Chapter Text
"You knoww," Demi starts, and Norton gets the feeling he's going to regret ever picking up the phone just from the way she elongates the last word. "I've got a frie-"
"Don't set me up with strangers."
"It's not like that!" she sputters, indignant. "She just got broken up with- anyway, what I'm asking is if you can watch over her for a bit. She's on a student visa; came all the way from England on her own. 'M worried she'll get lost or something, or like, die of culture shock."
His eyebrow is so raised it's ready to start a family. "Are you like.. slow? Culture shock isn't going to electrocute her."
"You don't know that! What if she freezes to death in the middle of the night because she doesn't know Fahrenheit on the thermostat?" Either Demi or this British girl is an idiot. "Or she tries to drink." She's under 21? Who goes abroad straight out of high school..? And to California no less--probably a rich kid, now that he thinks about it. Just another holiday destination for them. It sort of makes sense to go abroad to Cali instead of some random state like Nebraska.
Norton sighs, his thumb hovering over the disconnect button. He's barely a sophomore, and he'd rather not be responsible for some random chick who may or may not be a dumbass. "Look, sure you're worried but like...why would you ask me? I'm not exactly the most welcoming person. I hate the British, actually. I woulda thrown their tea into the harbor and-"
"Such a patriot, love that, but Mel--her name's Melly Ndlovu, by the way. Remember it. People usually have horrible first impressions of you, and forgetting their name doesn't help," Demi interrupts, as if he wants to know this girl enough to make an impression. "She's going to the same school as you, that's why. Total scholar, so I have no clue why she's going there."
Saying this after he busted his ass off getting a scholarship and while she's at some random barista academy? He needs to get some better friends. "Hey, we've got the acceptance rate of an Ivy League."
"Like, the worst one."
"Still an Ivy." With how picky UCs are getting, they might as well be one.
Demi lets out an exasperated noise, demanding, "Are you going to do it or not? It's not like you'll be babysitting--just check up on her every once in a while, answer any questions she's got." He hears her keyring jingle in the background with the rattle of a door closing. "C'mon, are you really gonna leave a poor, heartbroken little Bri-"
"Yeah. Can't her NSA do it or something?" A girl like her would probably pay for orientation.
She groans, and the chime of her car unlocking itself follows. "For like, a week maybe? You're reliable!" He is not. "I trust you more than some half-assed undergrad guide." They are both half-assed undergrads. "Look." He has pretty bad eyesight. "I'll buy you groceries for a semes-"
"Gimme her number."
☁︎
"Do you remem-"
"Yes, I can see the school from here," she mutters, her nails tapping against the keypad to her door. "I imagine it's harder not to." It's within all of her efforts to keep the snark to a minimum, but good grief is it hot here. The jet lag isn't of much contribution either--a grand six hours with the American dream and she's already ready to wake up.
Melly's irritation does nothing to deter Demi's concern; she supposes that's a good thing, but with just a month or so until she begins instruction, she'd like to be left alone. It's not as if Melly completely abhors the idea of receiving help, but she's being coddled like this is a different planet. The language is the same, disregarding the absence of some u's and some inconsequential produce. She'll manage. "I've got a friend," Demi starts--she's got so many she could fill one of those old phone books, but that's a quip she'll expect--her fingers twiddling with her keys. "Sophomore here. Call him if you need help, 'kay?"
"I'll be fine," she assures, awkwardly fumbling with the strange doorknob. The door swings open with her weight, her knees buckling at the sudden swaying of her hold. Melly purses her lips together and exhales shakily as she fights to maintain her thin veneer of composure.
"He'll just be there to answer any questions," her friend continues, lugging a box in her arms, "you know, check up on you every once in a while since I can't. You might even see him around!"
"What's his major?"
Demi sets down her cargo with a thud, a hand on her chin. "Err... finance? Something about money." Are they even close?
And in what world is she going to see a finance major around? "I doubt it, then," Melly remarks, tugging her suitcase away from the wall it's bumped into. There aren't many doors in this little unit, so she doesn't have to look much before finally stumbling upon a bed. "Thank you for the offer."
Demi laughs, sitting on the mattress as Melly falls into it. She's glad she's not wearing makeup as the sheets smother her face. "Not an offer. I already paid him."
Groggily, she lifts her head. "You... what?"
"Bought his help with some groceries. He's a pretty simple guy--you'll get along, I think." To anyone who didn't know any better, Melly's current expression would be the reason she's single. "Oh c'mon! It's not like he's babysitting you-"
"You... paid him to watch over me. That's babysitting," she deadpans.
"It wasn't paying, it was convincing," Demi corrects. "I gave him your number, but he probably won't call or anything. Unless he's feeling nice. He never is, though."
Great. So Demi's enlisted some rude finance guy to babysit her. Melly burrows her face back into the duvet, the fabric muffling a groan. "Just...fine. Okay." She's too tired to deal with this. "Give me his." What's the use of only him having her contact info if she's the one asking for help..?
There's a lot of rustling that pervades her ears, then a firm press of her thumb against the fingerprint sensor of her phone. Demi's nails clack against the screen; a cacophony that's almost lulling if not for its brevity. "Here," she announces, and the blanket depresses just slightly beside her. She has just enough sense to fumble her arm about until it reaches the cold metal of her phone. "I'll be out, set up some stuff for you."
She attempts to nod, before settling on a weak thumbs-up and a pitifully mumbled thanks.
☁︎
So he's feeling nice today. That's rare. Demi's a friend; yeah she's ditzy, idiotically optimistic, and too extroverted, but she's what he would consider close to him. It's relative. Compared to the average stranger, he treats her pretty well. Compared to conventions, she should've dropped him a long, long time ago. Low standards are a must for interacting with him. It's mutual, anyway. He's expecting the girl on the other side of the door to be some heartbroken blue-eyed blonde who wears money like retail workers wear frowns. Makeup too--he doesn't remember what it's supposed to look like, but he remembers Vera making an off-handed remark about it. Vera's...French? Or Italian, something along the lines, and they get along decent. Same continent, so maybe he can extrapolate. He could introduce them to each other if they're willing to put behind like, a dozen wars behind them. It's only France, he thinks. Does Rome count? Yeah, Rome's in Italy. He doesn't think middle school history was supposed to prepare him for mediating Europeans. It didn't prepare him very well anyway.
Neither did Demi, because he's staring at this door and trying to think of any other course of action besides knocking.
Unfortunately, knocking is the best course of action here. He's not some comp sci kid or whatever major teaches the necessary skillset for getting through the keypad, and he's also not the type of creep to break into some girl's apartment. Demi didn't pay him enough for that. Why not knock? the misguided, uninformed part of him asks. It's literally just a door. Maybe he should add logical there too, but that's admitting the rest of him is illogical. This would be correct, but it also works against his gargantuan pride.
Foolishness, the egotistical and unnecessarily bombast part of him spits. Knocking invites...social interaction. Ew. Big no. Norton's barely the type of person to have conversations, let alone start them. The only times he's texted first are on group projects or when he needs something, which says a lot about the benefits of befriending him.
So, am I just gonna wait here until like, she knocks? That's a stupid idea. Who knocks on their own door, from the inside of their apartment? Who even asks that question? Me, he admits, forcing his knuckles to rap against the white wood of the door. At least he's easy to convince. He's proud of himself until he realizes that trait is exactly what got him into this ordeal.
He's got enough propriety to straighten up once the door swings open--the knob twists and jingles for a bit before, which isn't doing much to help the idiot allegations. Norton has had his moments with strange furniture, but this is literally a doorknob.
Heartbroken? Maybe. She looks a little frazzled, but that could be jet lag. Blue eyes? Check. Blonde? Definitely not. Rich? He's pretty sure he's better dressed than she is. This is her home, though. Makeup? Definitely none--there's a red blemish on her face he can't exactly make out. "And you are..?" she asks, and if he was even slightly worried about having the wrong girl, the accent clears it up immediately. He has to move his head down to look at her, which is pretty standard, but it's not a huge amount. She's closer to six feet than five, but she probably doesn't know that. Centimeters, she's...definitely more than a meter. Anyways, she doesn't look like a little kid. Since he completely judges people by their covers, that means less babysitting.
"..Norton Campbell," he answers, and his name sounds unfamiliar the moment he says it. He doesn't introduce himself like this much--usually people know his name from roll call sheets, profiles, IDs, all that stuff. Norton isn't popular by any means, but he's recognizable. A guy like him is pretty hard to miss. So is the confusion blatant on Mel...anie? Melody? Melissa, he decides. "Demi sent." Did she really not even tell her his name..?
She nods, but even he can tell her apprehension has yet to fully disappear. "Does she need anything?"
Besides a class on minding her own business, not much. The prospective barista/barmaid/bartender/something-with-b is pretty set for life. "Just wanted me to check on you."
"Oh."
"Yeah." This is going to get awkward.
It inevitably does, after fifteen seconds or so of staring at each other with mouths that close only to open again with half-baked thoughts. "...Do you need anything?" Norton finally asks. Melissa shakes her head, and her brown hair is anything but inside the hair tie vaguely hanging on. "Cool." There is nothing remotely cool about it, but okay. "You have my number, right?" She nods, contributing so much to the conversation. He imitates the movement--someone told him it was something good listeners did, and Demi said to make a good first impression. Forgetting her name was probably counterproductive to that, but it's not like he's needed to use it yet.
He has to restrain himself from saying 'Cool' again. First of all, it'd be totally uncool, and second of all, there are so many four-letter words to substitute. Like nice, or neat, or maybe even yeah. He already used that though. "...See you around," he decides, walking off before he can witness her response. She doesn't say goodbye. Maybe she waved? Who waves to someone whose back is turned, though?
Idiot allegations, he remembers. Right.
☁︎
Demi is...horrendous at describing people. Or maybe Melly is just bad at picturing them..? Every time she sees the show version of a book series, she can't tell who's who. Maybe she should be a little easier on the woman--the details she gave were vague, so the claim that Melly's assumptions were the problem would have some weight to it.
Melly assumed Norton Campbell--his name is new information; probably a premonition for how wrong she was--would be some mean, laidback, posh smart guy. Because... finance is all about maths and.. it makes a lot of money so-? She assumed he would be easily irritable, and 'simple,' whatever that was supposed to be like. She assumed he would be a minute presence in her life, vaguely in the background, scamming Demi out of her money.
She assumed wrong. Assumptions were actually what ended her first, last, and only relationship, so...that's something to improve on.
Norton Campbell isn't mean--at least from the impression he gave in their short encounter. He's also not as laidback as she thinks if he's willing to check on her so soon, and he's definitely not posh if his way of dress has anything to say about it; sure it's hot now, but she gets the feeling he wears that shirt and cargo shorts every season. Norton is definitely not the brightest in the social department either, but he didn't seem so annoyed. And he's anything but minute. Not as tall as some of the guys on the basketball team, but definitely towered over the average person (she's the average person in question). Most of all, he...has a slight resemblance to Prince Zuko.
The last part is probably not the kindest of remarks, but it's also the truest so far. There is no way someone doesn't look at him and think 'You know, that scar reminds me of Prince Zuko,' or some other relevant pop-culture character with a scar on their face. She would've figured out he was from the peephole if that's what Demi put his contact as, but instead, she got a tent and a bell emoji. Camp-bell. It makes sense now, but only because she actually knows his name. Heaven help those accursed with Demi Bourbon's poor decisions.
It probably isn't Heaven if Demi's in it.
All in all, Norton is surprisingly not the worst person. Incredibly awkward and socially inept, but that's more relatable than unredeeming. He's struggling a lot more than she is if he's willing to babysit some random girl for money--Demi hardly has the funds to pay any exorbitant sum. To be entirely honest, he's a bit pathetic. It's not as if she cares enough to feel bad about him, no. He's just...well, his current state leaves a lot to be desired. At least his major offers him some lucrative career choices? As wildly incorrect as her assumptions about him have been, he's probably the sort of guy to major in finance just for the money. She can't imagine how someone would be passionate about it anyway. What's so alluring about managing money? At least the esoterica nobody knows about is interesting. Maybe he makes up for it by being interesting himself? The scar certainly serves that purpose. It's probably the product of some mundane accident, though.
She hopes she's right. If it ends up being extremely traumatic or something, it'll make her out to be an insensitive prick. Not that it'd be wrong, just bad for any recommendation letters. He doesn't seem like the type of person to blab about someone being mean anyway, but she should probably get used to being wrong all the time.
Actually, Demi should. Norton hasn't called yet, but he's texted three times or so in the past week. Nothing too important--just some tips to make life a little more efficient. Like how expensive trash cans are, and to skip the 'useless 1 am orientation stuff.' She has no idea what he's talking about, but maybe she'll figure it out. Melly has had to tack that last part onto most details so far. Up until now, the most risky 'figuring out' she'd had to do was formulas on math exams or vague texts from her boy- ex, boyfriend. Well, now that he's gone, it makes her life a little simpler.
Every cloud has a silver lining, she remembers. Unless the sky is full of them. Then there's no lining.
Well, here's to hoping the courses for optimism don't fill up too fast.