Chapter Text
A cage of confused, violent and paranoid adolescents from 9th to 12th grade. Everyone stuffed into a building that would both drain and fill their minds. The tiled floors didn't shine. The fluorescent lights themselves could trigger anyone's fight or flight responses. When you look close enough you could still see blood spatter on the ground and walls from the last fight. Sometimes a canine tooth would dislodge and slip under the lockers. It would be an unbelieved truth to everyone that the school had a janitor. Rumors of the horrid conditions at Davy Crockett High School would soon be known and confirmed by parents. The parents who cared, at least.
Whenever the bell rang you'd have five minutes to trudge through hallways brimming with everyone from 9th to 12th. It wasn't a school with a huge amount of kids but with how slow they all walked it might as well be. This would be the cell all shall drown in. This is the place you'd be smothered in until you moved away, dropped out or ,by some miracle, graduated. This is the building where you will officially lose hope for everything else that comes after. This is high school. Where you realize life isn’t a Broadway performance. Some students understood that early by seeing their parents, though.
It'd be a transition for anyone in any grade. Just going from one grade to the next is hard enough. Imagine what coming from a different public school would be like. Coming from an elite boarding school from the other side of the country is another story. The mind will never wrap around such a change to begin with. This was the midst of incomprehensible change Danielle had been pushed into. Going from high class to the dry, shrubbed, flat lands of the Midwest. Danielle would've loved to slip into the crowd, at least while he was still navigating everything. Unfortunately for Danielle, he'd stick out like a sore thumb.
He was tall and he was clearly an athlete. He talked differently from everyone else. His clothes were nicer and he was always put together. For the first week he figured he'd walk with a slouch to seem smaller. That didn't work. It only hurt his back. To be made a fool of was something so unfathomable to him. When he accidently sat in someone else's seat he’d argue with that student until class started. He was proven wrong, of course. And, naturally, he was the one to throw the first punch.
Clay was new-er to public school. He didn't go to a school such as Danielle's, he was homeschooled. Arthur would eventually lose his mind, shove Clay into a public school and call it a day. Fortunately for Clay, he did blend in with everyone else. Sort of. He was 17 but looked like he was 13. He had heavy bags under his eyes…scrawny. Smelled like cigarettes. The most he had going for him was his height. But it only made him look more out of place. Not enough meat to cover his bones. One teacher tried to talk to him about it but he only played with his hang-nails. His clothes were always ironed but his skin told another story. He blended into the crowd. Before, and after, roll call no one knew his name.
Since Clay had been homeschooled his entire life he never needed to talk to anyone else. Why would he? Whenever he talked to Arthur it was all insults anyways. His lack of socialization and experiences had made him extremely unpleasant and awkward to talk to. Nothing to talk about either. He'd look past you or wouldn't stop walking in some cases. He didn’t swear or curse but he didn’t need to. Puppington has a remarkable ability to bring down anyone who came across him. He didn't talk to anyone and that was the best case scenario anyone could hope for.
Clay had been there longer than Danielle. He had been there since 9th grade. He kept his head down until the end of 10th; where he'd intentionally piss off the jocks and get the lights beat out of him. He had been mostly used to a slap his whole life but there was more thrill in having the entire football team on you. You could only imagine his excitement to see the new athlete arrive.
___
"You're in my seat, kid."
"First of all, no I'm not. Second of all, I am not a kid. Third---"
"Why are you giving me a checklist? Just get out of my seat."
"What seat do you think this is?"
"Seat 17."
"This— the seat I'm sitting at— is seat 15. Try again. 17 is right where you're standing."
"...Right." Danielle slumped down into his seat. Embarrassment colored his face as he cracked his knuckles. The bones shifting in his hands. He could see the red on Danielle's face seep into his ears and back of his neck. This is a wonderful start.
"Don't feel too bad about it." The brunette leaned forward.
"Stop talking."
"Don't tell me what to do."
"What are you trying to do here? What's your goal?" Danielle turned around in his seat to look at Clay. He went quiet and looked down at his hands on the desk. Danielle scoffed before turning around and trying to fit into the miniscule desk. But now Clay could hardly see the front of the class. He was already in the back…he could just lean out a bit to see the front.
A heavy sigh, “Wouldn’t it make more sense for you to sit up here?” He hardly turned around. The other nodded his head lightly before they stood up and swapped seats. Clay muttered a thanks. Danielle only hummed lightly and went back to adjusting how he would sit. Clay wished he could watch but now he was in front of him. It’d be inexcusable if he was to turn around and just stare at him. For some reason his main mission of getting kicked seemed less savory. He’s already in such a bad mood. Letting off some of that steam would probably make both of us feel better. He passed the thought around in his mind before roll call began.
___
Puppington sits alone during lunch. He didn’t mind the solitude. It gave him the entire table. He could finish the homework he was supposed to do last night. There still wasn’t enough time to finish it but he’d finish the second half of the work in class. Risky business. There was a tan hand out of the corner of his eye. He lifted his gaze.
“Can I sit here?”
“You have everywhere else.”
“You have an entire table to yourself. Don’t be so selfish.” Danielle sat down and Clay shut his mouth. He looked back down at his paper but didn’t push his pencil down. He sat two seats away from Clay to the right.
“How old are you, by the way?” Danielle rested his cheek on the palm of his hand. He didn’t have lunch. He just looked bored. His body was facing towards him. Half-lidded eyes and a look on his face of boredom.
“17.”
“I thought you were a nine year old with the bubonic plague.”
“Did you just come here to heckle me? Wasn't earlier enough?”
“You were making fun of me earlier. Not the other way around.”
“I know what happened earlier, don't try to gaslight me.”
“I’m not— What are y— Okay.” Danielle let out a huff of annoyance as he looked around the cafeteria. They were all the way in the back. There were more tables than students. Everyone seemed to be talking to one another, loudly. The acoustics didn’t help the impending earache that was stewing. The floors were dull and dirty. Food that fell that had since been crusted over. Stains on the long oval tables. This table seemed to be the cleanest. It didn’t seem like anyone else besides Clay sat here though. He looks like he really doesn’t eat anything either. He brought his hand up to his collarbone as he debated on continuing to talk.
“Where’d you transfer from?”
“Fyodor Dostoevsky Boarding School.” He didn’t expect Clay to know what he said and he was right. He looked dumbfounded. “It’s some Russian guy.”
“Was he a communist?”
“No.”
“Oh, cool.”
“Mhm.” The mumble buzzed in his mouth. Tickled his throat. It went quiet again. The thick pressure of not knowing what to say or knowing how to act was practically crushing their rib cages.
“I don’t think I got your name.”
“Didn’t you hear it when roll call was being taken?”
“I don’t listen to anyone elses’ names.”
“Clay Puppington.”
“That’s your name?”
“Yes…you’re acting like there's something wrong with it.” Puppington looked up at Danielle.
“Oh no sorry…My name is Danielle Stopframe.”
“I know your name. I listen when the roll call is being taken.”
“Hm.”
Clay paused for a second. “I don’t know the protocol for this.” Danielle thought for a moment. He was a brat but it wasn’t like he was intimidating either. He seemed interesting enough.
“I’m pretty sure we’re friends now.”
“Pretty sure?”
“I don’t know anything about you besides your age and name.”
“Oh! Right. Uhhh—What do you want to know?”
“Anything.”