Chapter Text
That slow, mid-September breeze wafts through the classroom windows on the day Eugene first catches himself staring. It’s stifling, easily 100 degrees outside, and every window in the entire school is open. They had planned to renovate and add a small air conditioning unit to each classroom, but that was before the storm. Before the chaos. Before Katrina. The hurricane may have left Murphy High School largely untouched apart from a few torn-up trees, but the bay flooded the downtown areas on the other side of Interstate 10 and the USS Alabama almost crashed into the port. School had only reconvened three days ago, and with it, him. Merriell Shelton. His dark, curly hair catches the breeze from the window and he shifts in his chair, light, golden brown skin catching the sunlight. He sits diagonally to Eugene in French III, and in this moment he must feel Eugene’s gaze on his neck as he glances back and makes eye contact. Eugene's face burns as he quickly looks away, then makes a show of squinting at the board behind Shelton’s head, like maybe he was looking past him the whole time. Of course, this doesn’t work, it’s simply an act to move past an awkward moment. Any normal person would look away and pretend it never happened, but oddly Shelton is still turned back in his chair, looking at Eugene, who fights hard to resist the urge to look back and instead makes a fuss out of sipping water from his bottle. Once Eugene relaxes a bit, his gaze naturally drifts back toward Shelton, and as their eyes meet for a second time, Shelton smirks before looking away and facing the front.
If Eugene wasn’t red before, he is now. He tries to make himself feel less awkward by remembering that a lot of people are probably caught staring at Shelton. Who wouldn’t stare? He’s one of the displaced people who moved to Mobile from New Orleans. It’s been just over two weeks since the storm, and he’s already registered in a new school. His transfer was fast, making him the first true storm victim Eugene has encountered, which probably goes for the rest of the high school’s population as well. On its own, this makes him a spectacle; Eugene has overheard many of his classmates and even teachers discussing rumors about Shelton or pitying him. They entertain themselves with his misfortune, just as they do when they turn on the news at home. He’s a character in their sensationalized version of Hurricane Katrina. Eugene bites his lip, feeling sorry that he might have indulged in this same kind of entertainment as he tries to focus on the remainder of the French lesson.
When the bell rings, Eugene packs up slowly, waiting for Shelton to leave the classroom to avoid any awkward interactions that might occur. He can breathe freely once he enters the hallway, making his way to his next class. As the day goes on, he continues to have his mind wander back to Shelton, with those curls resting on a tan neck, before being hit with a wave of embarrassment. Why was he staring at him anyway?
At lunch, Eugene sits across from Sid, his childhood best friend… and Sid’s girlfriend, Mary. The two are inseparable and spend every lunch mostly ignoring Eugene in favor of talking to each other. He feels guilty and awkward, like maybe he’s infringing on their privacy by third-wheeling, but he has nowhere else to sit and Sid knows this. Sid holds some sense of responsibility towards Eugene, like he’s obligated to sit with him because they grew up together. If only Eugene could put himself out there, he might not have to be a burden anymore.
In any case, Sid and Mary’s banter at least offers a distraction from Eugene’s embarrassed wallowing this morning. He eats his way through the carefully packed lunchbox his mother made this morning, and has made every morning since he started school as a kindergartener, in silence, inattentively listening to the couple talk.
“I can’t wear the dress I wore last year,” Mary prattles on about Homecoming. “And you can’t wear the same suit either. We’re upperclassmen now, we have to look a little more mature.”
“A new suit? Can’t I just change the tie to match your dress? No one will notice,” Sid replies.
“I’ll know though, and it will bother me all night. Come on, just ask your parents for a new one, you know they’ll buy it for you.”
Sid sighs with a smile. “If it’s really important to you, of course I will.”
Eugene slowly chews his ham sandwich, trying not to shoot them a judgmental look. To him, most of what they talk about is very shallow. He can’t remember the last time he had a substantial conversation with Sid. Sid prefers her company now, and the short conversations he does have with Eugene are always something frivolous about Mary or Homecoming or gossip. Eugene misses the deeper connection they used to have.
Sid’s voice interrupts his thoughts. “What about you, Eugene?”
“Huh? Sorry, I was staring off,” Eugene says after swallowing his mouthful of sandwich.
“What are you wearing to Homecoming this year?” Sid asks.
“Oh… I haven’t thought about it. I’m not sure I want to go this year.”
“What? Eugene, come on,” Sid says disgruntledly, crossing his arms on the table. “When we were kids we always talked about what girls we would take to school dances. I know you didn’t get a date the last two years, but this year could be different.”
Eugene feels his face turn scarlet. Was that comment necessary? “I didn’t have fun last year.”
“It’s so much more fun with a date,” Sid says, before pointing his finger at Eugene. “I’ll find someone for you to go with, don’t worry. We’ll all go as a group, it will be great.”
Eugene shoots him an uncomfortable, forced smile before sighing when Mary chimes in and changes the subject back to their clothing for the dance. The couple chatters on for the remainder of the lunch period, not addressing him again as he clears out the rest of his lunchbox.
The rest of the school day is similarly uneventful. The sun is bright and harsh as he steps outside, forcing him to look at the pavement while he walks toward his bike so his eyes don’t sting. As he unlocks it from the bike rack, he feels eyes on him. He looks up to see Shelton sitting at the bus stop across the street, smoking a cigarette and staring at him. When they make eye contact, Shelton smiles at him. At first, Eugene is taken aback by the cigarette, then by the smile. He smiles back with confusion. He thought Shelton was annoyed by his staring earlier in class, but perhaps not. Eugene looks away first, mounting his bike and beginning to ride home. He passes Shelton on his way down the street, briefly making eye contact again as those grayish-blue eyes track his riding figure.
Eugene turns away, face burning, and pedals hard all the way home. Or rather, the house where his family lives. It’s large and grand, a southern ranch house built in the 1800s that’s been in his family for the better part of a hundred years. The interior has been renovated to be modern, but his mother had insisted that the character of the house stay intact, so the outside remains in its original Greek-revival style. It’s beautiful. Eugene hates it.
When he unlocks the door, he finds the house empty apart from his family dog, Deacon. His father works until 5 PM on weekdays at his family medicine practice, and his mother is likely out with one of her church or neighborhood friends. Eugene sighs, giving Deacon a pet before trudging down the hallway, toeing his sneakers off when he gets to his room. Its sizeable, tall windows allowing sunlight to brighten the room. Potted plants cover the sills and the half of his desk not taken up by his computer. He sits on his bed in silence for a few minutes, letting the day wash over him, before being reminded of Shelton again and blushing. He gets up and turns on his radio, 96.1 The Rocket filling his room with the tones of classic rock. He’s not sure who the artist is, or even if he really likes the music. It’s just noise to fill the space.
Eugene continues his afterschool routine by walking to the bathroom and filling a cup with water, returning to his bedroom, and meticulously watering each plant until he’s sure they’re satiated. It might seem stupid to others, but his plants help him feel at peace. He speaks to them sometimes, when he’s alone, and does now, telling each of them, “Hello, I’m back.” He goes back and forth between his room and the bathroom, gathering more water for more plants, songs going by on the radio, hello after hello. Eventually, he’s interrupted by the noise of the garage door opening and closing and he sighs, placing the cup down on his side table and sitting back down on his bed, waiting.
Mary Frank’s kitten heels clomp like hooves on the wood floors, getting closer and closer until she bursts through the door. “Have you been in here just sitting in bed? Turn that music off and come help your mother with supper. Come on, Eugene.” She turns around, not bothering to wait for his response, stomping her way back toward the kitchen.
Eugene rolls his eyes as soon as her back is to him. She can never just leave him alone. Every day it’s something new. He rubs his face and stretches before slowly following her out, his mood gone blank.
“How was school?” she asks when he catches up to her, bustling around the counters, grabbing pans and ingredients. “Here, wash these potatoes and tell me about your day.”
“Um, it was boring…” Eugene says, trailing off. It’s true, it was just another Thursday at school. Shelton looking at him was the highlight of his day, but he’s too ashamed to tell her that, his stomach churning for a reason he can’t quite place.
“Boring? That’s because you don’t do anything, Eugene,” his mother chides, pursing her lips at him. “I’ve been telling you for years, get involved. Eddie played football in the fall and baseball in the spring, he loved high school.”
Eugene slumps over the sink, scrubbing the potatoes one by one. Deacon noses at his leg, begging for food he can't eat. “That doesn’t interest me…” he trails off again, not knowing what to say.
“Why not? Sidney plays football, doesn’t he? He could teach you,” she says, leaning into his personal space to grab the cleaned potatoes and beginning to peel. “It would be good for you. You could make more friends, be in a team. It’s what normal boys your age do, not sit in their rooms planting flowers.”
Eugene leans away from her, face hot. What is she implying? That he’s abnormal? The barbs sting, and he wants to speak and defend himself, but there’s nothing he could possibly say to get her to respect him. He gives her a few frustrated glances as she chops her newly peeled potatoes and puts them in a pot.
The garage door opens and closes again, and this time Eugene’s ears perk up hopefully. His father enters the kitchen, placing his briefcase and keys down on the breakfast table, and greeting them both.
“What’s for supper, Mary Frank?” he asks, stepping toward them and rubbing a hand on each of their shoulders.
Mary Frank turns to give her husband a kiss. “Chicken, mashed potatos, and gravy, your favorite.” She gives him a big smile before turning and making eye contact with Eugene, smile replaced with a cold stare. “Eugene and I were just discussing his day at school.”
“Oh, how was your day, Eugene?” his father questions earnestly.
Eugene glances between them, a cruel gaze and a kindhearted one. “I—”
“Don’t bother asking him,” Mary Frank interrupts, clearly having waited for him to begin speaking. “It’s just same old same old. What he needs to do is join a sport and make plans for the future.”
“Eugene’s still young,” Dr. Sledge says, giving his wife a placating smile. “He still has time for all that.”
“He’s a junior in high school and he’s never joined a sport. I was just telling him how Eddie just loved playing football and baseball, and even Sidney too. It’s healthy for boys his age to join a team, and it looks great on a resume. Colleges look for things like that, you know.” She moves out of her husband's soft grip on her shoulder and continues filling the pot with chopped potatoes.
Dr. Sledge gives Eugene an apologetic look. “Don’t worry son, you don’t have to join a sport if you don’t want to. Your grades are high, I’m sure any college would be glad to accept you,” he says with a smile, giving Eugene’s shoulder an extra pat before letting go.
Eugene’s mother turns sharply. “But—”
“Don’t nag him anymore, Mary Frank,” Dr. Sledge says firmly, effectively shutting down the conversation. “Eugene, go on and set the table.”
Eugene looks between his parents again. His father forces a beam at him, but Eugene can tell he’s annoyed. Lately, Eugene and his mother had been having conflicts like this, and his father is ever the peacekeeper. His mother’s face is stretched in a harsh line, eyes dark and directed toward Eugene. Eugene clenches his jaw and turns around, grabbing plates from a cabinet and walking to the dining room to begin setting the table.
The dining room is similarly grand to the outside of the house, with the original frame moldings and trimmings still on the wall. His mother insists on supper being eaten together, as a family, in the dining room, every night. She says it’s a part of being a good Christian family. Eugene thinks that’s ridiculous. He would love to eat his supper without being victim to her harsh words, such peace seems more Christian.
Supper is tense, but Eugene’s father keeps his mother from any further badgering. Eugene numbly eats his serving in silence. He has no appetite and his mood makes the food tasteless.
After supper, his father leaves to watch the news and his mother begins the washing up. Eugene considers going back upstairs and hoping his mother doesn’t bother him for the rest of the night, but he’s been consistently watching the news on Katrina ever since before the storm. He’s ashamed to admit that there was an entertainment element at first, but after having Shelton as a classmate his perspective is slowly changing. Particularly today after that eye contact, Eugene finds himself curious. What had Shelton experienced? He follows his father to the family room, with a new Samsung flat-screen TV and a large, comfortable couch with armchairs on the side.
The TV is turned on to Fox News, showing President Bush addressing the nation. “Tonight so many victims of the hurricane and the flood are far from home and friends and familiar things. You need to know that our whole nation cares about you, and in the journey ahead you're not alone.”
Eugene thinks of Shelton, his stomach churning again like it did when he considered telling his mother about him. Eyes glued to the screen, he moves to sit next to his father on the couch. Deacon jumps onto the couch beside him, and Eugene idly strokes his head while listening to the speech.
“We will do what it takes, we will stay as long as it takes, to help citizens rebuild their communities and their lives. And all who question the future of the Crescent City need to know there is no way to imagine America without New Orleans, and this great city will rise again.”
President Bush’s words continue to ring through Eugene’s mind as he prepares for bed, brushing his teeth and changing into his pajamas. His mother peeks in to say goodnight, and he mumbles his reply, distracted. New Orleans, the Cresent City. He wonders what it was like before the storm. He’d been once, as a kid, on a day trip to the World War II museum, but he can’t particularly remember anything about it. Except the heat. And the music. Wherever they went, it seemed like someone was always playing music.
Eugene drifts into sleep without realizing it and wakes the next morning in a daze. He numbly gets dressed and eats his cereal, ignoring his mother going on a mini-rant about how apparently basketball sign-ups are starting at the school soon and her church friend’s son is joining.
When fourth period French III rolls around, Eugene feels shy at the prospect of Shelton looking at him again. When the other boy walks past, Eugene keeps his head down, sneaking a glance while Shelton sits down. He doesn’t dare look at him again as class goes on, not wanting to be caught staring again. When the teacher announces a partner activity, Eugene suppresses a groan. He doesn’t know anyone in this class. He looks from side to side, only to find the people sitting next to him already have partners.
“Hey.”
Eugene freezes at the voice before turning diagonally to face it, coming face-to-face with Merriell Shelton.
“D’ya wanna work together?” the other boy asks with a grin.
Eugene wills his face not to turn red. “Um, sure,” he squeaks out, picking his worksheet up and moving to the now-empty desk next to Shelton.
“Ya have a pencil I can borrow?” Shelton asks, grin still on his face.
“Sure…” Eugene reaches back to his desk and rummages through his pencil case until he finds one.
Shelton takes the pencil. “Thanks.”
“So, um, for number one, 'aller' in future tense…” Eugene trails off, thinking it through. After the long summer, he can’t quite remember things he learned in French II.
"Alé," Shelton says with some confidence.
Eugene furrows his brow. That’s not what he remembers. “It’s ‘I’ll go’ so… It’s got the J before it.”
"'J’alé' then?” Shelton suggests, now sharing Eugene’s confused expression.
“That’s ‘I went,’ Merriell,” the teacher chimes in, pacing the room to check up on each pair.
“I don’ really speak French, but I know a few things,” Shelton says. “An’ tha’s not what we’d say in New Orleans.”
“How would you say the sentence, then? This class is for European French, but the perspective from other dialects is always interesting,” she says eagerly. Her excitement makes Eugene a little sad, no one pays much attention in her class but she’s very passionate about the French language.
“‘I’ll go to the store,’” Shelton reads off his worksheet, furrowing his brow. “Maybe somethin’ like… M’alé o sto…?” He looks up at the teacher with a tentative look on his face, seemingly taken aback by her enthusiasm and unsure of his answer.
“I see, the Engish influence on the word for ‘store’ is so unique!” the teacher gushes, beaming at Shelton before walking to the next group of partners.
Shelton and Eugene meet eyes, both holding back a laugh.
“I think you just became her favorite student,” Eugene jokes with a giggle.
“So long as she don’ call on me for every question now, ‘s fine,” Shelton snickers. “‘Cuz I really don’ know how to speak French.”
They share another smile and continue with the worksheet. Eugene does the majority of the questions, although Shelton knows most of the answers, just not in the dialect the teacher is looking for. Shelton’s vocabulary is different than anything Eugene learned in school, but Eugene figures it’s probably correct, even if Shelton doesn’t know how to spell any of it. It’s charming, as are Shelton’s laugh and smile. The churning settles in Eugene’s stomach, and he’s left with warmth.