gum.
"Are you serious?" asks Racetrack, concerned. "When?"
"Just this afternoon," I lay down on my bed and clamp my eyes shut.
"Though I was wrong, thought I was..."
"Why'd he dump you?" comes a heavily accented voice. It's Spot.
I tell them the story. The librarian. The phone call. Parents' night.
Spot smiles despite my anguish. I want to hit him.
"Man will do more for something he wants, than for something he needs," he says. I don't understand. Spot continues. "That means that Skittery wants his family's support and love—"
This isn't very reassuring. I frown.
"—but that doesn't mean there isn't something he wants more. If he really loves you, then that love will be stronger than the love for family. He chose you, he couldn't choose them."
Racetrack smiles. "See how great he is?" he says.
Spot blushes.
I close my eyes again and hope that Skittery does love me.
End Part One
OK, 'End Part One' just means that there will be a big gap between this chapter and the next one. (This was June 26th, the next might be somewhere in July). Just so no one's confused.
Also, I am very, very sorry that it took me so long to update! I hope this was a significant chapter and made up for the slow update! Please review!!!
Shoutouts:
Nakaia Aidan-Sun—so, you're a stalker, eh? Intrubing...
Charlie!Muse: no, it's creepy.
Me: not, she loves him. It's not.
Charlie!Muse: So, I love bowler hats and I don't stalk them.
Me: it's different. You're not allowed to talk anymore.
Charlie!Muse: (sticks out tongue)
Me: yeah, that's mature.
Madison Square—oops. Just when I got a review saying that I update quickly I don't update for a long time. It's totally my fault, I have had homework by the barrels and haven't been able to even write this chapter!
However, I am glad my chapter made you happy and non-bitchy.
Eagle Higgins-Conlon—aw! That's sad! I hope the boys make up soon! It's not good when the boys are mad at each other.
Well, not my boys. My muses are never really good with each other. At least, not Charlie.