Chapter Text
As the bell rang, signaling the commencement of another round of bickers disguised as ‘civil, educationally motivated debates,’ students scattered across the classroom like pieces on a chessboard. Mr. Desaulniers, of course, known for his displeased aura and uncanny ability to deflate enthusiasm, stood at the front, ready for the controversy.
"Morning to you all," Mr. Desaulniers's voice cut through the room's chatter, like a sickle through ice. "I trust you don’t need too much of an introduction to our debate today, as I’m sure you are fairly acquainted with it. Of course, as per our research, we will discuss public funding for private schools. Are we wasting taxpayer dollars on the future leaders of tomorrow or merely subsidizing the breeding ground for overprivileged pencil pushers? Let's hear your best attempts at defending your perspective, starting with..." He looked around the room with the guise of selection, though it was obvious who started the discussions.
Only three students typically occupied Mr. Desaulniers’ mind during these debates. Not that they were particularly gifted in academics, though the trio was undeniably adept in arguing. The three, of course, were Frederick Kreiburg, a sophomore who’d only recently joined the debate class, Orpheus DeRoss, a junior who’d been a known veteran, and Norton Campbell, the senior who’d given a good shot at dominating debates. Though he’d always come close to occupying some extra time, it was known that Kreiburg and DeRoss were those with the loudest mouths.
It was no surprise when Mr. Desaulniers pointed to Frederick, who’d already had a shit-eating smirk across his face. It was as if he’d expected to win the debate before it’d even start.
Standing confidently at his desk, Frederick, with an air of pompous certainty began to speak. "Why would private schools seek additional funding when they already receive substantial financial allocations per student?" he questions, the subtle flicker of a knowing smile gracing his face. As he begins his speech, he faces the teacher only for a millisecond. It was quickly that Kreiburg’s eyes darted towards those of Orpheus’, a squint and smirk accompanying the gaze.
"The very need to discuss this begs the question of fiscal prudence and equity in our educational landscape," he asserts, straightening his back as tall as he could stretch it. "I mean, it's almost like they're asking for dessert after a five-course meal. Do they need it, or is it just a case of financial sweet tooth? I think we can assume the answer."
With a theatrical pause, he continues, "I mean, I know my family has paid some pretty pennies for my admittance here, no? If we’ve already funded these private hands enough, what could they possibly lack? Is it a genuine need, or just exploitative practices on display?"
His tone takes a sly turn as he concludes, "Perhaps it's just an attempt to turn the tables on public schools. After all, asking for more funds when you're already flush is the kind of financial maneuvering even a child could spot.” With that, he gives off an unassuming gesture across the room (or, a not so hidden point at Orpheus). “But, hey, maybe it's a secret society initiation – Who knows?" With a shift in his posture, he sits himself back down. “Regardless, the morality of requesting the funds of the commoners to educate the elite is inexcusable, is it not?” He smirks, delivering a pointed barb, "But I guess not everyone excels in morality."
It wasn’t long before Orpheus stood himself up, basically assuming he was next in line to speak. Norton typically would shoot himself up at the same time, but for once, he agreed with Kreiburg’s points. He’d have to save his anger for whatever Orpheus had to say.
"Well, well, well, if it isn't the grand maestro of financial wisdom.” Orpheus started as he rose to his feet. “I must say, your metaphorical dessert analogy is truly captivating. Bravo," he says with an exaggerated clap, a smirk playing on his lips. "But let's not get carried away with the theatrics, Mr. Kreiburg. Your 'morality’ example might have some charm if it weren't for the fact that morality is entirely subjective."
Leaning back with an air of nonchalance, he continues, "You see, interestingly enough, some people understand the value of investing in quality education. It's not about asking for extra toppings; it's about ensuring that our students get the best ingredients for success. Private schools are the gourmet experience in a world of fast food education. Now, is it not morally superior to enhance the likely hope that society has rather than coddle those who are, well… plainly put, inferior.”
His charismatic demeanor takes a sharper edge as he adds, "Now, while you're busy counting pennies, we're focused on cultivating an environment where excellence is the norm, not the exception. It's a shame not everyone can appreciate the taste of success. Effective altruism, look it up."
With a parting quip, he concludes, "But hey, perhaps one day you'll find your way out of your philosophical maze and join us in the land of reality and educational opulence. Until then, enjoy your budget-friendly mediocrity."
As a hushed giggle hinted at amusement on one side of the room, the other party couldn't resist taking the bait. Adjusting his collar with a self-assured demeanor, Frederick stood back up. "Well, DeRoss, as per usual, you're off the mark. My forebears actually played a pivotal role in bankrolling this school during its tumultuous days. And, as you might imagine, their generosity persists to this very moment. Without the financial backing of my, shall we say, misguided family, correct? You might find yourself bereft of the privilege of standing on campus grounds. Quite a precarious position, wouldn't you agree?"
Leaning into the exchange, he continued, "It's rather audacious of you, an orphan, to pass judgment on my family or morality when yours seemed quite content to disown you from the get-go. Isn't it ironic? Perhaps it's time for you to dismount that high horse and contemplate who the real 'bum' in this scenario might be, hmm?"
In a parting shot, he added, "But I suppose morality is a foreign concept when your parents never stuck around long enough to teach it. Must be tough, DeRoss, growing up without a moral compass. No wonder you're so lost."
As the classroom buzzed with a not-so-subdued energy, Mr. Desaulniers stepped into the role of peacekeeper. "Alright, alright, class, let's all tone it down," he announced, his voice tinged with a suppressed giggle.
Orpheus, catching wind of the levity, couldn't help but sound a note of incredulity, "Mr. Desaulniers, are you finding something funny?" Joseph, ever the diplomat, quickly averted his gaze, attempting to stifle the laughter threatening to burst forth.
"No, no," he managed, a twinkle of amusement still lingering in his eyes, "but perhaps a slightly premature dismissal is in order today. Just to allow everyone a moment to, you know, gather themselves emotionally. What do you say we call it a day earlier than usual?" The suggestion hung in the air, and Joseph struggled not to laugh even harder at the angry expression on Norton’s face.
“Hey- I didn’t even get a chance to-”
“I’m plenty sure we know your thoughts on this matter, Mr. Campbell. Nobody will lose sleep if we leave early.” With that, he gave a vague gesture to the door. “We will retry this debate tomorrow, after nerves have settled.
The students exchanged glances, some still suppressing laughter from the recent exchange. Orpheus, slightly taken aback by the proposal, reluctantly nodded in agreement. "Fine," he conceded, "dismissal it is. But let's reconvene with more decorum next time, shall we?"
Joseph, now wearing a wry grin, nodded in agreement. "Absolutely," he replied, "a breather today, and a fresh start next class. Until then."
Frederick, fueled by the satisfaction of his verbal jab, sauntered out of the classroom with a newfound sense of cockiness. As he neared the exit, he couldn't resist a subtle move to assert his presence even further. With an air of nonchalance, he brushed against Orpheus' shoulder, a calculated gesture meant to underline his earlier verbal triumph. The act was not just physical; it was a silent punctuation mark to the exchange, leaving a lingering echo of his audacity in the air. As Frederick made his exit, a smirk adorned his face, savoring the aftermath of his provocations. Orpheus, left in his wake, was left to digest the dual blows, both verbal and physical, as the classroom door closed behind them.
After the class was dismissed, Alice, Orpheus's twin sister, approached him with a measured stride. Her expression, a blend of familiarity and exasperation, conveyed both annoyance and compassion towards him. “You don’t know when to stop, do you?”
Still reeling from the audacity of Frederick's remark, Orpheus turned Alice, seeking validation for his wounded pride. "Don’t point all your fingers at me! Don't you think that was rude of him to say to me?" he exclaimed, a mix of indignation and incredulity in his voice. "Does he even know how inappropriate that is?"
Alice, who had silently watched the entire exchange, responded with an air of exhaustion. "Yes, Orpheus," she sighed, her patience wearing thin, "I was in the class. I heard it loud and clear. But you know what's also loud and clear? Your desperation. And believe it or not," she added, her tone laced with sarcasm, "I'm ALSO an orphan. So, congratulations, you're not the only one who just got dissed, Orpheus." She punctuated her statement with an eye roll, which spoke volumes about her tolerance for her twin's theatrics.
Orpheus, momentarily taken aback by his sister's matter-of-fact response, stared at her in disbelief. The realization that he wasn't the sole recipient of blows seemed to hit him with a jolt. As the weight of his sister's words sank in, a subtle mix of humility and embarrassment crept into his expression. With an embarrassed swallow, he continued down the hall. “Neither here nor there… just… isn’t Melly waiting for you?”
Frederick, now striding with an air of confidence, wore a cocky smirk that mirrored his pride in successfully embarrassing Orpheus in front of the entire class. His words not only achieved the desired impact on his rival but even managed to coax a chuckle out of the teacher himself. In that moment, Frederick basked in the sweet taste of victory, feeling on top of the world.
It might seem trivial—a debate won in debate class. But for Frederick, it was more than just a victory; it was a triumphant moment against his arch-nemesis, his senior no less. The sheer satisfaction that comes from triumphing over a rival, emphasizing that such moments of glory are universally thrilling.
Despite the triumph in the debate and accolades he had earned, Frederick left the room alone, navigating the bustling halls in solitude. The echo of his footsteps reverberated against the walls mockingly. As he walked, the weight of his achievements felt isolating rather than uplifting. Although surrounded by peers, his internal landscape painted a different picture—one colored by an unspoken sadness. Yet, in a staunch refusal to confront his own emotions, Frederick veiled his profound sense of isolation beneath a façade of intellectual pride and stoicism. He only had no friends because nobody was worthy of knowing him, right?
He carried the weight of academic expectations from an early age, a burden imposed by parents who envisioned a prodigious future for him. Their aspirations manifested in a relentless pursuit of academic excellence and music excellence. Gifted with an innate talent, Frederick flawlessly performed Mozart's Rondo Alla Turca before he’d hit double-digits. As the years passed, his intellectual prowess continued to burgeon, graduating alongside the 8th-grade class while still a 7th-grade student.
Accepted into Oletus Academy, one of the nation's premier private institutions, Frederick found himself intellectually ahead of his peers. Despite sharing classes with older students, he was perpetually perceived as a cocky, prodigious kid. This dynamic persisted into his sophomore year, offering him academic superiority and the peculiar experience of being treated based on his grade level rather than his intellectual standing. Yet, Frederick, accustomed to this duality, found a silver lining in the bragging rights it afforded him.
While his musical aspirations may not have panned out as expected, Frederick continued to find solace and a sense of accomplishment in his academic achievements. Making his parents proud became the guiding principle, a dutiful acknowledgment of their support, mentoring, and comforts throughout his life. The narrative poses a poignant question: does fulfilling parental expectations equate to gratitude for the life they've facilitated, or is there more to the equation than meets the eye?
Navigating the campus, Fredrick skillfully avoided the company of his childhood friends, Ada and Emil. It wasn't that he disliked them; rather, it was the perpetual atmosphere of cuddling and flirtation that made him feel like an unwitting intruder into their private world. As he traversed the grounds, Fredrick kept his head down, strategically maneuvering through the crowd to evade the couple's amorous displays. Ensuring the coast was clear, he inadvertently let his guard down, his attention momentarily drifting away. It dawned on Fredrick that, in his efforts to dodge the affectionate duo, he had become unintentionally oblivious to what lay directly in front of him.
Fate played its hand as Frederick, engrossed in his own thoughts, collided with someone, and, of course, it had to be Orpheus. The scoff escaped Fredrick's lips almost involuntarily, "Jesus Christ... watch where you're going!" He shot Orpheus a disdainful look, as if blaming him for the unexpected encounter.
Orpheus, however, responded with a wry smile, his tone teasing yet laced with a hint of seriousness, "Y’know, would it hurt you to not be such an asshole sometimes, Frederick? I mean, you just made fun of my dead parents, hit me, and then come back with more venom. Chill out sometimes, will you?"
As the tension simmered, a peculiar energy lingered between them—a dynamic that transcended the usual animosity. Fredrick, eager to avoid further confrontation and seemingly oblivious to the subtle shift, continued to walk past, muttering under his breath, "Yeah, sure, I'M the asshole... hm."
Yet, beneath the surface, there was an unspoken acknowledgment, a lingering connection that defied the boundaries of their rivalry. Orpheus, unfazed by Fredrick's muttered retort, chose to let the words dissipate into the background noise. However, before the tension could escalate further, Alice intervened with a measured voice, "We have places to be, and you two have upset each other enough for today." Her words, a diplomatic ceasefire, disrupted the brewing conflict.
After a considerable amount of walking, ducking, and covert maneuvers, Frederick stumbled upon a sanctuary of solitude—a forgotten stairwell tucked away from prying eyes. The air in the abandoned space was thick with dust, and a legion of cockroaches had claimed it as their own, yet all Frederick could focus on was the respite from the chaos outside. He carefully selected a spot on the stairs with the least dust, carved a momentary haven amidst the neglected surroundings, and settled in.
With the muted symphony of silence around him, Frederick unpacked his meal and began savoring the peace, the ambient noises of the outside world replaced by the soothing sounds of a piano performance playing on his phone. For a fleeting moment, everything seemed to align in harmony. He didn’t need anyone to spend this moment with, because nobody else could possibly understand him. He could face it alone, even if he didn’t always want to.
The echoes of his comment at Orpheus's expense reverberated in his mind, mingling with the ambient sounds of his secluded refuge. A subtle wave of loneliness washed over him, and a few tears escaped his eyes in that vulnerable moment. The realization that his actions, laced with arrogance and mockery, had contributed to someone else's pain weighed heavily on his conscience.
Just as the solitary tear traced down his cheek, a faint sound behind him caught his attention. The soft footsteps hinted at an approaching presence, and Frederick, hastily wiping away any visible signs of vulnerability, turned to face whoever had intruded on his secluded sanctuary.
Startled by the sudden appearance of a pale, tall figure behind him, Frederick's reaction was nothing short of a startled exclamation, "What the f-" The unexpected scare prompted him to jolt to his feet, sending his meal cascading onto the dusty ground in a clatter.
As the voice behind him stammered out an apology, Frederick, still recovering from the initial shock, turned around to assess the situation. The kid seemed genuinely sorry, practically pleading for forgiveness. After gathering his composure, Frederick spared the intruder a closer look and discerned no threat. Interrupting the remorseful ramblings, he offered a calming reassurance, "No trouble. I can just eat when I get back to my dorm." Now standing, he brushed his thighs off with his empty hands.
Noticing the kid had the same uniform as a sophomore, Frederick, ever the inquisitive one, felt compelled to initiate a conversation. "I don't think I've seen you around before, and we seem to be in the same grade due to the similarity of our uniforms. My name is Frederick Kreiburg. What's your name?" he asked.
"Oh, I'm... my name is Andrew... Andrew Kreiss," came a soft response, partially stuttered out. Andrew seemed almost apologetic, mumbling a series of apologies.
However, Frederick, realizing the depth of Andrew's discomfort, intervened. "Please, it's quite fine. You can sit here if you would like, not like it's crowded or anything. Unless you’d count the roaches…" Despite Andrew's seemingly silent and repetitive muttering of apologies, he nodded appreciatively. It appears Frederick had accidentally stumbled upon someone else’s crying corner.
Frederick's attempt at levity, encapsulated in a small joke, had an unintended consequence—it seemed to thicken the awkward air. Andrew nodded and settled down on the other side of the stair, creating a palpable distance. Undeterred, Frederick made an effort at small talk, only to be met with Andrew's monosyllabic responses – a simple head nod, an occasional "yes," "no," or "I'm not sure" if he was lucky. The struggle for meaningful communication felt futile, prompting Frederick to retreat to the solace of his video.
As the piano performance unfolded on Frederick's phone, Andrew's curiosity got the better of him, prompting occasional peeks over Frederick's shoulder to catch glimpses of the music. Frederick, perceiving an opportunity for connection, edged a bit closer to Andrew and angled the phone in his direction. In the shared silence, they watched the performance unfold, letting the music act as a conduit for expression. Although the atmosphere retained a tinge of awkwardness, the unspoken language of the music forged a connection between them—a connection that transcended the limitations of words. In the midst of the unconventional bonding, Frederick saw a more potent form of connection than any verbal exchange could have provided.