Title: Pavlov 9/?
Author: Faith Harris
Summary: Halloween. Jimmy used to like it.
Ship: GaryXJimmy
I thought that Zoë would at least have thrown something at my head, especially since I was telling her that I couldn't go to the dance with her the day of. Of course, then I remembered that wasn't her style. She prided herself on simply not giving a fuck, and so, when she didn't start cursing me out, I shouldn't have been so surprised.
All she did was sit up on my bed, moving my costume to the side, and start painting her toenails metallic blue. I'm serious. Zoë kicked her boots towards the door and started painting, while I sat at my desk, toying with a bag of snapper firecrackers. Nothing that would actually injure anybody, but they made enough of a noise for a laugh. If I'd been in more of a laughing mood.
"So, Beatrice fucking Trudeau, eh?" She looked up at me over her foot, which she'd propped up on a pillow. "Didn't know you were into infected nerds, but hey, if that's your thing now…"
I made a face at her, pulling one of the snappers out of the bag and throwing it on the ground. It made a loud popping noise that made Zoë jump a little. She glared at me, shaking her head. I was lucky I hadn't messed her up or made her spill her nail polish. "It's not my thing, Zo, you know that. I'm not interested in Beatrice." I paused, tossing another snapper towards my bookshelf. "She's a freak."
"I know that. Apparently she's not that freakish, since you're all up on the idea of taking her to the dance," Zoë retorted, not looking at me. She squinted her eyes as she worked on her little toe.
"No," I said, shaking my head. "She's that freakish. More freakish than you think." Zoë's face twisted in revulsion. I realized what she was thinking. "Oh, fuck that, no, I didn't…not with Beatrice. That's not what I meant." I examined one of the little snappers for a minute before flicking it towards the window. It popped on the frame.
Zoë finished one foot and looked up at me. "Then what did you mean, huh? Jesus fuck, you're making it sound as if she's blackmailing you or something."
I didn't respond, I just stared at her while she put the cap on her polish. She threw me a suspicious look, and then a doubtful one. Then she leaned back as she stared at me, as if she'd just smelled something disgusting. She crossed her arms.
"Oh jeez…you've gotta be kidding me!" Zoë let out a bark of laughter. "Beatrice Trudeau's got something on the big man, huh? What, she swear to tell everyone that you and her are dating?"
"Not exactly…" I mumbled. Zoë looked expectant. I sighed, putting the bag of snappers in my lap. "I really don't want to share, Zo, alright?"
She frowned at me. She hated when I didn't tell her shit. It was really the one annoying chick-thing that she did. She would ask what was going on, and if I didn't feel like talking, she got a bit pissy with me.
Funny, because Gary did that too. It was just as annoying when he did it.
"Fine," she said, starting to paint the toes on the other foot. "Whatever, have your little secrets."
I figured, with the majority of my life being an open-book for all of Bullworth, that having some secrets was okay. Even from Zoë. Hell, especially from Zoë, since she knew more about me than anyone else on campus, except maybe Petey. And I was justifying.
I could have told her then, maybe. I could have just sat her down and explained that Beatrice, through mishearing a whole lot of shit, was under the fucked up delusion that Gary and I were an item. Sure, that wasn't the truth, but it would have sounded a lot better than not telling her anything. I might have even gone through with saying that, if it wasn't for the fact that I didn't know what Gary wrote in the note. Gary was enough of a smartass to have written nothing more than "you owe me a blowjob" or some shit like that. And if Beatrice could show Zoë that, I was screwed, so I couldn't tell the truth.
If I told myself that enough times, shit, I might even believe it was that simple.
"So you're going as a ninja, huh?" Zoë sounded unimpressed. "That's so wild and crazy of you." She threw a look to her side, where my costume was still spread out. "You know that at least two fucking nerdlings are gonna come dressed in the same thing."
I rolled my eyes. "So? Since when do I care what anyone else is wearing?"
"You damn sure better care what I'm wearing," Zoë snorted.
"Of course I care what you're wearing. You're fabulous, amazing, precious-"
She laughed. "Shut up, you fucking homo!" Usually, when she flung that at me, it wasn't really all that funny. I wasn't offended, but it was a pretty boring insult, as far as that went. Today, though, with everything that was piling up on me, being called 'homo' was hysterically funny. She smiled at me, misunderstanding the source of my humor. "Weirdo."
"That's saying something, coming from you, Sir Robin of Locksley." She looked at me suspiciously. "Saw the movie Robin Hood once. Fell asleep halfway through it, since it was like three fucking hours long, but I got what the hell his name was."
"Double weirdo," she said decisively. She finished up her toes and glanced up at me. "You mind getting me a Beam from the vending machine?"
"No problem." Normally I'm at least a little aware of my surroundings. Or, at least, whatever's on me. For some reason, though, it slipped my mind that I had the pack of snappers still in my lap. When I stood up, though, I fucking remembered, since the thing fucking went off. Loud.
"Shit!" Both Zoë and I jumped. When Zoë jumped, though, she knocked over her bottle of nail polish.
Right onto my costume.
"Oh my god, Jimmy, I'm so fucking sorry!" She jumped up, immediately trying to clean up the mess. "It was just the fucking poppers—what the hell were you doing, letting that shit drop like that?"
All I could do was stare at the blue metallic puddle that was all over my costume. It figured. Of course this happened to me. "Fuck it, now I can tell Beatrice I can't go.
Zoë threw an incredulous look my way. "Please. You think that fucking stalker bitch will let you get away with that? Look, I'll find some way to clean this up, it'll be fine." She frowned. "Okay, maybe it won't, since my nail polish remover will wreck this fabric." She turned back to me. "We could head into town and get you another costume."
I shook my head. "There's no way in hell I'm spending more money on this party, Zoë. I don't think so. Not happening." I sat up on my desk. "I can't believe this. I don't fucking believe this!" I hit the top of my desk in frustration. I wasn't talking about the nail polish, not really. I was talking about Beatrice, I was talking about this party, but most importantly, I was talking about Gary Smith.
He always turned my life to shit, and I always let him do it. I was a fucking chump.
Zoë shook her head determinedly. "No, we'll just see what's in your closet, Jimmy. You've got some pretty butt-ugly clothes, we can scrounge you up something." Before I could comment, she had already flung open my wardrobe and was going through things. She pulled out an old Hawaiwan shirt, a baseball jersey, a bowling shirt, and then that ugly Christmas sweater from my mother. She paused for a long moment when she got to the back of my closet. "Uh, Jimmy?"
I jumped off the top of my desk and walked over. "Yeah, Zo?"
"Why don't you just wear this?" She pulled out a hanger from the very back of my closet, behind all my heavy winter gear. "This is perfect."
I stared at it. It had been a long time since I'd laid eyes on the skeleton costume that Gary had bought me last year. In the events of the past week, I'd forgotten that I even still had it. I just looked at it quietly for a minute. "I can't wear that."
"Why not?" she demanded. "It's a fucking awesome costume, and I'll do your makeup for it."
I shook my head. She hadn't been at Bullworth then, so she didn't realize that it was connected to the ridiculousness that was Smith. I tried to tell her that. "I don't have Halloween makeup." That wasn't what I meant to say.
"I do." Of course she did. I exhaled, shaking my head. She looked at me sternly, setting her jaw. "Look, unless you want Beatrice putting you on blast for whatever it is she's holding over your head, you need a costume for tonight. You've got one. Deal with it."
She had a point. A real fucking point. I shook my head again and took the hanger from her. "You're too good to me, Zoë."
Too fucking good.
***
Beatrice insisted on clinging to my arm when we entered the gymnasium. She was beaming, which managed to stretch her face into something even less pleasant to look at. She'd used make-up to cover her sores, but that didn't help all that much. Either she didn't wear make-up enough to know what the right shade was though, or she was trying to make herself look like she had a tan or something, because she sort of look burnt. That, plus the fact that her frizzy, greasy hair—how did she manage that—was out, instead of in its normal half up shit, made her look more like crap than usual.
I wished I could have worn the ninja getup, if only because then ritual suicide would have been in character. Instead, I just told myself that I was already dead, and this was hell.
Which meant that hell was a fuck of a lot more awkward than I would have imagined. Of course, cliques were off in their little corners. The Greasers were near the emergency exit, probably itching to pull the alarm. Russell and his boys were sitting on one end of the bleachers—although I didn't spot Trent and his costume just yet. Jocks were on the other end. The nerds were mostly hovering in a little corner being the mouth-breathers that they were, and the Preps had claimed the refreshments table. No one was dancing.
Probably because they were playing "The Monster Mash."
That pretty much cinched it for me. I was in Hell, I was already dead, and this was my punishment for letting Gary blow me. I'd wondered when I died. Maybe I'd been hit by a car on the way back from Happy Volts, and the devil, disguised as Beatrice, showed up to make me miserable. That scenario made about as much sense as everything else that was happening in my life.
She dragged me towards the nerd corner, trilling excitedly to everyone about how 'perfect' our date had been so far. And, of course, by perfect, she meant that I had shown up at her dorm, looking pissed, and she ignored it, reminding me that I had to show her a 'magnificent' time or else.
Really, I was starting to doubt that anything could be worse than this. I was at the point where everyone knowing that I was screwing around with Gary seemed like the more reasonable outcome.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Zoë walking in. Zoë had forced Petey to escort her, probably so they could stand on the side and mock me. Petey, dressed in his prisoner costume, looked over at me with a look of pity. He was at the dance with my girl, and he was still looking at me with pity.
"Did you see Pinky's costume?" Beatrice was saying. "She insists that it's an authentic costume from the set of My Fair Lady, but I doubt she would wear something like that to Bullworth. Anyway, she's nowhere near Audrey Hepburn's size. What do you think?"
"My Fair what?" I had no clue what she was talking about. She frowned at me. "What?" I glanced over to where Pinky stood, surgically attached to Derby's arm. She was dressed in this black and white high-necked dress, and she had a closed umbrella in her free hand. The costume didn't look comfortable, but, then again, the Preps never looked comfortable. More often than not, they looked constipated.
"You've never seen My Fair Lady?" Beatrice sounded scandalized. "It's only one of the best musicals ever!"
Musicals. Right. She was delusional enough to think that I watched musicals. "No." I didn't think that I needed to say much more. I slowly detached her arm from mine.
Her frown deepened, and she crossed arms. "Jimmy, this is supposed to be fun. If you're going to be miserable all night, I don't know how-"
"No, don't do that." Her delusion was only allowed to go so far. I lowered my voice so that only she could hear me. "That wasn't the deal. The deal was that I brought you here and stayed. That's it. Don't push it."
She looked hurt, but only for a moment. Then her hand went to the little pouch that she'd attached to the rope-belt of her costume. So that was where the note was, huh? Good to know, for when I got fed up, grabbed the thing, and ran. "The deal was for a date. If you're sulking and ignoring me, that's not a date."
"But I'm not interested in you, Beatrice," I hissed. "I can't pretend to be."
"I really think you should consider what you're saying a bit more carefully, Jimmy. I wanted a date." She bristled at my 'confession', as if it was the first time she was hearing it. If she didn't have dirt on me, I bet she would have been a whole lot less sure of herself.
Somewhere, under whatever dark and damp rock he'd surely crawled under, I knew Gary was laughing. Hell, maybe he'd managed to hand Beatrice the note himself. And that was a misery-inducing thought if I'd ever had one.
"I'm gonna get some punch," I announced suddenly. She blinked at the sudden change of topic. I just needed some air. Still, I wasn't stupid enough to just walk away. Through gritted teeth, I added, "You want something?"
Beatrice nodded approvingly. "Yes please."
Relieved to get away from her, I made my way towards the punch bowl. On the way, I caught Zoë's eye and motioned with my head for her to follow. Zoë elbowed Petey, and they both started moving towards the side of the refreshment table the Preps hadn't quite staked out. I started pouring myself a cup of punch while Zoë and Petey huddled in close.
"How's the party?" Zoë mocked with a raised eyebrow. I glared at her, and she chuckled, grabbing my punch cup and drinking it herself. "I'm sorry, it's just…she really thinks that this'll convince you to marry her, doesn't she?"
"I knew Beatrice had some problems, but…" Petey shook his head. The prisoner cap flopped a bit, and nearly fell off, but Zoë stuck a hand out and fixed it for him. "Thanks." He turned to me. "You didn't tell me what she had on you."
I hadn't had time to talk to Petey about it. I stared at him, eyes widening just enough to get him to think about what he'd just said. He opened his mouth to respond and then clamped it shut, paling. Yeah, he got it.
Zoë looked back and forth between the two of us. She rolled her eyes. "Oh, of course Petey knows. You boys and your fucking secrets are starting to get on my nerves." She definitely looked more pissed than she had been in the room. I cursed to myself, shaking my head at Petey. He had to ask just then, didn't he? I didn't drink that often—yet—but it was starting to look like a good way to deal with this shit.
"It's not about boys and their secrets," I argued, knowing damned well that was exactly what this crap was about. That was the only thing this was about, but the secret wasn't between me and Petey. "He found out. I didn't want him to." Petey looked down at the punch bowl, embarrassed.
Zoë shook her head. "Whatever. You do whatever you want, alright?"
"Zo--" I started.
She put her hand up to cut me off. I hated when she did that. "No. I don't want to hear a dumbass excuse." I poured Petey some punch and passed him the cup. He took it silently. "I hope the rest of your night with Beatrice is a fucking blast. I've gotta go to the bathroom." She put her half-empty cup on the refreshment table. "Petey, make sure none of these sleazes drug my drink."
She walked off. We stood in silence for a minute, before Petey spoke. "You know, she says that like she's hoping someone does it." I snorted in amusement, and drank the rest of her punch. Petey leaned in close to me, and asked, "How did she—Beatrice—find out? That doesn't make any sense."
"Heard us talking," I grunted, cup still in front of my mouth. "Costume shop."
Petey frowned and took off the prisoner hat. He twisted it with his hands nervously. "Jeez…I forgot she was even there. All I saw was Trent in that, that thing…" That was what happened with me. I couldn't really blame Petey. "Why didn't you just say that you'd tell everyone she was crazy?"
"She's got something that…" I grimaced, refilling the empy cup, "he wrote." Petey blanched. "Yeah, I know, exactly. I don't even know what the fuck was in the note, but she's got it and I'm screwed."
Petey swallowed. "Jesus Christ." His voice almost cracked.
"Tell me about it." I looked over where Beatrice stood, talking to Melvin. She looked at me expectantly. I pasted a bullshit smile on my face and waved. I hated her more than I hated Gary right now, and right now I was considering stringing Gary up by his toenails.
He picked at the top of his cup, looking as if he barely believed me. Which I got, because the more I said it out loud, the less believable it sounded. "Hey, Jimmy?"
"Yeah?" Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Derby and crew turn to look at the door. I turned to see what they were staring at.
"I've gotta tell you something-"
"Shhh…check this shit out."
I wanted to hear whatever Petey was going to say, but there was more important shit going on. Like Trent bursting in through the front door, in full drag, sporting a blonde wig and holding a purse. And heels. He was wearing fucking heels. "Oh boy," I whistled. Kirby was going to croak.
Especially after Trent hollered out, "Kirby, baby, where the fuck are you, you fucking queer?!"
Kirby, dressed in his football uniform, turned and turned bright fucking pink. I'd never seen a pink football player before, but watching Kirby brighten with color was fucking hysterical. So was watching Trent barrel through the gym, clearing a path of homosexuality that was bigger than the yellow brick road.
Everyone was either dead silent or laughing. I wasn't sure that Kirby thought it was all that funny, especially when Trent stopped in front of him, sticking a hip out and crossing his arms. "Well, sweet thing, why the fuck didn't you come and pick me up from the dorms?"
Petey nearly choked as he watched. I leaned back on the refreshment table and watched the newest train wreck to come through Bullworth.
Kirby started sputtering. "What the—Trent, you—what the fuck are you doing?"
No one was speaking up, but everyone was whispering to each other. Even Beatrice was done watching me suspiciously, her eyes trained on Kirby's nervousness.
"Doing here? You thought I was going to miss Halloween, baby? Are you out of your fucking mind?" Trent paused, then grinned. "Want to dance?"
"Dance?!" Kirby snapped back. "You fag, I oughta-"
Petey finally squeaked out a whisper to me. "Jimmy, I've gotta tell you something important. Now."
I didn't look away from Kirby and his girlfriend. "What is it, Petey? Jesus Christ. Can't it fucking wait?"
"No, it can't…" Petey insisted.
He didn't say anything more, so I elbowed him slightly. Kirby and Trent were still going back and forth—something about just how gay Kirby was, and that Trent wanted a date. Or something. "What is it Petey? Just spit that crap out." I wanted to get back to watching this shit with my full attention.
"I know where Beatrice got the note."
Okay, that distracted me completely. I turned to face Petey. "What? How the hell do you know that?"
Petey coughed, and then spent an awkward few seconds trying to clear his throat. "I went to see him. At the hospital."
"When the fuck did you do that? Why did you do that?"
"Because I wanted to know what he was getting at with you. I didn't understand, and so I went to visit him, and…" He trailed off, and I was getting sick of prodding. I glared at him. He flailed anxiously for a few seconds before finally speaking. "He handed me a note for you, Jimmy. And I got mad and tossed it out. Beatrice must have seen me, 'cause she was there for her psych eval--"
I couldn't help myself. I grabbed Petey by the front of his shirt. Nearly shook the tiny bastard. "You did what? On what fucking planet did that even make any sense, Pete?"
"I'm sorry!" Petey insisted. "I wasn't thinking. He got me so angry, and I just-"
I released him, taking a slow, deep breath. I was not going to hit Petey. I hadn't done it yet, and I certainly wasn't going to start right now. Even if this was shaping up to be the worst night of my life thus far. Even if it was worse than every time my mother swore she was getting married again to some rich or dumb asshole. Worse than every time Gary had screwed me over.
"Jimmy…"
"Not right fucking now, Pete." I was struggling just to breathe calmly. I felt nauseous and I was just trying to keep that damned punch down, let alone everything else that I'd eaten today. I started walking away.
"But what about Beatrice?" Petey called after me.
I stopped for a moment and considered it. "Fuck Beatrice. I don't care if she posts that shit on the walls right now. It's not like this shit could get worse."
I made a beeline towards the door, while Beatrice and everyone else was distracted by the spectacle of Kirby and Trent's almost existent love life. No one cared that I shoved half of the school out of my way in order to get out of the gym.
It was cold outside, but when I pushed open the doors, that didn't seem to matter so much. Everyone was inside, including most of the prefects, even though I passed a couple on the way from the gym. No one fucked with me, fortunately, because I felt so shitty, I might have punched a fucking prefect if he said anything to me right now.
All I could do in my frustration was kick the fountain. It didn't make me feel better, and it hurt, but fuck it all. I had been forced into ditching Zoë because Petey threw a fucking note that was meant for me in the trash can. Because Gary pissed him off. Probably because Gary made him cry or something dumb like that.
I couldn't believe Petey. It made me want to throw him in a fucking locker for a few days. That would probably feel better than kicking the fucking cement. I wanted to throttle the kid for being so stupid. For being so careless—
--but I'd been that careless too. I'd talked about Gary with Petey in public, and I had brought it up. I'd been that stupid when I let Gary speak to me in the first place. It was my idiocy that put me in this stupid situation, even if Beatrice's manipulation, Petey's stupidity, and Gary's Gary-ness had all contributed. I couldn't blame anyone.
Yeah, Gary'd kissed me, but I came back and kissed him a second time.
My rage deflated like that time I'd sat with Johnny, blowing up condoms and making noises with them. I dropped down to sit on the edge of the fountain. Bile was rising in my throat again. Beatrice had probably noticed I was gone by now. I wondered who she would tell first. Probably the other nerds. Maybe she'd just pass around the note. I didn't know, and as much as I tried not to care, it scared the shit out of me. And I couldn't even blame Gary.
It was both revolting and fascinating that he could turn my world so very upside down. This was twice that my life was pretty much determined by my connection with Gary. Even when I was sure things were cool, that asshole was always at the center of it falling apart. I didn't know how I'd gotten caught in it a second time.
There wasn't even anything I could do now, except maybe deny that I knew anything about what was going on. Gary was that fucked up, maybe I could get away with it, but Beatrice wasn't usually a liar, just crazy. And I wasn't a good liar anyway.
With an aggravated sigh, I stood up, ready to go back to the dorms. Maybe if I slept the night off, I'd be able to think of a solution in the morning. Or, if I was really lucky, I'd wake up from this nightmare. I didn't bank on shit like that, but the hope was a nice change.
Fortunately I got to the boy's dorm without running into any more prefects. I caught slow movement out of the corner of my eye as I passed under the archway. I didn't feel like talking. I made my way up the stairs.
"What's the problem? You worried about turning back into a troll at midnight?"
And I froze. Someone was fucking with me. God hated me. God was giving me a present. I couldn't tell which one it was. I didn't care. Slowly, I turned to face the bottom of the stairs. I tried to think of something smart to say, something clever and quick.
All that would come out, though, was, "Give me one good reason why I shouldn't beat the ever-loving crap out of you."
I wasn't at all surprised when all Gary did was smirk.
TBC
