Work Text:
There’s something terrible about not being able to drive during your freshman and sophomore year. Terrible might not be the right word, but it is just the right level of dramatic for you. Realistically, the word inconvenient would be better, but you sure as hell aren’t going to use that. Your brother (sort of, technically your brother) is always telling you to stop being a dramatic and loud idiot, but you enjoy being a piece of shit, fuck you very much.
Basically, you hate having to wait this long to get picked up from school. It’s usually only half an hour or so, but, again, you’re dramatic as hell. So there you sat, on the sidewalk next to the school building, head buried in a book. From this position, you were shielded from the sun by the building and could see the parking lot where your brother’s red car would eventually pull in.
The book you were reading was just getting good when you’re startled out of your mind by some asshole laying on his horn. You jump so hard your book goes flying behind you. You quickly drop your face into a scowl and whip your head around to find the source of the sound.
It turns out to have come from the red truck across the parking lot. You can see someone laughing their ass off in the passenger seat as well as an empty driver seat, and you find the rage that had been simmering within you rising to a boil.
You stomp your way over to the truck (it wasn’t that far, luckily) and glare through the window as it rolls down.
“What the FUCK, Strider?”
He hasn’t stopped laughing since you first spotted him and he looks no closer to stopping. You reach through the window on your tiptoes and poke him on the shoulder and face and arm and wherever you could reach as you continued to yell at him.
Eventually he calms down and you take that opportunity to continue yelling about how he interrupted your book and now it’s sitting on the sidewalk, probably going to get stepped on-
He interrupts your poking and shouting with a hand on top of your head. He is dangerously close to your horns, but he doesn’t seem to notice.
“Dude, chill,” he says, still smiling, “I was just fucking with you.”
“I figured, you asswipe.”
He ruffles your hair (something most people cannot get away with, but he’s protected by a car door right now) and his face twists into a more hesitant smile. It looks basically the same as his previous expression, but you know this kid by now. If you can’t see his eyes behind his dumb shades, you’ve got to learn other cues, after all.
Dave rests his chin on his folded arms as he looks out the window at you. “So, I had this thought...”
You lean against the car door next to him, both of you looking out at the rest of the empty parking lot. “That’s a terrible idea. Any thought your disgusting-ass thinkpan conjuers should be aborted on the spot.”
“First off, that’s fucking wrong.”
You scoff in response, like you don’t quite believe him.
“Second, it’s a great thought.” Dave looks over at you, and you can almost see his eyes behind his shades.
“What is it?” You ask, pretending to dread the idea of hearing it.
Dave sits up (as best he can while still hanging out the window), and he starts waving his arms about, explaining. You’ve gotten used to it. It’s more pointing than elaborating, but you get the gist.
“So, middle school was ass, right? Don’t interrupt me, I can see the sass threatening to boil over, just put a lid on that pot for a second. I guess boiling over can’t really be stopped with a lid? Lift the lid for a second so the boiling calms the fuck down. Add some oil to the pot. I don’t know, I’ve never actually made pasta before, I’m like 15 years old. Don’t comment on my kitchen skills, I’m trying to explain a point here. Anyway, so it’s freshman year of high school, which is supposed to be formative as shit. Like, coming-of-age movie, John Egbert brand, level formative.”
“Uh-huh.” You have several thoughts, most of them just being mad about being compared to a kitchen pot and the idea that Dave hasn’t made pasta before. You decide to let him keep talking before you continue your abrasive asshole act.
“So, as much as we hate to think about how fucking awful middle school was and how much high school is hated in the movies, I think we should make these years the best we can.”
“That’s cheesy as hell,” you snort. Your genuine smile betrays your cutting words, though, and you know Strider knows that. “How do you plan on making these soul-crushing hallways tolerable?”
Dave gets quiet for a second, and when he keeps talking, his voice is quieter. “So, I just moved out of my old apartment like last week.”
You look at him, perplexed.
“Like, I don’t live with Bro anymore. Dirk and I moved a little farther out of the city. It’s a dingy little apartment that reminds me of the apartments from that Zootopia movie, you know. It has the same symbolic energy like ‘everything sucks but change is around the corner.’ I mean, there’s at least paint on the walls, but still.”
“Are you alright?” You have so many questions. You had known Dave since 6th grade, and you’ve known about his vaguely shitty guardian lusus guy for a while too. Dirk had graduated last year, so he must have been able to save enough to get him and his younger brother out of that house. You suddenly like Dirk just a little bit more.
“Yeah, dawg, everything is really chill. Like, great even. But that’s not the point,” he rubs his eyes, pushing his shades up a little, “Things are changing a lot and I’m ready for things to not suck.”
“So?” you ask expectantly, now leaning a shoulder against the truck so you can look directly at Dave.
“I’m getting philosophical as fuck,” Dave groans. He turns to look at you, and you get the sense that he’s trying to win a staring contest that you were unaware of. “Promise me that you won’t let me do that.”
“I have abso-fucking-lutely no idea what you’re getting at here,” you say.
“Like, don’t let me think too hard about how shit is right now.”
You frown harder than you already were. “I thought things were better now?”
“They are!” Dave looks red in the face now. “Like, this is hard to say, but I just want things to be good at school too? I’m not sure how to do that. I keep waiting for the sword to come swinging down at home, but then it doesn’t, so it has to come at school, but I know it won’t!”
You feel a pang of sympathy, and you have half a mind to freak the fuck out because of quadrant bullshit, but you don’t. Now’s not the time. You reach up to hold onto Dave’s arms, which are still waving in the air, and you still them. He seems to calm down a little, and the familiar cool persona slips back over his face.
You take your hands back. “Listen, dude, I know you don’t want to think too much about shit, but processing has to happen.”
“You sound like Rose.”
“Then I must be right.” You sigh, leaning back against the car. “High school is gonna suck, but it’ll be better. And I’m not gonna keep you from thinking. You have to think about your shit.”
“Yeah, I know.”
You glance back over at your now forgotten backpack and see someone walking out of the building, towards the truck. You turn to Dave. “So, what was your plan for making high school bearable?”
He smiles, and the sun glints off his shades. “Because I don’t live with Bro anymore, I can go out and do stuff. So I was gonna sign some of us up for swing dancing or some shit-”
“Oh, you better NOT!” Your anger is back again, but it’s half-assed and you both just start poking at each other. The person walking towards the truck turns out to be Dirk, and after a greeting and a goodbye and a solid middle finger towards Dave, you make your way back to your backpack and pick up your book. The truck pulls out of the parking lot just as Kankri’s little red car pulls in.
You think about math homework and swing dancing on the way home.