August 29th, 1988
Stan sat outside the front entrance to Quentin Elementary, his fingers drumming a frantic rhythm on the Stanmobile's steering wheel. His eyes were glued to the front door, waiting for a glimpse of fluffy brown curls or purple yarn.
He's fine. School's probably changed by now, and in a town this weird maybe no one will notice his hands.
Or he's crying in a Janitors' closet because some creep broke his glasses and you weren't there, why couldn't you be there Stanley?
The cacophony of children's voices pulled his focus back to the door. He spotted Nicola in an instant, and couldn't help but smile when he noticed the taller boy walking alongside him.
"Hey there!" Stan greeted as he stepped out of the car. "Are you in Nicola's class?"
The taller boy nodded. "Yessir."
Stan turned to Nicola. "Well? Aren't ya gonna introduce me to your new friend?"
Tate shied back, gripping the straps of his backpack tightly. "I mean, I wouldn't call us friends, we just met today. Maybe acquaintances?"A car horn sounded from the other side of the lot. "That'll be my Mom, I'll see you tomorrow Nicola!"
Nicola gave a little wave. "Bye." His previously elated expression had crumbled, and he seemed a bit sullen as he climbed into the backseat of the car.
Stan cleared his throat as they pulled out of the school parking lot. "So… what's eatin' ya slugger?"
Nicola pulled his knees up to his chest. "Why didn't Tate say we were friends? I thought we were friends."
"He's just gettin' to know you," Stan reassured. "Give 'em a little time and I'm sure you'll be great friends."
"The greatest friends," Nicola corrected as he grinned.
"The greatest friends," Stan echoed. Because when it comes to friends, you only need one.
Meanwhile, in another car, a woman with bouncy brown curls watched the El Diablo warily.
"That's the kid who skipped grades," her son pointed out from the backseat. "Seems real little compared to the rest of the class, but he's nice. He said his dad's the guy who lives up in that weird house in the woods, you know, the one that gives tours?"
"Stanford Pines," the woman growled under her breath before she turned to the boy in the back. She gently pushed back his bangs so she could look into those beautiful blue eyes he inherited from his father. "I need you to listen to me very carefully, okay Tater-tot?"
Tate nodded.
"I want you to stay away from the Pines."
Tate frowned. "How come?"
His mother sighed. "Back when we first moved here, your dad worked at that house, said his friend had asked for an assistant. This was back before they started giving tours."
"One day, your dad left on a camping trip with his friend. While they were hiking they had some sort of wildlife encounter. He was never the same after that. Constant nightmares, tinkering at odd hours of the night, mumbling about monsters and machines. I told him he needed to quit, and he did, but that didn't make it better."
She removed her hand from where it had been gently caressing Tate's hair, allowing his bangs to fall back over his eyes. "What I'm trying to say is, the Pines family is dangerous, and I'm worried that if you get caught up in their trouble, you'll get hurt just like your daddy, or worse. So just… just don't speak with that boy, for my sake if nothing else."
She squeezed his hand. "Do you understand baby?"
Tate squeezed back, his face fixed in a solemn expression. "Yes mom."
November 18th, 1988
Nicola was starting to think Dad just told him what he wanted to hear. Of course he did, his job relied on getting people to pay him to do that. Because over two months later, Tate still didn't talk to him more than their class required.
We were getting along so well on the first day, did I do something wrong?
"Alright, class!" Mrs. Durland called from the front of the room. "We have one last project before Thanksgiving break, so please pay attention. Everyone is going to receive two pieces of paper. Using your arts and crafts supplies you will work to turn those pieces of paper into cards for your parents. Each card should contain a list of things you're grateful for about that particular parent. Any questions?"
A boy in the front row raised his hand.
"Yes Buddy?*"
"McGucket's dad is crazy," The boy stated as he pointed to Tate.
Tate didn't say anything, just sunk quietly into his chair.
Nicola was speaking before he realized it. "I don't have a mom, who do I make my second card for?"
Mrs. Durland's bright smile turned forced. "Well, I suppose you boys will just have to find someone other than your parents to be thankful for. Now Jenny, could you pass out the paper?"
Nicola didn't bother looking at Tate's reaction. The other kids were still staring, the now-familiar whispers about his hands and his dad rising to a quiet hum.
I guess I can give my second card to Ms. Susan, she did buy me my favorite sweater, and also… No that's pretty much it, guess it's gonna be a short card.
And so the rest of the class passed in relative silence, Nicola keeping his focus fixed on the flimsy printer paper that was rapidly deteriorating as it soaked in the ink of the school-approved washable markers*. Mrs. Durland peeped over his shoulder at one point, giving his cards an approving nod. Buddy, who Nicola had already decided was the worst, threw a couple of notes onto his desk likely poking fun at his hands, which Nicola ignored. Altogether, it was actually quite a typical class.
Soon enough, the principal's voice screeched over the intercom, dismissing the students for the day. Nicola moved through the usual motions of packing his things, quickly moving out to the front door. Before he could exit to the parking lot someone tapped his shoulder. Turning around revealed that someone to be Tate.
"Hey," the taller boy greeted, fidgeting nervously. He shoved a paper something into Nicola's hands. "Youdroppedthismymom'sherebye!" Tate blurted before taking off, leaving Nicola standing bewilderedly at the entrance as his mind raced to process the jumbled attempt at a sentence.
After a moment, the brunette shook off his daze and looked down at the paper Tate had given him.
It was one of the gratitude cards they'd made in class. The front read 'Thank you Nicola' with the required list inside. 'Thank you for being polite, for sharing your pencil sharpener the day I forgot mine, for not asking me about my dad, and for being the best "kid to sit next to" any guy could ask for. My Mom doesn't want me talking to you, but I figure what she doesn't know won't hurt her. Your Friend, Tate'
For the rest of day, Nicola smiled so wide his cheeks hurt.
December 18th, 1988
Tate shook the can of fish food above the large glass tank containing his new goldfish. "Suppertime Yeller."
An affectionate chuckle indicated his mom had entered the room. "I still can't believe you named him that."
"Old Yeller deserves to be remembered, and you wouldn't let me get a dog," Tate replied.
His mother gently removed the canister from his hand. "Don't overfeed the poor thing, it won't know when to stop."
"I know Mom, I've read plenty about fish," Tate sighed exasperatedly.
She ruffled his hair. "Of course you have, my brilliant boy."
"Mom!" Tate protested as he pushed her hand away. "Stop it!"
That only prompted her to rub more vigorously. "I'm just showing how much I wuv you Tater-tot!"
"I'm too old for the baby talk!"
"No such thing!"
"Seriously Mom, please stop."
The former Mrs. McGucket drew back, still smiling. "Alright then Mr. Grown-up Man, come help your frail mother put away the dishes."
Tate rolled his eyes but followed his mother into the kitchen anyway.
It only took a matter of minutes for the two to settle into their usual routine, Tate sorting utensils and miscellaneous cookware into their respective drawers and his mother placing plates and cups onto the higher shelves he couldn't reach. Yet despite the comforting rhythm of the familiar scene, Tate couldn't help but feel anxious.
I've been friends with Nicola for about a month and nothing's happened. Least I don't think anything has. I don't feel crazy. I don't like hiding this.
He peaked at his Mom's back, trying to ascertain her mood from the bounce of her curls or the tap of her foot.
She can't get that mad, can she?
"Something on your mind baby?" She called as she placed another dish on the already sizeable stack in the cabinet.
Tate set the ladle back on the serving spoons rack far more gently than the hearty tin scoop warranted. "Remember what you told me about the Pines?"
Even without seeing her face, Tate could picture his mother's classic warning glare. "I'm not sure I like where this conversation is going…"
Tate steeled himself with a deep breath. "Well I sit next to the Pines boy, and he was real nice so-"
"Tater McGucket I expected better of you! Or are you too old to be listening to your mother?" She chastised, turning to stare him down.
"Out of everyone in my class, he's the only one who doesn't give me a hard time cause of Dad!" Tate defended, slamming the silverware drawer shut. "He doesn't treat me like I'm gonna go crazy, he doesn't pity me, and the only remotely dangerous thing he's got me involved in is gettin' papercuts from playin' cards! He's not a threat, and you know what, I don't think his dad is either!"
His Mom's expression changed from a warning glare to her "you're gonna be sorry young man" scowl. "Go. To. Your. Room," She commanded, with a firm point at the door.
Tate trudged in the direction she indicated. "I'm not changing my mind."
Emma-May Dixion pressed her hand against her forehead and collapsed against the counter the moment her son had left.
"Stanford Pines. Even when I lock you out of our lives you're still causing trouble." She glanced in the direction of the sink, where a framed photo of the man she'd lost was still proudly displayed, Fiddleford's arms wrapped tightly around a much smaller Tate.
She pushed herself off of the counter, walking towards the photo until she could run a finger down its side. "I can't let you take another one of my boys from me."
She looked past the sink, out the window, towards the location of 618 Gopher Road. Her face hardened. "I won't."
* Yes, Buddy is Bud Gleeful. I am totally fudging the ages for this.
* Did you know Washable Markers were first distributed in 1987? I do. Now.
And at last, we get to the real reason I brought Tate into this story, Emma-May! I don't see her in too many stories, which is a shame because there's so much potential drama there. As for her characterization in this fic, her personality is a blend of a couple of my aunts, with a dash of my own mom thrown in for spice.
To anyone waiting on Little Black Book: I'm sorry it's taking so long, I had a request to do and this next chapter has a scene I'm really, really trying to get right!
RaccoonKnight: Thank you for favoriting and following!
KrackenClaw: I'm glad my reply made you happy! As a former FanFiction guest myself, I can sympathize. As for your Monster Falls story, it sounds like a promising concept! I hope you take the chance to write it, even if you don't intend to publish it here. (I myself have several Teen Titans fics that will never see the light of day and one MLP fic that should have stayed that way.)