Work Text:
It basically has all the makings of the worst assignment ever, Miller thought. And it was all because Mr Shumway wanted to hook up with the drama teacher, Ms Sydney. Which was never going to happen. And now they’re stuck selecting a moment in world history into a play in small groups. Teacher selected groups. With teacher selected leaders. Hell.
And for some unknown reason (and really, did Shumway just close his eyes and jab at the roll?) he’d been made leader of his group. They were sitting on the floor in the back corner of the room, squeezing probably at least one too many people in the space, and he felt completely out of his depth, and utterly apathetic about the assignment.
“So, we need to pick a moment, write a short skit, act it out, and create some sort of backdrop,” Clarke says, reading over the assignment sheet, underlining key words.
“I’m, uh, I can draw,” Monty offers. “But, um.. I’m not so good at acting.” Clarke smiles at him kindly, and Monty smiles back. Miller thinks he should probably say something.
“Well, I think we should pick a moment before we start assigning jobs,” he says, and Clarke nods at him, all business.
“I think we should-,” Clarke begins.
“Miller’s actually the leader of this group,” John Mbege cuts in. Miller’s never sure whether to call him ‘John’ or ‘Mbege’, but neither seem to really fit the guy. Clarke shuts her mouth, audibly, and Miller almost winces for her. She’s literally their best shot at getting a decent grade. Which, understandably, made her less than popular generally. But still. Group project, group grade. Be nice to nerds.
“Yeah, uh… I think we should maybe go around and say a moment in world history we think we could do. And then see if we can agree on one,” Miller says awkwardly. He’s really not great at this leadership thing.
“I think we should do a happy one - like Neil Armstrong landing on the moon or Edmund Hilary climbing Everest,” Harper suggests. The thing about Harper is, although she doesn’t look it, she can get shit done. As long as, you know, she’s told exactly what to do. Unless you put a hockey stick in her hand, and then all bets are off.
“I like that idea,” Monty agrees. “Or maybe a scientific achievement, like developing mold cultures into antibiotics?”
“That all sounds vaguely achieveable,” Mbege comments. “But I’m not saying sciency words that sound made up.” Miller thinks that there is a point somewhere in there, that they need to pick something that the group can actually do, not just achievements that are cool. He can hear a discussion of Hiroshima and the Manhattan Project coming from Bellamy’s group in the other corner, and that shit sounds way too hard (Bellamy also sounds vaguely displeased, which is nothing new).
“Okay, so, happy, achievable… I’ve always like the story of how the Nobel prizes were founded… he reads his death in the newspaper and doesn’t like the obituary so he changes stuff,” Clarke says thoughtfully. “But I think something more action based is going to work better. Like the moon landing. Simple moonscape backdrop, three actors in a short play on stage, one off stage doing the Houston radio bit, and the dialogue is basically written for us because it’s so well documented.”
“So what you’re saying is the moon landing is the easiest option?” Miller asks. Clarke nods, and starts making notes in the margins of the assignment paper.
“Easy gets my vote,” Mbege says, leaning back against the wall.
“As long as I’m not on stage, I’m happy. I could even do Houston,” Monty says, and Clarke gives him that smile again, and Monty smiles back. He looks at Harper who nods.
“It was my suggestion,” she says.
“Alright, moon landing it is. I’ll go tell Shumway,” Miller says, leaving Clarke making a list and the others sitting around doing nothing. He has a feeling by the time he gets back, Clarke will have a four week timeline written out for what they need to achieve each week. There are worse people to have in a group.
-
“So what are you doing for Shumway’s assignment?” Miller asks Bellamy as they walk over to the middle school to pick up Octavia. Bellamy makes a face.
“Got stuck with the signing of the Declaration of Independence,” he says. “You?”
“Moon landing,” Miller says.
“And you got good people. Jasper doesn’t shut the fuck up,” Bellamy says. “Fox is too scared to say a word and Murphy’s just an asshole.” Miller shrugs. It’s true he got lucky-ish.
“I have Mbege,” he defends himself. But it’s really more for the sake of conversation. The thing about Bellamy is that he might act like he doesn’t care about this stuff, but he really, really does. Like, the same way that Clarke cares about it. To him, it’s just trivia, but to them it’s about knowledge for knowledge’s sake or something.
“Yeah, and you’re stuck with Clarke,” Bellamy adds, but there’s not heat to it, and Miller’s pretty sure it’s just a thing he says to make sure everyone knows they are nemeses for life and not hate-flirting. And then, after a moment, because he clearly feels bad about it: “But at least she’s smart. The know it all.” Miller hums his agreement, and the middle school is in sight.
“Declaration won’t be that bad. You can do a monologue and everyone can sign a piece of paper,” Miller comments. Bellamy doesn’t say anything. And then, because he’s a dick, and Bellamy seems a bit depressed, he decides to say something he knows he’s going to regret.
“Ah well, Clarke will just get better marks than you for this one,” he says, trying to come off as nonchalant. It works.
“Like fucking hell. Our Declaration is going to kick your moon landing’s ass!” Bellamy declares. A couple of the mothers from the middle school give him a dirty look and he smiles sheepishly to apologise. Octavia is bouncing on the spot looking for them, and when she sees them, she runs over.
“Come on, you’re late! I’m going to miss my show,” she says, tugging at Bellamy’s arm. Bellamy laughs and lets himself get pulled away.
“I’m serious, Miller. Tell her game on,” Bellamy calls back as he’s getting dragged away. Yep, he already regrets it.
-
“His royal asshole just came over and told me his skit was going to kick our skit’s ass,” Clarke says at lunch the next day. “I mean, he’s clearly wrong. But I assume there was a reason he felt the need to say it?” Miller prays his poker face holds because he really doesn’t want to say he deliberately caused further friction between the two of them. He’s pretty sure that’s death wish stuff.
“His usual reasons?” Miller asks. “He seemed to think our moon landing was going to be pretty average.” Clarke’s eyes flash with something that would scare him if he wasn’t sure she was probably harmless.
“Game on,” Clarke says, and then she hands a ring binder to him. “Here’s the project outline, a timeline, suggested casting and job assignments, a transcript of dialogue, two articles, and a couple of rough sketches for the set.” He takes the folder from her awkwardly. He’s never been so prepared for a project in his entire life. He’s also pretty sure that she’s going to be president some day. Or probably the president’s advisor.
“Uh, you can be team leader if you want,” he tries. Because, being honest, a ring binder full of research she did in a night kind of made her a lot more qualified than the five minutes he spent on google image before he got bored. And, of course, he doesn’t actually care. But Clarke shakes her head.
“You’re team leader,” she says. “It’ll only piss Shumway off if we change it. Besides, there’s no way Harper and John are going to listen to me over you.” Miller nods, for something to do. She’s kind of intense.
“Okay, well, thanks for this,” he says, waving the folder. It’s way heavier than it should be for the amount of time she’s had. She rewards him with the fond smile she gives Monty, and it kind of makes him think he wants to be nicer to her in the future.
“Thanks Miller,” she says happily. “See you in history later.” And then she’s gone. He stares at the folder for a minute before opening it up. It even has a cover page. There is no way they aren’t getting an A on this.
-
Miller’s not exactly sure why Bellamy and Clarke are yelling at each other, but they are. Shumway is outside flirting with Ms Sydney and looking in periodically through the glass in the door to make sure they aren’t stabbing each other with scissors or something. Which he’s pretty sure Bellamy and Clarke are about to escalate too. The real reason this is an issue, though, he that he has no idea what is going on with the project.
“Miller, what part am I playing in the skit?” Harper asks. Miller has no idea. It’s probably in the folder, but he can’t find the folder.
“Do you know which sketch we’re meant to be working from for the backdrop?” Monty asks. He’s holding three sketches like they are meant to mean something to Miller, and he has no idea at all.
“What am I meant to be doing?” Mbege asks. Miller’s not even sure what he’s meant to be doing.
“Ask Clarke. I just… work here,” Miller says, vague. They all give him a dirty look.
“There is no way I’m getting in the middle of that,” Harper says, pointing at Bellamy and Clarke, still arguing. Miller sees the folder in her hand, the project bible, the answer to all life’s… okay, stop being dramatic, he tells himself. You’re team leader. You can do this. Go get Clarke back so we know what the hell we’re doing.
“The moon landing was a landmark event for all of humanity,” Clarke is saying. “Everyone wanted to be first.”
“You aren’t seriously trying to argue that abolishing slavery in America wasn’t significant for all of humanity?” Bellamy argues. Clarke scoffs.
“I know you know that the Declaration didn’t abolish slavery. You’re smarter than that,” Clarke says, and she sounds so disappointed in him, and Bellamy glares, not sure what to say next. Miller sees his opening.
“Sorry to interrupt,” Miller says. “But we need you. We have no idea what we’re doing.” Clarke turns at his voice, surprised that he’s there, and then frowning her apology.
“Sorry!” she calls out and darts back over to the group. He can already hear her giving directions to Monty about the backdrop.
“I thought you were team leader,” Bellamy says, eyebrows raised. Miller shrugs.
“She’s kind of awesome at organising stuff,” Miller replies. “Pretty sure we’re getting a better grade than you.” Bellamy smirks at him, accepting the challenge.
“We’ll see about that,” he says, and heads back to his group.
Miller’s pretty sure this is how family feuds start. In fifty years the Blakes and the Griffins will still be fighting, and no one will remember why. Like the Hatfields and the McCoys, only hopefully with less guns. He’s also pretty sure it’s already way beyond saving.
-
It’s been about three weeks, and Shumway finally seems to be paying attention to what they’re actually doing. Two groups are way behind and have been moving aimlessly, and he’s basically yelling at them for the first twenty minutes of the lesson. By the time he gets to Miller’s group, everyone is already hard at work. Mbege and Harper are putting the final touches on the script, he and Monty are painting the backdrop, and Clarke’s off to the art room to try and get materials for a flag (he thinks) (the romance and ended horrifically between Shumway and Sydney and now no one was allowed to borrow props from the drama department).
“Miller, a word?” Shumway asks, and he hands Monty his paintbrush and stands up to talk to Shumway.
“So, what’s happening here,” Shumway asks. Miller looks at his group.
“Uh, the moon landing? Harper and Mbege are finishing the script I think. And we should be done with the backdrop next lesson,” Miller says, not entirely sure this is accurate. It really is a question for Clarke. All he knows is that they are on track with the timeline she gave him in the first week, so that’s good.
“You don’t sound terribly sure,” Shumway comments. “And where is Clarke?” Miller feels like this is a question he should know the answer to because he literally signed her hall pass.
“She went to the art room for supplies,” Miller says, eyes darting to the door. Shumway raises an eyebrow. “For the flag, I think. For the moon landing? If you wait until she gets back she can tell you everything. I mainly just do what she tells me,” he adds.
“I believe I assigned you the role of team leader?” Shumway asks. Miller shrugs.
“Delegation is key to any good leadership,” he replies. He’s pretty sure that’s a thing people actually say. Shumway says.
“As long as you finish on time,” he sighs, and then drifts away. Miller really hopes they don’t lose marks for this because Clarke would literally kill him.
-
Miller’s pretty sure his group kicked Bellamy’s group’s ass. They clearly lacked anyone even vaguely skilled in art, and their Declaration was just a standard white piece of copy paper. ‘It’s seriously not that hard to coffee stain paper,’ Clarke had whispered at him, derisive. Privately, Miller agreed, but it’s not like he would have thought of doing it without her. Their backdrop was by far the best, and Clarke had found white disposable painters coveralls for them to wear over their uniforms as space suits, making them the only costumed group too. Admittedly, the acting wasn’t the strongest, but everyone knew their lines, and he figured that was acceptable. Bellamy had kept hissing lines at his team members as they forgot them out of the corner of his mouth. It was very unsubtle. Miller’s also pretty sure he only used his group for the bare minimum, and his group had documentation (courtesy of Clarke’s timeline and task list) that showed that they all contributed to their skit. He’s really not sure why he’s still calling it ‘his’ group, when it’s clearly Clarke’s group. He’s definitely going to be nicer to her in the future.
After class, Bellamy and Clarke have this weird stare off thing, full of forced compliments about how well the other group had done, interspersed with quick criticisms to make sure they other knew they’d thought they’d won. Miller was less and less sure that they were actually nemeses and more like they were hate-flirting.
“Well you try working with Jasper and Murphy. They’re ridiculous,” Bellamy tosses at her.
“Hey, I had Mbege, who refused to acknowledge anything I said,” Clarke snaps back.
“Just admit you had a better group than me, Clarke. It’s not that hard,” Bellamy said. Clarke narrows her eyes.
“You’re only going to use that as an excuse when we beat you,” she says, and it’s almost a dare, and Bellamy’s glaring back. Miller looks at his watch, they’re going to be late to Octavia again.
“I’m pretty sure our skit kicked your skit’s ass,” Miller says. Bellamy looks like he’s ready to say something else, but he taps his watch. “And we’re going to be late for your sister.”
“This isn’t over,” Bellamy tells Clarke. She’s smiling in a way that is kind of like the way she smiles at Monty and kind of like the way she smiled when she gave him the binder. He’s pretty sure it’s just generally easier to let her have her own way in general. And he’s fine with that.
“I should hope not. Marks come out next week,” she reminds him. Bellamy looks like he’s about to say something else, so Miller shoves him forward to make him keep walking.
“Don’t tell her I said this,” Bellamy admits once they’re off school ground. “But your play was definitely better.” Miller laughs.
“I know, right?”
-
Miller’s not exactly sure what’s going to happen next. It’s kind of terrifying. In fact, he’s not entirely sure he heard right. He puts up his hand.
“I’m sorry, Mr Shumway, did you just say you decided to mark our group work pass/fail?” he asks.
“That’s exactly what I just said. Please pay attention,” Shumway says tiredly. It’s pretty shit that he and Ms Sydney crashed and burned, but this is some lazy ass teaching, he thinks. And then: what about Bellamy and Clarke. He looks around to find them glaring at each other. Yep, family feud. Give it fifty years, and their descendents will still be hating each other. Shumway hands out slips of paper with feedback and their grade face down on their desks. He’s pretty sure he knows what his is going to say, but he’s really more concerned with Bellamy and Clarke’s reactions. This might be how he dies. Crossfire from the ensuing violence when there is no winner.
There’s a lot of murmuring and Clarke and Bellamy both look intently at their papers, and then at each other, and back to their papers. Miller thinks he may have forgotten how to breath.
“And while you’re mulling over that,” Shumway says. “I have your assigned partner for next unit. Alphabetical by first name. Adam and Becca, Bellamy and Clarke, Dax and Fox…” Miller glances at Bellamy and Clarke, who both look simultaneously horrified and like they’re going to destroy this assignment.
Hatfields and McCoys, he thinks. He tunes back in just in time to hear Shumway call out his name.
“... Nathan Miller and Monty,...”
He looks over at Monty and grins. Monty ducks his head, shy. He’s pretty sure he’s going to do well on this one too. There are worse partners to have.