Chapter Text
Franklin Clarke was not made for other people. Most people, if they were to examine his life from an objective point of view, would deduce that Franklin must be very lonely.
This was not the case. Rather, Franklin was simply not cut out to exist among peers. Psychologists had called him socially anxious and selectively mute and easily overwhelmed. Different official-sounding terms that all meant more of the same;
Franklin did not play well with others.
This was evidently why he was pulled out of school when he was seven years old. He’d stopped talking to his teachers, to other children, to his parents. He’d stopped talking altogether.
Homeschool would be much more effective, his parents had decided. They hired tutors to come to their mansion until Franklin was so eager to learn that he would rather teach himself. Franklin was very good at teaching himself.
His life, filled with an endless supply of books and long hallways and his mother’s vinyl record collection, was not a lonely one. Just a quiet one. A boring one. His house was made up of all the things Franklin had tried to keep himself company with.
Sewing and math and music and cooking (he was not very good at cooking). What else was there left to do?
The answer came in a phone call. A phone call he’d received from his father, who was away in London for a conference regarding his work in psychology, the summer before he’d turned fourteen. Calls from his parents were like shooting stars, rare to catch sight of and never to be taken lightly
“You could enroll somewhere for high school,” his father had said, though he sounded pretty bored with the conversation already. He was very easily bored. “If you’re really so eager to try and go to school again.”
Franklin wouldn't describe what he felt as ‘eager’. It was more like…. Morbid curiosity. He hadn’t gone to a real school since the second grade. He hadn’t even tried to make friends after that disaster. He hardly left the house. The idea of assimilating to a new place, a crowded place, full of people and rules he didn’t know, set his heart racing in the worst way.
Franklin cast a look around the study he’d made camp in for the day. The chess board set up at the table (he’d been playing himself again), the sheet music neatly folded on the piano bench (he’d never finished composing a piece before), the half-eaten sandwich on a plate balanced atop the windowsill (he didn’t really like eating).
What else was there left to do?
He couldn’t take another year in this big house.
So, Aglionby Academy was what they had decided on. It was a logical choice. The town it was located in, Henrietta, was only a forty-five minute bus ride from where Franklin already lived. It was a boarding school, one Franklin’s father had attended at one point or another. The Clarkes were happy to become steady donors in exchange for Franklin’s acceptance.
Franklin had thought, for a long time, that the idea of other people he created in his head was exaggerated due to some kind of fear. That was what his last therapist had said. He was afraid of being rejected, or something, so he saw enemies and danger where there was none.
As it turns out, the stress-induced nightmares he’d concocted about what other teenagers might be like were nothing like the real thing. His first month at Aglionby had proved that the real thing was worse.
He’d once read a book about how animal food chains operated in the wild. Aglionby, like the wild, had a food chain of its own. One determined by age and size and how loud you could make yourself. Seniors at the top, freshmen at the bottom.
And if the freshmen were at the bottom of the food chain, then Franklin was buried six feet deep underneath it. He was the quietest, the smallest, and constantly missing out on something. The other boys in his classes were always laughing and clamouring around the halls and talking like there was some joke Franklin wasn’t getting.
Franklin quickly realized that was because he was the joke. Probably because he wasn’t born a boy like the rest of them. One look at him and the whole school could just tell. They could smell it on him.
All the boys, regardless of age and size, spoke another language. Some of them stared at him when he was called on in class like a museum exhibit. Some broke his things in half. Some kicked him and called him silly names if he stuck around anywhere for too long. Most of them just walked the other way if they saw Franklin coming.
He couldn’t communicate with them. No matter how hard he tried. He was, quite literally, a fish thrown out of water.
But the idea of going back, of having to explain to his parents that he’d dropped out, because he couldn’t hack it again? That shame outwon Franklin’s homesickness any day of the week. He would see this through. He had to.
☘︎
Nine months into the school year, things had improved.
Well, not improved. Teachers still called on Franklin in class even when they knew he’d freeze up. Other boys watched him like vultures in the locker rooms before gym class. His roommate did anything and everything to avoid being in the same room as him for more than a few minutes.
But Franklin was adapting. There was an art to socially surviving that he was perfecting. He’d stopped seeking out friends in favour of moving about the school like a ghost. In that way, school wasn’t very different from home. Franklin wasn’t sure if he liked that or not.
And Henrietta wasn’t all bad. It was cute, as far as towns go, a little dry maybe. Sort of empty-feeling. It was hard to tell if the gaping hole that was Henrietta was simply a byproduct of its geographical nature, or a symptom of its inhabitants.
He found himself in Aglionby’s library sometime on a Saturday in late May while studying for his history exam. The library was where he spent most of his time, not only because he was determined to read every new thing he could find, but also because it was the perfect hiding spot.
Libraries were quiet. Studious. The kind of place most Aglionby students, who were all vaguely reminiscent of wealthy Neanderthals, avoided like the plague. Here, he didn’t have to always glance over his shoulder, or worry about someone shouting ‘Hey, faggot!’ across the room in front of everyone.
It started like this; Franklin had watched the clock strike four on his watch and promptly packed up his things as per his routine. He collected his notebook into his backpack, tucking in his chair and rounding the aisle, then rammed right into somebody else.
Franklin squeaked and reeled back. “Sorry!” he exclaimed in a sort of whisper-shout. He instinctively dropped to his knees to grab the novel he’d dropped.
“Oh, no, that was completely my fault,” a boy replied. “I wasn’t looking where I was going.” He knelt down too. His face was one Franklin recognized. Perfect brown hair and a bright polo shirt and wireframes perched on his nose. Richard Gansey III.
Now, of course, Franklin had never spoken to Richard before, but he was sort of famous around Aglionby. At least, as famous as someone could be in a high school. He was a junior, he drove some old, bright orange car to school every day, and he was friends with nearly everyone. Teachers included. They all had something good to say about him.
The person Richard hung around the most was one Ronan Lynch, who was just about the scariest guy Franklin had ever seen in his life. Other than that, he didn’t actually know much about the guy. About either of them.
Franklin looked at the book he’d picked up off the ground. Ley Lines of the UK and the USA by David Cowan.
While he’d been examining Richard’s book, Richard had picked up Franklin’s tossed copy of The Way of Kings by Brandon Sanderson.
“I love this book,” they both said at the same time.
They traded back the worn copies to their rightful owners with a sort of quiet awe.
Richard grinned as they stood back up again. “You have an interest in the paranormal?”
Franklin bit his lip, feeling all his words start to leave him. “Uh, sort of,” he answered haltingly. He tried to focus on shoving his book into his bag rather than the person trying to talk to him. “I read a bit of everything, honestly. You’ve … read the Stormlight Archive?”
“It was only my favourite series when I was in middle school,” Richard laughed warmly. “I like an eclectic reader. Oh, I’m Gansey, by the way.” He held out his hand.
Franklin couldn’t help but marvel at how easy it was to make Richard smile, but he quickly came back to himself when he heard the word Gansey. He’d heard people call Richard by his last name, a part of some masculine ritual that eluded Franklin, but he never expected anyone to introduce themselves that way.
And, really, Franklin hadn’t ever made it this far in polite conversation before. Usually, he introduced himself first, and then whoever he was talking to turned back to their friends like he didn’t exist.
He shook Gansey’s hand tentatively. “I’m Frankie.”
Nobody had ever called him Frankie before. In fact, he’d never even considered the idea of nicknames up until this point, but Franklin suddenly felt too formal. And Gansey hadn’t given his own first name. And, yes, okay, Franklin had panicked!
“Frankie,” Gansey repeated brightly. “Do you know a lot about ley lines?”
Franklin shook his head. “I know a… rudimentary amount?” He’d read a book or two, because he really did read everything, but he was no expert. He sort of figured ley lines weren’t real. What else would they be?
Gansey grew visibly disappointed, but his smile didn’t fade. “Well, you know…” He stopped himself short and pulled his phone from his pocket to check something. “Are you a sophomore?” he asked without looking up.
“Freshman,” Franklin mumbled quietly.
Gansey let out a tired sigh and Franklin worried he’d said something wrong. He usually did. “Sorry,” said Gansey, suddenly in a rush, “I’ll… You…” He glanced down at his phone again. “We should definitely talk sometime, alright?”
Franklin didn’t even have time to dwell on a possible response. Gansey dashed out of the library in a hurry. Clearly, whoever had texted him had needed him fast. He wondered what it must feel like to be needed that badly.
☘︎
Exams came and went. Frankie and Gansey did not speak again. With Frankie’s mother in Germany and his father in Australia, he was stuck on campus over the summer break along with a few other holdovers.
Frankie had never thought about Richard Gansey III before that day in the library. Now, he couldn’t stop thinking about him. He spent more than a few nights lying awake in bed and contemplating if trying to find Gansey again would ruin everything.
And maybe he’d started reading up about paranormal happenings in Virginia on the Internet. But that was unrelated. Surely.
It all felt wrong. Gansey shouldn’t become Frankie’s sole fixation just because Gansey was the first person at their school to ever speak to him kindly. The only person he’d ever found common ground with…
It was wrong to think about Gansey as often as he did. It was wrong to try and seek him out. Frankie knew this and did it anyway.
Finding Gansey was actually super easy. It was a small town, and Gansey was not only prone to gallivanting but also prone to hanging out with the same conspicuous group. Ronan Lynch, unsurprisingly stark; Adam Parrish, surprisingly intelligent; Blue Sargent, who Frankie had recently learned was the daughter of a local ‘psychic’; and another pale-coloured boy who always wore his school uniform, even in the summer.
Despite his extensive research, and Frankie was very good at research, he couldn’t find that fifth boy’s name.
He saw them everywhere, even when he wasn’t trying to. Hanging around Nino’s Diner, driving to their factory-turned-castle, leaving town for the woods, heading back into town from the woods, that familiar orange car parked in front of the pale blue house on Fox Way. The psychic’s house.
Frankie considered going for a reading. However, Blue Sargent seemed the same kind of scary that Ronan Lynch was, even if they looked like complete opposites from the outside.
It was like the world was playing some kind of sick joke on him. Just like the kids at school. These friends, like the groups at school, were always laughing and conversing in that foreign language of theirs. It wasn’t necessarily a mean-spirited language, but that didn’t make it less infuriating. Frankie knew four languages. Why couldn’t he just speak to other kids?
He felt sickened with guilt whenever he left his dorm in search of Gansey and his friends. He felt restless and uneasy whenever he looked for distractions. Nothing could put an end to his nausea.
He thought about what he’d recently read about ley lines. About how they could make things intersect. When a community is placed on a ley line, there would be signs. Black dogs and psychics and spirit-sightings. All things reported in Henrietta throughout history, real or not.
Frankie didn’t eat. He didn’t sleep. Every thought led back to those older kids. What were they chasing? What did they hope to find? What could he do for them?
As June neared its end, he’d taken a bus back to his parents’ house, desperate for a change in scenery. And desperate to get Gansey and his scary friends off his mind.
The house was exactly as he’d left it. A mansion, really, in dark red bricks at the end of a picturesque cul-de-sac. The greenery and flowers in the front yard had become overgrown in Frankie’s absence. He shuddered to think of the sheer amount of dust that must be coating every surface inside since he hadn’t been there to clean weekly.
The mailbox was full. Bills he’d email his parents about. Cheques he’d email his parents about. Letters he’d email his parents about.
Wait. A letter? That was unusual. Nobody reached out directly to the Clarkes when business wasn’t involved, no matter how affluent they were, because nobody liked the Clarkes. It was probably hereditary.
The envelope read from D.C. From the Ganseys.
Inside the envelope was an old-fashioned invitation to a fundraiser for Catherine Gansey’s campaign. She was running for Congress as a Republican. Frankie winced.
He wasn’t sure how he should feel, but he knew he only felt confused. Did his parents know the Ganseys? It was likely, considering they were both old money Virginian families. Still, Frankie’s parents were academics. The Ganseys were clearly more… politically-inclined. Was she that eager for voters?
A fundraiser. In D.C. At the Gansey family estate…
Maybe Richard Gansey III would be there to support his mother.
The invitation said the fundraiser would be three days from now. Frankie had three days to get to D.C. with the perfect excuse to see Gansey again, not just watch him from afar like some creep, but actually talk to him. It was like fate!
If the two of them could just connect again, if Frankie could actually explain all he knew, maybe Gansey would see how helpful Frankie could be. Maybe he would invite him to come along next time they set off somewhere.
Maybe, just maybe, when the new school year started, Frankie wouldn’t have to endure it all alone.
☘︎
If you’d told Frankie a month ago that he would use the credit card he never touched to buy himself a hotel room for a night, walk two miles to the nearest bus stop out of Henrietta, pack himself a suit and tie, all so he could spend the day in a city he’d never been to before at a political party, he probably would’ve run away from you.
Party. It was by far the stupidest word Frankie knew. And he knew a lot of words. What even counted as a party? A congregation of people, laughter, music, a fancy dress? No dictionary had ever handed him a satisfactory answer.
Whatever the word meant, it was, undoubtedly, awful. He was quickly learning that lots of things about the ‘real world’ made him feel pretty sickly.
Like, for instance, being trapped in a bright, noisy house that was bigger than his own home by far. Surrounded by faces he didn’t recognize that seemed to blur together the longer he walked around. Each and every one gave him a strange look when they passed. He could tell they were all thinking the same thing. A kid. Alone. In a place like this?
If only they knew he didn’t really want to be here any more than they wanted him here. Still, he was here for the sake of discovery.
In a way, the party was a lot like Aglionby. The suit was his uniform. A costume made for boys like him. But not for him.
He rounded a corridor from the main room, and like a light at the end of a tunnel, he found Adam Parrish. Just standing there beside Richard Gansey and talking to people. He looked very different in a suit than he did in his uniform. Not bad different, though. Just noticeable different.
Really, he should’ve assumed Gansey would bring a friend with him. Ganseys seemed like very social creatures, if this event was anything to go off of. Yet he hadn’t seen this coming. Not in the slightest. Although, in a way, it soothed his nerves. Frankie usually hated what he couldn’t predict, but Adam was far less intimidating than most people.
The minute the two boys were free, Frankie crossed the hall without so much as a thought of preparation. He really had no idea what he was going to say to them. He never had any idea what he was supposed to say. Still, he cleared his throat a few feet from Adam’s back. “Excuse me?”
Neither Adam nor Gansey turned to acknowledge him. They were clearly engaged in their own conversation, and Frankie felt bad to intrude, but what was he meant to do? Just hope he’d run into them again tonight?
No. This was going to happen. And it was going to happen now.
Gently, he tapped Adam’s arm. “Adam Parrish?”
The two older boys whirled around, staring at him with wide eyes. They were both clearly startled, and for a fleeting, dreadful second, Frankie thought they might not recognize him.
Gansey did, of course. He recovered first, plastering an easy smile on his face. “Hello,” he greeted politely. “Frankie, right?” There was a brief, nearly awkward pause as Gansey glanced at Adam. “You know my friend here?”
Adam watched Frankie with a gaze that was nothing short of piercing. He could see it in Adam’s features, in the subtle bunch of his shoulders; the tightness, that false sense of security. Adam was just as unhappy to be here as he was. But he didn’t look mean.
“No,” Frankie cut in quickly before Adam could respond. He waved a hand. “I mean, well, yes. Sort of.” Deep breaths, Franklin. “I’m Franklin Clarke. We… Uh, we go to school together?”
Gansey raised a brow. “Yes, I remember. How was The Way of Kings?"
Oh, gee. He really remembered. “Good,” he said lamely. “Great. I actually had a small question, though…”
He saw the realization hit Adam like a freight train. “Wait,” said Adam. He kept his voice a little lower than Gansey’s. Something in his tight expression loosened by a hair. “Are you the freshman who–?”
“Yup!” Frankie interrupted with a breathy laugh. He hadn’t known what Adam was going to say, but whatever it was, it was probably true. And probably really embarrassing. His suffering had garnered quite the reputation around school. “That’s me.”
“Clarke,” Gansey repeated. Recognition flashed in his gaze too as his smile relaxed. Frankie still found it hard to believe that smile was real, no matter how truthful it looked. “Oh, right. Your parents work for the FBI, don’t they?”
Frankie wrung his hands together. “They’re just consultants,” he muttered. The last thing he wanted to talk about was his parents.
Gansey nodded slowly and looked past him, tilting his head to the side. “Well then, it’s very gracious of them to come by. I presume their schedules are very busy, given their repertoires."
“My parents aren’t here,” Frankie said. He did his best to sound sure, but it was hard when they were both looking at him at the exact same time. Suddenly, he felt very self-conscious of the fact that he’d never worn a suit before tonight. “It’s just me.”
Adam’s words were blunt in a way that sent a prickling through Frankie’s chest. “You can’t vote.”
His gaze flitted from Adam to Gansey to Adam again. How many other people were in this hall with them right now? Were they all watching? “I know,” he replied carefully. “But I’m not here for discussions of congress, riveting as that is, I’m here for you two.”
Adam looked to Gansey, but Gansey’s smile never faltered. In fact, he chuckled as if Frankie amused him. “I beg your pardon?”
Frankie swallowed thickly and looked down. He had to look away or surely he would freeze up. “I…” When words eluded him, that’s when panic truly set in. “I…” He tried to picture the vowels and consonants in his mind. There was a very long, very painful moment where he was simply unable to say anything at all.
The humiliation of it all only made it worse. He could feel his throat closing up, his hands starting to shake.
“Are you okay?” Adam asked quietly. There was confusion in his question, yes, but also some note of true concern that struck Frankie like a blow. He didn’t even know these boys.
He nodded once. Was the point in small talk? In lies or half-truths? He wanted this to work out so badly. He wanted the discovery. Which meant he needed to take the risk.
Prying the words from his mouth, Frankie only managed to say; “I know about Glendower.”
The response from Gansey was nearly immediate. “How?” He wasn’t smiling anymore, but he didn’t look upset. He looked like some strange in-between. Not quite puzzled or joyous or frustrated. Just pensive.
Around them, everything started to dull. The partygoers got quieter. The lights above got dimmer. As if the entire world, or maybe just Frankie’s senses, were narrowing down to this moment. The catalyst.
“Because I’ve been reading more about ley lines,” he confessed in the span of a breath. Once he started, he couldn’t seem to stop. “About the history of this town, all the mythology, because I know you’re friends with psychics, and you disappear into the woods all the time!”
Neither of them said anything for a moment. It was clear both Adam and Gansey were reeling. And this time, Adam recovered first. “Have you been following us?”
Frankie tried not to flinch. “No.” He pulled on his tie. It felt more like a noose. “I mean, kind of. Not really. Not on purpose! I’d never.” What was he supposed to say? “I just want to help.”
“You want to help us?” said Gansey. It didn’t sound like a question. The very concept left him clearly and completely bewildered. “And you just… know all of these things?”
“Well, I don’t know for sure,” Frankie went on. Because what else was he supposed to say? “It just seemed like a logical conclusion! All the texts on ancient Welsh history were signed out of the library, and I know you lived in Wales for a bit because I asked a teacher, and Glendower being buried on a ley line might—”
“Hold on,” Gansey interjected. His voice was firmer now, firm enough to make Frankie shut his mouth as quickly as he’d opened it. “Slow down. I don’t think you understand what you’re talking about here. And this– This really isn’t the best time.”
Frankie wanted to sink into the floor. “I know,” he agreed mindlessly, “I know, and I’m sorry. I should’ve said something months ago. I should’ve done everything differently. But I didn’t, and I’m here now, and… And I want to understand. If I can.”
Adam blew out an utterly exhausted breath. “You’ve got to be kidding me.” He didn’t look guarded or curious anymore. He only looked defeated.
“I’m not,” he replied weakly, although he had a feeling the statement was entirely rhetorical. “I’m not kidding, I’m serious. I can help you.”
It was at that moment that the lights went out. There was an uproar of surprise from the guests in the rooms around them. Here in the hall, it was hard to even see his hand in front of his face with all the lights off.
There was the sound of whispering. The sound of footsteps. Retreating shadows on the wall. And then nothing. Lots and lots of nothing. “Wait,” he called into the pitch black.
Frankie took a disoriented step forward, blinking in the darkness to try and make sense of what was in front of him. What had just been in front of him.
“Oh, darn,” he mumbled hopelessly. When the lights flickered back on, as expected, Adam and Gansey were long gone.