Nowhere Man
-Yo-yo
Disclaimer: Located in Chapter 1.
A/N: Please don't get upset at the liberties I took with my music timeline. I know this is happening in the mid-2000s, but Katie Perry didn't arrive until the 2010s, but I'm too lazy to remember the music of high school and I don't feel like using Wikipedia to research it. ^_^
Misery:
March has settled in, yet my circumstances remain the same.
Every morning begins with a swim. Breakfast, a shower, dress for school and a report for His upcoming day must be handed in before Frank allows me into the car. The short ride to school builds a sense of dread in my belly. For weeks now school has offered me little reprieve from the monotony that has become my life. The drive through the snow blanketed neighborhoods, over the familiar terrain of the road, making the exact same turns, every day, bolsters the anxiety accompanied with knowing what little fulfillment my day will contain. Just like the others that came before, I know what to expect, it will just be another day of avoiding interactions. After eight hours of self-imposed solitude, I will be ushered back into the car for Frank to bring me to "The Corporation." And there I will spend an agonizing three hours in silence, with my anger simmering, just being in His presence. My day ends in my bedroom, dinner delivered as I complete my homework and His daily report for tomorrow's project.
How long will this continue?
This morning, a minute green frog escapes my locker as I pry it open. I reach down quickly to pluck the little origami amphibian from the floor and a smile in anticipation of its content forms before I have even reversed its intricate folds.
It has been two weeks since I received the last one.
Inside, she's written:
"I see you're drinking one percent. Is that 'cause you think you're fat? 'Cause you're not. You could be drinking whole milk if you wanted to." –Napoleon Dynamite
It is then that my smile becomes genuine and I wish I had taken the note to the bathroom, for fear my expression would reveal this secret service. She had been carrying this on for two months now, slipping me scraps of optimism. After the initial hot pink post-it, rolled and marked with pen to mimic a cigarette, the way I identified the sender, I took them into the lavatory, in part to keep these gifts a secret from the inquisitive eyes at Chilton, but also in order to remember that to someone I was still significant.
He was doing a number on my reputation at Chilton. Once the king, who attended all of the social gatherings, closely connected to all of the big names, the leader of the population (that mattered), had now become the moody prince, ignoring everyone and everything. Austin and Jeremy were taking my place, making me less relevant, I feared, in my own kingdom.
I quickly determine which books I need for first and second period and race through the halls to homeroom. The surprising appearance of another note has thrown me off my time table.
"Welcome to class, Mr. DuGrey," Mrs. Peltry smiles before closing the door behind me. A sign, if I were on the other side, that I was late.
I nod on my way to my desk, and settle down while listening to Madeline's soft conversation with the girls.
"…it's been weeks with those guys. I honestly don't like when they pick the outings."
"I know," Louise frowns, with a ballpoint to her lips, "he's not talking to anyone. Not Jason, not the guys, Paris… anybody. I wonder what's up?"
"Whatever it is, he's keeping his grades up. I'm happy for him. He got the best grade for the Hamlet paper." Paris whispers.
"You would be the loser to be concerned about his GPA." Louise frowns, and starts quickly, an idea striking her, and a purr escaping her lips when she says,
"Hey Rory?"
She's starting trouble.
"Yea," she frowns looking up from her book. She is apparently getting started on her Pride and Prejudice reading.
I can feel Louise's eyes flicker over me, before she brazenly asks something she knows is taboo,
"Why don't you ask our fearless leader why he's abandoned his faithful subjects?"
"Huh? Who are you talking about?" Rory shuts her book, finally settling her attention on Louise.
"DuGrey." She smirks, as my eyes meet hers at the utterance of my name, "It wasn't long ago that he had eyes for you. In fact, I bet he still has a thing for you. All that virginal and innocent energy pulsing right in front of him every morning. Maybe you can be the one to arouse him… I mean, maybe you can find out why he's been away, and when he'll… cum… back." She whispers the last two words.
Rory sits up straight, keeping her eyes on Louise, sensing trouble.
"I'm not in the business of noting DuGrey's conquests. Besides, he barely acknowledges me, why would he tell me anything?"
"Oh," she sinks into her seat, "so you want him to acknowledge you? Do a number on you like he did with Rita? You shouldn't have been such a prude in the lunchroom that day."
"Louise," Madeline sends a warning tone.
"What, she only sits a foot away from him in homeroom and the heat she emits when he enters the room…" Louise grins, giving me the once over as I have not taken my gaze from her, "Every time he comes in, she crosses her knees."
I know not to react, something will break if I do, but it is true.
"Watching my knees are you? Are you looking to repeat a scene from a Katy Perry song?" She counters weakly, the blood flushing from her face as she internally questions the statement's validity. She wasn't expecting an unconscious act to be so embarrassingly revealing. "What are you talking about? Making room for him to pass by? You're twisted. I'm not going to waste my day squabbling with you over Tristan," she spits the name with such distain I know to be offended. "Especially when Francis let it slip in Chemistry that you're overdue for a waxing. Maybe you should contemplate crossing your knees?"
I open my English textbook to any page and lift it to my face to avoid acknowledging that Rory just bested Louise.
She is coming into her own.
She doesn't visit me during lunch.
I expected that. After what Louise revealed, letting her know that even her simplest gestures were being tracked and catalogued, I am sure that I won't be able to find her in secret again. It had been awhile since her last visit anyway, and her note didn't reveal, per usual, why there had been a hiatus.
As I settle into my seat in History, the class beside Homeroom and English that we share, I watch as she and Lane follow the girls, embroiled in a conversation about their lunch-capades?
"Rory, the rules of MASH are sacred!" Lane hugs her books to her chest.
"That's not fair!" She laughs behind her friend, "I am not getting married to the present Ron Jeremy, I'm not driving an egg carton, we're not living in a shack and I will not birth his six children! That's a perverse world."
"He's an award winner! How you guys end up in a shack is between you and your god, also known as a financial manager."
"When you said we'd be playing blind MASH, I thought you were going to be nice to me!"
"I know," she grins settling into her seat, "You're so trusting! Thanks for the house, two kids, and the Prius. My husband isn't the greatest, but he's better than yours."
"Yea, even a short, little British guy like Ricky Gervais would beat the current, and past, by the way, Ron Jeremy." Rory rolls her eyes and takes out her pen.
"He'll make you happy in other ways," Lane winks.
"I hope that's why I'm pushing out six kids." She groans.
"You guys are perverted," Paris gives them a dirty look as she settles in her seat.
I don't understand how the girls do it; their relationships are so contentious. They are friend and foe in the same moment, at all times. Although I know the disagreement between Rory and Penny is in jest, I know the look of disdain on Paris's face is genuinely felt. How the girls navigate their relationships, I still wonder.
"Silence class," Mrs. Caldecott begins over the normal post lunch, pre dismissal din, "Let's start our lessons."
A little shuffling occurs before everyone is ready for another history lesson.
"The time has come for Sophomore Projects. Every class at Chilton has a project they must complete before they move on to the next term. For Frosh, it begins in the beginning of the first semester, Juniors spend their time working at the end of the first semester, Sophomores attend to their projects in the middle of the second semester, and Seniors finish their time here with a presentation. Today, after class, the groups will be posted and the packet containing presentation guidelines will be distributed. Deadlines are in two weeks, right before you leave for Spring Break."
A groan makes its way through the class. Freshman year's project had been an attempt to fabricate both friendships and academic success for new Chilton students. The topic had to do with Popular Culture (a topic typical for freshman). Each group had to watch a movie or read a book with an epitomic American teenager at its center. Then write a 15 page paper discussing if that paradigm could survive time past, present and future. It was a fun topic to work on, but your assigned group depends on your level of enjoyment. I was grouped with Daniel, Jeremy and Austin; we chose Zack Morris.
The energy in the class is humming as Caldecott begins our lesson. Whispers and notes concerning what will transpire after class gets a blind eye as she knows to expect her students' reactions. Although class resumes like normal, I am never able to experience the excitement at the end of the day.
Like clockwork, five minutes before the bell rang, I am asked to accompany an office worker out of class. A packet containing project parameters is thrust into my arms as I leave the classroom. I collect my things from my locker and make my way into Frank's car, never finding out who I'll be working with for the next two weeks.
"Tristan, we're headed home," He jangles his keys from the doorway to his office.
Today, another three hours are squandered, locked in His chamber, using my brain power to see a way out of this situation. This punishment is nearing its third month, the longest amount of time that He and I have consecutively spent in constant contact with one another, and I can't figure out why he hasn't gone bonkers. He should want out of this situation as much as I do.
Like most days, our ride back to the house held zero interaction. Instead, of speaking He discusses business on His cell phone while I read through my project topic.
This year's topic:
In most cultures, marriage matches are made between families based on wealth, social status, religious views or familial responsibilities. In these arrangements, a couple seems to have little say with whom they spend the majority of their adult life. This is sometimes called an arranged marriage. In the economically Western culture, marriages like these are considered barbaric, offering little choice and little to no agency for abused parties, but the economically Western "love matches" are fraught with instability and criticism. Identify a culture with which you feel demonstrates ideal partnership conditions and explain why, using two different cultural models to compare and contrast your decision.
This is going to be fun, arguing what should constitute the basic foundations of a lifetime partnership with potential strangers. Better yet, it is two weeks of intensive research culminating in a 20 page paper on top of my regular school work and other responsibilities. These next two weeks are sure to be hell.
We leave the car and part our own ways, but not before He tells me that Jan will be over for dinner and we'll be dining at seven.
A groan escapes me as I make my way upstairs. This unannounced disruption to my routine is a blow to my schedule. My dinner is usually taken alone, in my bedroom as I complete my homework, with little disruption of any kind. Now I must re-arrange my tasks to include dinner with DuGrey men.
Forty five minutes later, I lay back in my bed, letting the mechanical whirring of the computer printer lull me into a trance-like state. I am done with tomorrow's report, and can spend a few moments relaxing before sulking my way downstairs to have a frigid, quiet family dinner.
"TJ," an aged voice penetrates the fortress of solitude that has become my haven within this house.
"C'min Gramps," I sit up in my bed, digging my elbows into my knees as the door swings open and Janlan strides in.
"Wow, they did a doozy on this room, didn't they?" he walks around, inspecting the place. His footsteps echo, the acoustics having greatly improved with the absence of my furniture. "We should open this room up to a choir next holiday season," he nods, noting his echoing voice.
"I haven't seen you in months, how are you doing, Gramps?"
"Oh, you know me, reading, eating, and annoying Eileen."
"Good times, good times," I nod, putting my head in my hands, therefore suspending my observance of his inspection.
"How have you been occupying yourself in Loren's best reincarnation of hell?"
"Work… my grades are impeccable because of it. Paris is happy."
"But you are not? I suppose." He stops to watch me, and I raise my eyes to his at the quiet of his steps.
"How could I be? I'm with Him all day. It's a misery loves company situation."
"The whole world is treating you bad," Jan grins.
"Misery," frustration launches me from my seat and we both head toward the door.
"We'll see, son," he squeezes my shoulder as we descend the stairs to the dining room.
Once in the dining room, we wait for Him to take our seats and Alina to begin serving us.
"So father, you've called this dinner," He begins, almost immediately after placing his fork in his wilted salad.
"Couldn't wait to finish your salad? We sat down three minutes ago," Janlan laughs, before taking his first bite.
"Well, it was quite abrupt," Loren waits until he has finished chewing before continuing, "We are both entangled in multiple projects and this throws a wrench in our work schedules."
"Well, you guys get to spend fifteen hours a week together, I was feeling left out." Janlan explained petulantly.
"You can meet us at the office? In fact, this next month is going to be pretty busy. It's actually going to require more of you, young man."
I nearly choke at the realization he is insinuating I have at least another month in His service.
"A month?" Janlan objects for me.
"Young man," he turns to Loren, "This already has gone on for too long. You have had him under your hand for over two months now. How long are you going to keep him captive? He has his own life to maintain!"
"Father, under my tutelage, he is doing a wonderful job. His grades are up. He's becoming more efficient. His strides in the office are…" I watch his voice falters, he's actually complimenting me, and the realization keeps the words from coming.
"I can't work on your project for the next two weeks," I finally interject on their conversation concerning me.
"Why not?" His eye's narrow.
"Sophomore project was announced today, two weeks of research culminates as a twenty page paper. My group needs to begin work, essentially tomorrow. And the project is compiled on top of my regular schoolwork. I'll be inundated. I can't take on a major project at this point for your company."
Loren doesn't respond, as a member of the wait staff clears our plates and Alina distributes dinner.
"While I can't keep you from your schoolwork, we'll revisit the conversation of the tenure of your punishment when your project is over. What will your schedule look like? I'm expecting you in the office every day that you aren't working on this project."
Jan and I roll our eyes at Loren's asinine concession.
"When I know, I'll let you know. Groups were announced after class today, I was already on my way to your office. Tomorrow we'll set up a schedule."
The rest of dinner is a waste of brain cells.
Waiting at my locker this morning were Jason and Lane, deep in discussion.
Since my parentally imposed social exile, no one has dared enter my spaces, brazenly at least, at Chilton. No one has found themselves in my corner of the library, planted themselves in the space in front of my locker, or occupied any of my seats in the classrooms. News of my withdrawal was far-reaching, and no one has attempted to disturb the current order of things, until this morning, the morning after the sophomore projects were announced.
"What are you doing here?" I offer no emotion as I begin to twirl the dial on the combination lock.
"We've come to get you out of this rut of yours," Lane smiles excitedly, giving me a soft push.
"What she means is," Jason pulls her away, wrapping one arm around her shoulders while his other arm holds on to his books. "…we'll be working on the sophomore project together, and it's a good idea for us to meet, fairly soon and get a schedule down."
"Only three people per group this year?" I ask, taking my final book and shutting the thin sheet metal door.
"Five. You, me, Jase, Rita Terlington and someone named Myers Edgars." Lane replies.
"Rita?" Her name comes out as a groan.
"Yea, how bout before lunch, after class we meet quickly to figure out a time and a place to get this shiznit done!" She wrinkles her nose. I know that it is at the thought of our other group members.
"How are Rita's grades?" Jase asks as we all head toward homeroom, we're all likely to be late.
"Don't worry," Lane smiles again before sitting in her seat, "we'll be doing all of the work, I suspect."
I don't comment as I sit behind Mary, whose legs fold over themselves as I settle behind her, but as if realizing her mistake, she unfurls them. An inward smirk keeps my head down, remembering Louise's comments yesterday, and a moment later, my smirk gets replaced by a curious smile. She's crossed her knees again; I'm sure this time it's in defiance.
"Did you guys figure out a time and place?" Penny leans over and whispers to Mary.
"Paris has decreed from three thirty to seven Monday, Wednesday and Friday's after school we'll be meeting and discussing and writing this project. And perhaps an all day meeting on the Saturday before it's due." She expels a frustrated breath.
"I have already reserved the NHS conference room." Paris whispered to Mary as she took her seat in front of her.
"See, she's already gone Fidel Castro."
"That actually sounds like a great schedule," Lane and I exchange mutual nods in agreement. She leans over to tap Paris's shoulder and asks, "Mind if we occupy the other half of the room? It's big enough."
In this moment, I love Lane for her quick thinking. Not only does it mean I can gain access to Mary while in Chilton with little speculation from our peers, but Paris and Rory, in a group together, promises to be the best kind of entertainment once my interest in the project has waned.
"As long as you manage to keep your flirting to a minimum. I hear Rita will be in your group, and we will be working!" She sends a pointed look to both Mary and I.
"Cool. I'll tell Jase, and during our short meeting during lunch we'll assign some research during the weekend."
"You sound just like her, you know," Mary frowns, her eyes back in her book. As though absently, she continues, "These next two weeks are going to kill me. On top of Pride and Prejudice, Geometry proofs, and everything else this place keeps throwing at me, I've got to sacrifice my free time to discuss the sanctity of marriage. Ugh."
I smile opening my Geometry book, checking to see if my proofs had been completed. Geo was the class that I sacrificed in order to accommodate the sad attempt at a family dinner last night.
At least I can give up this façade for a few short moments in the upcoming weeks.
TBC…
A/N: I hope you like my post, and the quickness at which I continued? It would be helpful to get some reviews. Although they are not mandatory, it lets me know that this story is appreciated and if it's being read, and if I should in fact continue with these stories. It might even help me understand if continuity is still working or if I need to rehab the last two chapters, which I keep thinking. I'm back in my stride now, but I think that last chapter, of both Strawberry Fields and this one might need more work.