Chapter Text
Page 1 28/08/07
By any and all means, Harold Mcgrady the fifth is not popular, he never has been, never will be, at least in a social-sense. And he’s fine with that, just fine! But Wawanakwa High was different, 10th grade was different, it’s all different! His parents had transferred him to a new school, he was perfectly fine in the school he went to, but his parents wanted him to go to a "normal" school, and he thinks it was just an excuse for them to sell their old house that had a glaring black mold issue they refused to treat.
This school was huge, way too huge. Harold sucked in a deep breath and abandoned his old friends for this new opportunity he hadn’t asked for, a new schedule and new people and new classes with each of their own teachers respectfully. Locker, schedule, agenda, alright. Fine. Just the basics. Harold would be fine, he’s strong! His mental fortitude is like, 100!
< — 🛸.☆+﹡.✧’* . . . . . . . . .
04/09/07
One week in and nevermind, he’s not fine. Harold hasn’t spoken to a single person who wasn’t a teacher. He needs friends, and fast, before the school bullies* catch on that he’s the weakest link. He takes out his phone, snaps the keyboard out, and thinks about what he can do. Multiple methods are most efficient, and when he’s done he can publish a guide to making friends which can make him even more friends in the process! It’s genius! But how does one make friends in the first place? He hadn’t really ever approached anyone himself, so now he has to think.
(* To be fair, Harold hasn’t really met them, but they look mean, well, at least the blonde and the one with the out-of-fashion mohawk do.)
After a bit of thinking, he types, something he’s quite efficient with, getting all the things he proposes could work down.
1. JOIN A CLUB
2. VOLUNTEER(?)
3. START A CLUB
4. PUT UP POSTERS FOR YOU AND YOUR CLUB
5. TALK TO PEOPLE (about what?)
6. CLOSELY WATCH POTENTIAL FRIENDS TO FIND COMMON INTERESTS
7. ATTEND EVENTS
8. JOIN THE TALENT SHOW
Harold reviews his list, looking it over about a hundred times before figuring it’s perfect and could not be improved on, smiling to himself and rolling his chair over to his computer to log onto his favorite fantasy roleplay forum, chatting, catching up on what he had missed and updating his characters before tucking himself into bed. He does his nightly routine, taking off his glasses, setting his fan on high for the nice sound of the blades spinning, and falling quickly to sleep with the help of his trusty melatonin.
Page 2 05/09/07
Harold wakes up excited for the day to begin, a first since starting at Wawanakwa High. He dresses himself, runs to the bathroom to brush his hair, slips his DS, phone, notebook, emergency D&D character sheets and dice set, agenda and pencil case into his bag. Today is the day to test his methods, which in the way of scientific study, is always the best step, at least to him.
The walk to school is quick, and he wishes the day could go by like the walk as well. Harold steps through the door, stumbling over to his locker through the rushing crowd of people. As he finds it hard to see through the crowd, he bumps into someone, a blonde girl who was in his class, her groaning and rubbing at her forehead. “Ow!” She whines, elongating the simple exclamation as Harold rubs the back of his hand against his own forehead. “Uh, sorry. Um, you have something behind your ear-” He sees opportunity, fishing a coin from his pocket, slipping it between his index and his thumb and pretending to pull it from her ear, she stares shocked at the toonie and Harold wonders if she somehow hasn’t seen the trick before.
“Woah, how did that fit there?!” She feels her ear, and Harold reaches out to offer the coin to her. “I’m Harold.” She smiles at him and takes the coin. “I’m Lindsay!” She says before someone in the crowd catches her attention, her walking off to go speak to them. Harold sighs, could he consider that making a friend? He doesn’t think that she’s ever going to talk to him again, so no. Well, a positive interaction is a positive interaction, at least he has one of those.
Harold has English as a first period, spending it mostly scribbling stars and the Cool S into his notebook. The next period is far more intriguing, Phys Ed. A great opportunity to make friends! That is, if he were actually good at sports, of course he isn’t terrible, but out of any and all sports they have to play soccer, and Harold cringes. As goalie, he somehow gets a ball to the face, defense? Nearly twists his ankle. And of course, as offense he scores no goals. On the opposite team he ends up facing off against a boy with messy brown hair and short stubble often, he looks like an outcast, even more than him. “Gosh, are you targeting me or something?” Harold comments, and the boy seems a little puzzled. “No way! I just like your glasses, eh!” His expression is a dumb smile as Harold manages to kick the ball to one of his teammates. “Well thank you..?” Harold says as he steps away to follow the ball, the boy staying in place.
After getting verbally assaulted by Coach Hatchet, who was also Chef Hatchet, who was also Supervisor Hatchet, Harold sits down on a wobbly bench, having sweat right through his gym uniform. While staring idly at the ground, pairs of legs come into his vision, and when he looks up he sees the boys he had mentally noted as looking bully-ish. One of them was some sort of punk emo thing, it was clear he was going for a punk style but he didn’t seem to follow the ideologies, well, maybe anarchy. The other was blonde, notably wore shutter-shades to class and got yelled at by the teacher last period, and seemed to love to party, though he seemed more like a follower than anything. The last was probably the tallest student at the school, he looked far more kindhearted and seemed to just be friends with these guys, not a bully. Anyways, it’s not like any of that matters, he seems to be their newest target. Operation make friends was a little too late to save him from this it seems.
“Do you even know how to play the game? You nearly made us lose, not to mention you run like a girl.” The goth-emo-punk complains, pointing at Harold, and in response he stands defensively. “Burn!” The blonde shouts supportively, and the tallest one laughs at his excited demeanor. “I'm not the one wearing eyeliner.” Harold retorts, finding it hypocritical someone wearing makeup would say he runs like a girl.
The glares he gets are not kind, and soon he gets yanked forward by the collar of the school's skin-irritating gym shirt. Despite the punk-themed bullies intentions, his attempts at intimidation are mitigated by the fact Harold is about the same height as him. “Listen closely, dweeb,” He starts, his friends standing silent behind him. “You keep talking to me like that and I'll make you wish you were never born.” Once again, the blonde shouts in support of him. “Yeah!” He practically cheers as the punk blatantly threatens Harold. “By physical violence, I'm saying I'm going to beat you up.” The punk seems to be mildly confused, and annoyed, by Harold's lack of any response, feeling the need to state the obvious. “Go Duncan!” The blonde yells, and Harold mentally notes the name. Suddenly the grip on his shirt is released and Duncan turns around to face his friends. “Jesus, Geoff! I don't need you hyping me up the whole time!” Duncan seems to think it makes him look weak, guiding his two friends away to Harold's luck.
Harold stands still as he recounts the interaction he just had, before a voice breaks him out of his thoughts. “He's already picking on the new kid? What a jerk.” Harold looks down to his right to view the source of the voice, a short boy looking disappointedly off into the distance before turning his head to him and smiling. He looked like an 8th or 9th grader, but he was in his class so he couldn't be. “What's his problem?” Harold asks, watching as the boy who's probably three quarters his height leans back against the wall. “My guess is gay and insecure, I've never seen him pick on a girl! Well, maybe Katie and Sadie.” He looks a bit puzzled. “What's the probability of that?” Harold chimes, smiling a bit. “We would need a whole lot of statistics to figure that out, I think.” He scratches his head and looks to Harold, reaching a hand out. “I'm Cody!” Harold accepts his hand and shakes it, Cody gripping his hand and shaking it almost violently.
Harold rubs his wrist once Cody lets go of it, a little sore. “Sorry for the sweaty palms.” Harold apologizes, Cody grinning pridefully. “Wouldnt've noticed, mine are sweaty too.” Harold stares awkwardly, this is a chance to make a friend and he cannot blow it. He takes a deep breath “What do you-” Harold is cut off before he can finish his sentence. “Do you want to be my friend?” Cody asks simply. “Yeah.” Harold shrugs, and they both just stare at each other for a bit. “Cool, cool.” Cody speaks nonchalantly, and Harold has a similar uncaring tone as he responds. “Cool.”
The bell ringing indicates recess, and they both begin to walk their separate ways, Harold punching the air excitedly. Operation make friends is not a bust, it can be done! He guesses that proves method #5 as working. Harold turns, seeing Cody jumping excitedly, facing away from him, and he smiles, clearly they share similar reactions to making friends. The rest of the day goes by without much of anything interesting happening, but Harold goes home feeling accomplished.
Page 3 06/09/07
The next day Harold meets Cody in the hallway, who's carrying a tall stack of textbooks in his hands, Harold instinctively grabbing half the stack. “I'm basically the teacher's aid at this point, I'm the only one who cares to help them.” Cody comments, Harold following behind him as he carries the stack to the English teacher's room. “I'll totally help you out when you need it.” Harold smiles. When they arrive at the class Cody sets down the textbooks on the teacher's desk, and Harold sets the rest on top of them.
— 🍎 ✃. . . . ➶➷ ➶➷
The principal chuckles, sticking his nameplate onto the wooden base. “I think I'll call it ‘Extreme Danger Hockey’, which is a very awesome name that I came up with. Chef?” Hatchet sighs, crossing his arms. “Extreme Danger because it's extremely dangerous.” Hatchet replies coldly. “Well, ‘Extreme’ like Extreme Sports, but Danger Extreme Hockey just doesn't roll off the tongue as well. Do you have any objections?” Hatchet laughs at the man's question. “No way! It's a great idea, Chris.” He grins, and Chris does too. “So we need fake ice, a whole ton of skates, get like, ten in every size, and don't forget the saw blades and pyrotechnics!”