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Lando’s half-sharpened pencil rolls across the smooth surface of his desk. He idly stops it with his finger, then flicks it back the other way. Then again. And again.
He’s not supposed to be doing this—Miss Barry is talking about an important matter. He knows that because her voice has that same steady, serious tone it always does when she’s saying something that should be listened to. And Lando tries to listen, really, but he’s already spent all his sitting-still energy for the day, and his fingers have to move or his legs will start bouncing under the desk, and last time that happened, he knocked over his chair and someone laughed, and then Miss Barry scolded him for distracting the class again.
The pencil rolls too far. His hand reaches for it, fingers stretching out—
“—Oscar Piastri.”
The words snap him back. He grabs the pencil, blinks up at the front of the class, and—
Oh.
The new pup is standing there. He looks weird. Not bad-weird. Just… weird.
Miss Barry says he’s an alpha, but he’s not big like an alpha should be. But he’s not small like an omega either. Just scrawny. His uniform is too neat, like maybe his mum made him stand still while she fixed him all proper before he left home. His hair is kind of messy, though, in that way that looks like it never really stays in place no matter how much you brush it. He’s standing stiff, shoulders tight, eyes down, like he’s waiting for something to happen, or maybe just wondering when he’s allowed to sit.
Lando knows a lot of alphas. His older brother is one. His dad is one. He’s met plenty in school, too. They’re all loud, or big, or bossy, or all three, and they all take up too much space.
Oscar doesn’t, not really.
Miss Barry is still talking. Lando tilts his head. Something about how Oscar moved from Australia, from a place on the other side of the world. Something about how he’s going to be in their class now. Something, something, something. Somewhere between her insistent somethings, he stops listening again. He’s too busy staring, trying to figure this new pup out.
Alphas have strong scents. Even young ones. They’re not as intense as adults, but they still have some kind of presence—make you notice them even before they say anything. But Oscar… doesn’t smell like much at all. Lando has to actually try to catch it, and even then, it’s barely there.
Weird.
Miss Barry gestures to the seat next to him, and it belongs to Amelia Harris, but she is absent today.
“Go ahead and take a seat, Oscar. Tomorrow we will sort you out properly.”
Oscar doesn’t move right away, but then he does, slowly, like he’s hoping no one will actually look at him while he walks over. Which is silly, because of course everyone is looking. That’s what happens when you’re the new pup.
Lando props his chin on his hand, watching as Oscar slips into the seat beside him. He doesn’t look up. Doesn’t fidget. Doesn’t do anything, really. He just sits there, quiet, hands in his lap. And it’s making Lando want to say something. He doesn’t know what. Maybe something about Australia. Or maybe something not about Australia, since Oscar probably gets asked about that a lot over here.
He glances down at his pencil. Then, very deliberately, pushes it just a little to Oscar’s empty desk.
A test, just to see if he’ll react.
Oscar doesn’t. Lando waits. A second. Then another. Nothing.
Weird.
Most pups would at least look. Maybe push the pencil back. Maybe take it. Maybe whisper “Hey, that’s yours” or “What are you doing?” but Oscar just sits there, hands still in his lap, eyes still on his desk, like he didn’t even notice—or didn’t want to notice.
His brows pinch in a frown. Maybe Oscar’s brain is somewhere else. That happens to him a lot. He’ll get stuck thinking about, like, the way the classroom clock ticks a little faster than it should, or how the sunlight filtering through the windows makes his desk feel warmer on one side, and completely misses what’s happening around him.
So, maybe Oscar really didn’t notice. Lando pushes the pencil a little more. And now, it’s annoying. Not in a bad way, just in a confusing way. He wiggles in his seat. He isn’t supposed to talk while Miss Barry is explaining their assignment, but technically, if he’s really quiet, it doesn’t count, right?
He leans his head toward Oscar, voice barely above a whisper.
“Oi.”
The pup blinks, and turns just enough to glance back at him. His eyes are a weird color. Not brown, not green. Something in between.
“You gonna take it or what?”
Oscar stares at it for a beat or two, and reaches out for it. Picks it up. Turns it in his long fingers.
For a second, Lando thinks he’s going to keep it. He almost says, “You can, if you want” just to maintain conversation, but before he can, Oscar sets it back down. Right in the middle of his desk, and doesn’t look at him anymore, because he’s already facing forward again, hands back in his lap, quiet as ever.
Huh.
Lando picks up his pencil, tapping it against the edge of his desk. He kind of wants to poke Oscar’s arm, but not in a mean way—just to check if he’s really, really real, and not a scentless, imaginary australian pup that his mind made up to entertain himself with his boredom.
He doesn’t, though. Miss Barry is watching.
“You don’t talk much, huh?”
Oscar takes a couple of seconds to answer, and his voice is so low he almost doesn’t hear it, “Not really.”
His lips tug up into a grin. “That’s okay,” he says, flipping his pencil between his fingers. “I talk enough for both of us. So—”
Theo Ledger, who sits on his right, jabs him in the arm.
“Oi,” he whispers, leaning in like he’s got the most important thing to say in the world. “We need to figure out how to get the ball back at recess.”
His brain shifts gears so fast he almost forgets what he was doing before. “Right. Miss Clarke still won’t let us have it, huh?”
Theo shakes his head, scowling. “Not after Evan chucked the other one over the gate last week, that wanker.”
Lando groans, flopping dramatically over his desk. “That wasn’t even us!”
“I know!”
“It’s not fair!”
“I know!” the redhead pup exclaims hushedly.
They exchange a look. Lando taps his chin, thinking.
“We just need someone really good at convincing people.”
Theo tilts his head, lifting a brow at him. “What, like you?”
“Obviously,” Lando puffs up his chest. Theo looks skeptical.
“You got us banned from the pitch, too, once—”
“That was not my fault—”
“Mr. Green said you dared—”
“I didn’t tell him to actually do it—”
“Ahem.”
Both of them freeze at Miss Barry’s clearing of her throat. She is staring, and Theo instantly goes red. Lando straightens up in his seat like nothing happened, schools his expression into something innocent, something perfectly who, me? I wasn’t talking at all, but Miss Barry isn’t buying it.
“Eyes on your work, boys,” she says sharply.
Theo ducks his head, ears burning scarlet. Lando’s very pointedly not looking at the other pups who are definitely watching, and instead, he glances left, to where Oscar is scribbling something on his school book. Not writing—just scribbling those mindless little swirls and lines you do when your brain is somewhere else entirely.
Weird.
Football talk is quickly replaced by the paper in his desk. Lando always tries to be the first to finish his work. Not because he’s in a rush—well, maybe a little—but mostly because it feels awesome to be done first. To hand his paper over before anyone else. To lean back in his chair, stretch his arms behind his head, and bask in the victory of beating the entire class at something.
So, he goes through the first question. Easy. The second. Fine. The third—wait, what does that word say? His brain stumbles over it, letters jumbling up before he can pin them down. He blinks. Squints. No, that’s—oh, right. He knows that word. He just had to think for a second.
Okay. Keep going. He glances to the side. Theo is still frowning at his own paper. Good. Lando is ahead. He can do this. He speeds up. His handwriting is a little messier now, but that’s fine. It still counts. Almost there. Almost—
A chair scrapes against the floor.
His head snaps up just in time to see Oscar already at Miss Barry’s desk, handing in his paper.
Lando gapes. No way. Looks down at his own sheet—two questions left. If he hadn’t gotten stuck for that second, maybe he would’ve won. But he didn’t. Oscar beat him to it. Just barely, because he rushes to finish, and practically slams his paper in Miss Barry’s desk right after Oscar turns away.
It doesn’t matter. Second place isn’t first.
As he trudges back to his seat, he side-eyes Oscar, squinting slightly. The pup doesn’t look like a smug bastard. Doesn’t even look like he cares.
He is so, so weird.
Dropping into his chair, Lando huffs, unsure whether he’s annoyed or impressed about him.
When the bell finally rings, chaos erupts. Chairs scrape, papers shuffle, and pups chatter as they rush to leave. Theo is already halfway to the door before he realizes Lando isn’t following, so he doubles back, grabbing his sleeve.
“Come on!”
“You go,” Lando says, waving him off.
Theo frowns. “What? Why?”
Lando shrugs. He doesn’t really have a reason that makes sense—at least, not one he can explain to Theo. Just that Oscar hasn’t said a single word to anyone except him, and he doesn’t want to leave him alone in the classroom.
Also, he is a bit curious.
The redhead groans. “Fine, whatever. See you.”
“Yeah, bye,” Lando says, but Theo is already gone, vanishing with the rest of the lads through the door.
Now it’s just him. And Oscar.
Oscar, who is taking his time packing up, quiet as ever. He slips his paper into his folder like he’s being extra careful with it. Lando doesn’t think he’s stalling, exactly. More like he just doesn’t care about keeping up with everyone else, which—it’s cool.
So, he watches him for a second. Then, without really thinking about it, he leans in and asks,
“Do you like football?”
Oscar pauses. His fingers still on the edge of his folder, and for the first time since class started, he meets his eyes, and he says, simple and quiet, “Yeah.”
“Cool,” Lando grins, rocking back on his heels. “Come on, then.”
Surprisingly enough, Oscar follows him.
The schoolyard is crowded. Pups run across the pavement, shouting and laughing, shoes scuffing against the ground as they chase each other. Some are playing tag, some are huddled together trading sweets. The usual. Lando steps outside with Oscar right behind him, scanning the playground until he spots Theo and the rest of the lads sulking near the shed.
“Alright, first we have to get the ball back.”
Theo perks up when he sees them. “Took you long enough.”
Lando ignores that. Instead, he turns to Oscar.
“Okay,” he says, clasping his hands behind his back, tilting his head in what he’s pretty sure is his sweetest expression. “Would you be so kind as to ask Miss Clarke about the ball?”
Oscar makes a face. It’s the most expressive he’s been all day. “Why me?”
“Because she likes new pups, and you’re new.”
“And?” Oscar still looks unconvinced.
“And she doesn’t like us,” Theo mutters. “Not after last week.”
Lando waves a hand, for some reason having the urge to defend himself. “I didn’t throw the ball over the gate, so technically, she has no reason to be mad at me.”
Theo snorts. “Yeah, but you were there, and she remembers that.”
Sighing dramatically, he turns back to Oscar. “It’s easy, just—do the quiet, innocent thing you do. Tell her you really, really want to play football, and it’s your first day, and—”
Oscar raises an eyebrow, skeptical. “I didn’t say I really, really wanted to play—” and oh, his accent is thick, curling around the edges of his words.
“Oh, c’mon, mate. It’s our only chance,” Theo pleads.
With a sigh, finally, Oscar surrenders, and walks towards Miss Clarke’s direction, where she is standing near the benches, keeping an eye on the younger pups. She’s got the ball tucked under one arm, holding it like it’s a confiscated treasure. Lando watches, suddenly feeling a little nervous—he hadn’t expected Oscar to actually do it.
They are far enough to not be able to actually hear what they are talking about, but Lando sees Oscar fidget with his fingers, shoulders slumping slightly, like he is really putting on an act. Miss Clarke seems unfazed at first, but the more Oscar chats with her, the more her posture loosens, until she’s handing the ball to him.
What!
Theo elbows him immediately, eyes wide. “Did he just—”
And then, Oscar is walking back over to them, tossing the ball straight into Lando’s arms, and he barely catches it in time. It thuds against his chest, and he scrambles to wrap his arms around it, blinking at Oscar like he’s just witnessed a miracle.
Theo is still gaping, that moron.
“How did you do that?” Lando demands, as they all walk to the grass pitch.
Oscar shrugs, hands stuffed in his pockets. “I asked.”
“Unbelievable,” he says, then brightens up, holding the ball above his head. “You’re playing too, right? It’s only fair, since you got the ball for us.”
There is a little hesitation in his face, but Oscar nods.
Relieved, he grins. “Good.”
And then he’s tossing the ball up, catching it with his foot, and with all the force in his little body, kicking it straight into the game.