Chapter Text
Beck Oliver believes everyone has a tragedy waiting for them. That the people he sees around him everyday could be just moments away from disaster and they wouldn’t even realize it. He believes everyone’s life (no matter how unremarkable it is) will have a moment where it becomes extraordinary. A single encounter, in which after, everything that matters will happen. That was always his belief system, a presumption he was just born with. But the thing is, nobody ever told him that you could have more than one tragedy in your lifetime. Furthermore, he was also never warned that there could be a fine line between tragedy and fate.
No one ever tells you that discovering the narrow, barely-existent road that separates fortune and misfortune is what puts the rest of your life into perspective. It’s like a secret that everyone has promised not to share, all swearing to keep it concealed, until eventually, someone acknowledges it.
Jade West is that someone. She’s the one to finally reveal the indiscernible secret to Beck. And because Jade’s anything but unextraordinary, their time together is exactly what Beck sees as the definition of fate versus tragedy. He can’t quite tell which one their encounter ends up being - fate or tragedy- it’s all so vague. He just knows that after meeting her, everything that matters falls into place. She somehow becomes the moment that leads the rest of his life into being extraordinary.
If you would’ve asked Beck a few months ago what he thought his own monumental tragedy was, he would’ve told you it was the events that took place during the weekend of prom last year. His life had been seemingly on track until then- he was popular, captain of the hockey team, got good grades, was adored by his friends, and was dating Hayley Ferguson.
And he’d done a lot of growing to get to that point over the years. Once he’d hit highschool, he was determined to make something of himself, and he’d felt like he had. Sure, he had to lose himself a little bit in the process, but he was happy with where he’d gotten. And if all of the events that unfolded over that one fateful weekend had never happened, Beck imagined he’d still be who he once was.
There was one thing he’d always regretted though, even before the weekend of junior prom that had changed everything, and that was how he’d lost people. Somehow, in his expedition to popularity throughout the beginning years of high school, he’d let go of people who’d mattered most to him.
Such as Robbie Shapiro, his (ex) childhood best friend who’d faded into obscurity the second they both hit highschool. While Beck became a long-lasting social success amongst their school hallways, Robbie drifted away.
Beck tried to argue with himself that it was natural, friends grow apart was what he’d said. But the matter still upset him, they’d been friends since they were five only to suddenly end it during freshman year. They’d still exchange the occasional hellos in the hallway, and if anyone were to ask, Beck would say they were still friends (which wasn’t entirely true), but that was it. They were acquaintances at best now.
And for some undetermined reason, Beck would consider their falling out to be Robbie’s tragedy. After all, he’s the one who lived stoically in the aftermath of their friendship while Beck convinced himself to move on. Robbie had succumbed to the bottom of their school’s imaginary tier list of popularity, whereas Beck shot up to the top. And maybe that’s just how it had to be, maybe that’s just what it needed to be, even if neither of them ever really understood it.
Robbie’s tragedy may have struck when they were only fourteen, but Beck's held out for a little bit longer. His managed to wait until he’d become used to his picture-perfect life in a boring, wearisome suburb where nothing interesting ever happened. And he’d deny it if you asked, but Beck was somewhat grateful his tragedy had found him when it had. Because if it hadn’t happened, he might still be stuck in the repetitive, uneventful life he’d once thrived in.
However, that doesn’t make the tragedy of last year’s prom weekend any less gruesome.
It all started at a party Eli Mcryan was throwing that Friday before prom. He wasn’t a guy Beck knew that well, they weren’t exactly friends, but he and Hayley had still been invited, practically all of their junior class was. And almost everyone was going. After all, it was an open chance to get wasted at a lake house with no supervision in sight, so why wouldn’t they?
The yard of Eli’s house was a mess of tangled Christmas lights (even though it was late May), and the music was blasting so loudly from the speakers that everyone within a five mile radius could hear it. The street was packed with cars and Beck ended up having to park two blocks away in fear of getting his car smashed by a careless driver.
He arrived at the party alone because he and Hayley had been fighting since the afternoon. She first confronted him in their school’s ice rink after his hockey practice had finished.
She angrily strutted down the stairs that led to the rink and when Beck approached her, she accused him of “neglecting his student government responsibilities for the junior prom in favor of going to his dumb hockey practice ” (Beck has no idea what she even meant by that).
But she said it in such a particularly snotty tone of voice that made Beck think she wanted him to be ashamed of himself. As though one mishap in their school’s prom should worry him enough to hold a student government meeting right at that second.
They argued on the edge of the rink while he was still in his skates and she was dressed in a strapless, short dress that she’d kept underneath a cardigan all day. What she was saying was so ridiculous that Beck stopped paying attention to her words after two minutes of arguing, instead admiring the dress she kept tugging down to keep in place.
Hayley’s rampage continued on for a few more minutes before she noticed how zoned out he’d become. She looked at his dazed expression and huffed in annoyance before telling him she was going to Eli’s party with Tara because she couldn’t deal with him when he was being “impossible.”
Beck’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion at her word choice and he couldn’t stop himself from asking, “isn’t that the definition of impossible?”
This was apparently the wrong question to ask her, because all he got in response was one of those half screams/half shrieks she did when she was pissed off.
She gave him a final glare that basically told him he sucked as a boyfriend and then stormed off, leaving him alone again.
She still hadn’t gotten over their very stupid argument when it was time to go to the party and Beck felt like the only right thing to do was further antagonize her.
So that’s why he showed up to the party an hour late and still wearing his hockey uniform, because he knew it’d just make her angrier.
As he entered the party, he was instantly greeted by a bunch of different people, some of which he didn’t even know. He just nodded ‘hey’ in response to whoever spoke to him, and then headed to the drinks located in the kitchen.
He fixed himself up a red solo cup of god knows what (he didn’t plan on drinking it so it didn’t matter what it was) and then he found the rest of his hockey team in the backyard. They were all on their way to being completely wasted as they shouted loudly and took turns taking swigs of their drinks.
When they noticed his arrival, they cheered far too enthusiastically and tried handing him a variety of drinks he didn’t want. He endured all of it with a good-natured grimace before finally accepting the chance to sit down on one of the empty lawn chairs.
Right as he sat down, a voice called over to him, “Oliver, you’ve gotta see this!”
It was Ryder Daniels, an esteemed member of the hockey team, who was currently trying to drunkenly balance on top of a potted plant. He was holding a green pool noodle in his hand while Braden (another member of the hockey team) knelt on the ground in front of him and held the end of it to his face. It didn’t take long for Beck to realize that they were trying to make a beer funnel out of a foam pool noodle and he couldn’t stop himself from chuckling a little.
As Braden demanded that Ryder start pouring the beer already, the rest of the team pounded on the patio furniture in anticipation, creating a drumroll.
And being the leader that he was, Beck stood up from his chair and officiated the event, giving a sarcastic speech about the stunt and how it would never work.
He ended up being right, it didn’t work, at all. It was just another one of those dumb drinking games that never succeeded but everyone loved anyways. And after a few more attempts of trying to get the funnel to work, it (predictably) failed for good, bringing Braden and Ryder to a stop.
They started blaming each other for the funnel not working, coming up with ridiculous excuses that had nothing to do with the poor physics of their setup.
Eventually, the conversation turned towards prom and the prom’s after party. A bunch of them were planning on throwing the party at a suite in some nice hotel not far away, at least that’s what Beck thinks they were saying, at this point he’d stopped paying attention.
As the discussion continued, it got colder out and the girls who were standing outside began to shiver in their dresses and mini skirts. Girls who had boyfriends on the hockey team wandered over and sat down on their laps, taking their phones out and ignoring the ongoing conversation.
“Where’s Hayley?” one of the girls spoke out and it took Beck a while to realize this question was directed at him. “Hello? Beck?”
“Sorry,” he shook his head in apology and then ran a hand through his hair, “isn’t she somewhere around here with Tara?”
“No,” the girl crossed her arms at him, “Tara’s grounded, she forgot to finish this portfolio she owed for her photography class and her parents went totally ballistic on her.”
Beck blinked confusedly at her response for a few seconds before faking a calm and collected nod, pretending like he remembered Hayley telling him Tara was grounded when she’d actually never mentioned it.
This is what made Beck realize he had no idea where Hayley was. He’d assumed they were meeting at the party like she’d stated earlier.
He’d thought she was doing what she usually did when they argued- complaining to Tara, giving him dirty looks, and then ignoring him until he eventually gave in and started apologizing.
But he hadn’t seen her at all tonight, and that’s what concerned him, so he took out his phone and started texting her to see what was going on.
Ten minutes later, she still hadn’t texted him back and a senior named Harry wandered over to where the hockey team was sitting.
“Oliver,” he grunted.
“Yeah?” His voice made Beck look up from his phone and that’s when Harry gestured for Beck to follow him.
They walked over to the side of the house for some privacy and Harry put a hand on his shoulder.
“You should go upstairs,” he suggested and pointed towards a window situated above them.
There was a seriousness in his voice that Beck didn’t question, and he began to wander through the house, following a trail of doors until he reached the room Harry told him to go to.
When he pushed open the room’s door, he was met with a sight he hadn’t been expecting to see.
It was Hayley, and some guy Beck didn’t recognize, engaged in a scene that could be mistaken for porn if looked at wrong.
After the door was nudged all the way open, Beck cleared his throat and Hayley jumped off the guy’s lap, falling off the bed with a terrified look on her face. Neither of them said anything as they looked at each other.
The silence between them continued until the guy Hayley had been involved with spoke up, “what the hell?”
“Beck,” Hayley’s voice was shrill and alarmed, “I didn’t think you’d be here.”
“Yeah well, here I am,” Beck couldn’t stop himself from muttering back sourly.
“Who’s he?” the guy demanded, looking back and forth between Hayley and Beck. He gave the impression of being older than them and Beck assumed he was a college student.
“I’m the boyfriend,” Beck’s response was uncertain, almost like it was a question.
“This is your boyfriend?” The guy looked at Hayley and then squinted towards Beck, “I could take him.”
With this statement, Beck registered that she’d been talking about him to this guy, most likely complaining about all the things he’d done wrong as a boyfriend.
“How about you just take her instead?” Beck suggested with a shrug, then turned out of the room and walked down the hallway by himself.
And maybe it all would’ve been fine if Hayley hadn’t stormed after him, insisting that they still had to go to prom together the next day. It might’ve been okay if she hadn’t proceeded to do so in the middle of the house’s living room, in front of everybody.
And maybe it would’ve all been different if he hadn’t been so concerned about his car earlier and hadn’t parked it two blocks away.
Quite possibly, if none of those things had happened, he wouldn’t have turned the corner of Princeton Boulevard at the exact same time a black SUV charged around the blind turn and ignored the stop sign.
But unfortunately, all of those things did happen.
Looking back on it now, he’s not sure why everyone calls it ‘being hit by a car’ as if the other vehicle had physically lashed out at him like some kind of boxer.
What actually hit him first was the airbag, and then the steering wheel, and then driver’s side of the other car, crushing his left arm.
The impact was deafening, and reverberating, and somehow everything just seemed to slam towards him in the process of the crash.
The first thing he remembers from the ordeal was the smell that took over the ambiance. His engine had dyed out, and from that, an unpleasant stench of burnt, metallic rubber formed.
The second thing he remembers is feeling like he was being watched, because he was. Everyone rushed over from the party, crowding around the sight of the two collided cars. Through the smoke, Beck could see groups of people standing together, taking pictures of the wreck solemnly.
After those two things, it all becomes kind of a blur in his mind, he doesn’t remember much else. Except that he wished he’d been able to just sit up and drive away, shaking it off like it was no big deal.
He also wished that the whole party hadn't been cleared out in a panic the second the cops showed up. And that either Hayley or one of his (supposed) friends had gone in the ambulance with him instead of leaving him alone there in a half-delirious state.
All of that is what makes him feel like shit. The fact that he’s better at remembering small, insignificant details from the accident rather than what’s important. He feels morbid for recalling that kind of stuff in the midst of a huge disaster.
He doesn’t like thinking about any of it now, going through it once was good enough for him. His poor car had been totaled, just like everything else in his life.
Thankfully, he’d come out from the crash pretty unscathed, except for one thing- his left wrist.
The doctors told him to be optimistic about having a full recovery, but Beck knew it was all false hope, his wrist was irreparably shattered, destroyed.
And the funny thing about all of this is that Beck still believes everybody has a singular, tragic experience that puts the rest of their life on track.
And maybe, some people get even more than just one tragedy, somebody’s whole life could be a tragedy if the universe sets it up to be that way.
But the first tragic encounter is what’s important, it’s the catalyst, the beginning step of the unique and perplexing equation that is fate.
However, knowing the beginning step will get you nowhere, it’s everything that comes after the first step that determines your end result.
So who was Beck Oliver in the aftermath of his own personal tragedy? At first, he was a lousy sport when it came to the sunny personalities of the pediatric nurses. And then, he became a stranger in his own home, wandering around like a ghost as his mother tried not to hover over him. And then finally, he became someone he didn’t even recognize as himself. Someone who feels utterly incapable and useless. Like a tainted version of the person he’d once been.
And those words felt fitting to him, incapable and useless. Because he was Beck Oliver, golden boy, but that person no longer existed. And the proof?
He’d never told anyone this before, but that last night of summer before senior year, he drove over to Los Angeles High. It was late, sometime around midnight, and his parents had already gone to sleep.
Everything felt inexplicably lonely and dark as he drove through the landscaped lanes of the gated community. If he looked out his left side window, he could see the strawberry fields that seemed like they stretched on for miles.
After less than twenty minutes of driving, he arrived at the school and parked in the faculty lot. He told himself he parked there because ‘screw it, why not?’ but really it wasn’t rebellion, rather a sign of weakness. After all, the faculty lot was right next to the ice rink, and he wanted to get what he was about to do over with as quickly as possible.
Passing by the swim complex, a scent of chlorine washed over him and he could see the cafe tables had already been set up in the upper quad by the custodial staff.
For a reason he couldn’t quite remember, he still had his key to the ice rink from when he’d been captain and let himself in. He set down the bag he’d brought and pulled out his stick and skates. They felt different in his hands than he remembered (probably since he hadn’t touched them in months), but they looked the same.
There were a few marks on his stick that had been covered up by peeling, black duct tape, and for a brief moment the thought of getting a new stick crossed his mind. But then the idea left his head just as quickly, because of course he wouldn’t be getting a new one, not then and probably not ever.
Moving the weight of the stick from his left to right hand in order to relieve some of the tension on his wrist, he then began to put on his skates. Checking to make sure they were tied tightly one last time, he finally shifted onto the ice and held the stick in his left hand again, wincing from the grip.
His physical therapist didn’t have him doing drastic arm workouts yet, and his other therapist would probably disapprove too, but he didn’t care. He had to know how bad it was, to see for himself if it was true what the doctors had told him- that hockey was finished.
‘Finished’- the word made him laugh, as though the last thirteen years of his life he’d spent playing hockey had amounted to almost nothing.
He balanced himself on the ice and then set down the puck he’d kept in his pocket. Preparing himself for a shot, he angled his body at the net and then tried his best to hit the puck. The move was not entirely pleasant, but it at least felt tolerable on his wrist. The puck landed in the center of the net, and even though he’d been aiming for the far left corner, he decided he’d take it.
Shaking out his arm, he grimaced at how tight his wrist felt, but ignored it as he skated forward to grab the puck. After retrieving it, he took a second shot and slammed it with more momentum than he had before. While swinging, he stumbled slightly, accidentally tripping over his skates and landing on the ice.
Hitting the cold ground, the pain was excruciating, especially since he’d put too much weight on his arm. He was caught so off guard by the stabbing feeling coming from his wrist that he didn’t even bother to get himself off the ice immediately.
By the time the ache had begun to fade back into the familiar, dull feeling that never quite went away, the puck had slid back from the net, landing right next to his skates, mocking him.
His shot had faulted, hitting the edge of the net and bouncing right back to him. He was done.
He left the puck on the ice, skated back over to the rink’s exit, packed up his bag and then walked out, wondering why he had even bothered in the first place.
Locking up the rink, the campus suddenly felt eerie, the dark shadows of the foothills looming over the empty school buildings.
But there was nothing to worry about, because nothing interesting ever happened in their town. Really, the only thing worth getting worried over was tomorrow, the first day of school. When he’d finally have to face everyone he’d been avoiding all summer.
It’s comical almost, because Los Angeles High used to be his, the one place where everyone knew who he was and felt he could do no wrong.
And the ice rink, it used to be his safe spot, an area where he could find peace. He’d been on the varsity hockey team since ninth grade solely because hockey was like a video game to him. Something he’d already beat a million times, making the pleasure of winning long gone.
It was a game he’d kept on playing because people expected him to: his parents, his friends, Hayley. And he used to be good at doing what people expected, but not anymore.
Because now, no one expected anything from him. He was no longer the ‘golden boy’. He was just Beck.
And there are a lot of unexpected public humiliations that can happen to people when they’re in highschool, but up until this moment, Beck had been immune to them.
His first glimpse of teenage mortification was at 8:10 am on the first day of senior year. Because not only was he ten minutes late to the welcome back pep rally, this year would also be his first time not participating in it.
As he walked up the bleachers, trying to be discreet as possible, he could feel the whole school watching him. Staring him down. And not because he’d won a record percentage of votes for a student council election, or because he’d held hands with Hayley Ferguson while they waited in line at the coffee cart.
No, this time was different. Being under this type of observation made him want to cower down in silent apology and embarrassment. It honestly made him want to disappear altogether.
Finding a spot near the front of the senior section, he sat down directly underneath the ‘R’ in the ‘GO SENIORS’ banner situated on top of the balloon arch that every section got. He watched as the leaders of the student government huddled together in the center of the basketball court, wearing leis and sunglasses. \
Tara Ganz, the new class president, was dressed in a bikini top and jean shorts, sunglasses situated on her face along with an overly cheery smile. When the huddle broke apart, Beck caught sight of Hayley laughing with her friends, all of them dressed in their cheer uniforms. For a brief moment, her eyes met Beck’s, but then she looked away, embarrassed. That one glance told him all he needed to know though. That the tragedy of what had happened during prom weekend last year was his and his alone.
But right then, by the chance of some small miracle, Robbie Shapiro was sitting down next to him.
“Did you hear about the bees?” He asked joyfully.
“What?” Beck sputtered out, confused.
“They’re disappearing,” he shrugged, “scientists are stumped. I read it in the news this morning.”
“Maybe it’s a hoax,” Beck shrugged back, “I mean, how can you prove something like that?”
“A bee census,” Robbie’s reply was blunt, “anyways, I’m going to start stocking up on honey.”
Beck didn’t really know what to say. He and Robbie hadn’t spoken much in years. He was captain of the debate team and their schedules had rarely overlapped, but he looked different now. Not the same short and puny best friend Beck had lost sometime in the first few weeks of ninth grade.
He still wore glasses, and his dark curls were still a mess around his face, but his height had shot up to a lanky five foot ten. He was dressed in a button up shirt and pair of jeans, a small bow tie straightened to perfection on his shirt collar.
Just as Beck was about to reply to his comment about honey, the music for the pep rally started. A deafening blast of some overplayed radio song came through the speakers and the student government members began clapping insync with each other. Tara squealed into the microphone about how psyched she was for the best school year ever and Beck couldn’t stop himself from wincing.
“Please tell me I’m hallucinating,” Robbie muttered.
“Seniors! Where’s your school spirit?” Tara yelled into the microphone, and the response back from the crowd almost made Beck’s ears bleed.
“I can’t hear you!” Tara challenged, cocking her head to the side and resting a hand on her hip, getting an even louder response from the crowd than the first time.
“Kill me now,” Robbie moaned while throwing his head back.
“I would, but that would mean I’d have to sit through this alone,” Beck smirked.
Their conversation caught the attention of Mrs. Levine, the tenth grade german teacher, who was just a few seats down from them. She shot them a glare and said, “behave or leave gentleman,” only making Robbie snort in appreciation.
When the song booming through the speakers finally came to an end, Braden Hendrix took the microphone from Tara. He was dressed in his hockey uniform, and Beck couldn't help but notice the team had gotten new ones.
“What’s up Los Angeles High!” He called into the microphone., “it’s time to meet your varsity sports teams!”
And then, as if right on cue, the gym side doors were shoved open and the football team poured out, dressed in their jerseys and a scary amount of facepaint. After them came the baseball team, and then tennis, and then soccer, but at this point, Beck had stopped paying attention to the teams.
Because his former life, in its entirety, was standing in the middle of the basketball court while he sat on the bleachers, watching like an outsider.
And there was no way in hell he was going to clap for these people. All he wanted to do was get out of that pep rally and as far away from it as possible.
“Hey Beck,” Robbie suddenly whispered loudly, “got a nicotine patch to spare?”
This caused Mrs. Levine’s head to snap towards them in anger, “get out!” She demanded, “both of you, now!”
Robbie chuckled before shrugging and standing up with his bag, Beck following him closely as they left the gymnasium.
They wandered through the gym’s hallways to the outside area connecting the various school buildings. It was annoyingly hot outside and Beck had to fumble through his bag in order to get his sunglasses to block out the sun.
“A nicotine patch?” he chuckled as he put his sunglasses on.
“It got us kicked out, didn’t it?” Robbie’s response was smug.
“I guess so, thanks for that, by the way.”
“Don’t mention it, I couldn’t stand another five minutes in there anyways.”
They wound up passing their free time in the annex, a large study room that connected the debate hall and the chemistry classrooms. Everyone else was still at the rally, and from time to time, they’d hear muffled screams come from the gym.
“So, what are you doing for electives this year?” Robbie suddenly spoke up.
“Speech and debate,” Beck admitted, realizing that Robbie might be in his class.
“Dude, I’m team captain this year, you should compete!”
“I’m just taking it for the elective requirement,” Beck shook his head, “Debate isn't really my thing.”
“Maybe not, but you owe me for getting us out of the pep rally,” Robbie protested.
“No, we’re even. Remember when I told Mason Linnhurst not to pee in your backpack in the eighth grade locker room?”
“You still owe me, he pissed in my water bottle instead.”
Just as Beck was about to argue that he, in fact, did not owe Robbie, the bell rang -signaling it was time for first period.
“Hey Oliver, want to know something depressing?” Robbie asked while picking up his bag.
“What?”
“The day’s barely even started.”
With that, Robbie turned and started to head towards the mathematics wing of the school, while Beck went the opposite way.
Unfortunately, he had AP Euro first period, which meant Mr. Smallden, the hockey coach, was his teacher. And if that wasn’t bad enough, the AP Euro room was also on the second floor of the 400 building, making it the furthest classroom away from the annex.
By the time he’d gotten to class, Mr. Smallden was already taking attendance. He took a brief pause to frown at Beck over the edge of his folder before gesturing for him to sit somewhere in the back of the room.
When Beck’s name was called, all he could do was mumble out a quick ‘here’ without looking up from his desk.
He was surprised his name had been called at all. Usually, when teachers reached his name on the attendance list, they did this thing where they’d say, “Beck Oliver is here,” with a bright smile before continuing to shout out names. It was as though they were overly pleased to have him in the room, like his presence somehow made the class uniquely better.
But when Mr. Smallden paused after calling out his name and Beck had to confirm that he was in the room (even though Smallden knew damn well he’d come in late less than two minutes ago), that was when Beck wondered if he really was there. He felt so out of place and not welcomed that he bet nobody would even notice if he got up and left right then.
When a noticeable silence took over the room, Beck glanced up to see Smallden giving him a glare that was usually reserved for hockey practice.
“Consider this your tardiness warning, Mr. Oliver,” Smallden warned.
“Noted,” Beck muttered before rolling his eyes.
As attendance continued to be called, Beck began to zone out. He wasn’t really listening until Smallden got to a name nobody recognized.
There was a discernible shift in the room and everyone's eyes flickered over to the desks near the window. A new student.
Due to him sitting in the back, all Beck could see was the sleeve of a black sweater and a cascade of dark hair with green highlights. But just from that one look, he could tell the girl was nothing like anyone from their school. She was an oddity.
After Smallden had gotten through the list of names, he started to pass out the syllabus for the year, and it was nothing surprising, at least to Beck.
Apparently though, Mr. Smallden believed otherwise, as he went into a lengthy speech about what it meant to be in an advanced placement history course (as if they all hadn’t taken AP US history the year before).
Usually, Beck didn’t have a problem with Smallden. Most of the guys on the hockey team hated him because they thought he was a hard-ass, but Beck was used to strict coaches.
However, he was realizing now that without any other athletes in the class, Smallden was just plain strict.
“You should have completed the summer reading,” Smallden said as though it was an accusation, rather than a fact. “Medieval Europe: From the Fall of Rome to the Renaissance. If you felt this assignment was beneath you, then you’ll be rearranging your plans for the weekend. You may even consider what you had planned to be, ah, history.”
This gained a laugh from no one.
‘The Roman Empire: 200 B.C- 474 A.D’ he wrote onto the board and then raised an eyebrow at everyone in the room, like he was enjoying a private joke with himself.
A tormenting stretch of silence encompassed the room as they all tried to figure out why he wasn't saying anything, and then finally, Meredith Brown raised her hand.
“I’m sorry sir, but I think 476 A.D is correct?” she spoke hesitantly.
“Thank you Ms. Brown for displaying the simplest level of competency in reading comprehension,” Smallden snapped, changing the date on the board. “And now, I wonder if anyone here can tell us why the phrase ‘Holy Roman Empire’ is inaccurate….Mr. Oliver perhaps?”
If Beck didn’t know any better, he would have thought there was a sneer on Mr. Smallden’s lips, or rather a very passive aggressive snarl.
Beck knew that Smallden was disappointed that he could no longer play hockey, but he’d hoped that he wouldn’t be an asshole about it, considering Beck had no control over the matter.
“It only applies after Charlemagne?” He offered, tracing over his syllabus and not looking up.
“That’s a community college answer,” Smallden announced, “care to rephrase it and try for an ivy league school?”
And Beck doesn’t know what came over him, maybe it was that he didn't want to take shit from Smallden for the rest of the year. But before he could think through what he was doing, he leaned back in his chair and replied-
“Yeah, okay, there’s two reasons. One is that the ‘Holy Roman Empire’ was originally called the Frankish Kingdom, until the Pope crowned Charlemagne the ‘Emperor of the Romans’. And two is that it wasn’t holy, or Roman, or even an empire. It was actually just this casual alliance of Germanic tribal states.”
He’d never really shot his mouth off during class before, it was a new thing for him, and he instantly regretted it.
Sure, he usually got the answers right when he was called on during class, and his grades were always scarily good, but he wasn’t someone other people would deem ‘brainy’. He’d just done a lot of reading and thinking over the summer, it’s not like there was much else to do.
“That’s correct. Enjoy your weekend, Mr. Oliver,” Smallden scoffed, and that’s when Beck realized that instead of getting him off his back, he’d made Smallden want to get back at him.
The rest of the period dragged on tediously, and Beck had nearly forgotten they were on pep rally schedule for the day.
When the bell rang, it wasn’t until he was halfway out of the AP Euro classroom and someone was tapping on his shoulder that he remembered he wasn’t going to free period.
It was the new girl. She was clutching a class schedule and staring up at him, as though he’d somehow given her the impression that he was the right person to talk to on her first day.
Beck wasn’t expecting her eyes, they were deep and disquieting and icy blue, the sort of eyes that make you wonder if the skies opened up when she got angry. And they weren’t breaking eye contact with him, they looked expectant as her mouth twisted upwards into a smirk.
“Sorry,” she looked down at her schedule again, “It’s just that, first period is supposed to end at nine thirty five, but the bell didn’t ring until nine fifty and I-”
“It’s the pep rally,” Beck cut in, “break is cancelled and we go straight to third period.”
“Oh,” she considered this, and then pushed her schedule into her bag, “so what do you have third period then?”
“AP American Lit.”
“Me too, can you show me where that is?”
Ordinarily, he would’ve said yes. But he could feel people’s eyes on them as they stood in the hallway together, the new girl and the former golden boy , and something was telling him that if he walked her to class, it’d only cause more people to stare. And at that moment, he wanted the least amount of attention on him as possible.
So with a sting of regret and hatred for himself, he responded, “sorry, no I can’t.”
The girl’s feelings didn’t seem to be hurt by this, she just chuckled lightly while looking at the ground. After a second, she made eye contact with him again and then nodded her head, “alright then.”
She turned to walk away after that and Beck couldn’t seem to pull his eyes off her as she left. He thought about most of the girls at Los Angeles High, and how they all looked the same to him- blond hair, lots of makeup, expensive handbags.
This girl was nothing like that, and Beck didn’t know what to make of her appearance. Her black sweater thrown over a tight black dress matching her black combat boots, and her dark hair that was falling down her shoulders in loose curls, everything about her was so different. She was a novelty.
To Beck, she felt like someone that had come out of an old fashioned movie, timeless and distinct.
She was pretty though, really pretty, and Beck couldn’t stop himself from wondering where she’d come from and why she hadn’t bothered to fit in.
He wanted to follow her and apologize, or at least explain why he couldn’t walk with her, but he didn’t.
Instead, he took a different route to American Lit than she had, and hoped that he’d get another chance to talk to her.