Chapter Text
Harry hates his mind sometimes.
He had too many thoughts, too much filling his head. They were swirling around his brain like thousands of bees, and the poor boy could hardly think straight. He tugs at his hair as he speed walks down the hall, trying hard not to bump into the hoard of other students walking the opposite direction.
It needed to get away. Get away from the other students, get away from its teachers, just away. It needed somewhere quiet, somewhere it could try and sort through this mess of a brain it had.
(Everything was too much.
He was having trouble with turning in his assignments. His grades had fallen below the ‘A’ average he normally had, and now he was sporting ‘B’s and even a couple ‘C’s – it may not seem like a big deal to others, but it was huge to him.
It had been smart its entire life. It was the golden child, the gifted kid, the smart one that everyone wanted to copy homework off of.
If he wasn't smart, then what was he?
If he wasn't smart, then he was nothing.)
Harry blows past a room labeled Broom Closet but is quick to back pedal when it finally realizes what room it passed. A broom closet was perfect. Nobody would be in there, it would be quiet, and it’d be able to calm its mind down.
It’s quick to yank the door open and step inside, shutting it just as quickly. It exhales in relief…
And nearly jumps out of its skin at the sight of another person in there.
The boy sitting on the floor looks up at Harry, eyes wide as if it was his first time seeing another person. He looked to be about the same age as Harry – a junior, then – with curly brown hair and light blue eyes. Harry takes a moment to wonder what the boy was doing sitting in a broom closet. Wouldn’t he rather be with his friends?
It takes another moment for Harry to realize the boy was staring at him, confusion evident in his eyes.
“Ah, uhm…” Harry clears its throat awkwardly. “I-I’m sorry. I didn’t think anybody was in here. My name is Harry Noel. You are…?”
The boy doesn’t respond, merely glancing down at the bucket in his hands and flipping the handle up and letting it fall back down a couple times. Harry waits awkwardly, picking at a loose thread on the sleeve of his shirt.
Finally, the boy responds.
[I’m Stanley Parker.] He signs rather slowly, punctuating each letter of his name.
“Well, Stanley Parker, it’s, uhm, nice to meet you?” It comes out as a question. “I-I apologize again for barging in on you like this. I just wanted somewhere quiet away from everybody else because – well the reason isn’t important, I suppose. I-I can leave if you'd like–” Stanley shakes his head, effectively cutting Harry’s rambling off.
[No. It’s okay. I don’t mind.] His signing was quicker; no doubt because he now knew that Harry was familiar with the language. [I was just surprised when you came in. No one ever comes in here.]
“Yes, I suppose that’s true. That’s why I decided to enter, after all.” He scuffs his shoe on the ground for a moment. “I don’t think I’ve seen you before, which I find odd because I’m fairly certain we’re both juniors.” Stanley scrunches his nose.
[That’s because you're the intelligent prodigy who takes all AP classes and aces every test you ever take because it all comes naturally to you.] He pauses to run a hand through his hair and flip the handle of the bucket again. [And I’m the stupid problem kid who doesn’t talk and can’t get anything right and who’s gonna need a miracle to graduate. We’re worlds apart.]
“Stanley, I doubt you're stupid.”
-
Stanley blinks up at the stranger – Harry – in bewilderment.
Stanley, I doubt you’re stupid.
What?
That… that was new. Everyone told him he was stupid. Everyone told him he’d never amount to anything. Everyone told him he should drop out or disappear or just stop being so annoying.
“Stanley?” Harry asks softly, furrowing his brow in concern.
(Concern for someone it just met.
Stanly resists the urge to laugh. Harry wouldn’t be so concerned when it learned about what an annoyance Stanley really was. It’d probably call him stupid, just like everybody else did.
Stanley would humor him for now.)
[Sorry.] Stanley shakes his head. [If you don’t think I’m stupid then you clearly don’t know me. I’ve never passed a class with anything higher than a C.]
“Grades are a terrible measure of intelligence, Stanley.” Harry shakes his head. “If you’re really concerned about it, though, I could tutor you?”
[Tutor?] Stanley echoes the word like it was foreign to him. [I couldn’t ask you to do that. I’m really slow and I’ll probably just be bothering you–]
“Nonsense.” Harry smiles softly. “If I thought it’d be trouble I wouldn’t have offered, but I have time. You seem nice, I want to help you.”
[That…] He pauses, fiddling with the handle of the bucket once again. Harry just waits patiently for the other to respond, rocking back and forth on his heels. [That’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me…] He smiles. [Alright. You can tutor me.]
(And he meant it.
Stanley wasn’t the usual target of nice comments or compliments. More like swirlies and getting shoved in lockers.
No one liked him.
He figured it was only a matter of time before Harry said something about not liking him. He figured it was only a matter of time until he was left alone again.
Until then, though, he'd cherish this time with the other boy.)
“Wonderful! Do you have anything after school today? We can start right away if you'd like.”
[I don’t have friends. I’m completely free all week.]
Harry smiles at Stanley, choosing not to pry about the ‘no friends' bit of his sentence.
“Well, meet me in room 118 after school! What subjects are your worst? We’ll start there!” This question gets Stanley to snort.
[All of them. I’m awful.]
“You’re not awful, Stanley. How about we start with math? I believe that’s generally regarded as the hardest subject.”
[Okay. Math it is.]
-
Harry chews lightly on the end of its pencil as it stares at where it trailed off in its story.
The fingers of his free hand drum on the desk as he thinks of how to write the next scene, brows furrowed in deep concentration, tongue sticking out slightly. He allows his thoughts to wander for a moment, and he realizes that Stanley should be coming any second for his tutoring. Sighing, he flips the little brown book closed and glances at the time.
3:05.
Just when he was about to get up and walk around to stretch – he'd been hunched over that desk for about an hour now – the door to the classroom swings open and Stanley steps in, looking nervous. Harry notices some of the nervousness leave his face as the other boy catches sight of him, but he still fiddles with the hem of his shirt anxiously.
“Hello, Stanley!” Harry greets, quickly stuffing the chewed pencil in its pocket. “You ready?”
[As I’ll ever be.] The other confirms, setting his backpack on one of the desks.
(It’s covered in pins, Harry notices.
A he/him pin, a bisexual pin, a pin with the autism symbol, among others that it assumes are from games or cartoons. You can tell a lot about someone from the pins and stickers they put on their things; it’s rather interesting to see what information it can glean from the things people have on their bags or computers.
This wasn’t about the pins, though.)
Harry shakes his head, focusing back on Stanley.
“Right. Okay. What about this year’s math stumps you?” Stanley’s brow furrows, his nose scrunching up in an emotion Harry couldn’t quite place. Disgust, maybe? Apprehension?
[Everything… it’s all so confusing.]
“Alright. That’s okay. We’ll start with the stuff you’re learning right now. Polynomials, I believe, right?”
[Yeah, that's it.]
“Right, okay, a polynomial is…” Harry begins explaining, and Stanley does his best to follow along, but the explanation seems to garble and become unintelligible, the numbers on his assignment dancing along the page in a way that made it near impossible for Stanley to understand.
[Wait, slow down, please.] Stanley signs quickly, trying to catch up with the words Harry was saying.
“Oh! My apologies, Stanley, I forget not everyone can understand me when I speak fast. Where did you get lost?” Harry's voice was soft, not a hint of annoyance or anger to be heard.
Stanley blinks, shocked at the response he received. Whenever he asked teachers to slow down, they always told him that he had to try harder to keep up. They never really stopped to help him understand. Harry, though… Harry was different. The other boy wasn’t even a teacher and he was doing their job better than they can. Honestly, if Harry were Stanley's teacher for every subject he’d never fail another class again.
It was also just really nice and didn’t berate Stanley for being “dumb” or “slow,” so that was a plus.
“Stanley?”
[Oh! Right. Uh, I honestly got lost right at the beginning…] He admits, glancing away from Harry. [I’m sorry.]
“No need to be sorry, Stanley. Let me try a different, slower way of explaining.” Harry taps the pencil against his chin. “Okay. So, think of it like this.”
True to his word, Harry slows the explanation down. Stanley listens intently, nodding and copying down what the other was saying in his notebook. He hesitantly interjects with questions every so often, and Harry patiently answers them as best he can.
(It was… nice.
Actually being listened to and acknowledged felt so nice. Stanley could hardly believe it was actually happening; it felt too good to be true to him.
Harry didn't seem the slightest bit upset whenever Stanley asked a question or asked it to repeat something because he didn’t quite understand. The other boy was filled with patience and understanding.
Stanley welcomed it.)
“Okay. So if we have a polynomial like this,” Harry points to the question, “And we add it to this one, what’s our answer?”
[3x² + 8x?]
“Yeah! That’s right!” Harry grins while Stanley scribbles down the answer. “You’re already improving. So, what about this one?” Stanley squints at it, scrunching his nose in concentration.
[9x² - 2x + 9?]
“Close, double check your work and try again.” Harry nods encouragingly as Stanley erases his previous work and writes it down again, his nose once again scrunching in concentration.
[10x² - 3x + 9!] Stanley grins as he shows Harry his answer, clearly much more confident in it than before.
“That’s it! Good job, Stanley, you’re doing so well!”
Stanley wasn’t used to compliments, and he feels his face heat up at the praise. He signs an apprehensive thank you, smiling slightly.
(He was still waiting for the catch, for the word “stupid” to be spoken.)
The two boys lost track of time, just enjoying each other's company as Harry helped Stanley understand the assignment. Stanley ended up telling the shorter boy why he struggled so badly in class.
[None of the teachers ever really stop to actually help me understand. They tell me to ‘just try harder’ or ‘just apply myself more’ as if I'm not actually trying.]
“That’s… annoying. If you need help, they should give it to you.”
Stanley is about to reply when a teacher barges in, no doubt to shoo them out of the building.
“Harry! What on earth are you doing with Stanley this late?! It’s almost 5:00!”
“Sorry, Mrs. Endri. I was tutoring him and we lost track of time.” Harry smiles apologetically, motioning to the now-complete math homework.
“You’re tutoring… him?” Mrs. Endri clicks her tongue in what Stanley could only assume was disapproval. “Well, that’s nice. Maybe he’ll shape up in class.” Stanley stares down at his hands, flexing his fingers in an attempt to discreetly stim and soothe himself as he feels the shame wash over him. He wanted to sink into the chair and just disappear.
“That’s a bit unfair, don’t you think?” Harry tilts its head, “I mean, none of the teachers ever stop to actually help him in class. He clearly needs the extra help, why is no one giving it to him?” Mrs. Endri only shakes her head.
“Leave it to you to be blunt, Harry. Now, get out of my classroom, please. I’d like to go home some time tonight.”
“Don’t dodge the question–”
“Out.”
-
“Sorry Mrs. Endri was like that.” Harry sighs lightly as they walk out of the building. “The stuff she said was really uncalled for. Do you have to deal with that all the time?”
[I told you. I have a reputation among the staff.]
“That’s awful. I think they’d realize what a huge mistake they’re making if they just stopped for two seconds to actually talk to and help you.”
[Yeah. None of them are gonna want to do that. Like I said before, I’m the problem child.]
“You're only the ‘problem child’ because no one wants to put in the effort to help you.”
Stanley is about to reply, but Harry puts a hand up to stop him before he signs the first word.
“You’re a lot smarter than people give you credit for.”
-
Stanley replays the words Harry spoke over and over in his head as he makes his way home.
You’re a lot smarter than people give you credit for.
In Stanley’s opinion, the other boy was being much too kind. He was sure that within a few days, Harry wouldn't want anything to do with him. Oh, well. At least he'll have a few good memories from high school, right?
He sets his backpack next to the door, rapping his knuckles rhythmically on the wall to announce his entrance.
“Hi, Stanley! How was your day?” His mom calls from the kitchen. Stanley silently sighs, kicking off his shoes and following his mother’s voice and the smell of cooking food.
[It was alright. Better than usual, actually. The boy who offered to tutor me is really nice. I think I'm actually starting to understand math now.] He couldn’t help the small smile that spread across his face as he eagerly signed. [He actually made sure I understood before moving on.]
“That’s wonderful, dear.” Stanley’s mother kisses her son’s forehead.
[Yeah, he said that we’re going to move onto English next because that’s one of his best subjects. I’m really glad about that actually because grammar is confusing.]
“I’m so happy you're getting the help you need, Stanley.” She smiles. “And what, pray tell, is this mysterious tutor’s name?
“Harry. Harry Noel.”
-
“What’s this mystery boy’s name?” Chrys prods gently, poking her brother's shoulder.
“Yeah! Who is it, Harry?” TK shakes Harry’s shoulders lightly, voice whiney.
“Stanley.” Harry replies simply, scribbling away on its story.
(He always preferred hand writing things.
Chrys and TK never really understood it, always going on about how laptops were faster and didn’t make your hands cramp. They may be right about that, but Harry thought that hand writing things gave it a personal touch. He felt much more connected to his work when he first wrote it in a notebook.
It’d transfer it to a laptop later, of course, but it enjoyed the scratch of a pen on paper. It was soothing, and helped it think.
If its siblings didn’t understand that, that was fine by it.)
“Stanley Parker?” Chrys asks, saying his name as if he were some sort of celebrity. TK perks up at the name, head cocked in curiosity.
“Yes? Is there something wrong with that?” Harry raises an eyebrow, turning to look at his sister with a question in his eyes.
“No! Not at all,” Chrys is quick to raise her hands in defense. “I’m just surprised, that's all–”
“You’ve heard what’s been said about him, Harry!” TK interrupts, their usual mischievous grin on their face. Harry sighs, rolling his eyes and turning back to his book.
“Yes, I have. Most of it is probably false.”
“Of course.”
“Yeah, sure! But I’m just saying–” Harry tunes them out, not really in the mood for whatever they were saying about Stanley. He loves his siblings, of course, but TK especially had a way of getting on his nerves sometimes.
Harry knew he was in it for the long haul, but if he was being honest with himself? Stanley was worth it.
That boy was going to graduate if it was the last thing Harry did.