Hello! I'm trying to write as much as I can while I have the time. I'm back at school so this chapter will probably be up by friday, I'm writing this on Tuesday so you know.
I got moved to a higher class for English, French and history. (I guess honours class in America?) And I'm freaking out. I feel like I don't deserve to be there. I don't know. There's a lot of stress right now in my life.
Thanks for all the great reviews. I'm sorry to all my readers who were extremely angry at my treatment of Alex and John in the last few chapters. I recall someone said they would take them away from me if I hurt them when reviewing chapter fifteen. Sorry.
Anyone willing to beta for me? Just for a few chapters or so? If you're willing to deal with like 4-10,000 words of editing. It won't be for long. It'd be good if you had work already on this site I could read to get an idea of your style and tone. I like to know what I'm getting myself into. If you could be kinda quick that would be good too, I tend to want to update very often.
French translations at the bottom. Sorry, just that this time they would have ruined the flow if they were in the middle of the text.
LamsPickles: he's not insane though... just mentally ill. Yeah, no.
Trigger warnings: Bullying, obsessive/compulsive behaviours, unhealthy attitude towards eating, mention of death of parents.
Alex was determined to go to school that day, no matter what George and Martha said. He was sick with worry that he'd missed something important. A test, a pop quiz, information he'd need later in the year.
He had been writing all night, at around two in the morning he thought he might have slept for an hour or so on his desk but he wasn't so sure; he'd woken up very soon afterwards.
He got dressed and brushed his teeth, splashing himself with cold water to remove any traces of tears from his face. Alex then turned on the tap and washed his hands for a few minutes, scrubbing roughly at the skin and wincing as he went over blisters from the night before. His knuckles were chapped and pink by the time he'd dried them on the towel.
The sun was low in the sky, the light still pale and tinted blue. It around six in the morning and there wasn't a sound from either his foster parents or Lafayette's room.
He went downstairs and poured himself some coffee, making it extra strong so he could keep his wits about him during the school day. He ran his fingers lightly over the books on the shelf in the living room and pulled out a title that interested him.
Alexander perched on the end of the sofa and read as the sun came up, weary copper light splitting the room in two with its blinding arm. He didn't particularly want to eat that morning, his stomach turned at the thought. He couldn't stop thinking about John, about his angry he had been. This was a way to pay for it. In some strange, messed up sense, he felt better about the situation if he knew he was doing something to make up for it.
He didn't notice Lafayette coming down an hour or so later until the French teenager flopped himself down on the sofa next to Alexander.
"Morning, sleep okay?"
Alex snorted internally.
"Yeah, fine. You?"
Lafayette made to run a hand through his hair but stopped, realising it was braided.
"Alright. That light you kept on all night was annoying. It shone through the crack under my door."
Alex blushed and closed the book, not looking at his foster brother.
"I forget to turn it off sometimes."
"D'accord," said Lafayette, his eyes scanning over Alex.
"Come, eat something."
Alex hesitated for a moment, his face conflicted.
"I've eaten already."
Lafayette raised his eyebrows and sighed, a tiny curl by his ear fluttering slightly.
"You're going to be hungry if you don't eat, Alex."
The teenager laughed, his eyes wary, darting around the room so as to not meet his foster brother's.
"No shit."
Alex picked up the book to avoid continuing the conversation, his eyes scanning the words but not reading them. He listened to Lafayette sigh and walk out of the living room. The distant clatter of cups and the bubble of the kettle met his ears. He could hear an alarm clock beeping upstairs and the distant whispering of clothing and movement.
He slid the book back into the shelf and walked upstairs to his room, shoving books and folders into his bag. He'd written the essays necessary for his history, politics and English classes. There had been worksheets and segments from the textbook to complete in math and science, which he'd done, as well as all the optional work.
He sat on his bed for a while, listening to the hum of conversation and the clink of cutlery downstairs. It was like he was in a totally different world from them. Up here in his bedroom he was removed from the family life they enjoyed. They had their own private jokes and memories, pictures in photo albums, trivia about each other. He didn't. Three months of knowing a family doesn't put you anywhere near the level of closeness the other members had with each other.
He walked to the mirror in the bathroom and pulled at his eye bags. He was one of those people unlucky enough to have slight ones naturally, now however, it was obvious these were environmentally caused.
He pulled at his jumper and grabbed an inch of fabric at either side, seeing what it would look like if it fit him properly.
Alex then looked back at the tap and down at his hands, deciding to wash then once or twice more for good measure.
A few minutes later he heard Lafayette's footsteps on the stairs and dried his hands, picking up his bag a moment matter. He walked out onto the landing and met Laf there.
"Allons-y!"
Alex smiled slightly and followed his foster brother downstairs. He let Martha hug him goodbye, her hair smelt pleasantly like coconut and he found he wasn't uncomfortable when she held the embrace for a few seconds longer than usual.
He broke away from her and stood awkwardly in front of George for a moment, hoping against hope he wouldn't hug him. He could handle Martha, she was shorter even than him, but George. George was a different matter. His foster father did nothing of the sort and instead clapped a strong hand on his shoulder in a way that was firm but simultaneously gentle.
"See you later." He said, a smile tilting the left corner of his mouth upwards.
"Have a good day, work hard." Called George as they walked down the drive.
Alex was suddenly reminded of his mother saying good bye to him on his first day of middle school back in Nevis. He'd spent a year there before he'd moved to America and attended a New York public school.
"I'll see you tonight Alex, d'accord?"
Her dark eyes were shining with tears, only bringing out the beautiful mahogany brown he'd inherited in his own.
"D'ac!"
"Travaille dur. Don't forget what we say to each other."
"Oui maman, rise up!"
His mother wiped a tear from his own cheek he hadn't even realised had fallen. He grinned and pulled her into a hug, patting her dark hair, a souvenir from her Puerto Rican father. Another feature he'd inherited.
"Muy bien, mon canard. Rise up."
Alex closed his eyes for a moment and took a breath, a small smile on his face.
"What is it?" Lafayette asked, tapping his shoulder lightly.
"I was thinking of my mother. When she used to say goodbye to me before school."
Lafayette smiled at him and looked into the distance.
"I remember mine too sometimes, especially around Martha."
Alex nodded vigorously, Martha was such gentle and caring person it was no wonder they both thought of their own mothers
"What was your mom like?"
Lafayette's face tensed but softened quickly, a small smile creeping back onto his face.
"She used to put lavender in jars for the kitchen and do gardening en printemps. But she was un garçon manqué. I'm not sure what you say in English.
"A tomboy."
"Yes. She used to open the car when it broke down and fix it. My dad didn't have any knowledge of fixings cars. She tried to teach me English but I resisted. I shouldn't have, it would have been useful when I first came here."
Alex nodded gravely. His own english had been patchy when he'd moved, always blurred with Spanish and French. Through sheer force of will he had made it eloquent and native sounding, partly as a way to fit in but also for his love of languages and his desire to write in the way his older peers and favourite authors could.
"How-how did they die?"
He held his breath at this, afraid Lafayette would be angry. He had only asked because he wouldn't have cared if Lafayette had asked him, he felt they were close enough.
"They... they got in un taxi sans licence. It crashed. When I was eleven."
"I'm sorry. I can't imagine..."
Lafayette shrugged and put one hand in his pocket.
"Err, you?"
Alex sighed.
"Technically, I don't know if my dad is dead or alive. He might as well be, he left and I haven't seen him since. My mother, well she got a bad fever, we both did. I pulled through and she didn't."
Lafayette nodded slightly.
"I'm sorry you don't know what happened to your father. I think it's almost worse you don't know..."
Alex's face darkened and he looked up at the sky.
"I don't care. He abandoned us. I'm glad I never have to see him again."
They walked in akward silence for a few minutes before Lafayette turned his head back to Alex, a frown on his face.
"Don't you have a brother?"
Alex's face paled a little but he nodded.
"Yeah."
Lafayette tilted his head slightly and Alex elaborated.
"He... he was adopted before I even left the island for America. He went to the UK. The couple took him on the condition he'd have no 'baggage'. I guess they wanted to feel like he was theirs. So I haven't spoken to him in a few years."
Lafayette drew in a breath.
"So you came here tout seul?"
Alexander nodded.
They walked through the school gates in silence, early enough to avoid most of the large crowds that would flood there in the next fifteen minutes or so.
When they reached the corridor that they would part ways at, Lafayette hugged Alex briefly, squeezing his shoulder tightly.
oo
Alex slumped into his seat at the back of American politics, pulling up his hood as the familiar London RP accents of Lee and George met his ears.
He refused to look in their direction, instead focusing on checking through his essay one final time. He knew it was perfect, this was the third rewrite and he was positive there were no grammar or spelling errors.
He was one of maybe eight or nine students in the room, including Lee and George. The two of them had seats in the middle row, Alex could see the perfectly ironed collar of Charles' expensive jacket and the shaved side of his dark head.
He tapped a nervous beat on his desk and bit at his nail, watching the door for their teacher to arrive and take him out of this anxious limbo.
He knew this wouldn't be enough when Charles Lee spun around on his chair to face Alex, a smile that didn't reach his eyes spread across his face.
"How's Laurens?" He called, smirking slightly and leaning back on his chair. The few people in the classroom turned to watch.
Alex said nothing, trying to drown out the sound of Lee's voice with the scratching of his pen. He was listing the names of everyone he knew. Something to keep him distracted.
"Oh sorry. You probably know him as babe. Or is it Johnny?"
Alex gripped harder on his pen, furious that this guy had just outed him to half his politics class.
"I'm not surprised he doesn't want anything to do with you any more. Tell me, was it the orphan or the poor bit that disgusted him most?"
Alex dropped his pen, listening to the clatter of plastic against the worn wood of his desk.
"Lee. I swear to God, if you don't-"
Charles Lee laughed and stood up, walking nearer to Alex.
"You'll what? Hurt me? Beat me up? Please."
He reached out and grabbed Alex's wrist tightly, touching his thumb and index finger around the bone.
"I can get my fingers around your entire wrist."
He tightened his grip mercilessly and Alex drew in a sharp breath, still not breaking eye contact with his tormentor.
"Go take your anger out somewhere else. I know your rich, privileged life must be so hard but no one here gives a damn."
The students in the glass room 'ooohed', as if this was some sort of game. As if Charles Lee hadn't literally broken one of his ribs before.
The grip around his wrist tightened and his hand was bent back painfully, in a ninety degree angle away from Lee. He hissed but stood his ground, knowing Lee wanted him to move away or crouch down to free his wrist, either one would work but both would let Lee win.
"Did that coke come out okay? I can pay for the dry cleaning if you can't afford it."
Alex glared at Lee and tried to pull his wrist away, tugging his arm down sharply and almost causing the taller boy stumble. Maddeningly though, he stood steady.
Charles' foot suddenly snapped out and kicked Alex hard in the shin, his hard toed sneaker colliding painfully with the bone in Alex's leg. He yelled out in a mixture of surprise and pain, almost expecting it when Lee punched him in the gut and knocked him back into his chair.
Lee had drawn back his fist again when the door of the classroom opened and a tall figure walked into the room, cutting a slim and impressive silhouette in the doorway.
It wasn't their teacher however, no. It was Angelica Schuyler. The tall, intelligent eyed older sister to Eliza.
She strode purposefully towards her desk directly in front of Alex and put down her satchel.
Angelica folded her arms and raised a skilfully pencilled, dark eyebrow at Lee.
"What are you doing?" She aksed, in a voice that Alex thought would suited to a military general. Or Angelica Schuyler, herself. That tone suited her too.
Lee grinned and lowered his fist, eyes still laughing cruelly.
"Nothing. Don't worry your pretty little head about it."
Angelica, if it was possible, raised her eyebrows even higher.
"Let him go Lee. We both know you're an egomaniac. You don't need to hurt people to validity that."
Charles Lee scowled and let Alex's arm drop, precisely as their teacher walked into the class room.
Alex sat up a little higher and rubbed his wrist, scowling. He leant forward and kicked the leg of Angelica's chair.
"Thanks, really, but I can take care of myself."
Angelica smirked and looked over her shoulder.
"Sure, you're ten times smarter than he'll ever be but you're smaller than my freshman sister."
She turned back around leaving Alex frowning, he was actually two inches or so taller than Peggy... He tapped his pen agitatedly against his desk.
Alex passed his essay up to the front and in turn was given back the one he'd handed in last time.
A+
Good. He had to make sure it stayed that way. He clipped it into the folder and read over the teachers comments, there were no criticisms.
Alexander opened his copy book and began taking down the date and notes on the board.
They covered the history of racial politics in America for the first half an hour, Alex found it fascinating. He'd always been intrigued with social issues and since the start of middle school had made it a point to know as much about them as possible.
When the lesson ended, Alex hurried out of his seat and left the classroom as quickly as possible.
He could hear Charles and George's voices behind him, but he didn't care. He picked up his pace slightly and pushed through the doors in the school library. Here there were people, teachers; Lee and George couldn't do anything to him.
He browsed the fiction shelves and scanned through the authors, Montgomery, Moss, Nabokov, Nolan, Ness...
He knew Lee and George were still in the library, he could hear them talking. Their British accents stood out against the hoard of Virginian and east coast voices common in the school. Even his own accent was unusual in this state. A strange combination of New York slang and pronunciation with the added tinge of Spanish American intonations.
He felt his shoulders tense as the voices drew nearer and pulled out a book, pretending to be reading the blurb.
Alexander flinched as he felt a strong tug on the back of his bag and turned around, his eyes furious. Lee had grabbed a fist full of the black canvas material and was holding it in an iron grip.
He glanced around the library and saw the only teacher walking up the spiral staircase to the second floor where students did revision. His heart sank.
Alexander turned back to Lee and attempted to wrench his bag free of the strong hold, feeling horribly claustrophobic trapped between the teenager and the book shelves. The taller boy laughed and pulled the bag off his shoulder. Alex tried to snatch at the strap of his bag but missed, his fist clenching around thin air.
"Lee, stop being such an ass and give me my bag."
Lee smirked. "How fast can you run?"
The teenager spun around with lightening speed, the bag clutched tightly in his hand and sprinted out of the library, George right behind him. He could hear their laughter even from here.
Alex cursed under his breath and looked around to see if anyone had seen. No one had. He slid the book hastily into the shelf and sprinted after Lee, reaching the library door to see Lee disappear at the far end of the corridor.
For once, Alex wasn't at a disadvantage here. One of his few athletic abilities was his speed, maybe it was his height and stature, or the fact that he'd run track in middle school and freshman year. Because though he was exhausted, he was fast. Very fast.
He sprinted down the corridor and burst through the double doors at the end, he could see George and Charles Lee running past the outside gate and into the seniors' courtyard. They weren't allowed in there. He wasn't allowed in there.
He followed them anyway, clenching his fists angrily. That bag had his essays, text books, stationary in it. That bag had his notebook! The one object he'd choose to save from a burning building!
He stopped a few steps away from George and Lee, chest rising and falling slightly from the sprinting but no where near out of breath.
"What the fuck is your problem? Give it back!"
Lee shook his head.
"Nah."
He opened the zip and turned the bag upside down, letting everything inside fall out. His hoodie, textbooks, pencil case, calculator, note book, loose essays. All on the ground.
He stepped forward to grab his possessions off the somewhat muddy floor but was stopped when George pushed him back forcefully and grabbed his arm.
"Let me go Frederick, this is ridiculous."
George kneed him hard in the stomach in response, making Alex double over in pain. Lee had bent down and was picking up things from the ground, turning them over in his hands. He was examining an essay Alex had written for English, to hand in last period.
"Give that back!"
Alex snapped his arm out of George's grip and with the element of surprise, freed himself and stumbled a few steps back from him.
Lee shrugged and tore the essay into four pieces, letting them float to the ground like the tiny white moths that flutter around cool rooms in the summer.
Alex swore and dropped to his knees, grabbing the pieces up from the floor and shoving them into his pocket.
"Oh no! That wasn't important was it?"
George laughed and stepped away from Alex, following Lee as they walked back towards the school.
Alex felt tears of frustration prick at his eyes but he held them there, blurring his vision like frosted glass. He shoved his things back into his bag and stood up, pulling his it back onto his shoulder as the bell went. He'd have to spend the entire lunch hour rewriting that essay.
oo
When last period did come around, he'd managed to redraft the essay just in time, his hand cramped and stiff from clutching the pen so tightly. His head pounded with exhaustion and there was a horrible dry, burning feeling at the back of his throat. The kind you get when you've not sleep in hours. The hollowness and empty feeling in his stomach was more apparent now, aching like he'd been punched there. Well, he had been punched there, but that was besides the point.
He took his usual seat and stared out the window, over the courtyard. It was October yet the golden, late afternoon light still lit everything outside on fire. The leaves on the trees were edged with the glowing, orange colour and long shadows were cast across the asphalt. Then, a large and nebulous Claude Lorrain cloud was blown across the sun and the light faded.
'Nothing gold can stay', Alex thought.
He handed in the rewritten essay, despairing over the slightly sloppy and protean handwriting.
He was again given back an essay, one he'd handed in a few lesson ago. Another A+. Good.
He could see Lee smiling over his essay, a bright red A scrawled across the heading. Alex felt a surge of competition flood him but stopped himself at once.
What would maman say?
Alex turned to Elisa who was smiling at an A+ written on her work.
"Man! Nice one!" Alex complimented, not feeling the strange, unusual jealousy he had towards Lee.
Eliza grinned and looked at his own essay, raising her eyebrows and laughing.
"I knew your were crazy smart."
oo
An hour later, the bell rang and Alex stood up.
When he got to his feet he started packing his pens back into his pencil case and sweeping rubber shavings onto the floor.
However, all of a sudden, the strangest thing happened. It was as though everything had doubled and was moving in and out of its self; overlapping and blurring together like the vision through 3D cinema glasses.
Black dots danced in his in front of his eyes for a moment and he blinked, his hand gripping his chair tightly. He stood still for a second, letting the dizziness pass. Next to him, Eliza nudged his arm.
"Alex? Alex, are you okay?"
He nodded, moving to pick up his pencil case gingerly.
"I just stood up too fast. I'm okay."
This was of course, a lie. Alex knew he hadn't slept in roughly 48 hours and hasn't eaten in just slightly less. That was defiantly not good for his energy and health.
Eliza nodded slightly and squeezed his arm.
"Do go to the medical if you a feel weird again."
He nodded and she smiled, hoisting her satchel over her shoulder and leaving the room with a wave.
Alex zipped up his bag and put it over his shoulder. His hand was on the handle of the door when he heard a voice behind him say his name.
"Alexander."
He flinched slightly too noticeably and turned around to face Miss Monroe. She smiled kindly and motioned for him to come nearer, which he did. She was holding out a sheet of paper.
He stopped in front of her desk and peered down at the paper she was showing him.
"It's your results for the past semester."
He nodded slowly, scanning the numbers and figures quickly.
She took a sip of the coffee next to her and pulled open a drawer, tidying away the scattered books on her desk.
"They're excellent Alexander, you're getting top marks in every essay task I set."
He looked at his shoes and shrugged, twisting his hands awkwardly.
"I've talked to a few other teachers and they report the same results."
He looked up, wanting to appear less awkward and locked eyes with a freckle on her cheekbone.
"It's almost unanimously agreed you could be considered for a move up. To eleventh grade classes."
Alex's eyes snapped up immediately and met Miss Monroe's, shocked. She smiled slightly, lip gloss mouth forming a tilted crescent moon.
"It would be after the Christmas break of course. You'd finish out the semester here in grade ten."
He said nothing, his mouth slightly open in surprise.
"Of course, we'd have to review it with the other teachers and talk to your parents."
Alex's face fell a bit.
"Foster parents." He corrected. Miss Monroe smiled.
"I'm sorry, foster parents. So, what so you think?"
Alex considered this for a moment, watching the ring of coffee surrounding her mug leak into a student's essay.
"I'd have to talk to Mr and Mrs Washington, my foster parents. I also don't know how long this placement will be. If I'm to move soon..."
Miss Monroe took off her glasses and folded them into the microfiber cloth.
"Good point, well, if it's possible and convenient for you, I think it's a good idea."
Alex nodded stiffly suddenly feeling a wave of nausea roll over him.
"I'll consider it, Miss. Have a good afternoon."
She grinned and took out a stack of marking.
"You too Alex. I'll see you next lesson. Don't bother going to roll call. I'll email the office."
Alex nodded and pushed the door handle, leaving the classroom. He walked down the corridors, a dizzy feeling of anxiety and exhaustion threatening to overwhelm him.
Alexander walked out the gate and stood in the spot he usually waited for Lafayette. There was a small bench not far off so he sat down and closed his eyes.
All his life he'd been determined to succeed. This fervent obsession with rising above his station only burned brighter when he had arrived in America, the death of his mother and the separation from his brother and home still shaking his very foundation every day.
Foster families had tried to beat and starve the drive out of him, but that only made him more set on educating himself, going to college, working his way up the political and social ladder. Nothing could derail him from his desperate need to build up palaces out of the ashes of his childhood.
He would move up a grade, he'd take the extra work and the long nights and the exhaustion as he pushed himself further and further away from his poverty stricken beginnings. Until then, he would do everything in his power to prove to his teachers that he deserved to move up.
He looked up to see the double doors open on a swarm of students. Among them, he spotted the bouncing head of his foster brother. He stood up and waved at Lafayette, walking towards him.
"Salut! I barely saw you today!"
Alex shrugged, "had a lot going on."
Lafayette grinned and hooked his arm through Alex's, high five-ing people he knew that were strangers to Alex as they walked out the gate. The walk home was quick and silent, thoughts rushing through Alexander's mind in their hundreds.
Alex sped to his room as soon as he got back to the house and set his things out on the desk, ignoring the pounding headache that had been threatening to overwhelm him since lunch.
He could feel his stomach rumbling but he disregarded it, not thinking about the last time he'd eaten, which had been yesterday afternoon.
He pulled out a pen and started on the latest piece of History homework, feeling sure the next time he'd drop the pen that he'd just picked up would be sometime tomorrow morning.
Heyy. I think that kind of felt like a filler chapter. I don't know. Please review! I love hearing what you think of my writing! Claude Lorrain was a French painter by the way. He painted nice clouds.
French translations.
Travaille dur: work hard.
Mon canard: my duck.
D'accord/d'ac: okay
Allons-y: let's go
Printemps: spring.
Tout seul: all alone.
Un taxi sans licence: unlicensed taxi.
Thanks Xx
