TITLE: The Quality of Darkness
SPOILERS: Anything from the series is fair game.
DISCLAIMER: I do not own Drake & Josh. All are owned by Dan Schneider, et al. I am not profiting in any way except creatively.
A/N: Please remember, my intention with this story is to alternate between present and past. "Present" chapters will be written in normal text and in the present tense. "Past" chapters will be written in italics and in the past tense. Obviously, this is a "past" chapter.
Chapter 2: The Beginning
Drake was awake, but he was resolutely keeping his eyes closed, in denial that it was Monday morning already. The weekend had flown by, as was its habit, and now it was time to start another tedious week at school. He could hear Josh moving around the room, trying to stay quiet while at the same time trying to rouse Drake. Drake had to bury his face in his pillow to hide his smile.
Finally, Drake felt something soft hit his face with quite a bit of force. Propping himself up on his right elbow, he quickly discovered the identity of the projectile – a pillow from the sofa. He grasped the offensive object in his left hand and threw it back at his brother, who was standing by the sofa with an amused smirk on his face.
Josh ducked the pillow easily and crossed his arms over his chest as he said, "Your fake sleeping routine is getting a little old."
Drake flashed his brother a crooked smile. "Yeah, but it's a classic." He threw off the covers and swung his legs around, standing up and lithely stepping off the loft and onto the arm of the couch, then onto the floor in front of Josh. Yawning, he stretched luxuriously, ending the motion by scratching the crescent of belly that peeked out from beneath his t-shirt.
"I'm leaving in ten minutes, Drake," Josh told him as he sat on the couch to put on his shoes.
"Yeah, yeah," Drake replied, the words barely discernible through another yawn. "I'll be ready in five." He stepped over Josh as he made his way to the door.
"Hmph," Josh grunted. "You preen more than any girl I know."
"Don't hate me because I'm beautiful," Drake quipped over his shoulder as he headed towards the bathroom.
Six minutes later, Drake sauntered into the kitchen, a ready smile on his face. He was dressed and ready to go, his backpack slung casually over his shoulder. "Good morning," he said lightly as he walked straight to the refrigerator and ducked his head inside, emerging a moment later with the milk.
Josh held up his wrist, looked dramatically at his watch. "You're late," he announced, his brown eyes twinkling.
Drake smirked, then tilted the carton to his lips. "Your watch must be fast."
"You suck," Josh said, standing up from the table and placing his cereal bowl in the sink.
"You love me," Drake countered, putting the milk back in the refrigerator and wiping off his milk mustache.
Josh rolled his eyes. "Come on, we're gonna be late."
"God forbid," Drake teased, but followed his brother out the door obediently.
It was second period. Drake sat slumped in his desk in the next to last row in Mr. Bradford's American History class. History wasn't interesting when he was awake and it was even less so at 8:30 on a Monday morning. Stifling a yawn, Drake opened his eyes wide and shook his head once to keep himself awake.
"…Mr. Parker?"
Upon hearing his name, he sat up, focusing his eyes on Mr. Bradford, whose light blue eyes were looking back at him expectantly. "Huh?" A few scattered chuckles dotted the classroom.
Mr. Bradford, propped against the edge of his desk, crossed his arms over his chest. "I asked if we were keeping you up, Mr. Parker."
"Uh," Drake answered dumbly, picking up his pen. "No, sir." He hunched over his notebook, the page empty except for a few doodles in the corners – one of a flaming guitar, one of a giant hamburger eating Mr. Bradford.
"Well, in that case," Mr. Bradford said, standing up and walking around the desk to the whiteboard, "please tell the class the name of the general in command of the Continental Army's artillery."
Drake just stared at him, his mind a blank. He was caught and Mr. Bradford, in all his malicious wisdom, knew it. "Uh…" Drake said again, his mind swirling to find a name, any name. "Patton?" he ventured, grimacing.
Laughter erupted around the classroom. Mr. Bradford quieted it with a wave of his hand. "I'm afraid, Mr. Parker," he said evenly, "that you're about 170 years too late with that answer."
"Oh," Drake replied sheepishly, looking down at his notebook.
"'Oh,' indeed," the teacher said, then finally turned his attention away from Drake.
Slumping back in his chair in relief, Drake once again tuned him out. Mr. Parker. Just the way he said it irritated Drake. The school year wasn't even two months old and already one of his teachers hated him. There was already Mrs. Hayfer, of course, but he had learned to accept that a long time ago. Now, Mr. Bradford seemed to take special pleasure in making Drake squirm as well.
Drake could ill afford to fail this class; it was his senior year and he was determined to graduate. Besides, he couldn't count on any more dance contests to bail him out of a scholastic jam this year. There was no way he was repeating twelfth grade.
The bell roused Drake from his reverie. He closed his book and slipped it and his notebook into his backpack, standing up and filing down the aisle towards the door. Just as he was passing Mr. Bradford's desk, the teacher said his name.
"Mr. Parker."
The sound made Drake grit his teeth. Turning, he faced Mr. Bradford. "Yes, sir?" he asked as politely as he could muster.
"I'd like to talk to you about your performance a few minutes ago," the man said.
Drake shuffled his feet. "Yeah, about that…" he began.
"It's becoming a habit." Mr. Bradford leaned against his desk again, crossed his arms.
"Look, Mr. Bradford," Drake said, casting a quick glance towards the door. The halls were quickly clearing; he was going to be late for math if he didn't hurry. "Can we talk about this later? I've got algebra and Mr. Johnson hates it when we're late."
"I'll write you a pass," Mr. Bradford said simply. He motioned to a desk in the front row. "Please have a seat."
Drake's shoulders visibly slumped, but he complied, sinking heavily into a desk and setting his book bag on top of it. He lifted his eyes to meet Mr. Bradford's. "Look, I'm sorry about this morning, Mr. Bradford. I –"
But Mr. Bradford lifted a hand to stop him. "Let me ask you something, Mr. Parker."
"Okay." Drake's fingers fiddled absently with one of the zippers on his backpack.
"You're a popular kid, right?"
Drake didn't respond right away; he was taken aback by the question.
Mr. Bradford noticed Drake's hesitation. He smiled slightly. "I'm new to this school. I don't know who's who yet. Humor me; answer the question."
"Yeah," Drake said, a little uncertainly. "I guess so."
"I'd be willing to wager that you've basically cruised through school on charm and personality," Mr. Bradford stated matter-of-factly, adding, "and a little luck."
Drake squirmed uneasily in his desk. He was irritated that this teacher who only saw him for 50 minutes a day on school days had him pegged. "What's your point?" he asked, more harshly than he intended.
Mr. Bradford just looked at him in silence for a long moment. "My point, Mr. Parker," he finally said, "is that your cool routine is not going to work with me. If you pass my class, it's because you've earned it."
"Yes, sir," Drake muttered, not making eye contact.
Another moment of silence passed before Mr. Bradford stood up. Walking behind his desk, he opened the lap drawer and pulled out a small pad of pink paper, scribbling on it like a waiter taking a drink order. Signing it with a flourish, he tore off the top sheet and held it out to Drake. "Your pass, Mr. Parker. As promised."
Drake slid out of the desk and stood up, slinging his backpack over his shoulder. He reached out and took the slip of paper from his teacher. "Thanks." He headed for the door.
"One more thing," Mr. Bradford said and Drake turned to look at him. "I'm not a complete monster, you know. I want to see my students succeed, believe it or not." He smiled at his own attempt at a joke. "That's why I'm going to help you."
"Yeah? How?" Drake asked skeptically. He was already pretty sure he wasn't going to like the answer.
"By tutoring you. After school." He paused for effect. "Starting this afternoon."
Drake automatically opened his mouth to protest, but the look of finality on Mr. Bradford's face made him keep quiet. Instead, he nodded his head sullenly. "Yes, sir."
"Good. You better get going now. I'll see you later." Mr. Bradford smiled sincerely.
"Yeah," Drake said as he walked into the now-empty hallway towards Mr. Johnson's algebra class, clutching his pink pass just as the late bell rang.
Josh looked up from his Physics book at the sound of a lunch tray being dropped with a heavy thud onto the table in front of him. A small cup of chocolate pudding fell onto the table, landing on its side.
"Who peed in your punch?" he asked his brother, who slumped down onto the bench with a sigh. Josh grinned widely; he'd been waiting forever to use that line.
Drake gave him an odd look, which quickly turned sullen. "Mr. Bradford," he answered, righting the pudding cup and picking up the small carton of chocolate milk, giving it a good shake.
"What did you do this time?" Josh asked, suppressing a smirk.
Drake stopped shaking the milk as his face took on an offended look. "Why do you automatically think it's my fault?"
"Because your ability to aggravate teachers is as legendary as your supposed savant-like kissing skills," Josh replied, a bit distastefully.
"'Savant-like'," Drake said softly, thinking it over, his forehead wrinkled in confusion. "That's good, right?" he finally asked, leaning in a little.
Josh just shook his head. "So tell me," he said, picking up their previous thread of conversation, "what did you do to Mr. Bradford?"
Drake shrugged. He started shaking the milk again, this time with more force as his irritation built. "Nothing," he insisted. "He just hates me."
Josh just looked at him, one eyebrow lifted. "I think it's completely mixed now," he said glibly.
Confusion darkened Drake's expression for a brief moment. Then he carefully set the milk down on the table and opened it, hiding his chagrin behind the carton as he tilted it to his lips. He took a long drink and set the carton down, looking across the table at his brother. "What?" he asked, when Josh continued to stare at him.
"So I guess that makes Mr. Bradford vice president of the 'I Hate Drake Parker' club." Josh was obviously enjoying himself.
Drake pulled a face. "Funny." He tore open the plastic package that contained his napkin and spork, pulled out the spork, then peeled back the top of the pudding cup, scooping out a big spoonful of pudding. He held it in midair between them. "It's not fair," he said, shoveling the pudding into his mouth. "Just because I didn't know the name of some stupid general," he added through a mouthful of pudding.
"So, what?" Josh asked. "He gave you detention?"
Drake shook his head. "Worse," he said, spooning more pudding into his mouth.
Josh looked confused. "What's worse than detention?"
Drake looked at his brother mournfully. "He's gonna tutor me."
As the implication of what Drake was saying slowly sunk in, Josh started to smile. "You're right," he finally said. "For you, that is worse."
"Yeah," Drake replied as he scraped the sides of the pudding cup with his spork, trying to get the last bit of pudding. He placed the utensil in his mouth, pulling it across his tongue and out of his mouth upside-down. "At least in detention, I can just sit there. Now he's gonna expect me to participate." He said that last word like it had a bad taste.
"Oh, the horror," Josh quipped. "But look at the bright side," he continued, grinning. "At least now you'll know the name of that general." He looked at his watch – lunch was almost over. He started gathering up his stuff.
Smirking, Drake dropped his empty pudding cup onto the tray along with his spork and started to stand. "Whoopty-do," he muttered under his breath. He picked up his tray and followed Josh to the trash bins.
"Henry Knox," he said suddenly, after dropping his tray in the trash.
Josh cast him a look over his shoulder. "Huh?"
"That's the general," Drake replied. "I looked it up."
"Wasn't he the guy in charge of the Continental Army's artillery?" Josh asked.
Drake gave his brother a dark look. "Shut up."
Josh just smiled.
Mr. Bradford was young. Well, young-ish, Drake thought as he watched the teacher draw a timeline on the whiteboard – early thirties, he'd guess. He had roguish blond hair and blue eyes and had a penchant for golf shirts and khaki-colored Dockers. Drake thought he was trying to strike a balance between cool and authoritative but hadn't quite achieved either one.
"Mr. Parker," Mr. Bradford said suddenly, turning from the board to face Drake, surprising him. "Tell me something. Why do you think it's important to study history?"
He knew he shouldn't say the first thing that came to his mind, but he couldn't help it. "I don't," he answered, shuffling his feet across the floor. He hated sitting in the front row, even in an empty classroom.
"Well," Mr. Bradford said, a tiny smile surfacing, "why don't we see if we can change that." He stood up straight and Drake could tell that he was about to say something that he, at least, thought was profound.
"In order to better understand ourselves, we must first understand our past," he said.
Drake could not suppress the involuntary eye roll that followed that statement.
Mr. Bradford laughed out loud, clicking the cap on the blue dry erase marker and setting it down on the tray along the bottom edge of the whiteboard. "I couldn't agree more, Mr. Parker," he said casually. "Not that I don't believe it to be true," he continued. "It's just that saying it out loud like that – it does sound dumb."
"Kinda," Drake said, shrugging one shoulder.
"Okay," Mr. Bradford said. "How about this, then? Right here, right now, history is important because you need it to be. You need this class to graduate, am I right?"
"Yeah," Drake said reluctantly.
"Then let's just focus on that, okay? You just keep your eye on the prize – your diploma – and I promise to do my best to make it as painless as possible." He raised his eyebrows in a silent question as he looked at Drake. "Deal?"
Drake deliberated for a moment, then shrugged. "For how long are we talkin'?" he asked cannily.
Mr. Bradford smiled. "Let's start with twice a week for a month. Then we'll evaluate your progress and go from there." He paused, studying the expression of the young man in front of him. "Fair enough?"
Do I have a choice? Drake thought, but didn't say it. "I guess," he said instead.
"I choose to take that as a resounding 'yes'," Mr. Bradford said, chuckling as he bent to gather up his papers.
Drake looked at the clock – almost an hour had passed since school had ended. He shifted restlessly in his seat. "All this learning has been great and all," he said, "but I should really be getting home." He patted his backpack meaningfully and suddenly wished there was more in it. "I've got lots of homework to do, you know."
Mr. Bradford gave him an amused look. "I have no doubt, Mr. Parker," he said lightly. "Including mine, I hope."
"Yours is first on the list, sir," Drake said earnestly.
"Then I guess I should let you get to it," the teacher said. "You may go."
Drake grabbed his bag and swung it over his shoulder as he stood up. "See you later, Mr. Bradford." He headed for the door.
"So long, Mr. Parker," he heard the teacher say as he walked quickly down the empty hallway towards the exit.
Ten minutes later, Drake was standing on the curb in front of the school, cell phone pressed to his ear. He was trying for the third time to reach Josh, but was only getting voicemail. When he heard the words, "Hey, this is Josh…" he pressed the END button and started dialing their home number. A voice from behind startled him.
"Waiting on your ride, Mr. Parker?"
Drake turned. Mr. Bradford stood a couple feet behind him, a tattered red messenger bag slung crosswise over his chest, resting just below his right hip. He had placed an old Padres hat on his head, his blond hair curling up around the bottom. Drake got the sudden feeling that he had been standing there for a while, but pushed the thought away.
"I'm trying to reach my brother, but he's not answering his phone," he replied evenly.
Mr. Bradford looked at him for a long moment in silence, like he was debating something. Finally, he said, "I could give you a ride home." He shrugged, pasting a conspiratorial grin on his face. "It's probably against the rules," he added, his voice lowering to an almost-whisper, "but I won't tell anyone if you don't."
"Uh, that's okay," Drake said. "I can just…"
"Where do you live?" Mr. Bradford asked suddenly, interrupting him.
The question caught Drake off-guard and before he could stop himself, he gave the man his address.
"I have an appointment near there. I could drop you on the way."
"Well…" Drake said, a little warily.
"It's no trouble. Really," Mr. Bradford insisted. He looked at the sky. "Besides, it looks like it might rain."
Drake followed his gaze upwards; dark clouds were gathering in the west – another late summer storm coming off the Pacific. "Well, I guess it would be alright," he said, shaking off a slight feeling of unease that crept up his spine. "Thanks."
"Sure," Mr. Bradford said, pointing in the direction of the teacher's parking lot. "I'm parked just over there."
When Drake settled into the passenger's seat of Mr. Bradford's dark blue Chevy Suburban and closed the door securely, he had no way of knowing that his life had just changed forever.
Reviews are like oxygen...vital to life. (Okay, so not really. But they're still nice!) Thanks.