Chapter Text
Bif Taylor was the boxing champion of Bullworth Vale; undefeated and the pride of Glass Jaw Boxing Club. The pride of Derby Harrington. Then along came Jimmy Hopkins, who challenged him to a match. Naturally, Bif rose to said challenge. I mean, how hard could it be to beat the pauper? He didn't need to reassure himself. Jimmy was half of Bif in every way that mattered, and less than a fraction in every way that didn’t. Even when he swaggered into the ring, Bif and his friends sniggered at the choice of ensemble. All black was sensible, but hot rod flames were not. In any case, Bif wasn’t one to judge a boxer’s ability by the clothes they wore. Tad wore one of the finest Aquaberry boxing sets on the market, yet he was far from even a decent boxer. The bell rang to signal the start of the most regrettable 45 minutes of Bif’s life.
He lost.
Bad.
He started off strong, as he always does. His coach had said that what he lacked in endurance he made up for in strength. Bif had the strength to throw Hopkins into the ropes after his first couple punches. Somehow, the scumbag wouldn’t go down. After the first six rounds he was starting to feel it, the fatigue from trying to knock down something that wouldn’t even crumble. Jimmy's punches shouldn't have worn him down. Shouldn't. If Jimmy were any of his regular boxing opponents then Bif's punches would have done the job before the fifth round was done. Perhaps his life on the streets has made him more hardy. Before the match, Bif would have said foolhardy. Now he’s been on the wrong side of his fists, he’d bitterly admit that Jimmy is just hardy. Fortunately for Bif, no one asks.
There came a sickening blow to the gut. Bif looked to the skybox, where he locked eyes with a blond figure in Aquaberry blue. It only lasted a moment, before Bif saw him turn away. Another blow to the shoulder and Bif was given the ten second countdown. All he could do was roll onto his stomach, his legs no longer strong enough to gain purchase on the floor of the ring as the bell went for the final time. After almost an entire hour, Bif wasn’t good enough to defend his title. It now belonged to Jimmy Hopkins, who spent no time before delving into an arrogant spiel of the most asinine drivel Bif had ever heard. Bif tried to get up to his feet, but Jimmy’s foot pushed down on his side, causing his arms to collapse under the weight. “I killed the best, I will beat the rest.”
Bif’s last coherent thought on Hopkins was that he was what the British Taylors referred to as a ‘prick’.
Even in his semi-conscious state Bif recognised the sound of Derby rushing down the stairs in a cold fury. Parker filled their leader in on the details, Bif attempted to get up, to show Derby the match wasn’t over, that he could still fight. Derby got very close to Bif’s face and all but growled at him. “You disgust me.” Bif slumped down onto the floor of the ring. He really had messed everything up, hadn’t he? At least Derby knew how to rile up a crowd. Bif loved the sound of his voice, he knew the others did, too. It didn’t matter what Derby said, didn’t matter how much it hurt, Bif would rather live in Derby’s rants and angry words than live without his voice at all. He could handle being branded a democrat if that was the price to pay.
When Bif properly came to, the room was empty, aside from the bodies of his friends groaning on the floor. He undid his boxing gloves, heaved himself upright using the ropes, and took a moment to survey the damage Hopkins had left in his wake. The devastation seemed to rest on the bodies of his fellow Preps. Although one of the windows of the skybox now had a crack in it. He looked past the crack and watched as Jimmy delivered a hook to Derby’s jaw. Derby stumbled backwards before crashing to the floor. Bif wasn’t entirely sure on his feet yet, so when he jumped over the ropes he stumbled. That didn’t stop him from continuing up the stairs to the skybox, where he could hear Jimmy gloating again. Bif tried the door, but it was barred from the inside. “Who’s the boss now, my waspy little friend?” Bif could only imagine that wretch was speaking to Derby. “You are!” Bif didn’t recognise the tone, but he recognised the voice. He didn’t want to admit it, but Derby Harrington sounded pitiful. He briefly thought about labelling him pathetic, but even in his head that felt too far. Like blasphemy. Like he ought to pray for forgiveness. Harringtons were never anything but respected and refined.
The barrier holding the door shut was lifted and the door was opened by Jimmy Hopkins. He now sported a busted lip and an eye surrounded by swollen, bright red skin. Bif hoped that he was going to get a black eye after today. Jimmy’s straightened his brow from its crumpled state when he realised he wasn’t alone. “Hey, uh, Bif. No hard feelings, yeah?” Jimmy stuck out his hand to the battered and bruised Prep. Bif gaped at him, not expecting such sportsmanlike words to come out of his mouth. “Ok, then. See you around,” Jimmy dropped his hand coolly and walked out. The front door of the club shut with a slam and Bif realised he had been staring. Bif went into the skybox, Parker and Gord were both incapacitated on the floor, Derby was getting to his feet. Bif went behind the bar for the first aid kit. In trying to give Derby a wide berth he had to step over Gord’s body and Bif noticed the way Gord sucked in a breath. The thought crossed his mind to drag him to his feet and show Derby he wasn't the only one to let him down. That thought was brief. What did it matter, though? Gord was like a drop of water. He wasn't the boxing champion, hell he was hardly a boxer. No wonder he'd rather take a dive than fight Jimmy.
He pulled out the kit and unfastened the metal clips. He began foraging for supplies—ice packs for his cliquemates and antiseptics for himself. Derby strode towards the bar, but stayed firm on the other side. Bif thought he might yell, he certainly looked like he had something he wanted to hurl off of his chest in Bif's direction. Instead he leaned over the bar, grabbed a half-empty bottle of what Bif believed was wine, and upended a large amount of the contents into his mouth. He recorked the bottle and returned it behind the bar before leaving in a similarly dramatic way to Hopkins. The door was quieter when he shut it. "He's gone, stop pretending to be dead." Immediately Gord's eye opened and he took a once over of the room before he got up to his feet with ease. Parker got up far slower, but found his way to his feet all the same. They both came up to the bar and Derby handed each of them an ice pack. Parker advised Bif to refrigerate the wine. Gord didn't use the ice pack, instead opting to twirl it between his fingers.
“Do you think Derby’s mad—?'' Before Gord could finish his question Parker slapped him round the back of the head
“He just lost a fight against one of the scummiest cretins Bullworth has to offer, what do you think?”
"Well, if he's mad at
anyone
it's going to be Bif," Gord spoke like they weren't in the same room. Bif snatched back the ice pack he had given to Gord and motioned him to open the other skybox door. Bif applied the antiseptic to his brow, barely flinching at the sting when contact was made. Gord returned to his seat, whining about how the barrier had snagged one of his nails. “Nice to know that I have to buy Hopkins dinner and let him stick his tongue down my throat if I want an easy fight.” Parker’s comment set off a spat between him and Gord. As usual, Bif tuned it out. He handed the confiscated ice pack to Tad when he hobbled through the door holding his hand over his eye. Once everyone was present and left the Glass Jaw, Bif changed back into his casualwear. He made a note for the staff that the first aid kit needed to be restocked. He left the note in the empty staff room and made the solitary trek back to Harrington House. He would have been excited about the first snow of the winter, but it wasn’t even close to present in his mind.
When Bif returned to the campus and Harrington House, he pretended the atmosphere wasn’t off. He walked up to his bedroom and packed a weekend bag for his parents’ holiday house; it was Christmas soon and they would probably want him to spend it there with them. They wouldn’t come to collect him until Friday, so he had a whole day to play with. Not that there was anything left to do. Classes officially ended last Friday, and most—if not all—of the others in the clique were busy going home or were already there. Hell, Chad and Chester had crossed state lines to go home after Chad’s last class a week ago. The only people he could rely on to be present for the last couple days of the year were Tad, Gord, and Derby, but Tad was dull, Gord was probably fixing to butter Hopkins up a little more, and Derby? Bif thought that was better left unsaid. So Bif’s choices boiled down to sitting in his room until his parents came, moping around Bullworth alone, or trying to convince himself to have someone who wasn't Derby tag along with him.
He started with being in his room, but became restless before midday. He was used to going out every day with Derby; exercise in the park or private races along the quiet streets of the Vale. He bit the bullet and went to Tad Spencer’s house. Spending the day with Tad was as mind-numbing as he expected, but Tad seemed genuinely glad to not be at home. Bif wondered when Tad last had company from someone outside of his household. He thought about asking why he didn’t stay at the Academy, but he had recently learned that isolation in Harrington House wasn’t a much better choice. He kept silent on the matter. He kept silent for most of the day, in fact, letting Tad talk about whatever he pleased. This meant the conversation revolved around social climbing, superyachts, and the new lion statues in the Spencers' garden. “Thank you for spending the day with me, old chap.” Tad spoke as they skimmed stones on the beach. Well, Tad skimmed stones. Bif relished the noise of the stones sinking in the water more than the sight of them slipping away toward the horizon.
“Oh, uh, don’t mention it.” He fumbled his words, not prepared to say anything.
“Are you staying in Bullworth—”
“For Christmas?” Bif cut him off as another pebble left his hand and landed with a plop in the ocean. “No, I’m,” He turned his newest rock over in his hand. He decided to pocket this one. “I’m leaving tomorrow.” Tad nodded.
“I may not know Derby as well as you, but moping about with me to avoid him won’t help.” Tad smoothed out his sweater as he spoke.
“What?”
“I appreciated spending some quality time with you, Bif." Tad made sure to smile. Bif thought he intended to come off as friendly. Yet his beady eyes and under-formed face never failed to make Bif feel uneasy. "But we both know you wouldn’t have thought twice about me at any other time. Let alone with a few days until Christmas.”
“Am I really that predictable?” Bif smiled, but it was a bitter smile. Tad nodded again, his smile unwavering.
“We’ve never been close.” They both knew there was a mix of things that stopped them; Tad’s social status being the main one. Tad's desire to improve his social status—and tar Bif's in the process—was another. “My mummy will expect me home for tea soon.” Bif accepted Tad’s departure, even if it was only 3PM and therefore too early for the meal Tad called tea but was, in fact, dinner. Tad's abandonment was another humiliating blow to Bif’s ego. He was the one who should be leaving Tad behind. It was a mistake to even see Spencer today. He finds it hard to get Tad out of his head at the best of times. Bif picked up a smooth pebble from the sand and skimmed it along the water. He didn’t see where it sunk beneath the surface.
He thought about returning to Harrington House. He didn’t want to, but he went. Again, things were off and there was no sign of Derby. Maybe he had already left for the break. Maybe he and Pinky were off reconciling over a bottle of wine and their betrothal was back on. Bif fiddled with the stone in his pocket; a small round thing. It was brown, almost amber in parts, it was smooth and fit nicely in the palm of Bif’s hand. He doubted Derby would reconcile with Pinky out of spite. Bif remembered he wouldn’t come into their future at all. Bif and Derby couldn’t get married, couldn’t have children. He Imagined what their parents would think. Bif imagined Derby would feel the same as them. Bif shouldn’t care who Derby marries. Whether they both remained bachelors or eventually married, they’d always be friends. Just friends. So Derby can marry Pinky and I’ll settle for any chick, they’re all the same. Bif reassured himself.
He didn't believe it for a second.