Chapter Text
As the city bus slowly approached his destination, Brick gazed out the window, growing a little familiar with his new surroundings. He knew applying to Townsville Academy was the intelligent thing he could do after out-pacing his old school—and would be easily accepted; Brick didn't anticipate what moving across the country without knowing a single soul would feel like.
The bus stopped steadily in front of the Academy. Exiting the public transport, Brick mussed a hand through the hair beneath his hat, heading towards the main office. He was informed via email of needing to tour the campus. Brick didn't see the point after virtually touring the school a week ago, or being treated like a damn tourist, but whatever.
Townsville Academy has a colonial-style appeal, brick buildings swallowed by verdant ivy, a sizable courtyard where a large marble fountain was centered. Oak trees crowded pathways, picnic tables waiting to be occupied by students. The architecture and greenery reminded Brick of a near Ivy from his hometown.
Brick entered the office that appeared more like a Grand Morbucks' lobby than anything. The secretary informed him of needing to have an introduction with the Principal, directing towards their office.
His new Principal was speaking on the phone, back of their leather chair facing Brick. Not wanting to be a part of this, Brick took a step out into the hallway again, but then, his Principal stuck out a hand, motioning for him to take a seat.
Brick glanced around the room. It was painted bold red, a fluffy pink heart rug in the center. Pictures hung on the walls of school events to editorial vanity shots. There was a shelf of bejeweled crustacean, and a thick fruity odor capable of inducing migraines. Brick questioned what kind of tacky, eclectic weirdo this was, only to see the plaque on the desk stating Principal Him in bold lettering.
Somehow, that makes sense.
Principal Him spun his chair around, avoiding eye contact, still consumed by the phone conversation. He wrote something down, voice echoing throughout the office as he spoke in a feather-like tone.
The Principal's black hair was slicked back into a ponytail, had a pointy goatee and pink-pigmented skin, sharp cheekbones, a spindly frame in his slim-fitted black suit. The most grotesque sausage fingers. They were almost claw-like.
"I've told you, juvenile behavior will not be accepted. If you do not show discipline, you will be fired," Him said firmly, quick to click the phone off, face burning red.
Brick blinked as Him closed his eyes, massaging a hand along his narrow face. He then flashed an oily smile, his skin fading from scarlet to pink. "Hello. You must be Brick Adams."
"Yup."
"It's a pleasure to finally meet you. I'm glad you've decided to transfer. I read your file the other day, and may I say, you're quite the fit. Your football stats and your entrance exam score were incredibly impressive. You actually have the second-best score we've ever received–Oh, where are my manners? I forgot to introduce myself."
Him straightened out his claw of a hand, and Brick stared at it for a second, reluctantly shaking.
"I'm Principal Him–Now, where was I? Oh yes, I would like to address some general rules we follow here at TA. First, absolutely no cheating of any kind on your assignments, or you'll be dealt with expulsion. Second, you must maintain a minimum GPA of 3.0—which from your history, should be no problem. Third, you're not allowed to enter any of the female-identifying dorms. Do you understand?"
Brick nodded again, trying to keep up with Him's rapid speaking. The only things he got was Him's name and how "glad" he was for Brick to be here.
"Splendid! Here's your schedule, room key, and other information you'll be needing. Mr. Kealoha should be by the front desk. He'll be showing you around," Him said. "I hope you have a heavenly day!"
"Thanks." Brick rushed out of the office, deciding to never come back for the rest of his time at the Academy.
Approaching the front desk, he scanned for his welcoming committee. There were three others in the office: the secretary, a blond male, and a brown-haired girl. The blond and the girl were engaged in light conversation, the latter giggling at something said. Given that Principal Him said his tour guide would be male, Brick wasted a brain cell on figuring out the obvious, tapping on the blond's shoulder.
"Kealoha, right?" Brick shifted his eyes between the two strangers. The girl shared a smile before excusing herself, and he learned her name was Robin from Kealoha shouting out a goodbye.
The guy turned to Brick. "That's my last name." They stood there silently as a few seconds passed, his blue eyes widening. "Oooh. You must be the new kid?" Brick nodded, lips pressed tight. The blond smiled lazily, laying a hand on his chest. "Sick, dude. I'm Boomer."
Boomer was about an inch or two shorter, wide shoulders and long arms. Blond hair bleached from prolonged sun, bronzy skin, ocean blue eyes—a long-lost Beach Boys member, in the flesh and in front of Brick.
"Brick."
"I guess we should start the tour." Brick followed alongside Boomer into the courtyard. "What do you want to see first?"
He shrugged. "Doesn't matter."
Boomer threw an arm over Brick's shoulders, and Brick squirmed just a little as Boomer escorted him around the exterior of the campus, speaking of the Academy's history—or, at least, tried. Someone didn't know enough to finish a story without jumping to the next or adding a ton of uh... or umm...
They entered McCracken Hall. Brightly illuminated, white-tiled floor shined underneath their feet (Brick could practically see his reflection in the tiles. The fucking tiles!). Lockers sequenced in turquoise and cherry red, matching the school colors. Flyers for clubs and sports filled and covered the walls.
Boomer turned around to show Brick the gymnasium, the bell ringing and hallway flooding with students. He navigated Brick through the current, waving and smiling at some. Close to leaving, Boomer got distracted, mumbling, "I should probably introduce you to—"
Brick didn't catch the rest, thanks to the chaos of the hall. He furrowed his brows as Boomer brought him to a girl's locker.
"Blossom. I want you to meet the new kid."
Blossom, who'd been searching through her locker, arched a brow at them.
"This is Brick Adams." Boomer pointed to Brick's chest while Brick narrowed his gaze, brushing his hand away. "And this is our class president, co-head cheerleader, and dance team captain. Blossom Blanchette," Boomer informed before (finally!) letting go of Brick and drifting away to talk with another classmate.
"Someone is an overachiever," Brick said sardonically, crossing his arms.
She was shorter than him but held herself prim in a way that made their difference of height not noticeable. Her skin like watery porcelain; light orange hair passable as a bronzey blonde. Plump lips, rosy cheeks, light pink eyes, she had a delicate appearance. Almost doll-like.
"This school is for overachievers," Blossom said, flitting her gaze to beyond them. "Mediocrity isn't going to get you anywhere."
"Right."
An awkward silence fell between them, and Brick wasn't going to be the one to say anything. What did he care?
Eventually, Blossom let out a quiet sigh, shoulders sagging as she looked at Brick again. He angled his head a little, recognizing that sigh. He knew—
Blossom gave him a wan smile, stepping to the side. "It's nice to meet you, Brick. I'll have to get to know you later. Have French right now."
She walked a few feet away from him before stopping. "Also. As Class President, I should inform you, you're breaking the dress code with that hat of yours." She turned her back to him. "You're lucky it's your first day," she promised in such a quiet voice, Brick almost didn't hear her as Boomer rejoined his side.
"How did that go?" Boomer asked with all the goodness and delight of a dog who just got a lengthy belly rub.
"She's," Brick paused, searching for the right word, "incongruous."
"Dude." Boomer clipped his shoulder, which Brick shrugged off. Why is he so damn touchy? "I have no clue what that means, but it sounds cool."
Brick opened his mouth to explain, but all that came out was an exasperated breath as Boomer, yet again, threw an arm around Brick's shoulders—There's no use fighting it, is there?
"Blossom can be kind of intimidating at first, but once you get to know her, she's a pretty solid lady," Boomer rambled, leading Brick to the gym. "You know if she likes you."
"How are you liking campus?" Boomer asked, leading Brick through the lunch line, deciding between an apple or an orange. He shrugged, taking both with a grin.
"Bigger than I thought," Brick said, exiting the line.
"That's usually what the new kids say–except, we've only had three over the past couple of years. You're the third–"
"Boom, who's the ging?" A dark-haired male shouted across the courtyard, earning him a lot of stares. He caught up with them amid their search for a picnic table.
Couple inches taller than Brick, dark curls were gelled messily, making it look as if he'd just rolled out of bed, but not in a sloppy way. Sinewy and muscular, he was deeply tan.
"Butch, this is Brick. The new kid I told you about." Boomer took a step back to let them interact. "He used to play varsity football."
Butch's forest-green eyes lit with interest. "Varsity, huh? What position?"
"Wide Receiver."
"Any good?"
Brick snorted. "I scored at least one touchdown per game, and went for almost twelve hundred yards last season. Also played cornerback a few times because of injuries."
Butch raised a brow. "Did–"
He smirked. "We won two district championships."
"No shit?" Butch chuckled. "So you're definitely joining our team then."
"I—"
"It's gonna be epic to finally have someone catch a ball for once."
"Sure," Brick said, and before any more could be said, the three heard Boomer's name being called.
One of those at the table was Blossom. The other two were a lithe girl with chin-length hair and rounded eyes, and a curvy girl with dirty blonde curls. Boomer immediately went to sit down next to the blonde, kissing her cheek.
Girlfriend, Brick gathered. He didn't know how but good for him.
Butch sat across from Blossom, who was next to Bubbles and Boomer, forcing Brick to sit in between Butch and the dark-haired girl.
"This pretty lady is Bubbles," Boomer said, smiling like a kid who's received the gigantic lollipop of their dreams. He then nodded to the girl next to him. "And my comrade, Buttercup."
"It's very nice to meet you," Bubbles greeted. Her voice so sugary sweet, Brick was afraid of catching a cavity.
"Totally," deadpanned Buttercup.
Brick arched a brow. "Buttercup and Bubbles?"
"What."
"Nothing. It's just... That's really your names?" Blossom and Boomer were already ridiculous names, but Buttercup and Bubbles? That's some yippie shit.
"Yes and no. Bubbles is a nickname Butch gave me freshmen year–"
"She has a bubbly personality," Butch explained, unasked and unneeded, stuffing his mouth with fries. The entire table scrunched their noses at his ill manners.
Bubbles giggled. "My real name is Olivia, but everyone calls me Bubbles. I actually prefer it, too." She took a sip of her soda. "Blossom and Boomer are nicknames too."
"That'll haunt you for the entire of your high school career," Blossom said frostily. "Rosemarie is a revered family name, but now, people think I'm named after a 90's sitcom character."
"Nah, it's because you're a beautiful flower, not for whoever the hell you're referencing."
"Don't suck up, Butch."
"Why not? It's gotten me this far." He reached across the table for her hand, stroking a thumb along her knuckle. "Think I'll keep it up."
Blossom rolled her eyes, a soft smile. "Trying to make me miserable?"
"I look forward to it every day."
So there are two couples here. He glanced at the Buttercup girl beside him, slightly narrowing his eyes. Is this a set-up? The perfect trifecta?
If so, Brick wasn't into the idea. Solely based on the first impression, he could already tell Buttercup would never, never, never ever be his type. And―
"Do you have a problem?" Buttercup whispered sharply to him.
His eyes flitted away. "No." He sipped from his water bottle, barely giving her another look. "Wondering if Buttercup is your real name."
It was a ridiculous name after all.
"Sort of," she answered after a moment. Her voice had a throaty grit to it, the grinding of salt rocks in Brick's ears. "It's the translation of my name."
"Which would be..."
"Batākappu." Brick creased his brows, and she let out an annoyed breath. He could feel her eye roll, the strength of it and the stars she must have seen after. "It's Japanese."
"Ah. That's," Brick paused. "Alright."
"Thanks."
He almost looked back at her, but Bubbles spoke up, and Brick didn't care anymore about this Buttercup girl.
"While we're talking about our names, why is Boomer Boomer?"
"It has been three years, and we still don't know why," added Buttercup.
Butch laughed. "He reminded me of a boomerang when I spent freshman year trying to get rid of him, but he would never leave. Boomer, boomerang. Get it?"
"Wow. I never knew," Boomer awed, which Brick didn't get. "My mind is completely blown."
"Did you hear the part about him wanting to get rid of you? Because that's pretty asshole of you, Santos."
Butch only chuckled.
"Butters, it's fine," reassured Boomer. "It's all cool."
"Fine," she said in a tone that wasn't fine. "... But we still don't know Boomer's real name."
"It's nothing special. It's–"
Before Boomer could answer, an all too familiar voice rang through the school's PA system.
"Attention, students. I'm very pleased about our new school year. I know this'll be the best one yet. I can't wait for the memories we'll make and for your progress." Principal Him paused. "I would also like to inform you that your lunch period is now officially over."
Everyone in the courtyard stared at each other, unsure if they heard Him correctly or not.
"I thought lunch wasn't over for another ten minutes?" Bubbles asked, innocuous.
As if Principal Him heard her personally, he came back on the PA. This time, with a more berating tone. "That means get to class! Now!"
Moving like they were trapped in a building about to go out in blazing glory, students rushed to their feet, scattering in every direction.
The gang of six reunited by seventh period, sharing the same class. Creative Writing with Ms. Keane, a requirement for seniors. A popular teacher among the upperclassmen, Ms. Keane previously taught their English class the year before and decided to follow them up a grade level. To some, she was like a mentor, a mother figure.
Her class lined up outside in the hall, waiting for her to finish her lunch break. To pass the time, Bubbles and Boomer shared a set of AirPods, silently singing together. Buttercup did the same, nodding along to her own music. Butch chatted Blossom's ear off as she just laughed at what was said.
Brick stood between them all, not sure where or what to do. This is what happens when you're the new kid. The person people say they really want to know, yet don't because they don't care enough. The thought of spending his senior year practically alone wasn't awful, but it also wasn't appable.
Fuck. He should, at least, try to talk to someone.
He looked at his classmates for someone unoccupied. He only found two. Buttercup and a short, red-headed boy reading a book. Not to give into Revenge of the Nerds stereotypes, but based on his appearance (thick glasses, sweater vest, pressed khakis, Sketchers that Brick swore light up), Brick knew what kind of person the short guy would be. Brick would rather not.
Brick glanced at Buttercup, deciding on to approach. As if she already knew what he's thinking, she sent him a scorching glare.
So.
That's a no.
Brick let out a pained sigh, turning to his only option. Did he really need to? He didn't care.
But to be alone for his senior year?
We all gotta make sacrifices.
Dubiously, Brick stood beside the redhead, who's about a foot shorter, tapping on his shoulder. The boy didn't dare to look up from the book he was reading.
"Yes? what is it?" he asked with a slight lisp. "Is Ms. Keane finally back?"
"No. I—"
"Then why bother me?
"Wanted to introduce myself. My name's Brick. I just transferred—"
"Transferred?" He shut his book and shoved it into his overstuffed backpack. He readjusted his glasses, narrowing opal eyes. "No one told me about a transfer student. Tell me. What qualifies you to even step foot on this campus? What's your grade point average? Extracurricular activities? Entrance exam score?"
"Um." Brick blinked. What the fuck? He didn't need this chump questioning his intelligence. Brick shouldn't care. He didn't. Yet, Brick cleared his throat, matching the boy's dissecting stare. "I have a 3.9 GPA unweighted and 4.7 weighted—"
"I guess that's decent enough. Most Neanderthals here can only amount to a 3.2. Although it's not as impressive as my 4.0 unweighted and 5.1 weighted."
"I played varsity football—"
"Ugh, sports." He grimaced, waving dismissively and turning away. "You've already lost me. You're just going to be another Butch."
Brick grinded his teeth together, chest hollowing.
Another Butch?
Why did everyone think—Why couldn't it be him? Why did he care?
The last thing Brick needed to do was entertain this guy who couldn't even ride most of the roller coasters at Knott's Berry Farm, but he angled his chin a little, knowing what'll get him. "Then I guess you'll never know my entrance exam score.
The short boy sighed. "Fine. I could use a good laugh."
"I got 982," Brick said, his voice cold as steel, watching as the light in the nerd's eyes went out. Good. "Second-best score."
He stared, mouth agape. "But, but—That's impossible. You couldn't have done better than me." He took off his glasses, rubbing them clean on his sweater vest. "A dumb jock did better than me," he muttered, shaking his head full of scarlet curls. A few seconds passed, and for some reason, he extended his hand. "In some way, you did better than me. A task that only one other at this school could ever do. Because of that, I will respect you from now on. Congratulations."
Brick reluctantly took his hand, noting the limp handshake.
This place is so fucking weird.
"Thanks."
"I'm Dexter. Dexter O'Reilly."
"Right." This was what he gets for being friendly-ish for once.
Thankfully, there wasn't much more to say as someone shouted about Ms. Keane's arrival. Dexter promptly ran to the door to be the first seated, leaving Brick alone. The rest of the class followed, lining up against the wall as Ms. Keane took roll, assigning a seat to each.
"Come on, Keane. You're not really gonna give us a seating chart," Butch said, slightly on the whiny side. His crossed arms reminded Brick of a toddler throwing a fit over not receiving the toy they wanted. "We're seniors, not kindergartners."
"Mr. Santos, if you want me to be honest, I made this chart because of you. After your antics with Mr. Ramirez and Mr. Mitchelson last year that cut into my class time, I was unable to go over Macbeth, House of Mirth—"
"What a fucking tragedy."
Ms. Keane ignored him. "—Which was a big part of your final exam. And if I do remember correctly, you'd struggled quite—"
"That's private information," he whispered harshly for everyone to hear.
Ms. Keane raised a brow in challenge, steely in her disposition. "If that's not enough to reason with you, I'm sure your classmates wouldn't want to go through another year of you trying to impress Miss. Blanchette."
"She's right," Buttercup monotoned from the back of the line, earning an indifferent glance from Butch.
"But—"
"Butch, please go sit down," Blossom said softly, flushed by Ms. Keane's previous comment.
Brick could see the fight in Butch, but he eventually sagged his shoulders, asking where his seat was again.
Before he went in, Blossom grabbed his shoulder, pecking his lips. "Don't get worked up over the little things, alright?"
Within a few minutes, there was only one more desk to be filled, and that was Brick's.
"You must be the new student." Brick nodded, the fact having aged like milk in just a few short hours. "It's a pleasure meeting you, Mr. Adams," she said, genuine as she stared down at her clipboard. "Now let's see... You're seated by the window. Right behind Miss. Blanchette and in front of Mr. Ramirez."
"Thanks."
In his seat, Brick noticed the relatable disquietude of the room. Butch sat in front by Ms. Keane's desk, Buttercup to the right of him. Next to Buttercup was Dexter engrossed in his book again. Boomer and Bubbles were on opposite sides of the classroom. Blossom's head was turned to stare out the window beside her and Brick. The guy behind him wore a pair of sunglasses to hide he'd fallen asleep.
Brick didn't blame him, wishing to do the same. Or maybe he just wanted the day to end.
In months, he'll realize it was the entirety of the school year.
Brick planned on settling into his dorm.
In the morning, the papers given didn't state who his roommate was, only that his room was in Kenny Hall and was number 112, and on his tour, Boomer said he'll be in the same building, which probably meant unprovoked visits by him. Great.
When he found his room, Brick wasn't sure whether to knock or simply open the door.
Ah, fuck it.
Brick shoved the key into the slot, turning.
His roommate wasn't there as Brick glanced around the 15x15 foot room that would be his new home for the next year. It's much bigger than his back home, and luckily, there's a bathroom installed in the room, which was on Brick's will-be-side. The closet he would be sharing was on his roommate's side.
A pile of dirty clothes laid next to the closet, almost a rival to Mount Everest in height. His roommate didn't bother with making his bed, leaving his camo-printed bedding a wrinkled mess. A collection of sports equipment hung in a bag on the mahogany door, apparently an athlete of some kind.
The room came with two desks, and his roommate neglected to use his. A bible and picture frame were the only things.
Brick picked up the frame to examine. He frowned, expecting some kind of family photo, but instead, it was of his roommate and their girlfriend. He had his arms wrapped around her waist while she smushed his cheeks. Lovestruck smiles on their lips, too busy with each other to look at the camera. The girl's orange hair stood out like it did earlier in the day.
The doorknob began to turn behind him. Brick put the picture down and rushed over to his desk chair, like he'd been sitting there the whole time.
"What the fuck?" Butch shouted when entering the room, throwing his key at Brick's head. He missed by an inch. Brick arched a brow as Butch clutched his chest, flaring his eyes. "Jesus fucking Christ! Why are you in my room? Wait—How did you get in here?"
Brick jingled his room key. "We're roommates."
"Roommates?" Butch repeated. "Nah. Nothing against you, dude, but no one told me about a roommate, and—Ah fuck, this means I can't have Blossom sleepover. That fucking blows." Brick's jaw twitched, crossing his arms. Butch rubbed at the back of his neck. "I'm making you feel unwelcome, aren't I?"
"Nope."
Butch inhaled sharply. "My bad."
"Whatever."
He gestured around the room. "Need a tour?"
"I think I've seen enough."
"Sure," Butch chuckled, opening the bathroom door. "I'mma take a shower. If you have to piss, Boomer's room is across the hall."
With Butch in the shower, Brick took the time to set up his side of the room. He didn't bring much, didn't have much to bring. He only brought his favorite pillow, a month and a half worth of clothes, his red hat and watch, sports equipment, and a couple pictures of him and his mom.
As he hung the last photo, the room looked decent. Livable if he has to. He sighed, sinking into his firm, twin-sized bed, closing his eyes for a few minutes.
In what he thought was only a small dozing had actually been three hours, as Butch woke him up.
"What the fuck?"
"Kickback tonight," Butch told him, innocuous as if he didn't awaken Brick from the deepest nap he's ever had, lacing his AF1s from across the room. "Wanna go?"
"Pass." Brick turned his hat frontwards, lowering it to cover his eyes. He was tired from the day, starting to feel his jet lag.
"Bro," Butch said. "This is a good time to get to know people. Make friends. Maybe even something more. Whatever you're into, dude." Brick cut him a look, and Butch only laughed. "Fine. Be lame."
Brick's jaw tightened. Less than twenty-four hours, and he's been called dumb and lame. Oh, and he doesn't have the ability to overachieve.
People can get so much wrong in the first impression.
"No. I'll go."
Butch grinned. "Great. We leave in fifteen."
The kickback was on campus where the Agricultural program used to be before Him cut it out of the curriculum. Now the building was vacant during the day, and where students partied after hours.
Butch also says it's one of the best places to hook up on campus. Brick didn't ask to know that.
From the outside, it appeared like no one had stepped foot in the brick building in years. Inside, there must have been a hundred people. A dance floor, speakers blasting an old but popular Rihanna song. One corner, an intense beer pong competition was underway. Friends socialized, couples mysteriously disappeared, and Brick stood solemnly, rum and Coke in hand as he leaned against a wall, wondering why he bothered to come.
To be wrong.
He sipped on his drink, letting the sugar and bitterness refresh his tongue—so much fun.
"Not your scene, huh?"
Brick glanced at Blossom. "I'm new. So, it's kind of…"
"Uncomfortable?"
"Boring," he corrected, eyeing her a bit more. She wore makeup now. Light eyeshadow, thick mascara, pink-glossed lips. In a velvet minidress, her skin looked white and pristine as snow. Strawberry-blonde hair was loose and flowy, reaching her waist.
Brick must have looked at her a little too long because lines creased on her forehead.
"What."
He shook his head. "Don't worry about it."
Blossom crossed her arms. "But you're staring."
"No. I wasn't." He sipped on his drink with a tight jaw. Staring? What was there to look at? "Didn't expect this to be your scene. That's all."
Blossom let out a quiet breath. "It isn't. I only enjoy the dancing and Butch." She smiled faintly. "Most of the time, anyways."
He flitted his eyes. "Where is Butch? I lost him after we got here."
"Defending his beer pong title. Going 41 games strong."
"Aren't you a cheerleader? Shouldn't you be cheering for him?"
"Can't. He claims I'm too distracting."
"Charming."
She let out what Brick couldn't consider a laugh but was probably close to one. "You can say that."
"Then I have to ask," he said, meeting her gaze again and holding onto it this time. "What's it like to date a beer pong legend?"
Blossom took the time to think over her answer, and Brick didn't know if that was ridiculous or commendable. "Never dull and surprisingly sweet." She paused, grimacing a little. "Except for when he wants to make out after downing twelve drinks. Beer breath isn't lovely."
"Hilarious."
"Trust me. It's not."
"I've probably been there. More likely, I was Butch."
"Okay, so you have no right to find this amusing. You've probably traumatized some poor girls in…"
"Boston."
Blossom nodded. "You've probably traumatized some poor girls in Boston like I've been."
"Maybe you should ban beer pong. Solve your problem." Blossom stared at him thoughtfully, and Brick furrowed his eyebrow. "You're not seriously considering me?"
"It'll be too much, logistically."
"Right. Logistically."
"But I can dream."
"Dreams are overrated."
She snorted. "Wow. So profound and original."
Brick cut her a look—
"Don't you have one?" Blossom asked, quiet and soft. Her pink eyes studied him intently. "Everyone has a dream."
"Nope."
"What about football?"
Brick's jaw twitched. "What about it?"
Blossom shrugged, flitting her eyes across the wide room. Brick followed her gaze, leading to Butch. Oblivious to their conversation and her on him as Butch egged on a classmate to chug a beer. "He told me you're a once in a generation talent." She tilted her chin back up to Brick. "Butch doesn't say things and not mean them."
Brick drank his rum and Coke. He should say something. These people (except for that Buttercup girl) have been nice to him, and all he's done is dismiss and shrug them off.
But he's Brick, and Brick wasn't known to be nice.
"Not a dream for me."
An awkward silence fell between them as they watched the group on the dance floor—Ariana Grande's "Into You" filling the air. Brick expected her to leave, but Blossom stayed, pushing her hair to one side, using her hand as a fan.
Should Brick have dressed up more? Butch said a kickback, which should be casual. Plain white shirt and black jeans. Yet, here's Blossom in a... nice dress that didn't look cheaply made like the other girls wore back home, and Brick felt so underdressed. So outclassed.
He narrowed his eyes, unintentionally inching closer to her. His arm brushed hers, the coolness of her skin lingering for a moment that neither noticed nor acknowledged.
"You don't like it here," Blossom said bluntly, and Brick almost let out a laugh. How did she—
"Never said I didn't."
"It's obvious."
"What's not to like?"
Blossom's eyes were on Butch again. "It's new and it's weird. It's rigid. It's too much."
She had a point.
"Try making friends," Blossom advised when Brick didn't say anything.
"Pretty sure Boomer wants to get matching tattoos with me after today."
"Boomer is a good boy," she smiled. "And Bubbles is the sweetest person. You won't have to do much to win her over." She flitted her eyes to Brick and then back to Butch. "He's psyched about you being here. Just needs to come to terms with the roommate arrangement."
He let out a dry chuckle. "Didn't mean to get in-between you and him."
The corner of her mouth lifted. "As if you would."
Brick lowered his stare to the empty cup in his hand. "What about the other one?"
"She has a name." Brick could hear the protective edge to her voice. "Buttercup is very picky about people. Has a no asshole policy."
Does she apply it to herself, Brick almost asked, but that would mean caring about this Buttercup girl.
"Good policy."
"It is," Blossom said. "You'll do well here."
Brick smirked. "Nice to know."
"Dexter is an odd one, but he needs a friend too—"
"What."
Blossom coolly slid her eyes to his. "Saw you talking to him today. Looked friendly."
Sure.
"He's anomalous," Brick said instead.
He wanted another drink. He should get another. He should go back to his dorm and sleep the night away.
"What about you?"
Blossom blinked. For a second, Brick swore he saw it again, but the look was frozen over.
"What do you want me to think?"
Brick tilted his head. "That's not a good question."
"Is that so?"
"Ask anyone. They'll agree."
"But I asked you."
Brick wanted to say something, to walk away. "You did."
Incongruous. He got that one right.
"Not that it's by much, but you're better than the last new kid," she admitted after a moment. "He's not—"
"My, my, Blossom. It's not in good taste to talk about people behind their backs," a lanky guy said.
Brick didn't know where the hell he came from. He lowered his shades (Sunglasses at night?). Greasy, long black hair and a face full of acne scars, Brick recognized him to be the guy who'd fallen asleep behind him in Ms. Keane's class.
"Ace," she said frigidly.
"Who's your new friend?" Ace raised an eyebrow, and Brick pressed his lips tightly, stepping away from her a little.
"Brick," he answered for Blossom, terse.
"Uh-huh." He treated the information like it was sewage to ignore, keeping focus on Blossom. "Where's Butch?"
Blossom stared at him so coolly, Brick thought Ace would ice up. "Where do you suppose?"
"Why so shitty? We're all friends here," Ace smiled oily. "Just trying to catch up. Know what's going on with you."
"You don't need to know any of that," she said. "You should go. Butch would probably like you to back him up in his game."
Ace narrowed his eyes, unrelenting at the signal of defeat. A feeling Brick knew all too well.
"He probably does." He turned his back to her. "See you around, Blossom."
"He doesn't qualify for the no asshole policy," Brick said as Blossom and him watched Ace join Butch.
Blossom let out what sounded like a tight breath caught between a laugh. "You'll be surprised who does."
She glanced at the dance floor as Drake's "One Dance" played.
"I'm going to dance." She pushed off of the wall, eyes lingering on Brick. "Care to join?"
"I'm not much of a dancer."
"That's more of a reason for why you should," Blossom said. "Let yourself have fun."
And that's precisely what Brick decided he'll do.