Chapter Text
georgenotfound: im starting at my new high school today
He stared at his phone for a moment, before dropping his hand by the side. He didn’t expect his best friend to be awake yet; it was barely six thirty AM where he lived. George glanced at the alarm clock next to his bed, which read the same time.
Even after three weeks in Florida, George’s jetlag hadn’t fully left. He kept falling asleep at odd times during the day, and thus sleeping far too late into the evening. Although it had mostly evened out, his increasingly tense anxiety had haunted him all week, making him wake up earlier than usual.
He checked his phone again, hoping for a reply, but the red dot next to his friend’s name signaled that he hadn’t been online in nearly eight hours. Definitely still asleep, then.
Sleepily, George dragged himself out of bed and to the bathroom. He glanced in the mirror and grimaced-- his hair was fluffed up in a tousled mess on one side, and stuck too flat to the other. Just what he wanted, a bad hair day to start off the school year. He tried to tug a comb through it and gave up halfway through-- he might just straighten it and be done with that.
His phone buzzed suddenly, left behind on his bed. George eagerly crossed the room to snatch it up.
Dream had replied.
dreamwastaken: you nervous?
georgenotfound: a little tbh. i don’t know anyone so :/
dreamwastaken: im sure its going to go well!! someone there is bound to be your friend
georgenotfound: i hope
dreamwastaken: if i was there i would be your friend <3
George stared down at the last emoticon and pressed his hand to his face to try and stop his silly blushing. It was just two little squares of text. It wasn’t that big of a deal.
He and Dream had been friends for nearly five years, ever since George had randomly joined a Discord chat with him in it. They had hit it off almost immediately, and soon began private messaging after that. Slowly, they both opened up to each other slightly; Dream was hesitant to share details of his private life, and so was George. But Dream had talked George through nearly every big event in his life: from awkward middle school crushes, to editing term papers due in half an hour, to his parents’ messy divorce halfway through secondary school. Now, he supposed, it was Dream’s turn to help him through starting at a new school.
He took a quick glance at the time; his school started in exactly forty-five minutes. Enough time to fix his bad hair and eat a quick breakfast. The school was about a ten minute drive with no traffic, and George hardly wanted to be late on his first day. He still needed to pick up his schedule from the administrator’s office and sort out textbooks and locate all his classrooms and…
George swallowed hard and left his room. His mother was already in the tiny kitchen; there was a kettle set to boil and a box of cereal out on the counter. She knew about George’s disappointment of moving to America; when he found out about the move due to her new job, he had been quite angry with her.
George was quick to go talk to Dream, but only briefly mentioned the details of the situation. He didn’t know where Dream lived, and Dream didn’t know where George lived. So George had only told him that he was being forced to move to a new school, and that he was feeling awfully about it. Dream had done his best to listen and support George as he talked, and slowly, most of George’s anger leached away. His mother was doing his best to make their new home positive, and George had grown to appreciate that endlessly.
“First day!” His mother cheered. She ruffled George’s hair with one hand, and set down a milk jug with the other. “Are you excited?”
George fought down the same spike of anxiety that happened every time he thought about starting at a new school. Everything he knew about American schools was based off films and television, and they were all needlessly dramatic and over the top. He wasn’t sure what to expect.
Vaguely, he missed his friends back in Brighton. Back there, he had a niche group of people who were all interested in the same things as he was. Their group had formed as mostly a group of outcasts— as many groups did, at first— but eventually got to know each other.
They had promised to keep in touch with George as he left, but neither George nor them really understood the effort it took to keep up that many online friendships. They had worked better in person anyway, and slowly, they drew apart. For the last few weeks, the only person George had been actively talking to was Dream.
It tended to go like that quite often.
“I’m excited,” he said. It wasn’t entirely true, but his mother took it as such. “You’ll drive me there?”
“Whenever you’re ready.”
George gave her a thumbs-up. He checked his phone again under the table and sent a message back:
georgenotfound: still nervous.
dreamwastaken: don’t stress. it’ll go great. plus i’ll be here if you need to talk!
His mother looked over at him and tsked. “No phones at the table, please.”
George gave her his best innocent look and texted Dream again:
georgenotfound: my mum keeps bugging me to put my phone away at the table
dreamwastaken: breaking the rules.. wow
georgenotfound: you know me :)
“George,” his mother repeated, sounding a tad more irritated. “What did I just say?”
“Sorry,” George said, not sorry at all, and shoveled a few more spoonfuls of cereal down. “We’ll leave in five minutes?”
She nodded. George went to go rinse out his cereal bowl and dropped it in the sink. His backpack had been sitting in his closet, primed and ready, for the last few days. It was the type of thing that made his nervousness a little easier, having things prepared. Now, he slung it onto his back and looked into the mirror.
A tuft of his hair stood up, and George flattened it down. Within a few seconds, it sprung up again. George sighed and gave up on it. He resolved himself to an awkward rest of the day.
His mother dropped him off at the administrator’s office fifteen minutes later, and George stepped out into the Florida sun. Even though it was barely seven AM, the air was already thick and humid with heat. George felt as though he was breathing in steam. How did anyone deal with it?
He checked his phone again for the time and saw that he had about fifteen minutes before the first bell rang. Briefly, George cursed the fact that schools in America started so early. He could already tell that the early start was going to make his mornings hell.
Tentatively, George introduced himself to the secretary at the front desk as George (the new kid), and then patiently waited as she sorted through file cabinets to find his schedule and a school map. She laid both on the desk in front of herself and briefly pointed out the various wings. George was slightly shocked at how big it was; in Brighton, less than five hundred students went to his school. Here at Lakeside High School, right on the outskirts of Orlando, there were over a thousand students.
“You’ll start off in American History, in room C103, and then you’ll have physics in room A207,” the receptionist explained. “You can ask another student for help if you need it, I’m sure everyone at Lakeside will be happy to help you.”
“Sure,” George echoed. He couldn’t imagine anyone being particularly thrilled to help out the dumb new kid. “Uh, where is the C Wing again?”
She pointed down the hall to the outdoors. “The buildings that are painted orange. That’s the history wing. You’ll find that the school is easy to get around.”
“Sure,” George repeated. He was colorblind, but he helpfully didn’t mention that. Still, he took his schedule, folded it up, stuck it in his back pocket, and made his way towards the stretch of buildings that the receptionist had mentioned.
American History, of course, was when the real trouble started.
There was no seating chart scrawled up on the board, instead the words “sit anywhere you please!” George took advantage of this, being one of the first students to arrive, and placed himself firmly in the back of the room. His plan was to draw the least attention to himself, and the back right corner seemed like the best place to do that.
Unfortunately, as the clock ticked closer to the start of the school day, the seats around him slowly filled with kids. George had awfully overestimated his ability to go unnoticed, because evidently everyone wanted a seat in the back. The newcomers were rowdy and loud, and they seemed to all know each other. George wanted to shrink into the corner and turn invisible. Of course, nothing ever went his way.
“Hey, you’re new here, right?”
Some of the talking stopped, and attention turned to him. George busied himself with taking out his notebooks and pretended not to hear.
“Hey,” the guy said, bracing an arm on the back of his chair to turn and look at him. “Are you new here?”
“Yeah,” George said, already feeling uncomfortable with the amount of attention on him. He wished they would just leave him alone. “I’m George.”
“I love your accent,” someone else said.
“Thanks,” George said, feeling more uncomfortable. He felt his face go hot and stared at his desk. There went his chances of making it through the day without having to interact with anyone.
“Are you from Britain?”
“Yes,” George said. He wished the bell would ring. “I just moved.”
“Why did you move? Was it weird? How long was the flight? Are you—”
“Oh, shut it, Skeppy,” someone else said, and neatly butted into their conversation. “Please ignore my friend, he’s an asshole. Nice to meet you, I’m Sapnap.”
The friend smacked Sapnap’s arm in mock annoyance. Sapnap pushed him back playfully before holding out his hand. George stared at it for a moment, before slowly reaching out and shaking it.
“That’s a weird name,” George said.
For a second Sapnap stared at him, and George abruptly realized that you shouldn’t say that to strangers, but then Sapnap grinned toothily.
“I know, right? It’s okay, though. At least it’s interesting.”
“Sure,” George said. Sapnap didn’t seem too bothered by George’s comment. He was certainly interesting-- his level of energy for this early in the morning was astronomical. Thankfully, he had also seemingly caught onto George’s hesitation, and leaned back from him. The rest of Sapnap’s friends had mostly left George alone, and went back to talking among each other.
“If you are new here, you’ll need a guide.”
George gave him a skeptical look, but nodded slowly. Sapnap, apparently, took that as an ‘enthusiastic yes” and began explaining the intricacies of Lakeside High School to George. He had gotten halfway through his elaborate description of the teachers George should and should not interact with (Mrs. Rovai, she teaches Honors Spanish 3, if you have her then good luck—) when the bell rang.
Their teacher entered; she had frizzy hair tied back, wore jeans and a chunky-knit sweater, and upon seeing Sapnap in the back corner, noticeably sighed. George’s eyes flickered between Sapnap and the teacher, and he realized that he had just unwittingly made friends with one of the school troublemakers.
Of course that was his luck.
The rest of his classes ran quite smoothly. A few more people tried to introduce themselves to him, but George shied away uncomfortably. The guy Sapnap had pushed away from him— Skeppy— was in George’s physics class, and there were some other recognizable faces in English who had sat next to him in history. The only class he didn’t have with anyone he recognized was pre calculus, his last class before lunch. One teacher asked George to introduce himself, which sent panic spiking through George’s stomach as the entire class turned to look at him, but that feeling dissolved soon after.
Before he knew it, lunch arrived. George shouldered his backpack and realized that he didn’t know where to go-- he had no friends, he barely knew anyone’s names. Was it true that people ate lunch in the bathroom stalls? Did lunch tables actually split up into dramatically different cliques? What was he supposed to do if he couldn’t find a place to sit?
“Hey!”
George turned, and Sapnap was there. He caught George’s elbow and steered him towards a table out in the open, by the grassy courtyard.
“I figured you don’t know anyone yet, so you can sit with us,” Sapnap explained. “You looked a little lost, so I hope you don’t mind.”
“I— okay,” George stammered. He didn’t really mind; he was grateful for Sapnap’s cautious friendship, and it was nice to hopefully have a familiar face around.
“You’ll meet everyone in our group,” Sapnap continued, taking no note of George’s nervousness. “It’s me, Skeppy, Bad, Ponk, Alyssa, and I think Clay should be there any second— we all sit together at lunch, so now you’re welcome.”
George couldn’t stop himself from asking: “Just like that?”
“Yeah,” Sapnap said, like it was obvious. “You’re new, and you seem nice, so why not be friends?”
“Oh,” George said, and ducked his head. “Okay.”
Sapnap shoulder-checked him. “Come on, let’s go sit down.”
On their way, Sapnap explained that most people called the courtyard the Green, namely for the wide stretches of grass and overarching trees. The sun was high overhead, but most of the table Sapnap headed towards was nicely shaded. A girl shuffled aside to give George more room as he sat down.
“You’re George, right?”
George didn’t recognize whoever said it but nodded nonetheless.
“The whole school is talking about you,” someone else chimed in.
Great. Just what he wanted. George scratched his ear uncomfortably.
“We should probably introduce ourselves,” someone else said, and there was a chorus of agreements. Name flickered by, and George attached them to people’s faces; Skeppy, the same guy from his physics class; Alyssa, who had moved aside to let him sit; Ponk, who gave him a friendly hello; Bad, eagerly sitting forward; and Sapnap, who George had already met. They all seemed very bright and shiny and freshly minted— and they all seemed to know each other quite well, as if they had been friends for years.
Curiously, he saw that no one had lunch, and no one was eating. He tentatively asked why.
“The cafeteria food sucks,” Alyssa interjected, “So none of us ever eat there. Are you a junior?”
“Yes,” George said. He hoped he was a junior, at least— he had been put into third year classes, and so he assumed that was the right year to be in.
“Excellent,” someone cheered. “We can go off campus for lunches.”
Upon noticing George’s confusion, Alyssa added, “Upperclassmen can leave campus at lunch. And Bad just got his license, so he can drive us all.”
“I mean,” someone else said— George assumed that he was Bad, since Alyssa had just mentioned him— “I’m not technically supposed to drive people until I’m eighteen, so—”
“No one listens to that,” Ponk said dryly. “You can drive us until I get my license next.”
“Nuh uh,” Skeppy said indignantly. “I’ll be next. I’ve already got my permit.”
“Whatever you say,” Alyssa said loftily. The table laughed. Skeppy rolled his eyes, but played along.
A teacher passed their table, and quickly, Sapnap pulled the white bandana off his head. George had noticed it before, back in history class— just a simple white band tied around his head. It made him look a little childish but also a little badass.
“Uniform violation, Sapnap,” the teacher said pointedly, and gave him a warning glance. Sapnap gave him a classic troublemaker smile, and as soon as the teacher was out of eyesight, tied the bandana back on.
“Can’t believe Mr. Davis lets you get away with that,” Ponk grumbled. “You two must be best friends.”
“We are,” Sapnap proclaimed. “I’ve never gotten detention yet. Mr. Davis is on my side.”
George felt a little bit lost. There was so much happening and so many people were talking, faces and names and voices he didn’t know. Vaguely, he wished that Dream was there-- Dream would likely be great in social situations, George just knew. And he would feel so much more comfortable if he had a best friend to talk with that he trusted.
“Hey,” someone said, and the entire table rearranged so that the last person could sit. “Sorry I’m late.”
George was shuffled to the side and saw the last person drop down. Instantly he could tell that this person was the “leader” of the group— George had a lot of experience with handling uncomfortable social situations, and as a result he had gotten quite good at analysing group dynamics. It was clear that everyone really liked whoever this new person was.
The guy glanced around the table, and his gaze landed on George. He gave him a dismissive up and down. “Who are you?”
“Hi,” George said, feeling like he was under scrutiny again. “I’m George.”
The guy’s eyes flicked over him again, and he said, “I’m Clay.”
There was an odd tension in the air for a moment. George wasn’t quite sure why.
“You’re in my math class,” Clay said. “New kid, right?”
George nodded. It was weird; Clay gave him a sense of deja vu, like he had already met him.
Clay gave him another appraising look. “See you around.”
Without another word, he turned and promptly joined Ponk and Alyssa’s conversation, happening at the other end of the table. George stared curiously after him for a moment.
“Don’t worry about him,” Bad said under his breath. “He’s not great with new people.”
“That’s okay,” George said, “Me either.”
Sapnap laughed. “You’re doing great, then.”
George gave Sapnap a reluctantly pleased smile, and joined the conversation. They were talking about some teacher or another, and even if he couldn’t contribute anything, he still listened. The group made future plans about where they were going to eat next, and debated whether to go to Mexican place down the street or just get burgers and shakes, and graciously included George in their discussion. Before he knew it, the warning bell rang, signaling that they had five minutes to get to their next class.
“What’s your next class?” Clay asked.
“I have computer science,” George said. He didn’t know why he suddenly felt so flustered. Clay was just another person; George didn’t feel like this whenever he talked with Sapnap, or Skeppy, or anyone else in the group.
“Hm.” Clay slung his backpack over his shoulder. “Have fun.”
George gave him a thumbs up and then instantly regretted it; that was such an awkward, clumsy thing to do. He turned to leave; he wasn’t sure how far the classroom was (it was in the D Wing, and George had no clue where that was).
Almost out of earshot, he heard Sapnap mutter to Clay: “Leave him alone, he’s new.”
Clay’s response was inaudible, but an odd feeling surfaced in George’s chest. He couldn’t place a name to the emotion, and decided to ignore it. He had two more hours in the school day, and then he could go home and relax. George was an introvert; he wasn’t built for this much social interaction.
The last two classes passed in a breeze; computer science trickled by, and George’s last class was Spanish (he had already taken two years of it in Brighton, but still had to take one more to graduate). Before he knew it, the day was over.
Except Sapnap cornered him after class, struck up a conversation, and before George knew it, nearly forty five minutes had passed. Even though George was still awkwardly quiet and still, Sapnap had no problem filling the silence and bouncing off of George’s short responses. Their conversation flowed so easily that George couldn’t believe he had only met him a few hours before. They listened to the same music and watched the same TV shows. They were even interested in the same content creators online, and Sapnap played Minecraft too.
On his walk home, George replayed the events of the day in his head. He felt quite proud of himself, if he was being honest— things had gone much better than he expected. He had made friends, and even if they were the apparent troublemakers of campus, they seemed to like him.
George pulled out his phone, and to his delight, saw that Dream had texted him almost an hour ago. Quickly, he scrolled through his texts:
dreamwastaken: hello!!
dreamwastaken: have you finished classes yet
dreamwastaken: omg tell me how everything went
George grinned down at his phone fondly. It wasn’t often that Dream triple texted him, and it was usually whenever Dream was excited about something beyond measure. Already, he felt better about his day.
georgenotfound: it honestly wasn’t that bad. i made friends with a few people
dreamwastaken: yay i knew u would
dreamwastaken: don’t replace me tho
georgenotfound: of course not you’ll always be my best friend
dreamwastaken: :)) <3
georgenotfound: <33
georgenotfound: anyway my classes aren't that interesting. i'm in pre calculus and i don't understand anything
dreamwastaken: precalc sucks. i’m rooting for you
georgenotfound: aren’t you some sort of math whiz?
dreamwastaken: i’m only good at math though. put me in a history class and i’ll forget everything
georgenotfound: mood, i’m in american history and i have no clue what’s going on
dreamwastaken: all u really need to know is that america wins wars, there’s nothing else to it
George snorted. The lump behind his began to dissolve, dislodging all of the stress from earlier that day. Dream always made him feel like this: happy, relaxed, and content. No matter how things at school went, or how many friends he had tentatively made there, he would always have Dream. That was enough for him.