Chapter Text
Inigo liked going to school. He didn't even know why: He never had the best grades because he daydreamed a lot (especially about the odd beautiful girl he'd met in the middle of the street, or on the bus, or somewhere else, and totally neglected to tell each one how he felt. Inigo couldn't help himself; he was one of the poor suckers who fell in love at first sight. Every single time.). He was shy around other people and despite his mum telling him again and again that he'd have to get over his crippling anxiety, he simply was not able do it. Still, he had made a grand total of two friends at his new school during the last month, and their Homeroom and Literature teacher, even though he was strict, always took his time after class to answer his students' individual questions.
At the moment, he was making his way to his class on Literature, carrying his books and notes against his chest, humming softly as he walked through the hallway. He didn't possess the best singing voice (it sounded too nasal for his own liking) but having been rick-rolled seven times during the last 24 hours did that to you.
"You're too gullible," someone said from behind him but still loudly enough that Inigo heard. He turned around to see Gerome nod at him.
Inigo just beamed. "Hey, Gerome."
"You're mispronouncing my name yet again," the other boy muttered. "It's Gerome, with a French G."
"Like in..." Inigo hummed a little more while he thought of a good example, then almost dropped his books because he wanted to snap his fingers. "Gourmet!"
"No, like the G in garage."
"Garage. Gourmet. The G's the same." When Gerome turned away, anger obvious to anyone, Inigo chimed in, "You realise I didn't pick French for a reason. I can't pronounce a single word."
"You're not even trying."
"Maybe." Inigo shrugged and laughed. Gerome regarded him a little uncertainly, then cracked the smallest of smiles. "Did you do the assignment?" Inigo asked when they started walking again.
"I have better things to do than waste my time reading a novel about what's it like to be a student at high school."
"Phrased like this, it sure makes a certain amount of sense."
Gerome snorted. "What about you? Did you do it?"
"I... forgot." Inigo sheepishly glanced over to Gerome. He wasn't telling him the whole truth and hoped the other boy wouldn't notice. As it was, his friend wasn't even looking his way, only staring straight ahead.
Inigo exhaled slowly, releasing the breath he hadn't been aware of holding. He shifted the weight of his books so he could hold them with one hand and fiddle around with his earring with the other one. Yes, he considered Gerome his friend, but he wasn't about to ruin it by telling him he danced professionally. He planned to follow in his mum's footsteps, dreamt of becoming a dancing instructor and teaching others. It made Inigo relax, just losing himself in the music and his movements, even if it was Never Gonna Give You Up blaring through his speakers for the seventh time that day.
He must have started humming again, as Gerome groaned like he was in physical pain. "Why?" the redhead asked, looking at the ceiling.
"Don't you know what it's like to have a tune stuck in your head?"
"I'm asking, 'Why does it have to be this atrocious internet meme?'"
"Noire is excellent at disguising her true intentions," Inigo answered, opening the door to the room their next class would be held in with his free hand.
"And here I am, repeating myself: You're too gullible." Gerome turned his back and entered.
The sky was a gorgeous shade of blue today, light and still deep. Not a single cloud was in sight, the sun shone strongly, the birds chirped as they buzzed over the horizon. And what did Inigo do? Sigh as he remembered more than vividly the last time he had been turned down.
"Are you still with us?" Inigo looked up to the broad built of his Literature teacher. He had never seen the man smile. Hell, he hadn't even heard him mention his name.
Despite it all, Inigo managed a smile. "Yes. Never been gone." His left hand shot up to the comforting feeling of his earring.
"That's excellent because then you might remember what I've told the class." Inigo gulped but still kept smiling. "Let me rephrase this: You should remember what I've told the class because it concerns you, as well."
Inigo glanced to his right where Gerome sat on the far end of the room. The redhead didn't notice Inigo's desperate plea for help and kept playing with his phone. Another peek behind himself revealed Noire drawing something in her textbook with the most horrifying expression Inigo had ever seen on her face. He didn't want to know what made her smile with so much manic self-satisfaction and glee.
His head snapped back to his teacher. "Can you enlighten me, please?" Inigo asked with a sheepish grin. He felt stupider than ever before in this moment, even more so because a small wave of laughter erupted around him. The look of utter disappointment with no hint of anger whatsoever on his teacher's face didn't help matters. "I'm sorry. I... had things on my mind."
"It's good to see that you are thinking," the class laughed a little louder now, "but." The man looked around the room, and it went quiet at once. "I am afraid you are supposed to think about school-related matters at school, and I have the strong impression that you weren't."
Inigo shook his head. "I-I can explain, though!"
"Save it." Arms crossed behind his back, the teacher walked back to his desk before turning around. "You're lucky, though, Inigo, because I can tell you all about it during detention."
"Aw, really?"
The man nodded once and went back to his lesson. Inigo made sure to pay attention now but he didn't learn anything about what he had supposedly missed.
"Way to go."
Inigo was slumped over his desk and groggily met Gerome's eye. "It's Inigo."
The other boy turned to gaze out of the window. "Don't be such a hypocrite."
"What does that even mean?"
"It means," Gerome shifted again to study his friend, "don't go around and tell people to pronounce your name correctly if you can't pronounce theirs."
Inigo gaped. It was plain unfair how Gerome seemed to be able to turn almost everything he said back around to make him look stupid. It was just as unfair that wherever they went, girls turned around, smiled, waved. At Gerome. Inigo, though, they evaded him like he was contagious to the presence.
"Anyway, I only wanted to tell you that I can bail you out of detention."
Inigo gaped on. He didn't understand what went through Gerome's head at all.
"It won't work if you're stuck imitating a blowfish."
"I-I'm...!" The boy took a deep breath and finally managed to close his mouth. He put on a smile instead, the one he'd been practising in front of a mirror for hours on end until he deemed it perfect. Gerome frowned, but Inigo made sure not to falter. "I'm listening."
"You better are." Gerome's gaze shifted back to the window. "Mr. Shaffer talked about the field trip in the first half of his lesson." Inigo raised his hand. "What?"
"First: Who's Mr. Shaffer?"
"Our Lit and Homeroom teacher. Frederick Shaffer. Dude, don't tell me you didn't know that."
Inigo smiled. "I won't. You can do all the thinking." Gerome grimaced like he was in pain. The other boy took this as a hint to go on. "Second: What's this about a field trip?"
"Your ticket to freedom."
"Can you, like, not speak in riddles for once?" Inigo was close to pouting although he tried his best to hold on to his smile.
"If you can convince Mr. Shaffer that you do know what all this field trip business is about, he might let you off the hook. I'm sure he'd appreciate not wasting his time by lecturing you about it after his regular working hours."
Inigo beamed up at his friend. "You're a hero! You'd just need a mask coveri--"
"One more word and I'm leaving." Eyes widening, Inigo nodded. "We, meaning this class, are going on an official field trip on Friday the 16th. That's three days and two weeks from now. We'll be meeting in front of the school's main entrance at eight sharp. In the morning. By the way, I'd advice you to take notes, knowing you're suffering from amnesia."
Inigo wasn't sure if he was allowed to speak now, but keeping his mouth shut for over one minute at a time (when he was mentally present anyway) proved harder than he had thought. "R-Right." He pulled his notebook and a pen out of his school bag. "Sorry, I'm aware I'm not supposed to say anything."
"Yeah, so stop talking and start writing already. I won't repeat myself." Nodding in a way that was closer to a head-bang than an actual nod, Inigo showed his affirmation before he scrawled something into his notebook. Gerome frowned at Inigo's not very neat (meaning horrendous) handwriting but chose not to comment. Instead, he went on with his explanation. "We'll take a bus to Toronto, that's about two hours from here. There's a poetry slam organised and hosted by a local high school, and that's exactly why we're going on a field trip. To see a fucking poetry slam."
"Uh, if you don't mind me asking," Inigo said as he furiously took notes, "what's a poetry slam? Is it, like, people go on a stage and pretend to be Shakespeare?"
Gerome sighed. "It's a ridiculous farce you summed up quite accurately."
Inigo actually liked the idea of people battling each other in duel of lyrics a lot. He couldn't see why Gerome always had to call everything he didn't volunteer to do a waste of time. But he wasn't about to voice his thoughts. "Just pretend to be sick that day. Then you won't have to go."
"This may very well be the first acceptable idea you've had all year."
Inigo half-snorted before mimicking Gerome with a sarcastic undertone. "Why, thank you, because this may very well be the first compliment you've ever given anyone!"
"Enjoy your 15 minutes of fame." Gerome smiled at him, turned and left. Inigo watched him go, too baffled to do anything. He wondered if they really were friends, and if they were, then how it had come to be.
Someone cleared their throat with such a force as to startle Inigo into waking up. His back hurt from slouching over his desk again (he made a mental note to bring a pillow with him next time). He blinked the sleep out of his eyes and became more than alert when he finally registered his Literature teacher standing right in front of him.
"Good afternoon," Inigo greeted, putting on one of his best smiles, "Mr. Shaffer." His voice was dripping with pride. That ought to leave a good impression, right?
"Inigo." His teacher nodded once. "Waking up fast is a good ability to possess."
The boy blinked. He hadn't expected to be praised. "Th-Than--"
"Falling asleep on school grounds, on the other hand, isn't." Inigo was close to stuttering out an excuse of some sort, but Mr. Shaffer spoke before he got the chance to. "It's just as bad as looking out the window and being caught up in a daydream. Those ways, you're not paying attention, and this is something we have to work on. At least we should, in case failing is not what you've been aiming for all this time."
Inigo needed a few seconds to process this word wall. "It's not..." He touched his earring, twisting his thumb and forefinger around the metalwork. "I'm sorry I'm such a lousy student! I really am. But! I've caught up! I know what was so important during your class earlier."
"Oh?" Mr. Shaffer raised an eyebrow. "Pray tell."
After rummaging through his unorganised backpack for a few seconds that felt like minutes under the unfaltering gaze of his teacher, Inigo pulled out the notes he'd taken earlier. He had to straighten the sheet that had ended up crumpled by accident a few times before he squinted at his hieroglyphs. He read it over once before he summarised what he'd written down. "Apparently, there's a field trip next month on the 16th, and we're going to Toronto to see a poetry slam."
When Inigo looked up from his notes, his hand rested against his earring again. Mr. Shaffer looked at him with both eyebrows raised now, and a professional smile spread across his face. "Colour me surprised. Tell me, though, why would I arrange to watch a poetry slam of all things with you?"
This was it, Inigo knew. All or nothing. The question whose answer would decide whether he was a free man or a prisoner, trapped inside the school building and wasting away, on such a beautiful summer day no less. It all reminded him of a horror movie he'd watched a few months ago even though the rating read R, and now he regretted having done this more than ever.
It seemed like his life was flashing right before his eyes. And it was funny to him, it really was, because there were so many answers right before him and he'd just have to reach out and pick the right one. Doing nothing would be just as bad as choosing a wrong one. Inigo took a deep breath and let his mouth do the work for him. He didn't want to be such a drama queen about this. "It's gotta do something with your class. Th-The field trip." Inigo gulped, collected himself. Stammering now could make him lose his thread, and so far Mr. Shaffer hadn't interrupted him. "The field trip strengthens the bonds among the class, and of course it's related to the cur-cu-- It's related to what we'll cover next in class."
"You seem to be guessing."
"I-I wasn't." Mr. Shaffer didn't need to do anything but stare him down. Inigo had to avert his eyes. "Okay, I kinda was."
His teacher put on another one of those strict smiles. "Lady Luck is with you today after all. The trip is supposed to enhance the class's cultural knowledge and enlighten you to the beauty of poetry." Mr. Shaffer nodded to himself. "I'll make this short: Detention is over."
All the tension fled Inigo's body, and he wasn't able to sit up straight any longer. His head hit his desk with a thud, and it hurt, badly even, but the boy couldn't keep from laughing. He was free.
"So, what d'ya say to the field trip?" Inigo asked, his laptop the only source of light in his room. He laid sprawled out over his bed, lying on his tummy, and skyping with Noire. (Inigo obviously wasn't aware that he'd be almost impossible to see this way, and Noire was too shy to tell him.)
The girl glanced to her side as she answered. Inigo couldn't make out much more than a stretch of wall behind her, plastered with posters of men Inigo had never seen before. "I'm not sure. I've never been to a poetry slam before." She turned to look back at the screen.
"Me neither. But! I googled for slam poetry and the stuff can be really funny!" He grinned with excitement. "Also, no school for the whole day, and we're going to the big city!"
"I see you're looking forward to it." She twirled a strand of hair around her finger.
"Aren't you now?"
Noire again looked to her side. Something awfully interesting must be there, Inigo mused. "I'm... I'm not sure. What if we have to fill out a form for Mr. Shaffer o-or answer a pop quiz afterwards?"
"What, you scared of not paying attention?" Inigo grinned, Noire nodded. "This should be my line! You didn't notice Mr. Shaffer calling me out during class today?"
Noire's eyes widened in surprise and she looked back at the screen. "H-He did?"
Inigo laughed nervously. "Oh yeah, you were busy drawing in your textbook..."
"Uh..." Noire leaned closer to the screen and the camera, but averted her eyes again. In a whisper, she said, "I wasn't drawing. It's... It was supposed to be a spell. I tried to hex someone."
"Wait a sec." Now this definitely caught Inigo off-guard. "What's hexing someone?"
"I-I... It's, uh, putting a c-curse on someone..." Her voice grew steadily quieter.
Inigo's eyebrows shot up. "Uh, wow. Like, I'm not sure what to say."
"I-I can explain! So, uh, there was this guy I liked in middle school and h-he found out and he made fun of me and his friends did, too, and I got SO ANGRY," her voice sounded close to a growl, and she spoke so loud it appeared as if she was screaming, "a-and I ran into him by chance yesterday and my MUM CONCOCTED THE PLAN SO SHE SHOWED ME HOW TO TAKE REVENGE."
Inigo hadn't noticed himself physically retreating from his laptop but here he was, pressed against his wall like the butterfly he had tried to catch but, by accident, ended up killing when he was in elementary school. He slowly made his way back, crawling on all fours. "You know what they say, sweet revenge..." He emitted another nervous-sounding laugh.
Inigo didn't believe in curses, magic, and the likes. He viewed himself as a pretty down-to-earth guy. Science was beautiful in his eyes and it explained so many mysteries he'd struggled to understand during his childhood. So hearing Noire talk about how she -- what did she call it again? -- hexed someone because of some grudge and her mother's suggestion was something he had a hard time coping with. Inigo knew Noire suffered some condition or other that caused her to develop a split personality but at least that could be explained away.
Long story short, Inigo hoped this hexing business turned out to be just another form of bullshittery and wouldn't work.
Noire let out one of the maddest sounding set of giggles Inigo had ever had the pleasure of hearing (the other mad giggles he'd heard so far also originated from Noire) before she snapped back to her usual self. "S-So, uh, yeah. Thanks for not judging me... I-I guess..."
"I-It's no problem, really. Don't worry about it." Inigo flashed her his best smile even though he still felt the shudders working through his body. Everything about this conversation had turned a special brand of awkward.
"I-It's probably for the best i-if I go now..." Noire muttered.
At first, Inigo wanted to protest, but he didn't know how to un-awkward-ify this conversation, and on top of that, it was already past 1 a.m. Class would begin in a few hours and he wouldn't be able to catch enough sleep even if he fell asleep right now. He settled on, "It's gotten really late anyway, so let's call it a day." Noire just bobbed her head in reply. "Uh, good night. See you tomor-- today!"
"R-Right. Bye." Before Inigo could react, Noire had already logged off.