The Boys of McKinley House
Chapter Six—The Ice Queen Cometh
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Three o'clock in the morning at one of the most exclusive prep schools in the country, and half a dozen boys were huddled around a television set that had once broadcast the Watergate hearings, watching a movie about radioactive cannibals.
"Radioactive mutant cannibals," Blink corrected absentmindedly, passing a bottle back to David as he adjusted the rabbit ears.
"Is this alcohol?" David asked. "We're not allowed to have alcohol."
"It's celery tonic."
"Oh. I see." He took a sip of it. "Why?"
"There's a whole case of it in one of the storage closets downstairs," Mush explained. "It's the one thing they won't look for if it goes missing."
"And we need refreshments," Snitch added helpfully.
"Something about Ms. Larsen…" Mush chipped in.
"Just makes your mouth go dry," Snitch finished, pressing his bottle of celery tonic to his forehead.
"Quiet," Kid Blink whispered. "The best part's coming up."
All of them—Snitch, Skittery, Mush, and now David—were in the room that Kid Blink shared with a boy named Specs. Something about the school's drama teacher, something about a late-night horror movie program broadcast out of Corvallis. Up on screen, a full-figured redhead, clad in a shocking pink leotard and white go-go boots, revved the engine of a chainsaw and glared threateningly at a man who looked like his face had been glued on backwards.
"You'd best be leaving town now, Mutant Bob," she said in a heavy Swedish accent. "The people of Silver Gully aren't afraid of your kind anymore."
"I'll get you for this someday, Sweetheart O'Brien!" Mutant Bob roared through what must have been his mouth.
"But not today," Sweetheart said, thrusting her chest out an extra fraction of an inch. All the boys clapped gleefully, cheering for the side of goodness and light.
"I left Mrs. Pancake for this?" David asked. Kid Blink shushed him.
"How many times have you seen this movie?" Specs muttered from his place on the bed, where he was trying his hardest to get some work done.
"Seven or eight," Blink said, taking a swig of celery tonic.
"Why do you keep watching it? It's terrible. It's not like the ending changes, or anything. Sweetheart O'Brien always saves the town. There's no surprise."
Every other boy in the room rolled his eyes. "Oh, Specs," Skittery said. "We have so much to teach you."
Specs just grumbled and went back to his biology reading.
Up on screen, as Sweetheart O'Brien walked into the sunset, leaving Silver Gully behind to protect the next town down the line from the ever-present threat of Mutant Bob, a title flashed across the screen: Starring Medda Larkson, the Swedish Meadowlark.
"Now, Davey," Blink said, turning around in his chair, "where would you guess that SwedishMeadowlark is today?"
"Well," David said, "I'm sure she still has a vendetta going with Mutant Bob and his henchmen. I imagine she's pretty occupied with that."
"What would you say if I were to tell you she was at Caldwell?"
"…What about Mutant Bob?"
"Lacrosse coach," Blink said dismissively. "You have seen Ms. Larsen around campus, haven't you? She's the drama and voice teacher--kind of old, red hair, miraculously self-supporting breasts?"
"I think I have," David said.
"Yeah, she's the one."
"You're joking." But even as David said it, he realized that Ms. Larsen wouldn't have looked at all out of place in a shocking pink leotard and white go-go boots.
"I'm not," said Blink. "She's been at Caldwell…I think since around the time Jack's older sister was asked to leave. You've heard about that already, of course. Boo Boo. Ask me to tell you about her sometime." He paused, taking a pull from his bottle, a kind of wistful gleam in his eyes. Or eye, David thought to himself, blushing a little.
"Anyway," Blink continued, "we always thought there was something strange about Ms. Larsen—she told us she used to be a dancer, on Broadway, and never anything else about what she did before she came to the school—but Race was the first one to figure it out. Last fall term, he calls Jack up at about two in the morning, wakes up poor Skittery—"
"I was already up that night," Skittery interjected.
"Oh? Vamp of Savannah?"
"Vamp of Savannah."
These boys spoke a different language, David realized.
"So Race calls Jack up," Blink told David, "says '"you'd best be leaving town now, Mutant Bob,"—turn to channel five, Jack,' and hangs up. And of course it didn't take long for Jack, who is a smart kind of kid, even if he's not a genius like me, to realize there was a certain resemblance between Ms. Margaret Larsen of the drama department and Medda Larkson, Swedish Meadowlark, slayer of mutant cannibals." Blink smiled. "What do you think of that?"
David thought, and said as much, that he probably wouldn't like to come in close contact with Ms. Swedish Meadowlark for a while. An answer which, of course, left the boys of McKinley house no choice but to drag him over to the performing arts building that very afternoon.
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At Caldwell, auditions for the fall musical weren't just an item of interest for the drama crowd. They were a school-wide event. Everyone came to them, whether they had any vague interest in the play or not. It wasn't that Caldwell had a particularly good drama program, or that the productions it put on were especially unique. It was simply the only school in the state of Oregon whose drama teacher owned a rhinestone bustier.
Every year, to encourage new students to get involved in performing arts, Ms. Larsen squeezed into her old costume and sang "It's All the Same" up on stage in the main theater—since, after all, she had played Aldonza in the national tour of Man of La Mancha, back in 1966—and every year, what seemed like the entire student body showed up to watch, filling in every seat, lining up on the staircases, backing up to the doorways, spilling into the hall. David, Race, Blink, and all the other boys had shown up an hour early so they could sit in front, even though Jack was the only one of their friends who was actually auditioning for the play. He was backstage, practicing his lines, ignoring the fact that a part was almost guaranteed to him anyway. After Benny Kittridge, he was Ms. Larsen's favorite student, although he actually had some talent.
With a flourish, Ms. Larsen hit the high note of the song, holding it until the glass framing a picture of Kitty Winn, a 1977 graduate who was now dancing on Broadway, threatened to shatter. Smiling at the thunderous applause—regardless of her turn as Sweetheart O'Brien, she had always loved being on the stage more than anything else—Ms. Larsen took a deep bow, and three-fourths of her audience, content that they had seen as far down her shirt as they could, filed out.
"Can we leave now?" David asked hopefully.
"And miss Jack's audition?" Race said. "Are you kidding?"
"No."
"Thank you, thank you," Ms. Larsen said graciously, "but really, today belongs to the students. Now, as always, we'll start with those who have signed up beforehand, but if anyone is moved by the spirit, so to speak, then we can certainly make space for walk-ins. And now, to begin, Miss Benjamina Kittridge."
Benny sauntered out from backstage. She was wearing a demure silk dress, pale blue, unbuttoned down to her collarbone, its hem landing at the tops of her thighs. Without any kind of ceremony or shyness, she handed her music to Iris, the pianist, strolled over to the chair that had been placed in the middle of the stage, and straddled it from behind, her long legs wrapping around the front. There could be heard, throughout the theater, the sound of a hundred and twenty boys craning their necks to get a better look at Benny Kittridge's underwear.
"You have to understand the way I am, Mein Herr," Benny said flatly. "A tiger is a tiger, not a lamb, Mein Herr. You'll never turn the vinegar to jam, Mein Herr. So I do, what I do, when I'm through, then I'm through, and I'm through…toodle-oo."
"Is she even singing?" David asked.
"Who cares?" said Snitch.
It was a short song, but the way Benny sang it, her voice empty of even the slightest hint of feeling or inflection, it seemed to last a very long time. Still, for whatever reason, everyone else seemed to be enjoying it. Perhaps, David thought to himself, it was just a modern sort of rendition, and he simply didn't know enough to appreciate it. Or perhaps it was simply the fact that Benny Kittridge didn't seem to be wearing a bra.
"Farewell, Mein Lieber Herr, it was a fine affair, but now it's over," Benny finished. "And though I used to care, I need the open air. You're better off without me, Mein Herr." With that, she stood, took a bow, and went over to sit down next to Ms. Larsen, who was all but glowing with pride.
David thought that perhaps the drama department really was better off without Benny Kittridge, and said as much.
"You'll feel differently after you've spent the night in her room," Blink said. "When that happens—"
"Wait, wait, wait," David said. "When? What happened to if?"
Blink shrugged. "It happens to everyone eventually."
Regardless of the stories he had heard about Benny, David knew that couldn't be true. "Benny Kittridge," he said, "can not have slept with everyone."
"Well, she's slept with me," said Blink.
"And me," said Skittery.
"And me," said Mush.
"And me," said Snitch.
"And me," said Specs.
Racetrack, at the moment, seemed to be very interested in his rain boots.
"Well," Blink amended. "Almost everyone. But Race has more important things to worry about right now. I'm sure that, given this kind of change in lifestyle, he doesn't mind a bit that he never got to have his chance with Benny."
"Yes I do," Racetrack muttered.
"Well, see, that's just not cool at all."
"Come on, Blink, be nice to Race," Snitch admonished. "I bet you'd have a hard time acting mature, too, if your parents still said you were twelve when they went to the movies so they don't have to pay for an adult ticket."
Kid Blink tried very, very hard not to laugh. "You're kidding," he managed.
"They say he's Izzy's younger brother," Snitch said. Racetrack threw his mitten at him.
David had learned about Race and Sylvy at breakfast the day before, and he seemed to be the only person in the entire school who was surprised at the news. Somehow, during all the fevered nights he had spent looking at the Caldwell view book, he had managed to convince himself that the school was nothing less than the intellectual utopia the literature presented it as: princesses as beautiful as they were kind, classrooms electric with brilliance, libraries bursting with knowledge waiting to be discovered, bare trees at night, rain. Instead, it was full of people who slept around and ruined each others' lives and threw up on your toothbrush. He hoped things got better after the first week.
"Can we leave now?" David asked.
"No."
"Um, Race?" Blink asked. "Why are you wearing mittens? It's sixty degrees out. And you'reeighteen years old." He paused as he scrutinized the mitten Racetrack had thrown at Snitch, which appeared to be hand-knit with a pattern of ducklings.
"…Race?"
"Shut up, Blink."
"Your mom made these for you, didn't she?"
"Shut up, Blink."
"Do you think she could make some for me? My hands get awfully cold when I'm working up in the physics lab with Professor Salt, and…"
"SHUT UP, BLINK."
"Okay, okay," Blink said, handing Race's mitten back to him. "…But really, could you ask her about it? I really do have problems keeping my hands warm."
A few more girls came out to audition, but most of them seemed to just go through the moves, knowing, most likely, that Benny would get the main role no matter what they did. Halfway through, a girl with dark hair and glasses did an impressive rendition of "Perfectly Marvelous"—her voice was really astonishing for one so small—but Benny had only to turn the pale bloom of her face towards Ms. Larsen, a look of utter heartbreak in her blue eyes, for the girl to lose her any chance of winning Benny's part away from her.
"Can we leave now?" David asked.
"No."
"Quiet," Mush hushed them (it had to happen sometime). "Here comes Jack."
David had decided before he even came to the theater building that Jack couldn't be much better as an actor than Benny was. He just didn't see someone who went around throwing up on toothbrushes as being especially skilled in the dramatic arts. And so it came as almost an insult to him, really, when Jack turned out to be brilliant. He seemed so at ease onstage, in a way David never thought he could be; he rolled his shirtsleeves up and looked out over the heads of at least a hundred people as if he was looking at old friends. He recited something from a Neil Simon play, but it wasn't even reciting, really. It didn't seem like he was acting. He just was the character. It was so natural. The monologue was a funny one, and everyone laughed in all the right places, and the girls smiled up at him, looking as if they were in love. Benny frowned and crossed and recrossed her legs. When it was over, Jack took a leisurely bow, and leapt down from the stage. Racetrack clapped his mittened hands.
"Jack," Kid Blink said, as the man of the hour slid into the seat next to David's, "it never ceases to amaze me that two people as incredibly dull as your parents managed to end up with a kid like you. If it weren't for Boo Boo being your sister I'd think you were adopted into that family."
"Sometimes I wish I was," Jack laughed
"T. Senior still wants you to go to law school?"
"Of course," Jack said. "Haven't you ever heard him go on one of his tirades about acting?"
"Sure, but refresh my memory."
"He has decided, by this point," Jack said, looking meditatively at the water stained ceiling of the auditorium, "that anyone who ever made a career out of acting was a faggot. And no son of Ted Kelly's is a faggot."
No matter how much frustration his father's way of thinking may have caused him in the past, though, Jack was happy now; he was never more at home than when he was near a stage. Smiling, he glanced down from the ceiling, and his gaze was caughtby David Jacobs, who was at the moment doing his best to completely remove himself from the situation.
"Hi," he said, extending a hand, "I'm Jack Kelly. Have we met?"
The words You threw up on my toothbrush sprung immediately to mind, but before David managed to speak up, his vision was drawn for some reason to Jack's front teeth. He had never seen anything like them before. They came down white and straight in the front, then disappeared at the sides, his incisors almost nonexistent, and dipped down again in the region of his molars. The perfection of their crookedness was more beautiful than any result of conventional orthodontia. Looking at them, David felt like he was staring into the eyes of God. Teeth of God, he corrected himself. Looking at Jack's teeth was like reading poetry.
"What's your name?" Jack asked, and David realized they had been shaking hands for a good ten seconds.
"Uh…Jacobs. David. David Jacobs. Heh. That's my name." His face hot, he ripped his eyes away from Jack's mouth and glared down at his shoes, only to realize to his horror that he was wearing an old pair of Sarah's sweat socks.
"Oh, sure," Jack said. "I've heard about you. You're the new Marshall Taylor scholarship, right?"
David nodded.
"Yeah, I thought so. You know, you look so familiar…but I just can't think of where I've seen you before. Oh, well." Jack smiled, humming cheerfully as he looked up onstage, where a short boy in an Atlanta Braves cap was singing "Easy to be Hard."
"Can we leave now?" David mumbled.
"NO!" everyone shouted at once.
The next few hours were hell on earth. David had to somehow figure out a way to avoid talking to Jack, for fear of saying something stupid, but at the same time appear outgoing and smart and funny—and the whole time wondering why he wanted so badly to make friends with this careless rich boy who had acted completely awful on their first meeting, and now didn't even remember him. As he sunk down into his seat, David reminded himself over and over again about how he had had to walk all the way into town on Saturday afternoon to buy a new toothbrush at the Red Apple Market—ninety-nine cents, and all they had left was pink—but every time he looked up at Jack, all he wanted to do was find a new way toimpress him. It was awful.
Finally, after what felt like years but was actually two hours and forty-one minutes, the last of the hopefulshad auditioned, and everyone in the audience had filed out except for Jack, David, Specs Mush, Skittery, Kid Blink, and Race--Racehaving fallen asleep nearly an hour ago, his face mostly hidden by a pair of enormous pink earmuffs. Jack and Benny were the only actors who had stayed on; it more or less went without saying that they would have the main roles, and Ms. Larsen wanted to work with them a little before they called it a day.
They were up onstage, dancing together under the spotlight while all the boys of McKinley house looked on. Every few moments Ms. Larsen glared irritably at the observers in the front row, but they didn't seem to take any notice. Jack was moving stiffly, constantly glancing away as if counting the minutes until it was over. And Benny was practically making love to him right there on the stage: wrapping a long, slender leg around his waist, guiding his hand under her dress, reaching up to tug gently on his earlobe with her porcelain-white teeth.
"Benny," he said, uncomfortably, "what are you doing?"
"What does it look like I'm doing?" she murmured, sliding her hand under the waistband of his trousers.
Jack reached down and grabbed her wrist. "Benny. Don't. For God's sake, we're in front of your house mother. My friends are watching us—"
"Oh, it's nothing they haven't seen before."
"Don't do this, Benny."
Wrapping her arms around his neck, she leaned back, looking at him dead on with her pale blue eyes. "Doesn't this body just drive you wild with desire?" she said, loud enough for the whole auditorium to hear.
"Oh, good!" Ms. Larsen said excitedly, clapping her hands together. "Benjamina, I had no idea you already knew some of your lines!"
"It's a very nice body," Jack admitted.
"And don't you want to make love to me again, Jack?" Benny asked plaintively, sliding a hand under his dress shirt, and up the flat of his back.
"To be perfectly honest, Benny, I'd rather fuck one of the mannequins in the window displays at Bloomindale's. You've got about as much warmth and compassion in that beautiful body of yours."
As if she had been bitten, Benny instantly sprung away from him, her pale cheeks burning pink. "I'm sorry, Ms. Larsen," she said, "I can't do this with him."
"But Benjamina, you've acted with Jack many times before, and you've always done so well together! What could possibly be the matter?"
"It just—isn't—working out!" Benny shouted in frustration, and Jack realized with a slight shock that she was actually flustered.
"Well, what do you suggest we do?"
"I want someone else to play Brian," Benny said, already regaining her calmness.
"But Jack is the most experienced actor in the school, Benjamina. Who—"
"I want that boy," Benny said, pointing at someone in the front row, and David realized, to his utter horror, that she was looking right at him.
"Can we leave now?" David hissed.
"I'm sorry," Ms. Larsen said, stepping to the front of the stage as she tried to get a good look at David. "I don't think we've ever met. What's your name?"
"David Jacobs," David said miserably. "I'm new this year."
"Ah," Ms. Larsen said. "Have you ever acted before?"
"No."
"I want him," Benny whispered.
"Well," Ms. Larsen sighed, "why don't you come up onstage, do a few scenes, and we'll see how you and Benjamina work together. You're not expected anywhere tonight, are you?"
"Well, I—"
"Fine. Come up, then, and let's see how good you are. Don't worry, this will only take a few minutes."
"Sure thing, Sweetheart O'Brien," David muttered under his breath.
"What was that?"
"He said, if he claimed he hadn't always wanted to be on the stage, he'd be lyin'," Jack said, smiling at David as he leapt down from the stage and went to sit with his friends, and David walked into the lions' den.
Of course, in the world of the Swedish Meadowlark, "a few minutes" meant "an hour and twenty-four minutes." David read lines with Benny. He danced with Benny. He stage-kissed Benny. For the first time in his life, he put a lot of effort into failing miserably, and he had to wonder why, when a beautiful girl was more or less throwing herself at him, he wanted nothing more than to get away from her, and could think of no better way of spending his evening than making friends with the boy who had thrown up on his toothbrush. It was a confusing night all around.
Finally, things seemed to be winding down. Racetrack was snoring, and Blink and Mush had dozed off on each others' shoulders; Skittery had gone to call Bryce on the pay phone in the hall, and Specs was trying to do his Calculus homework. Jack was the only one who was really watching, leaning forward, occasionally smiling and showing the world a glimpse of his beautiful teeth.
"Well," said Ms. Larsen, "I think I've seen enough." And David waited for her to tell him that he was the worst actor she had seen in her entire life, even worse than the infamous Mutant Bob.
"Quite frankly, your abilities are…phenomenal," she said. "You've captured the essence of the character so perfectly…the awkwardness, the self-conscious intellectualism…the sexual confusion. Simply, it's brilliant. I'm amazed that you have no prior experience. Between you and me, I've never seen such natural talent in my entire life." She sighed as if a great dream of hers had finally come true, and put a hand to her ample bosom. "Congratulations, David Jacobs. The part is yours."
David felt like dying; all he could do was stare off into the distance, blinded by the lights. As she strolled off the stage, shrugging her coat on as she walked, Benny Kittridge smiled devilishly and leaned over to him as she walked past, whispering in his ear.
"You've got a minute left to fall in love," she said, and she was gone, a rush of perfume and chill beauty on that early September night.
The rest of the boys began to file out, Racetrack carefully winding a huge wool scarf around his head before zipping up an enormousorange parka, the kind you wore to refill the bird feeders in Antarctica. Jack was the only one who didn't leave. His hands thrust deep into his pockets, he climbed up onto the stage, smiling pleasantly at David, who was still standing there, dumbstruck, a good inch of his older sister's socks showing above the tops of his shoes.
"I think you just saved my life," Jack said.
"Oh. You're welcome."
"We've probably missed dinner by now," he said, checking his watch. "You want to go down to the Ironside, my treat? I mean, I owe you one, after that. I'll buy you a piece of pie."
"Okay."
"Are you all right?"
"Yes. …Jack?"
"Yeah?"
"Can we leave now?"
"Yeah, Dave. We can."
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Author's Note: NEWSIE CHOIR: Happy birthday to you! Happy birthday to you! Happy birthday dear Saaaaturdayyy…Happy birthday to you!
DALTON: I made everyone cupcakes! …Manly ones.
It just so happens that my dearest fellow genii Saturday (known in "The Boys of McKinley House" as Izzy Higgins, seducer of mathletes) is turning fifteen this fourteenth of October, so this chapter of the fic is a birthday present, of sorts. Its writing was aided by Tylenol, Afrin, and lots and lots of Dayquil. I've gone and caught a bit of a sniffle. BUT I STILL WROTE! For my art is my life.
DALTON: You mean your trying-to-maneuver-Jack-and-David-into-having-sex is your life.
…Yes.
DALTON: Okay. Just clearing that up.
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Shout Outs!
Unknown-Dreams
I'm glad that, even at two in the morning, that chapter made sense, because I was worrying it would be completely confusing even in the middle of the day…what with all the toothbrush-vomit and Jell-O myths…
I hope this chapter came somewhat closer to coherency, but somehow, I doubt that. Oh well. As long as you enjoyed it, my dear!
FlatOutCrazy
I, too, enjoy oral hygiene far too much. This is because, basically, all the really nerdy aspects of my personality have been given to David Jacobs in this fic. Which really isn't fair of me, I suppose—but you have to give them to SOMEONE.
Also, if Christian Bale hurled on my toothbrush, I'd sell it on eBay and buy a house in Mexico with the profits.
The Noble Platypus
Well, I'm updating this thing at one in the morning on a school night when I have a very bad case of the sniffles. Honestly, it isn't my fault that I respond to cold medicine like it's crystal meth.
Lady of Tir Na Nog
Actually, I've always been sort of partial to avocado green. It's a highly underrated color scheme, as refrigerators go. And for your countertops, you can have goldenrod. All you need is a fondue set and you can pretend it's 1977 all over again.
Verita4Eternity
DALTON: Well, in Dakki's own pathetic world, it is less "a thing" so much as "a love to end all loves," but…well, watching Newsies about four thousand times does that kind of thing to you, I guess.
ella eternity
Oh, my god, Dunk-A-Roos. I haven't thought about those in like eight years. ((sobs))
Speaking of extinct foods, do you remember Vienetta ice cream? They used to have commercials for it when I was in grade school: it was this ice cream novelty item that was sort of like a lasagna, but made out of ice cream, and in the commercials they used to just have this perfect hand cutting a slice of it. I always wanted to try it, and now I can't find it anywhere. It's one of the greatest regrets of my life.
madmbutterfly713
You can run, but you can't hide, from Benny Kittridge…it's funny how that turned out. She started out as this really minor character I sort of hated, and now I love her and write about her in almost every chapter. And I'm sure everyone is very tired of reading about her, too. But…at least I made at least once person fall out of their chair.
Cakes
Thanks! ((curtsies like Ms. Larsen))
Silky Conlon
Well, I wouldn't make a very good Severus Snape. I'm too cute. Right, Charlie?
DALTON: Um…
Right, Charlie?
DALTON: I think I left the refrigerator open gotta go bye! ((runs off))
…How strange.
Ccatt
Thanks! ((curtsies like Ms. Larsen))
NadaZimri
I often wonder the same thing myself. I was reading a text for that class the other day and I found a footnote that was THREE PAGES LONG. The world never ceases to amaze me.
ershey
DALTON: GOD DAMMIT! Now I have to bake a cake. …Davey, I TOLD you we should have just poisoned her.
Actually, boys, I'm more in the mood for some pineapple Jell-O right about now.
Sapphy
Oh God. I sense a Titanic reenactment brewing.
DALTON: KENNEDY! ATTEMPT SUICIDE! THEN I'LL SAVE YOU AND WE CAN HAVE A WHIRLWIND ROMANCE THAT CHALLENGED THE MORES OF SOCIETY!
…I should never have bought him that stupid tape for his birthday.
Heraldtalia
The possibilities in a library are endless. Especially if there is a photocopier.
Also, by the end of this fic, you will probably be sorry you ever wondered about the Kelly kids, because I will probably go into exhaustive detail about them. I have family trees and everything. It's really incredibly sad.
Saturday
HAPPY BIRTHDAY, MY LOVE!
DALTON: You know, you already sent her, like, two books and a letter.
Yeah…
DALTON: You know what this means.
Yeah, I do.
DALTON: ((grins)) You are SUCH an Oregonian rapist.
…I think I've come to accept that by now.
Dragonsong1
Oh, thank you…but Charlie's really the one who should be thanked. He was wonderful about organizing all of this. He even made a flow chart. Right now he's color-coding my sock drawer.
DALTON: WHAT AM I SUPPOSED TO DO WITH CHARTREUSE POLKA DOTS?
…Living with me hasn't been very easy for him, I'm afraid…
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DALTON: Review! Or Jack will blind you with the glory of his teeth.