Chapter Three – I'll Be Your Huckleberry

When Clayton's eyes snapped open, he was met with the sterile ceiling of a newer building. His head felt like it could kill him if he moved too quickly, so with a deep breath in, he turned over on his bed.

It was his dorm room. He wasn't sure how he got there.

Skipper squeaked at him happily from his spot on the nightstand.

"Hold on a minute, buddy…" he grumbled. He felt as though he'd took down fifty pounds of concrete and chased it with a few cheap beers. "I thought you were supposed to stop me before I called out too many…" he said with a dry chuckle, steeling himself to swing his legs over to the floor.

Skipper squeaked at him again, and Clay thought he heard a whisper from him. This happened periodically. At random moments, he could almost hear his rat's thoughts, if even for a moment. He heard just one word.

Frog.

He groaned, his hand tugging a clump of shaggy hair at the back of his head. "That was real? I said that? Out loud?"

He could see Skipper nodding his head. "Did you even try and stop me?"

Again, Skipper was nodding.

He could already hear his brother's words. "You go across the pond and the first thing you do is fall in love with a frog with green hair?"

He felt like he was going to throw up. Only half of it was from the nausea. "Well Skip, how many rats do you think I got up to? Triple digits at least…" he said. He sat up, which cleared his head some.

He pulled his phone out of his pocket to check the time. It was almost half an hour until he needed to get up anyway. That meant he'd slept for the better part of a whole day. There was also a text from his mother. Several.

"So what? U make it to hero school and now ur too good to call me when u make it?"

Clay chuckled, looking over to Skipper. "You could've reminded me," he said, sending her a quick apology and a confirmation that he was alright. "I bet you anything that Bella's still hissing."

Finally, he rose to partake in an event that he had been dreading for some time. The last time he had to dress all fancy was for court. He had to stand there, listening to the public defender tell the judge how sorry Clay was for starting another fight at the bar. It was a boring day.

After some hassle, he finally looked at himself in the mirror, the gray and green school uniform on full display. His red tie was crooked, but other than that and his unkept hair, he looked as presentable as ever. "Don't tell me I'd have to wear this every day…" he muttered, reaching down so Skipper could craw up his arm and onto his usual perch on Clay's shoulder. Skipper gave a squeak that sounded a bit like a chuckle.

"Yeah, you don't have to dress up every day like I do," he said with a smile, rubbing behind his ears. He looked at his door with trepidation. "There's no other way, huh? I'm fine being a hero, but why do I have to dress like I'm getting married?"

Skipper gave him another knowing squeak, as if to tell him to stop putting it off.

Mercifully, as he approached the common room of the dormitory, his classmates didn't notice him right away. It was a good thing to. There was a lot to see and process, and it was nice that he wouldn't be interrupted with people trying to interact with him.

A taller man with glasses that looked suspiciously like Clay's parole officer stood outside the door obsessing over something in a notebook. Some guy with green hair and excited-looking eyes chatting with a smaller lady with shorter brown hair. A dark-haired woman sitting on the couch with her ear directly connected with her phone. Some tool with spiky blond hair sitting on the couch that looked like he had something to prove. All this, and that bird-headed guy from earlier. There was also the green-haired frog lady sitting by a small table near the communal kitchen with a cup of tea, but Clay made an effort not to look over there for long. She was also sitting with the energetic, pink-skinned lady from before, Mina. Clay was pretty impressed that he remembered her name. Usually, it took him a few reminders before he committed a name to memory.

"Oh hey!" called a man from behind Clay. "It's Romeo!"

Clay spun around. Even wearing the suit jacket, Clay could see he had the most messed-up arms he'd ever seen. "Romeo? No. My name's Clay."

"Hanta Sero," he said, extending his hand.

"So, I'd call you Sero, right?" Clay asked, shaking his hand. He almost didn't want to. He was afraid that he might break the guy's arm even more.

Sero flashed him a great, wide grin. "Yep, you got it. But that 'Romeo' thing? That's on Mina. She filled us in on how you… admired Tsuyu when you stumbled in last night.

Mina must have caught her name being mentioned, because she joined the two just a few moments later, smiling enthusiastically. "Well, look who's up!"

Clay winced. The quiet bliss was now broken. "Yep…" he grumbled. "You said her name was Tsuyu?"

Sero and Mina exchanged a knowing look, and Clay caught it. He as proud of himself. He didn't usually catch things like that. He also caught a glimpse of the aforementioned Tsuyu calmly sipping her tea. Thankfully, she didn't seem to be interested in the conversation.

"Yeah, Tsuyu's awesome," Mina squeaked. "I just met her yesterday, but I think she'll be a good friend."

"So, uh… There's a rat on your shoulder," Sero said, pointing a finger to Skipper.

"Yeah, this is Skipper," Clay said, turning his shoulder to Sero proudly. "Been my friend ever since I had a Quirk."

He nodded enthusiastically. "I heard you made a rat tower yesterday. Wish I coulda seen it."

"Uh oh, here comes Iida…" Mina murmured.

Clay raised his head and approaching them was the man that looked just like his parole officer. "You have slept through orientation yesterday. That is especially dangerous since you've missed pre-orientation the day before. You must ensure that you are prepared to live up to U.A.'s legacy." He straightened his glasses in a sharp motion. When Clay broke a smirk, his face formed a frown. "Is something funny, Derreks-san?"

"Nah," Clay said, trying to stifle his next eruption of laughter as a sneeze. "You remind me of someone I know. My name's Clayton Derreks, not Derreks-san."

Mina stifled a laugh as well, and Sero didn't even try to hide it. "He's got things to learn about Japan, Iida."

By that point, Clay could feel the eyes of just about the whole class looking at him. The pressure was on. He already ruined his first impression for many, but he still had the chance to make a good one for others.

"So, Derreks Clayton—"

"Clay."

"Clay. Please understand, here at U.A., we uphold the highest standards of discipline and dedication. If you're to succeed, you'll need to give every effort."

It took everything Clay had to keep himself from laughing. "You have any relatives in Kentucky? I might know your cousin."

"Come on," rumbled another voice. "Don't waste your time on the extras. Dumbass looks like he crawled out of a dumpster. He didn't even care enough to go to orientation."

Clayton felt a certain rush in the back of his head. He knew the feeling well. He felt it every time he was about to be involved in a fight. He turned his head to face the speaker. It was the guy with spiky blond hair that seemed to think he was above it all. "Brother, we gotta find you a barber. You look stupid."

A shocked silence fell over the common area. Clay could feel the nervousness of his classmates, but he was more concerned by the little pops of fire coming from the guy's hands. "You got a death wish, hick?"

"Nah," Clay said, taking a step forward. He gripped the back of a chair, which brought him quite close to Tsuyu. His mind was elsewhere, otherwise he wouldn't dare get that close willingly. "No death wish, but I have a chair for you if you want it."

Clay heard a few nervous chuckles, but nobody else moved when spiky hair stood up. "You think you're funny?"

"No. I just think I'm tougher than you."

"You're dead!" Spiky hair charged forward, and in a practiced motion, Clay swung the chair in front of him. Clay was excited for a scrap, but he stopped dead in his tracks when he saw Kirishima between them.

"Hey! Let's save it for sparring, yeah?" he shouted.

In an uneasy ceasefire, Clay set the chair down, gently sliding it next to the table in which Tsuyu sat. He saw a glint of approval in Mina's eyes, and something like silent solidarity from Tsuyu. It was more than enough to keep his spirits intact.

"You think a chair's going to save you?" Spiky hair shouted.

"No. Chair looked sturdy. I wondered if I could break it on your back," Clay said casually, as if he were talking about the weather.

"Katsuki! Derreks! Enough!" Iida shouted. "U.A. students are held to a higher standard than that!"

"We're going to be late…" muttered the woman who had her ear connected directly to her phone.

"You're regret this, hick." Spiky hair muttered.

"Okay," Clay grumbled, turning away and offering a smile to Sero and Mina.

After an eventful introduction to his class, Clay found it nice to finally leave the dorms. An array of other students introduced themselves to Clay, and he was able to remember a portion of the names. He was more focused on the people themselves. A midget that had giant grapes growing on his head, the green-haired guy that seemed to be way too friendly, a floating set of clothes, a Frenchman, and a dude with a tail. He liked the dude with a tail. He seemed like a guy that would be fun to have a beer with.

Many seemed to respect him for his altercation, which was about the best thing that Clay could hope for. He could see Iida walking behind them, watching the students as if he were a sheepdog and walking with military-like purpose. Clay figured that he'd be more annoying than the guy he learned was called Bakugo.

Still, the grass was impossibly green, the trees too regulated, and the buildings uncomfortably modern. It's what he imagined a federal prison to look like. They even had uniforms to go with it.

His eyes scanned his classmates again, and he caught Tsuyu walking with her hands in front of her. It was weird, but he found it cute. He was about to ask Sero a question about how classes worked in Japan, when Bakugo interrupted his thoughts.

"Shut up you damn nerd!"

Clay turned his head. It looked like he was yelling at the green-haired guy. Midoriya, as he had made it known to Clay at least twice at this point.

He made a quick glance at Skipper, who was shaking his little head at Clay. "Alright, I'll take your word for it…" he whispered.

"Who are you talking to, rodent boy?"

"You're really starting to agitate me," Clay murmured.

It might have been a fight, but the group finally found their homeroom. He was disappointed to see the school desks. He thought he was through with that when he squeaked by high school.

He picked a seat, and he sat down. He had to bend his long legs to fit in the damn thing. The sterile, new appearance of everything was starting to wear him down. The podium in front of the classroom, the screen, looked fresh out of the factory. As distressing as it was, at least they wouldn't be sparing any expenses. He was just starting to get comfortable when…

He felt a soft touch on his shoulder, which caused Skipper to jump, then grip his claws into Clay's shoulder. He turned to see the amphibian face facing his own, her eyes wide and unblinking.

"I think you're in my seat, ribbit." There was a gentle firmness to her voice.

"They got seating assignments here too?" Clay said with a shy chuckle. He nodded at her politely, and in the corner of his eye he could see Skipper doing the same. "Sorry, didn't mean to steal it." He stood up, eager to put distance between himself and Tsuyu before he could say or do anything else. He could feel heat rising to his cheeks, and he didn't even notice he was scratching the back of his head. There was one open seat not far away, next to the guy that looked like his head was a weird fleshy boulder. He seemed shy, not even looking his way. Perhaps there were worse neighbors out there. Clay didn't mind when he caught his neighbor eyeing Skipper.

He was surprised to see a tall, dark-haired man at the front of the class. He looked like he just woke up, never even heard of shaving, and looked like this whole thing was just a chore.

"Welcome to U.A.," the teacher said in a bored drawl, gaze sweeping across the class with a hint of what could either be indifference or boredom. "I'm Aizawa Shota, your homeroom teacher." His voice barely rose above a low monotone, and his half-lidded eyes didn't betray much emotion, yet something about him commanded the room's full attention. It was like he was reading a script, even if his arms were at his sides.

"Let's make something clear," Aizawa continued, his tone deadpan. "U.A. doesn't tolerate slackers. You're here because you have potential, but this is only the beginning. You'll be pushed to your limits every day. If you're not willing to put in the work, you might as well leave now." His gaze rested briefly on Clay, then flicked back to the rest of the class. "We're skipping the 'get-to-know-each-other' activities," he added dryly, "and going straight to the practical exam. You will all show what you can do in the field, starting now. Everyone gather at field number two. Your athletic unforms will be there."

As silently as he entered, he then made an exit. "I have until the end of the day to decide who stays. Show me you belong here," he said, not even looking behind him.

"Well," Clay said, glad to stand up from his desk. He didn't care he was the first one to stand up. "I'll be your huckleberry."

"What?" asked someone.

"Must be an American thing," said someone else.