Chapter Text
Mornings in the Smith house are known to be tumultuous affairs and today was no different.
“Lani, open the door!” I shout. I got out of bed early only to be left standing outside the bathroom door for the past ten minutes. “I swear to God, if you don’t open this door right now, I’m going to kick it down.”
I bang on the door again with my fist and Lani opens the door. She steps out from the steam-fogged room and fixes me with an unimpressed look.
“If you got up earlier, you wouldn't have to wait."
Before I can think of an appropriate response it’s already too late. She’s closed her bedroom door, and I am left standing there like a scolded child.
“Breakfast is ready!” Dad says from downstairs.
“I haven't showered yet!” I call back.
“You’re going to be late, Toby,” Mom responds.
“I know, Mom!” I say as I enter the bathroom.
I normally enjoy taking a long shower, but I don’t want to be late again. The school already sent a letter to Mom and Dad to notice them about my less-than-ideal punctuality since school started six months ago.
Ten minutes later, I emerge from the bathroom. With a towel around my waist, I run back to my bedroom and quickly put on my uniform – navy pants and a crisp white button-down shirt.
Trent College is flexible on many things, but the dress code is something that the school isn’t willing to budge on. I transferred from a public middle school this year, and the private school uniform took some getting used to. I’d much rather wear jeans and a T-shirt.
The only thing missing is my tie. I rifle through the piles of clothes that lie forgotten on my bedroom floor. I’m not the neatest person in the world, which earns me countless lectures from Mom. But I figure that within the sanctity of my own bedroom, I am allowed to be my true self – which encompasses my sometimes forgetting to put my dirty clothes in the laundry basket.
Hidden under a shirt, I find the silver-and-white-striped tie. It’s odd that the school emblem is three eagles in a triangle, given that our mascot is the lion, but this is Trent College, so we don’t question it…much.
I pick up my blazer from where I threw it yesterday. There are some wrinkles and I try to smooth them out, but there’s simply no saving this dull navy monstrosity. Maybe it’s time I start listening to Mom and put it on a hanger.
I take the stairs two at a time and almost slip on the hardwood floors, only saving myself from falling by gripping the kitchen island.
“You’re going to hurt yourself one day, Toby,” Mom says. “And don’t roll your eyes at me like that.”
I don't have time to argue with her so I walk to the dinner table. There is a bowl of porridge waiting for me. I don’t know why they keep giving me that stuff because they know I can’t stand it. It’s boring and tastes like wallpaper paste. Sometimes I just dump a load of sugar in it but it's already late, so I grab my spoon and take a couple of scoops. Yep, bland.
Dad looks expectantly at me, pausing his dishwashing. He started making our breakfast since Mom complained that she does all the hard work in the house, which is also the time since porridge became part of the menu.
I try my best at a smile. "Yum." He nods approvingly and continues washing the pan in his hands. I take two more bites before I have enough.
“Bye!” I call as I race from the kitchen. I stop at the door to put on my school shoes, put on my overcoat, and grab my messenger bag from the hook.
“Have a nice day,” Dad calls.
“Love you,” Mom adds.
“You too,” I say, my mouth still slightly full. I exit the house, walk toward my bike, and rush to school.
*
Despite my best efforts to get on time, which includes passing a red light and nearly getting run over by a car, I’m late by about fifteen minutes.
To make matters worse, Wednesdays start with English class, my least favorite subject. I also happen to suck at it. I’m actually quite clever, but being dyslexic means some things are difficult for me. Like when I read a book, it’s like the words are jumping all over the place.
People at my old school used to laugh at my struggles, calling me a dunce or a retard. When it got worse over time, it started to negatively impact my grades. It’s one of the reasons I left. Things have been somewhat better at Trent College, although transferring to a new school brings its own challenges.
After dropping my overcoat in my locker, I rush to the auditorium. I stand in front of the double doors and wait. Besides the trouble it gives from being late to class, I hate the attention it gets me. I take a deep breath and go in. The double doors swing open with a screech, announcing my arrival.
Mr. Evans circles on me to pierce me with his accusatory gaze. “Toby.” I can feel the blood rushing to my face and my palms getting wet. “Hurry up and join us. You’re disrupting the class.”
“Sorry,” I say.
Mr. Evans returns his attention to the rest of the class. “As you can see, everybody has already been paired up. But lucky for you, Mr. Smith, there is another latecomer this morning. Find the assignment breakdown on the chair upfront. You and he will be partners. Be prepared to present next Monday. No exceptions.”
I nod and walk up to the podium. The auditorium is large and it’s a long walk. There are rows and rows of crimson seats to pass. I look down as I feel the eyes of my classmates on me.
The rest of the class is already seated in a circle on the podium. They have their copies of Romeo and Juliet open in front of them. We do have an actual classroom with desks and proper chairs, but Mr. Evans believes that Shakespeare belongs in the theater and it must be performed instead of reading. So each class, we take turns playing a role. He wants us to take the space around us, to become the characters.
I find a spot and sit cross-legged, placing my blazer next to me. I pull my own copy of Romeo and Juliet from my bag and turn to the page where we last left off. One of the perks of being late is that I have avoided being assigned a role, so I won’t have to act. Despite my getting better at reading, I still find it uncomfortable to do so out loud.
I listen to the readings and recognize which act we're at, so I flip to the right page and try to read along (I mostly listen since it's hard to keep up with how quickly they talk). It’s the scene where Romeo and Juliet are parted. Justin has been cast as Romeo, and I curse at myself for being late. I almost missed out on having a legitimate excuse to stare at him.
After the act ends, Mr. Evans holds up his hand to pause us. “Excellent work, class. I think we should stop for the day. Why don’t you all break into your pairs and discuss the assignment?”
While I'm waiting for my partner to arrive, I study Justin and his partner, wishing that I were lucky enough to work with him. At school, I’ve never really spoken to him aside from a few hellos here and there. He’s a popular kid so we don’t run in the same circles, which is fine. I don’t need popularity. Being anonymous is safest for me. I can exist with my secrets intact.
I spent a couple of minutes reading through the assignment before the doors open and we all turn as the man of the hour saunters into the auditorium. Tommy Simons. The most popular boy at Trent college. He looks perfectly tousled – effortless and smooth. The sight piques me more than it should.
“Sorry I’m late, Mr. Evans,” Tommy says.
“Welcome, Mr. Simons. Glad you could fit us into your busy schedule.” Some people laugh. Mr. Evans looks between Tommy and me. “I hope both you and Toby can be a bit more mindful about getting time in the future.” I look away as I feel the attention of the class shifting to me. “Toby, please explain the assignment to Tommy,” Mr. Evans continues.
I nod and stand. Grabbing my belongings, I walk down the steps and off the stage. I sit on one of the fold-down seats and place my things next to me. Tommy’s stealing glances at his iPhone.
Annoyed, I say, “Here.” I hold out a copy of the assignment. “We need to choose a scene from a Shakespeare movie adaptation and perform it next week.”
Tommy accepts the paper from my hand. “You okay?”
“Peachy.”
Tommy picks up on my sarcasm and looks up. His grey eyes have a habit of looking through you. “Is something wrong?”
“No,” I lie. “Let’s just get this over with. We should make some time to get together. When do you have time?”
Before he can say anything, his phone rings. I recognize the ringtone. It’s a lesser-known song from my favorite band – The Script. Tommy stares at the screen and I see the caller ID – Mom. He swipes his thumb across the cracked screen and ignores the call.
Tommy sighs. He picks up my blazer before taking the seat next to me. He rests his arm on the armrest and we end up touching.
“You free this afternoon?”
I look up from our arms. Our eyes meet and my heart skips a beat. This is the closest I’ve ever been to Tommy. I jerk my arm away. Tommy frowns.
“Uh, yes. I’m free,” I answer.
“Then how about we get together after school and decide on what we’re going to perform.”
“Okay. Where?”
“We can’t go to my house. My parents are busy renovating the house so it’s a big mess,” Tommy says. “Can we go to your place?”
“Sure.”
“Meet me at the bike racks after school then.”
“Sounds like a plan.”