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As it turns out, Custas’ GPA was 0.2 above the cut off for not allowing a student to partake in the path of a teacher's aide. That said, he was thoroughly debriefed on not letting his grades slip in order to prevent having that job revoked– Though his palms were sweaty at the thought, he kept quiet and tried to appear confident in his abilities. It was a bit difficult to fake-it-til-you-make-it when he couldn’t use all his class time and Dagda couldn’t help him with homework.
He still remembered showing Dagda triangles in the hotel room after he was groaning over it for several minutes. Dagda took the paper, squinting at it before clarifying, “So, you need to calculate the area of a triangle?”
He gathered the hotel notepad from the bedside table and drew out a mock triangle. “Okay, if the sides are 11, 8 and 9… Um… adding those up equals 28, and we know 28 is two 14’s, so then we do what we do with squares, so that’s 14 times 14 which… Is a 116?”
The answer was 35.5: Custas kept his math troubles to himself after that because when he explained the thought process for his work, his teacher gave him a long stare before quietly asking him to come during study hall to work on the homework together. That was no longer an option now though. He’d have to figure it out on his own– or ask Dagda to pick him up late so he could go to the computer lab and look up the answers.
Dagda was picking him up late today too, so there didn’t seem to be a major issue in that. Maybe it’s because he knew Custas was ‘hanging out’ with his friend, which was pretty close to the truth though Custas felt a bit more anxiety than he should for having a relaxing hour or two with Tartah.
They walked together in the hall, Tartah leading them to a classroom that was thankfully on the first floor. The halls were depleted of most people now: there were only straggler students leaned against the walls on their phones or teachers locking up their rooms now, but there were more people inside classrooms meeting up for their afterschool activities— like the one Tartah was taking him to.
Custas spared a glance up at his friend, then faced the hall again to keep himself from accidentally running over a student’s backpack thrown on the ground as they waited to be picked up. He ran through ideas of what to say in his head, thinking of a basic, whatever statement or question to get them talking. Admittedly, Tartah wasn’t really a ‘friend’ friend yet. The day they officially became acquainted was nice: Tartah found him at lunch and gave him the permission slip. He told Custas about the job and benefits that’d help him, then was called somewhere else by a fellow student, to which he apologized, promised to return, then never did. Oh well. He still sat with him for ten minutes.
Tartah also didn’t appear at the door the following day, but he did apologize once Custas got to class via a hastily scribbled note: ‘Sorry, Mr. Nolnoa needed me to go across the school because the nearby printer was down.’
Just how much of being a teacher’s aide was running around anyways? Custas passed a note back. ‘It’s okay; you don’t need to worry about me in the mornings.’
It was that day Tartah asked him to stay late tomorrow, so Custas did. He didn’t really know what he wouldn’t do for Tartah already, and they only just met. Something about the way he was so deadset on making life easier for Custas sold him right away: Tartah was a good person even if they wouldn’t ever be the level of friend that Custas wanted for himself. Tartah was, he guessed, popular and cool. He never paid attention to the social dynamics at this school— hell, he’s been here two months and most students either stared openly or avoided him, his reputation was already an ugly smear, why stain them too in the process?
“... So, do teacher aides have work after school too?”
Tartah shook his head. “Not really; it’s mostly during the school day.” Then why do you come to school so early to help Mr. Nolnoa? “We, uh– Clubs can be created if there’s enough students and they found a teacher to offer their classroom and supervision. My friend created a club, but it’s mainly so we didn’t have to join separate ones and can now all chat and have downtime together. Pretty much everyone there is an aide.”
Custas nodded slowly, pursing his lips as he processed that. He was to be taken to a club… full of students… students who he’s either never met or seen and he’s going to be the one interrupting since Tartah’s already established there, so… “Is it alright if I’m there?”
“Yes, I told them I was going to bring you,” Tartah explained. “Coco is there and wanted to thank you for helping out the other day too. She doesn’t share any classes with you, so she is excited.”
Custas scrambled for where he'd heard that name before, but came up blank. She might have been the blonde girl who was next to Agate the other day. Still, in the grand scheme of things, there was nothing that warranted a thank. As Dagda told him in a scolding manner (he doesn’t really scold Custas much beyond him not being responsible with his medical devices; Custas thinks its because he picks and chooses what he decides to parent about. He thinks its related to the accident. Most things are nowadays.)-- as well, ‘You could have easily hit one of those girls and gave them a concussion. What would you do then?”
Custas shrugged apathetically, but he could feel the guilt as he murmured to his new friend, “It was nothing. I wasn’t really expecting a thank you or anything. I did hurt people, I mean.”
“I’m sure she doesn’t condone violence,” Tartar replied point blank, but the tight squeeze that increased in Custas’ chest alleviated as he mentioned, “but those guys were apparently being really mean to Agott, so she wasn’t angry when your bookbag dropped on them. Don’t worry about that.”
Custas wasn’t entirely convinced a bag full of textbooks qualified as a forgivable projectile. When they reached the classroom, Custas peered in sheepishly while Tartah just strolled in without hesitation, stopping near the door. The room was a lot… emptier than Custas expected. There was a teacher at the desk who didn’t look up from whatever papers he was working on, the SMART board displaying a Youtube video of ‘9 hours of medieval lofi music for closing a tavern’. Around the room were five students: four girls and a boy.
The boy sat beside two girls, one with long blue hair and the other with strawberry blonde pigtails that went far past her shoulders. They appeared to be doing homework if not for the blue haired girl making her sheet into some origami amalgamation, much to the boy’s anxious murmurs suggesting alternative ways to fidget. The other two were drawing by one another, and Custas immediately recognized them as the girls being bullied in the foyer last week.
He adjusted his grip on his chair as Tartah held the door open behind him, trying very hard not to feel awkward and look it when suddenly arriving in some already established group. Tartah, meanwhile, seemed entirely unbothered by the situation as he announced his presence with a casual, “Hey.”
That finally drew attention their way. The boy glanced up briefly before doing a visible double take at Custas, so Custas looked the other way to avoid having to stare back. Then, the blonde in the duo, Coco, nearly dropped the pencil in her hand in excitement.
“Oh!” she blurted, immediately springing to her feet, her chair legs screeching at the sudden grind against the floor. She ducked down, rummaging through her backpack. “You brought him!”
Custas instinctively rolled a inch back before catching himself, and Coco hurried over with such a bright, eager smile, like a hopping bird across a garden with a voice just like a song, and he felt his cheeks warm involuntarily under the attention. A quick, blatant thought crossed his mind: She’s adorable. It was immediately dampened upon straying his gave to the side to see Agate staring at him dead on. A shiver ran up his spine. Got it.
“You’re Custas, right?” Coco asked as she came to a stop in front of him, her hands behind her back.
He nodded slowly, swallowing the dryness in his throat. “... Yes.”
Her face lit up even more and she rocked back and forth between her toes and heels as though containing actual excitement at that discovery. “I’m Coco! I wanted to thank you for helping Agott and I the other day.”
Custas tilted his head to dismiss or hide the heat crawling into his ears, and he found himself ceasing to look into her wide, gleaming eyes for hope of not being bombarded by such light. Gods, him trying to make new friends were leading to a greatly strange group. Chill, cool-headed Tartah with a penchant for doing the right thing; sweet, cute Coco brimming with energy and excitement and shiny, hamster-like eyes; Agott(?), who looked like she had a sniper trained on him from the window and was seconds away from receiving a single head nod in affirmation to take the shot: how did these three even end up coming together anyways? “It was nothing; I’m happy you two are alright.”
Coco shook her head, then pulled her hands out from behind her back, presenting what she had been holding. It was a wrapped chocolate bar; one of the good ones that can’t be found in the shitty vending machine on the first floor by the theatre. She got it from a store. “Tartah told me you got in trouble for helping: I hope this makes up for it a little. We are really sorry for the inconvenience we caused you.”
Is expulsion an inconvenience now? Well, he supposed it was for Dagda, who didn’t want him left alone all day in the hotel room. Not much mischief could get up to there, but he still begged and pleaded with the front desk to either call or come to the door every few hours to check on him and his Shark Week marathon on the crummy TV. Custas is certain he paid them for the trouble, and that helped him stay put and not cause any further disruptions. It was probably the worst part of not being in school. Anyways.
“Well, water under the bridge! It really wasn’t anything I’m not used to.” Ah, don’t say that. They’ll think I’m actually a delinquent…. Despite the chair. Ugh. Still red-faced, Custas accepted the chocolate, and Tartah stepped to the side to sit at a desk by where Custas was stationed. When Coco was done with a final thank you, Tartah said, “I’m happy I was able to get him here; do you feel better?”
Coco smiled, nodding her head firmly. “Yes. Thank you too, Tartah.”
The exchange was brief, almost forgettable, but Custas noticed the way the corners of Tartah's mouth lifted for just a moment before he looked away, quietly pleased with himself if that redness on his ears said anything. Custas cracked a little smirk, but he stomped it down. Double got it.
Tartah cleared his throat. “Custas just got approved to become a teacher’s aide with us. Does anyone happen to know a teacher in need of an aide?”
“I can’t take anymore,” The teacher at the desk across the room called out, his tone laced with unbeaten stress. When all students turned to stare at him, he gave them a tense smile, adjusted the round readers rested on the bridge of his nose (One with a defective sun-glass transform shade?) and said, “The front office questions me all the time if I need three. They’d never let me take in a fourth, but perhaps Mr. Olruggio could want another. He should still be in the tech room if you’d like to walk down there.”
“He wouldn’t,” Agott said. She flipped the page she was coloring on, then gestured to the door with her pencil, but her bored eyes were on the teacher. “He’s had a sub most weeks; there’s not much to do with one assistant, let alone two.”
With a sigh through his nose, the teacher leaned back in his seat. “Right, there’s the matter of the research he's doing. Ah, the wonders of tenure. Well, Euini?”
The only other boy in the classroom jumped in his seat. “O-Oh, um…” After a good moment, he shook his head. “I don’t know if Kukrow would want another…”
“I thought you said you were working with Alaira from the front office now?” The teacher asked and Euini sank in his seat.
“.... It’s a work in progress.”
The teacher leaned back in his chair with a tired sigh. He sat for a moment, drumming his fingers together in thought, but then appeared to remember whatever his current predicament was and took up his papers once more. "If no one comes to mind, the front office can always assign you somewhere, Custas. That’s how I got Tetia, and I’m sure that’s how Jujy got Mr. Hieheart."
“Where is Jujy?” The strawberry blond girl whispered with a hint of curiosity, but it appeared to have been a normal enough occurrence as no one else joined in on her little look-around the room before she pulled out her phone. There was a brief pause, her wide eyes darted to the teacher, and then she seemed to recall the time and settled, focusing completely on her phone.
“What about Mr. Hieheart?” Euini offered, but Tetia shot that down quickly.
“He’s a handful. And finicky.”
“He can be,” the teacher admitted. Friendly jesting? No one appeared appalled at this. Once again, dynamics are lost upon him. Custas kept quiet, waiting for them to decide for him in the end. He cast a glance at Tartah's pensive expression and found himself able to take a deep breath. Whatever happens, he’s sure Tartah wouldn’t leave him to hang. He’s thankful for Custas for helping his crush... but he still wants to be his friend.
"What about Mr. Nolnoa?" Agott asked.
Tartah shot back, "I don't think he'd want another aide."
Agott paused, pencil hovering over the page. "No? He’s got you running around all hours of the day. With another aide, that’d ease the load for you.” She dropped her chin in her hand. “I thought you’d be the first one to volunteer that option.”
Tartah shifted in the desk seat, rubbing the back of his neck. Custas noted that his shoulders looked stiff, not rigid. They were usually just rigidly tight. "I just… I think he likes keeping things the way they are. Another aide would probably just complicate his routine."
The teacher hummed, still involving himself in the conversation despite his prior insistence upon having less to do with this. Custas didn’t know how he felt about him. Doesn’t he have other work to do or…? "That wouldn't surprise me."
"...Yeah."
The moment passed without question. The last nameless girl spoke, "So the office will assign him somewhere?”
"Most likely.”
That was the general response, but Agott frowned, seeming more invested in his best interest than the others, which— Custas really couldn’t blame them, even if he wanted to speak up and keep the suggestions rolling in. "We should think of someone before that happens. Who you are placed with will structure your whole year, whether you are actually mentored in your placement or labored and dismissed. I’m sure we are all aware of those chances given we’ve seen bad match-up playout.”
Euini gave a solemn nod. "What about Mr. Easthies?"
Three different faces twisted.
Agott murmured, “Are we sure he enjoys life enough to want to teach the next generation beyond business education and politics?”
Coco even looked uncomfortable with the idea, and she instead asserted, “I mean, we skipped over Mr. Hieheart really quickly, but he does love teaching! He has really nice, infectious energy!”
“And you think Custas is brimming with energy?” Agott replied dully and Custas’ polite smile faded. A thrum like drums echoed in him, repeating that same beat: Energy.
He had energy.
His hands curled slowly around the arm rests of his chair as the chatter continued, pointless, meaningless, without regard for the one before them, like he was nothing but a scrap of paper on the ground.
He wanted to shout suddenly– because he does have the energy. There’s been more nights in his life than not that he hadn’t sat down once, dancing until daybreak with aching calves and a hoarse throat from laughing and screaming in delight. He’s woken early mornings from that to peddle the streets or pack up the van. He’s weaved through crowds of packed festivals with an instrument tucked beneath his chin or a tambourine on his hip, ducking and swinging around spinning couples like the music begged him to never stop.
Since he was born, he’s been moving. Since he’s been with Dagda, he’s never known rest, and it was the best time of his life. He lived with simple principles. If there was music, he danced. If there was work needed doing, he volunteered. If there was silence, he filled it however he could to keep that buzz alive. The bands they occasionally traveled with would joke if Custas ever rested, his heart would stop.
And now every impulse ended at his waist.
The urge still came.
Stand.
Dance.
Go.
Run.
Run.
Run.
His muscles answered before his body remembered its limitations, burning at the little jolts of wants whenever he tried to move his feet in fractions for months. He’s been effectively halved as a person: with his arm braces and someone else’s support after a half of a year, he still struggled to stand on his own and walk a few paces even when his body screamed for more, the ache of being far from where you expected yourself to be. The beat of bird wings against his lungs, stifling him, was suffocating and commonplace. He was trapped in this damned chair, yet he woke each morning, peaceful, until he realized the harsh truth of reality as his dreams of dancing faded away.
His eyes burned, face hot as he glared at his lap and the skinny rails his legs had become through his rumpled uniform pants. He wanted to move so badly it hurt. It would hurt if he moved. He didn’t really care– but Dagda did. Dagda wanted him safe. Dagda cared, and went out of his way to try and prevent Custas from being aware of the limitations he now faced not only in his body, but all the places his wheels couldn’t take him, all the times they sat under a bus stop’s canopy because they could no longer sprint ahead and laugh as rain pelted their faces, how he could never dance the same again even if he was healed as much as he could.
"It'd exhaust him for sure– even Jujy has her days."
"And I think maybe Luluci wouldn’t be a great mentor because she gets flustered and Custas wouldn’t–"
“It’d be easier for him if he avoided Utowin–”
“He doesn’t strike me as–”
"As what?" Custas didn't realize he'd spoken until every conversation stopped and everyone was suddenly facing him. That bitter taste in his throat crept up. "You know, I know I'm sitting right here. Everything you are suggesting starts with what I can’t handle, but you don’t even know me. I just met every one of you and—” He bit his tongue, then rolled his eyes, turning his chair. “Forget it. I’ll figure it out. Thanks for everything, really.”
Coco called out, fret fluttering in her voice, “Wait! Custas, you don’t have to–”
"I said I'll figure it out,” Custas hissed. He got to the door, then stared in abject anger as he noticed it was closed and of course there’s no handicap buttons on the inside classroom doors. Never. Tartah opened it for him and it took everything in Custas to not scream as he rolled himself into the hallway. “If the office assigns me somewhere I don’t like, I’ll deal with it. I don’t care. I can handle quite a bit.”
Tartah closed the door, but he stood in the hallway with Custas, who noticed and scowled, immediately pushing himself back the way they came. He eyed a clock as he rolled past. Thirty minutes until Dagda gets him. Great.
To his dismay, hurried footsteps caught up, and Tartah began to keep pace with the chair. When he couldn’t outrun him, Custas growled out, “I’m so tired of this!”
His hands never stopped pushing the wheels even when they burned.
"...I get it." Custas glanced at Tartah, who didn’t meet his gaze. Instead, he put his hands in his pockets. “People who don’t know very much can talk a whole lot.”
Custas snorted despite himself. “Like you get it.”
Tartah was quiet for a moment, then ignored Custas’ little comment. “I don’t think they meant to be rude. I know that doesn’t make it feel better, and I know it sucks to turn the other cheek even if that’s what people always say. Why do you have to be the one to fold constantly to accommodate their comfort? They aren’t the one struggling. They don’t live with it, so why…” Tartah pondered himself for a moment, then shrugged helplessly to himself. “I think that’s the easiest way most times, but, for what it’s worth, they are good people. They will apologize for this, and they’ll probably mess up another time or two and speak wrong. They’ll apologize for those times too.”
“... You are awfully forgiving. Must be easy when the shoe’s on the other foot, huh?” Tartah smile faintly as Custas continued, hissing a sigh through his nose, “I don’t want to be.”
Tartah’s hands clasped together in front of him in thought, and then he asked, “Would it be easier if you didn’t?”
Obviously not. I have to because that was my one chance at friends and I blew it because I couldn’t keep it in. The bitterness. The anger. The unjust ways of the world. Custas shrugged, and Tartah continued, “I’d give them a chance. If they don’t apologize or make up for this or learn, then what’s the point in continuing to be around them? I’d hate it too.”
“I don’t even think you know what you are saying. Now you do want me to hate your friends?”
“If they aren’t a friend to you, I understand why you’d not like them, yeah.” Tartah sent him a tight lipped smile. “Life’s hard enough as it is. Let’s try to not be hasty: they will apologize.”
Tartah waited for him outside until Dagda came. The red-hot heat of embarrassment arrived when the sputtering van pulled up and Dagda glanced out the window, far from freshly shaven and his hair in clumping knots from his long shift. When he noticed them looking, he lifted a hand in greeting, his smile belying his exhaustion even from several yards away. He didn’t get out of the driver’s side, and Custas supposed that’s because he had company. Otherwise he’d race out, already working to help Custas in and put his chair in the back while demanding to know about his day. But he stayed back now. Custas’ hands tightened around his arm rests. He kind of wished Dagda did come out, and he wished he didn’t know why he stayed behind the wheel.
“Is that your dad?”
“No,” Custas replied, then paused. “He’s my… guardian, I guess.”
He kind of expected a question about that, but instead, Tartah turned to him and said, “Can I walk you to class tomorrow morning?”
Custas blinked. He wheeled himself around to face Tartah better. "...Why?"
"I'd just like to." Tartah’s hands remained clutched in front of him. “I’d like your company.”
Custas looked away. His chest ached. Finally, he wrenched out, “I’m sorry if I acted like a jerk to your friends.”
“I’m not going to hold that against you,” Tartah replied simply. “We’ve all gotten upset before. Water under the bridge, right?”
Custas gave a meager nod, unable to force much else out that wasn’t either more bitter bile of negative word vomit– or perhaps more appeasement than he ought to.
“In the meantime, I’m going to go to the classrooms that are still open and find some candidates of teachers for you, so don’t lose hope yet.”
Suddenly, the sunlight grew pink around the edges of the sky. The afternoon breeze brushed through his wild hair and pushed the short bangs from Tartah’s big, silver eyes. The clouds grew voluminous behind him like the passage of heaven opening up behind his head, and Custas felt his cheeks grow warm as Tartah raised a hand to his heart. Out of nowhere, scattered pale cherry blossoms fell through the air in a lazy drift.
What the heck? Isn’t it fall?
Custas glanced up to see a classroom window open high above them, then watched as clumped weeds were also tossed out. The garden club? What the heck is going on up there, and why is it framing this scene like a shoujo manga? Reluctantly, he leaned back in his seat to focus solely on Tartah.
“After all,” Tartah announced, eyes sparkling, “I still want to be your friend.”
“You’re weird.” And yet, his lips twitched up.