I'm not well-adjusted, socially. I literally have no friends except for my trumpet. Pretty sad, right? I spend more time practicing than I do doing homework, relaxing, or even sleeping. I don't exactly have a life apart from music. Sure, I've been classified as a loser before, but I think I think my admission tipped the scale to the tier above band geek: which would be dangerously obsessed.
If there was one thing I was looking forward to about boarding school, it would be the lack of parents. It's not that I don't like my parents... They're not bad. It's just that I've always felt like I would be better off taking care of myself. I'd always hating their nagging me about a messy room, about dishes that needed to be done, about how it was too late at night for me to practice trumpet because the neighbors would come complaining. I was going to a music academy, for God's sake. I could practice all I wanted now.
It was ridiculously early in the morning, and a monday nonetheless. My mind had been wandering for the past hour and a half that I spent on a bus, thinking of nothing but what my new school life would be like and what I could expect of it. I'd promised myself that I wouldn't single myself out as a loner this year, and I was determined to make at least one friend as fast as I could. I was a little bit nervous about the fact that most of the kids in my division seemed to know each other already. I could name at least a few of the kids I'd met a week ago who I knew had attended school last year (or last semester at least), and in theory, it was harder to make friends when a social ladder had previously been established. If anything, I would have to be careful in my first week or so if I wanted to stay on the top half of the spectrum. No one knew me yet. I could pull off "cool kid" Karkat if I tried.
To make my move "swifter and more comfortable" (or so said the adjudicator, who it turns out was also head secretary in charge of schedule arrangements), all I would have to carry with me was a jacket, identification, and my instrument (if I so desired). It was pretty cold for so early in September, and I'd managed to dig up a dark grey zip-up sweatshirt from the bottom of my dresser that didn't scream 'geek!' at the top of it's lungs. Wearing dark colors generally wore down the conspicuousness of my carrot-top-and-freckles combo that I was so NOT fond of. I stuck my hand in my pocket, feeling the edges of my I.D. card, as the bus screeched to a halt. I squeezed the handle of my trumpet case anxiously.
I caught a glimpse of my reflection in the bus window. My hair was at that awkward stage between short and long where it was shaggy and thick enough to be annoying, but short enough to stick up at an odd angle in the back. I'd been teased for it in school the previous years, and my stomach churned every time I looked in the mirror. The bus stopped completely, and I rose to my feet, along with the rest of it's riders. If you manage to catch sight of me in a crowd, the first thing you'll notice is my height. In middle school I managed to inch up to about 5'2" (still far under normal for your average guy). My parents assumed that my growth spurt hadn't hit yet, and I'd rocket up a few inches in high school. So far, I wasn't doing so well. Another inch or two had me up to almost 5'4", shorter than most of the girls. It was downright embarrassing.
The crowd of bus-goers carried me off the bus in a wave of bodies, and it was all I could do to keep hold of my instrument case. The academy was downright gigantic, and it took up as much space as your average college campus. I stumbled off the bus and right onto the steps of the main building, which in itself was almost larger than the entire campus of the high school I had attended the previous year. I trotted up a long string on concrete steps, approaching the wide, sinister doorway of the main building. From what I could see, the campus was scattered with trees in small patches, and I caught a glimpse of a wide grassy field just behind the main building. My feet carried me towards the doors, which were almost twice my height. I managed to heave one open, while keeping a tight hold on the handle of my trumpet case. The inside of the building was just as grand as the outside, with high, arched ceilings and walls of marble and stone. I would not have been surprised if the building had been a prestigious university at some time or other, transformed to an arts academy only in recent years.
I noticed a clump of kids that I recognized as the measly group of instrumentalists I had auditioned with only a week previous. I walked briskly towards my group, standing in a semicircle around the same secretary-type woman who had served as our adjudicator last week. It seemed she was permanently assigned to look after us as a group, which didn't seem like a particularly delightful notion, judging by the look on her face. I noticed Tavros standing near the edge of the circle, donning a light brown jack and a grey knit cap on his head. He held his viola case with one hand, and his big nervous eyes darted nervously from the secretary woman to Vriska, who was standing across from him and buttoning up her fluffy blue sweater, her violin lying uselessly on the ground. I wandered over to him, hoping he would recognize me.
"Hey Tav," I coughed, joining him in his relatively empty half of the circle.
He jumped at the sound of his name, but he looked at least a little bit happy as I approached him. "Oh, uh, hi Karkat!" He swung his viola gingerly back and forth around his knees, more relaxed than I had seen him... well, ever.
I pulled at the sleeve of my sweatshirt, my trumpet case hanging from the other hand. All of the same kids I'd met last weekend looked miles different in street clothes. In my opinion, dress clothes weren't flattering on anyone, and it was definitely easier to get a read on someone's personality when they were dressed normally. The flautist I had met briefly, Feferi, stood hand-in-hand with Eridan, the oboe player, her head pressed affectionately into his shoulder. She was wearing grey tights under a dangerously short skirt, a pale pink sweatshirt tied around her tiny waist, and her hair was wound into a long, thick braid. Eridan was taller than her by a few inches, and her head was resting comfortably on the shoulder of his faded burgundy jacket. His glasses would've looked ridiculous on anyone else, but he managed to pull them off. He was staring off towards a window, a curl of his violet hair falling down the side of his face. He looked strangely satisfied by the girl hanging off his arm, and I suspected that there wasn't much that could be done for his ego. After all, principal oboe? It would be impossible not to have some sort of a superiority complex.
Various other kids were seated or standing awkwardly around the adjudicator, either chatting politely with each other or glancing around nervously, as if they still were required to prove themselves somehow. The secretary woman peered over the rim of her glasses, scanning the small crowd of us, and no doubt taking a quick roll-call inside her head. When she was sure we had all assembled, she tapped her pencil on her clipboard (which she was again carrying), and the few kids who had been muttering quieted down instantly.
"Children, children," she muttered, although we were already silent. I despised being referred to as a child. Surely sixteen qualified as adult? Not to this grumpy old woman, anyway. She tucked her clipboard under one arm and licked her lips in preparation for her welcoming.
"Hello and welcome," she began with a sigh, "I have your room assignments right here. You will be allowed approximately one day to adjust to your new surroundings and work out your schedules, but classes begin first thing tomorrow morning and I expect all of you ready to begin the year by then. I strongly encourage any new students to seek guidance from returning students if they have any pressing questions that I have not covered."
I looked down, as I was sure that several of the more experienced players shot me a derogatory glance. I hated being the 'new kid'.
"Once I read your room assignments, you make progress to the dormitory building. If you're unsure of it's location, I'm certain that one of your fellow students would be happy to lead you in the right direction. We're all friends here, correct?"
We all glanced suspiciously at each other. Friends. Right.
"Right then," she cleared her throat, as she seemed partial to doing. She placed her index finger at the top of the list, directing her eyes and her brain in the right direction. "Room 386 will be occupied by miss Leijon and miss Megido." Nepeta hopped playfully to her feet, trotting away from Equius's side to greet Aradia, who was standing stark still at the edge of the circle, with her face stranded in neutral.
"Room 387, miss Maryam and miss Peixes." The flautist blinked happily in the direction of the stern and somewhat still cellist girl, who was dressed so professionally, it looked like she was stuck in concert mode.
"388, miss Serket and miss Pyrope." Vriska looked rather confused as to her assignment, until she was pointed in the correct direction to greet Terezi, who was hiding surprisingly well the small crowd with her blindingly bright red sweatshirt. Terezi glanced in a completely wrong direction at the sound of her name. She was clinically blind, I was sure of it.
"411, mister Nitram, and mister Makara." Tavros swallowed nervously under the glance of the tall, ebony-haired boy who was smiling intimidatingly at him. I had been wishing subconsciously wishing I might land a roommate that I was at least vaguely acquainted with, but it seemed Tavros and Gamzee were going to have to puzzle things out of their own.
"Room 412, mister Zahhak and mister Ampora." Eridan turned his head in the direction of the bass player, glaring insensitively at him. Equius didn't look much happier, but he managed a polite nod of the head in the direction of his new roommate. Eridan rolled his eyes.
"Room 413, mister Captor and mister Vantas." I glanced disbelievingly at the smirking blonde boy that I would be forced to spend an entire year in the company of. I knew from the looks I'd been getting that he had a bone to pick with me, though I wasn't sure exactly what I'd done to make him so pissed off. I shot him a nondescript glance, hoping he would get my message. There'd be a confrontation. Like hell there would. I wanted to know more about this kid. Before I tossed him aside as the object of all my aggression, anyways. Who knows, I might even start to like him a little bit once I had a day to get to know the guy. Maybe I could manage to make a friend.
I tried, internally, to talk myself into the idea. It would unfold soon enough, one way or the other.