Chapter Text
“Hello, my name is Eugene Sledge, and uh,” he fiddles with the strap of his backpack, carefully trying to avoid the eyes of twenty-five other teenagers who are just waiting for him to embarrass himself on his first day of school.
“I, uh, was home-schooled for three years but my parents and I decided it would be best for me to finish the last two years of high school at an actual school. That’s why I’m here.”
He glances at the teacher, a friendly looking young man who’d introduced himself as Mr. Haldane. Now he gives Sledge an encouraging nod, and Sledge swallows before opening his mouth for one last statement.
“And my favorite thing about history is… well, I’m pretty interested in the wars, I guess. Civil War, World War One and Two…” The derisive snort of a curly-haired guy in the front row makes him trail off. His heart is beating out of his chest, and keeping his eyes firmly fixed on the poster in the back that displays an extensive timeline of historical events isn’t really helping either.
“Thank you so much, Sledge,” Haldane says, voice warm and without a hint of false friendliness. “You can sit down now. There’s a free table in front of Merriell over there in the third row.”
“Thanks,” Sledge mumbles and makes his way over to the offered seat.
His palms are still clammy and sweaty when he sits down and he’s not sure if it’s from the talking or the terrifying grin the guy behind him, Merriell, has flashed him. He takes a deep breath and wills his heart to calm down.
It’s illogical, really. He’s been looking forward to this day, to finally returning to getting the full school experience, ever since he’s managed to convince his parents that his health could take it. Just because he has a heart murmur, doesn’t mean he deserves to be wrapped in cotton and be deprived of all kinds of teenage shenanigans that he will miss if he doesn’t get back in the swing of things.
The problem is that 16-year-olds are not exactly the most open-minded people when it comes to accepting a new guy whose parents could afford a private teacher for two years and who, on top of that, is a week late for class. That that unfortunate mishap is due to a bureaucratic mistake on the part of the school administration, well, no one cares about that. All they see is a scrawny ginger guy in a white dress shirt who has a whole less week to suffer through.
Not the best way to start your junior year, Sledge thinks.
Haldane gets up from his desk and claps his hands.
“Alright, as promised, today we will begin our series on the American Revolution. I’m interested to know what you associate with this term. What are your first thoughts?” He points at the boy from before, the one sitting in the first row. “Yes, Leckie, please go ahead and I’ll collect our ideas on the board.”
“Well, first of all, I think of Enlightenment ideals and the Declaration of Independence as the accumulation of the former.”
As Haldane nods approvingly and turns around to start drawing a mind map on the blackboard, Sledge suppresses a sigh and takes his writing supplies out of his bag. He’s a real high school student now. He hopes he soon starts feeling like one.
+
Class goes over surprisingly fast.
Haldane is twice the history teacher Sledge’s old one was. He talks with a kind of passion that is both captivating and contagious and Sledge finds himself trying to soak up every word. The students are not just allowed but encouraged to ask questions and even when it feels like they’re going off on a tangent – “I want eight of you here in the front; yes, I want you to play out the Boston Massacre, first how you think it happened and then according to what the sources tell us” – he feels like he learns more in just one lesson than he’s learned in the entire past year.
And when he raises his hand and contributes to the discussion on the Battle of Bunker Hill, Haldane gives him a smile and says “very good, Sledge.”
He’s almost sad when the bell rings and he has to stuff his things into his bag to find his way through the labyrinthine halls to his next class.
With the floor plan he was given this morning, he’s standing in the hallway in front of Haldane’s classroom and feels helplessly lost. There are students streaming in both directions and around the corner and he can’t find the room he’s supposed to go to on the map and –
“Hey, you okay?”
Looking up from the piece of paper that’s slowly starting to crumble in his tight grip, Sledge is faced with the guy who was sitting in front of him for the past hour.
He exhales in relief.
“Not really. Sorry, but do you know where I can find,” he glances at his schedule, “room 509? I have biology next and I have no clue how to get there.”
The guy shrugs. “Sure. I can walk with you, it’s on the way to Home Econ anyways.”
Sledge breathes a little easier. “Thank you,” he says, because his mother’s skill to drill manners into her sons rivalled that of any drill instructor in the armed forces. “Eugene Sledge.” He stretches out a hand.
“I know.” Unimpressed, the guy doesn’t take the proffered hand to return the handshake. “I’m Jay De L’Eau. That is capital D, small e, capital L, apostrophe, capital E –“
“Jay,” a hand comes to rest on Jay’s shoulder, and Sledge recognizes its owner as the guy Haldane had addressed as ‘Burgin’. “Jay, you’re doing it again.” The calm tone would remind Sledge of Haldane’s way of speaking, if it weren’t for the audible Texan accent.
“Shit,” Jay curses quietly to himself before turning back to Sledge. “My sister’s practicing for a spelling bee and I’m helping her,” he explains. “I just get carried away sometimes.”
“Yeah, kinda like your smart thoughts and good looks got carried away by the big scary monster called puberty,” another voice throws in, and to Sledge’s discomfort he realizes that it’s Merriel.
Burgin laughs while Jay pushes Merriell away.
“Shove off, Snafu.”
He gets a lazy grin in return, the same kind that Sledge had received earlier.
“Nah, I’d rather know what you’re doing with Mama’s Darling over here.” With a tilt of his head, he gives Sledge a once over that makes his hair stand on end.
“I’m being friendly to the new guy,” Jay explains. “Was about to show him the way to the labs before you ne’er-do-well showed up.”
“That’s so nice of you,” Burgin deadpans. “Since Snaf isn’t allowed anywhere near the labs this year, we’ll let you get back to your philanthropist undertaking and go to Trig. See you at lunch!” Grabbing his friend by the shoulders and half-shoving, half-guiding him through the throngs of people still milling about, Burgin and Merriell disappear in the crowd before either Sledge or Jay can utter a word of farewell.
Sledge turns to Jay with a confused frown. “Snafu?”
“Acronym for ‘Situation Normal: All Fucked Up’. There was a chemistry lab experiment last year.” He waves his hand dismissively. “You don’t want to know. Come on, we gotta hurry. Ms Riggi doesn’t like it when people are late, and I’d hate to get on her bad side.”
He turns around and starts walking in the exact opposite direction that Sledge would’ve chosen.
Hoisting his backpack a little higher on his bony shoulder, Sledge hastens to follow Jay.
He makes it to class just in time, and allows himself to be cautiously optimistic. Maybe things will turn out okay.
| | |
After spending most of his early life and his college years up in the north of the country, moving south to Alabama had been a strange experience for Andy Haldane. Always living in larger cities has made him accustomed to the bustling streets full of noises, the constant lights and movement and more gray concrete than green plants.
Now he teaches history at a small high school where just about 300 students are enrolled, and the scenery he gets to admire every day is mostly made up of fields, small houses and people working in their gardens waving to him and exchanging a few friendly words when he drives by.
When winter approaches, he still expects to be surprised by snow and for his bicycle to slide over icy roads on the way to school. He expects summers to be too hot to move, but not to be drenched in sweat as soon as he steps out the door.
It doesn’t keep him from eating his lunch – an apple from Mr. Meehan’s fruit stand and a chicken sandwich whose lettuce is making a rather sad, drooping impression, now that it isn’t in the chilly fridge of the teacher’s lounge anymore – outside in the shadow of one of the few trees on the courtyard. Most summer days, when the kids are allowed to spend the break out in the open, he has to supervise the students during lunch hour anyway, so it’s a practical combination of the two activities.
Despite having pushed the sleeves of his shirt up over his elbows, he can feel sweat gathering at the back of his neck and on his brow. He doesn’t claim lunch hour to be his most attractive looking time of the day. The northern climate is simply still in his bones, a less obvious characteristic than his accent that tells everyone that his original home is not among the pine tree forests or small town farmers’ markets.
Unlike Eddie.
It’s not a coincidence that the music teacher with the unruly curls is stepping out of the building just as Andy’s outside as well. If there’s no schedule interference, they spend their breaks together, either in comfortable silence as they watch the students chatting energetically amongst themselves, or talking about basically whatever comes to mind.
So far, Andy hasn’t been spotted yet, and he uses the moment to observe Eddie unabashedly. Unlike himself, Eddie belongs to this environment like the white wooden fences to the seemingly never-ending fields along the highway. His lilting voice, as calming as the songs he plays on his guitar when no one but Andy is listening, matches the countryside sloping gently up and down small hills and valleys.
At first, Andy thought the guy was shy. There’s a certain unobtrusiveness about him, as if he just adapts to his surroundings, blends into the background until someone addresses him or asks for his input. Which is a damn shame, at least in Andy’s opinion. He likes the way Eddie talks and his easy way of communicating makes him one of Andy’s favorite conversational partners.
It’s not hard to make Andy laugh, he’s a generally cheerful guy. But no one makes him laugh quite like Eddie does.
Just as Eddie has finally noticed him, smiling nearly imperceptibly as Andy gives a small wave, the sounds of a decidedly not allowed schoolyard activity forces Andy to direct his gaze in the other direction, where he can make out two shapes wrestling on the ground.
Without a second thought he gets up and makes his way over to the commotion, knowing that Eddie will be close behind. He recognizes one of the shapes as the new boy from his morning class, Eugene Sledge, and there’s a good portion of worry mingling with the initial disapproval. He may be the football coach, but off the field he has a very strict non-violence rule; he hates his kids getting hurt.
“Get up off my schoolyard.”
He doesn’t even have to raise his voice, his words and presence are enough to make Sledge and the other boy halt abruptly in their movements. Eddie joins him at his side, and together they watch as the two boys scramble to their feet.
Sledge is visibly embarrassed, trying to get the dust off his white shirt but to no avail. Now that he can see the other boy better, Andy recognizes him as Sidney Phillips, one of the new additions to the football team. He’s always seemed like an amiable enough kid but maybe Andy’s perception was wrong.
“Well,” Andy says, when neither of the boys shows any intention of explaining themselves. “What’s this about? You making enemies on your first day already, Sledge?”
Blushing faintly, Sledge shakes his head. “No, sir - I mean, no, Mr. Haldane. We’re,” he fiddles with the hem of his still dusty shirt, “we’re friends.”
“We grew up together,” adds Phillips.
“So is this some kind of welcome back rite that I don’t know about, or a conflict resolution?”
This time, Sidney shakes his head while Sledge answers.
“No, just a reunion between two old friends.” It’s obvious that he’s fighting to bite back the ‘sir’. Andy doesn’t know whether to be amused or impressed by the boy’s upbringing.
“Old friends, huh?” He turns to look at Eddie, who meets his gaze with a quirk of his lips.
“That explains it,” Eddie states, calm as ever.
For a moment, Andy allows the ensuing silence to speak for him and evoke fear of disciplinary actions in the way that words never could. Under his and Eddie’s combined gazes the previously fighting teenagers are now completely still, as if a sudden transformation into marble statues could save them from detention, or whatever other punitive measures their young minds are imagining.
Luckily for them, neither Andy nor Eddie are those kinds of teachers.
“Alright boys,” Andy finally breaks the silence. “Enjoy your reunion, but please don’t hurt each other. We don’t want you to end up with a dislocated shoulder or a broken arm.”
Out of the corner of his eye he sees Eddie nodding, while the two boys in front of him breathe a sigh of relief.
With a last “Thank you, Mr. Haldane”, said by Sledge with sincere gratefulness, Andy gives the two a nod and turns around to make his way back to his place under the tree. Eddie stays at his shoulder, matching his stride easily, and chuckles when Andy shakes his head incredulously.
“I think I forgot what it’s like to be that young and full of life.”
Eddie grins, bumping into Andy’s shoulder, which is not entirely due to lack of control over his limbs.
“If you want to be tackled to ground, all you gotta do is ask.”
Andy elbows Eddie in the side.
“I’d like to see you try.”