Chapter Text
It happens the same way, every time.
We're playing at the lake, like we always did back then. Leo, Jasmynn, Carl, and Flynn are skipping rocks. I'm in the water, and they yell at me to get out of the way. So I dive under, and head towards where Toby and Sydney are playing. But as I surface, something's wrong. Sydney is sitting on top of Toby's back, who is lying face down in the water. He keeps pulling Toby's head up, just long enough to let him catch his breath, before shoving it back into the water and sand and mud.
He's going to kill him.
Unless I stop him.
I swim over as fast as I can. I pull Sydney off of Toby. Sydney's not happy about that. We fight for a moment. I punch him in the throat, and see the fight leave his eyes. It should be over now.
But it never is.
He'll do it again, I think to myself, Toby's not safe. I drag Sydney to where the water is deep. I shove him under. I follow. There's a ferociousness in his eyes, the fight is back in him again. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I use this as validation. As an excuse. I knew he was faking it, I think, now let's see how he likes it. We wrestle underwater, two bodies in constant, undulating motion. I see his face soften again, and his eyes look into mine pleadingly. I stare back, letting him know I'm not going to offer him any mercy. His eyes twitch suddenly, as he gets an idea. An idea I should have expected. He's always watching wrestling, and when he's wrestling around with one of us, he always proudly proclaims "I'm the heel" to whatever protests we have against his latest underhanded strategy. His whole body twists under the water, and I think he's trying to slip free. But he's not.
He's winding up.
He throws all of his weight into a kick, directly into my crotch. I watch bubbles rise past me as I involuntarily yelp. My hands leave him, involuntarily moving to nurse my injury. I float, curled up, like a fetus in a womb. Then I realize something terrifying:
He's going to tell.
I have to stop him. Maybe I can talk him out of tattling to Leo and the others. Maybe I can use his heel excuse against him. I bolt towards the shallows. I break the surface, and taste the dry afternoon air. I take a few gulps of it, trying to wipe the water out of my eyes, as I wade towards the shore. I can hear Toby still crying, though something sounds... off. As I open my eyes and am blinded by the afternoon sun, I remember my task.
"Sydney!" I shout, hoping to stop him before he gets to the others.
"Back the hell off" I hear, from a voice I know is Flynn's. My eyes adjust, and that's when I understand. Toby's cries sound wrong, because he's not the one crying.
Sydney is. I've seen him cry a time or two, but never like this. He always prided himself on being tough. But now there's no facade left. He's sobbing, practically wailing. Fear and despair and betrayal drip from each moan. I see Jasmynn trying to talk him down, a hand on his shoulder. But he either can't hear her, or can't understand.
Or just can't calm down.
His eyes meet mine and go wide with terror. My stomach turns. This isn't what I wanted. I just wanted him to be the one crying at the end of one of his and Toby's fights.
But not like this.
I take a step forward to try to talk to him, and Flynn is immediately in between us, staring me down. I hear Carl gasp to my right, and glance over to see him hugging Toby, who is trembling into his shoulder. Carl's eyes are darting in between me and Flynn, like he expects me to drag Flynn into the lake next.
"Just let me talk to him" I offer, and try to shoulder my way past Flynn. A large, red-furred arm immediately blocks my chest and shoves me backwards, and I look up to find Leo's eyes burning with anger.
"Stay away, Otter" he warns.
"Stay the fuck away from him, asshole" Flynn adds.
"Come on, guys, we were just wrestling around, and--" I offer.
"Yeah, he told us what you were trying to do, psycho. Now piss off" Flynn hisses at me.
"Just let me apologize," I look up at the wolf blocking my way, "Leo, just let me--"
"No," Leo interrupts. He's a man of few words, though that's mostly because, in English, he only really knows a few words.
"Come on," I whine, and try to step past him. I see Flynn's tail twitching in anticipation, but there's no need. Two large wolf paws grip my shoulders, hard.
"Ow, Leo, let go!"
"No," Leo warns, and there's something sinister in the tone that I've never heard from him before. "Stay away, Otter. Or I'll hurt you."
A silence falls over the scene. Sydney is no longer wailing, just trying to catch is breath as individual sobs hiccup in his throat. I feel their eyes on me, and look from one to the next.
Toby's guilty, mournful look.
Carl's confused fear.
Flynn's protective rage.
The hatred in Leo's eyes, and the fact that he's baring teeth, make it painfully, gut-wrenchingly clear: if I try to get closer, we won't be Leo and Chase anymore. We'll be predator and prey.
Finally, my gaze falls to Sydney, still staring at me in wide eyed fear.
It always ends this way. With the silence. With me losing all of my friends.
And Sydney... Sydney just stares.
And then I wake up.
Problem Child
An Echo Fan Fiction
By Fable91
Day 1
I swat at my alarm in the dark, the image of Sydney's terrified blue eyes still burned into my memory. It takes a moment of wondering why my alarm is going off at all before I remember what today is.
"Fuck, why did I have to have that dream today of all days?" I wonder aloud. The lake dream always leaves me exhausted the next day, like I didn't sleep at all.
And today's the first day of school.
I throw on whatever clothes I can find. I'm sure Mom had some preppy outfit picked out for me. I'm not going to wear it. I get made fun of enough as it is, I at least need the kids to be a little afraid of me if I'm going to survive. Wearing some mis-sized thrift store Sunday School outfit isn't going to help. I shuffle down the hall as quickly as my shitty otter legs will carry me. I'm not made for this being-on-land crap. Mom's already left, off to the underpaying job that comes with the single-motherhood-I-never-asked-for lifestyle. Dad had stuck it out for a few years, before splitting because he "couldn't deal with the problem child" anymore. All dads do that eventually, mine was at least straightforward about it. He married some bitch upstate, she's got an honors kid, and they're off pretending to be a real family somewhere. I see them a couple of times a year, and it feels like pulling teeth. Stepbrother's alright I guess, except he always stares at me when I come to visit. Probably figures I'm there to steal his shit. I've tossed the idea around in my head of just kicking his ass, just to see what would happen. But that's the demented, problem-child shit I'm supposed to be trying to get away from. He's a prissy prick, but he's the only member of that side of the family who at least tries to be nice to me. Even my own dad can't stand having me around.
I throw a pair of off-brand toaster pastries in the toaster, and let my mind wander. A bad habit to get into. But that nightmare always leaves me in this sort of mood. Contemplative, I guess. Introspective. Fucking tired. I've had that dream about once a week since that day. Sometimes I'll go a month or so without, and almost taste what it's like to be normal for a minute. Then it comes back, and I remember. I'm not normal. I'm the psycho killer. When it comes back, it likes to come back every day for a week or two. Like I have to make up for the ones I missed. Those weeks are a trainwreck. No sleep, plus my usual ability to get into trouble... I can't help wondering what my life would be like if that day had never happened. Still friends with the kids from Echo, parents still together. Of course Toby might be dead. And Sydney would still have those problems he used to, after his dad died. But maybe he'd be the problem child, instead of me. Hell, maybe he'd look up to me or some shit.
Sometimes, in my darker moments, of which there are more than I'd care to mention, I think about... the alternative. What might have been if... he hadn't gotten away. Would I have killed him? I don't think I would have. But I don't know. If I did kill him, then I guess my life would probably be even worse. So either Sydney dies, or Toby dies, or... this. So then I guess I had no say in it after all. I guess I did the best thing I could, for all of us. Though I hardly deserve credit, I wasn't thinking about that at the time. I was just angry with Sydney. But I got angry with Sydney a lot back then. I don't know what was different about that day. Why I did what I did.
I don't know what the fuck is wrong with me.
The sound of the toaster popping grants me a temporary reprieve from my emotional tailspin. I take a bite, and curse as the filling burns my mouth.
"Fach" I manage over a mouthful of molten imitation strawberry. I glance at the clock. Fuck. Time to go deal with the nightmare that today is going to be.
I grab my backpack and head out the door. I nibble on the shall-remain-nameless toaster tart, pushing myself through the hot edges to the cold center. I'm not sure a single bite ends up being the correct temperature. As I walk I continue to think, because that's all I can do. After the... incident, my parents started sending me to psychiatrists. Shrink after shrink, hoping that one of them could fix me. That I could be their normal, boring, personality-of-a-rock son again. All the "doctors" did was run up a bill while they asked me stupid, meandering questions. One was very concerned with how often my father hugged me. One suggested that I hated my mom for "abandoning" me by giving birth to me. One was very, very convinced that I had been molested. To the point where it almost felt like he was trying to convince me. Like I wouldn't fucking know. That one ended with a shouting match that could be heard from the receptionist's desk, where I said some very violent and sexually explicit things that I guess twelve-year-olds aren't supposed to shout at their psychologists. But it had pretty quickly become clear to me that the shrinks had a grift going-- each one would run up a bill while asking me asinine questions, then just shrug and go "I dunno, lol" and pass me off to the next one to get his paycheck. So I started fucking with them. If they weren't gonna help me anyway-- and none of them could-- then I wasn't about to let them run the meter and bleed my parents dry.
This was about the time that Dad left. So maybe I miscalculated a bit. Or maybe he's just a weak and feckless coward, and I should be glad to have him out of my life. In either case, what's done is done. He's gone, I'm an attempted murderer with no diagnosis to fall back on, and it's the first day of school.
Jasmynn and Carl are at the bus stop already. Seeing members of the old gang sucks. It's like a breakup that I never get over. I see them, and get excited, then remember. Every damn time. And nearly every time I see them, I do something else too. Something my pride begs me not to do. Something the "rebellious problem child" in me hates me for too.
I try.
"Hey, Jasmynn" I offer. She glances up.
"It's Jenna now" she corrects.
"What?" I ask, in that way where you ask for clarification just before your mind catches up. Her brow furrows, as if she's suddenly remembering who she's talking to.
"Never mind" she assures me, and turns away from me, casting her gaze towards the horizon. Jasmynn usually isn't outright rude to me, but she's got the cold shoulder down to a science. Something about her tone, and the way she moves, can shut you down completely. So I turn to Carl instead, who's busy doing something or another on his phone.
"Morning, Carl" I offer. His gaze remains locked on the screen, pretending he didn't hear me. But the way he flinched at my voice lets me know he did. So, this year should be good. Just like all the others.
The bus arrives, and I shuffle to the back as quickly as possible, keeping my head down. I avoid looking at anyone, because I already know they're glaring at me. Like they always do. I sit in the back, and stare out at the desert.
#
The trip to school is uneventful, and I plod along to homeroom, ignoring the glares as I pass. You'd think after some four or five odd years they'd be over it, but not much happens around here I guess. I glance at the schedule that I've been handed. P.E. first period, which is a joke. P.E. is of course already a joke, plus being an otter in P.E. is an added punchline, plus having to do it first thing in the morning--? Fuck this. The rest of the schedule is fairly standard school shit. Math, Science, History, the usual. I almost let myself feel like I was in for an ordinary day.
I should know better.
I walk to the gym, and find most of the kids sitting on the bleachers. First day, they're not gonna make us actually do anything. So I walk to the bleachers and sit down in a corner, away from everyone else, like I always do. Class starts. The "teacher" (P.E. teacher, so...) comes out, and starts reading off names. They don't seem to be in any particular order. Eventually he gets to me.
"Hunter, Chase?"
I raise my hand.
"Hunter, Chase?" he says again. I glance up, confused. The meathead is staring at his clipboard like letters are a new innovation for him, not even bothering to look up.
"Fuck" I mutter under my breath, "Here!" I shout. Several kids turn, and I see them muttering to each other. Making sure everyone knows who I am. I already know what they're saying, and the word I can read on their lips confirms it. "Psycho." I hate calling attention to myself.
"Well, say that the first time!" the teacher scolds. Great, I think, one of these types.
The roll call continues, largely without incident, until I hear a name that chills me to the bone.
"Bronson?"
I look up. That can't be right.
"Bronson, Sydney?"
"Here" a gruff voice answers. It's been years since I've heard his voice, and it's clearly changed with puberty, but I'd still recognize it anywhere. I look over, and sure enough, there he is, wearing a Hot Topic t-shirt of some kind and an "I <3 Boobies" silicone wristband.
Fuck, he's not supposed to be here.
"Ayers, Tabatha?" the P.E. "teacher" calls out.
I have to do something.
"Sir?" I speak up. I can't help but notice how high-pitched and childish my voice sounds compared to Sydney's. But my insecurities can wait. They always do.
"Now, I have a hard time believing that you're both Hunter Chase and Tabatha Ayers, son" the P.E. "teacher" says flatly.
"Chase Hunter, sir, and--"
"Be quiet, Chase" he interrupts. What an asshole.
"But sir, I'm not--"
"I said be quiet" he says again, with a warning tone.
"Sydney and I aren't supposed to have class together!" I blurt out quickly, all at once. Everyone's staring at me. I see a weasel mumble something to his chameleon compatriot, then look up at me, grinning evilly.
"Oh, no, and why's that?" the "teacher" finally asks.
"He and I... I..." I stammer. Fuck this. "We have... history."
"Well, you and your ex-boyfriend are going to have to learn how to get along" he jabs, drawing giggles from the other children. Glad to see homophobia is still alive and well in these parts.
"No, it's not that, he... Well, I..." I start. Am I really gonna have to rehash this whole damn thing for this jackass?
"Hunter tried to kill Sydney once" a voice from the crowd excitedly chimes in. Thanks, asshole.
"Really?" the instructor asks incredulously, "You're telling me our star wrestler was nearly murdered by the eighth best member of our swim team?"
Eighth best. Including me, there had been eight members on the swim team.
Still, he's not wrong.
"He tried to drown him!" the same voice chimes in... helpfully.
"Is that right?" the asshole responds, "he tried to drown... an otter. Hell of a plan. Am I really supposed to buy that?" He looks up at me expectantly, and I can feel everyone else's eyes on me as well.
"It's true" I offer meekly.
"Well, I think that Bronson can more than handle you outside of the water" the "teacher" says, as if that ends the conversation.
"But sir..." I stammer.
"It's fine" I hear a voice mumble.
"Sir, I--"
"It's fine!" the voice says louder, and I realize it's Sydney. I look over to him. He's not looking at me, only staring straight ahead.
"Well, then, sounds like it's all worked out" the "teacher" smirks, as if his stupid ass was going to do anything about it anyway. "That work for you?" he asks me expectantly. I glance over to Sydney again, but Sydney just stares.
"Fine" I finally mutter, sitting back down.
Eventually we find out if Tabatha Ayers is present (she is), and work the rest of the way through the list. I consider trying to talk to Sydney, but can't work up the courage. Plus, I can't imagine the gossip that would fly if people saw he and I talking. So I spend the rest of the period glancing awkwardly at him, then looking back down at the book I'm holding when I realize I'm staring. Sydney, for his part, appears to be writing in a notebook, and seems blissfully unaware of the people around him, including the stalker murderer otter sitting in the corner by himself. So I sit alone, trying not to stare while trying not to look like I'm trying not to stare.
When there's ten minutes left of class, the teacher calls us into the locker room. Each of us is given a padlock and our locker assignment. As I'm latching my new (well, these things are pre-90's, but it's new to me) lock onto my new locker, I catch Sydney's form in the corner of my eye. I stare straight ahead, pretending to be carefully studying my lock, memorizing the combination. But I'm aware of his presence behind me, and hear a creak as he opens his locker.
Directly across from mine. I'd bet money that that douchebag teacher changed the assignments just to do this to us. What a fucking asshole.
As Sydney gingerly slams the lock shut on his locker, I realize I should say something. Realize that I have to, or this year is going to be a special kind of hell.
"Hey, I..." I start, but then freeze. He's turned to look at me, and our eyes are locked. I haven't looked into his eyes like this since that day, and now I'm locked in some sort of PTSD flashback unskippable cutscene bullshit. Though is face remains unbothered, the fact that he's not blinking either makes it clear that it's not much better on his end. Finally, he breaks free of whatever priori incantatum Harry Potter nonsense is going on.
"O-kaaayy...?" he moans, and turns to leave.
"Wait!" I snap, and, for some stupid reason, place my hand on his shoulder. I realize my mistake as both of our gazes suddenly lock onto my hand. Just sitting there. On his shoulder. I pull my hand back like his t-shirt was a hot stove. The last time I laid a hand on him was... Well, you already know.
"I just meant..." I stammer. I shouldn't have tried to talk to him. "I just meant, I'm sorry, about..." I gesture between our lockers, then gesture out towards the gym, "...all this." He glances to the side and furrows his brow, like he's thinking really hard about something. I half expect him to just knock me out on the spot. Honestly, I'd welcome it. I deserve it. Finally, he looks up at me and gives his head a quick shake.
"Not your fault," he mumbles, "no worries. Let's just..." he pauses, as if considering the phrasing carefully "...not really deal with each other, okay? I'll keep to myself, you keep to yourself, deal?" Oh my God, Sydney Bronson, you are just too kind for this world.
"Yeah, of course, deal" I say, and as I hear my voice, I notice how overexcited I sound. Or maybe that's just my high pitched... tenor? (let's face it, I'm barely below soprano) Either way, I sound like a giddy schoolchild. Which I guess I am, but... Fuck. The only reason I don't get my ass kicked daily is that people are afraid of me. If I lose that, I'm toast.
"Okay, good" Sydney offers, and turns to walk away. After a few paces, he turns back towards me "Oh, and Chase?"
"Yeah?" I grip my tail nervously.
"Probably best to keep your hands off me from now on, okay?" he warns. There's no threat or anger in his voice, but a firmness that lets me know not to mistake his gentleness for weakness.
"Yeah, I uh..." I stutter, "Sorry about that."
He says nothing, but meets my gaze again. This time, we don't relive any near-death experiences, and he simply nods and walks away. The bell rings, and I follow him out the door.
#
My classes are fairly boring for most of the day. No more run-ins with Sydney, the teachers, while douchey, are considerably less so than the P.E. "teacher". At lunch I sit at the loser table, like I always do. New year means new lunch shifts, which means new people finding new tables with new other people. But you can shake up the Batavian dressing all you like, it'll always stratify back into oil, weird red goop, and the weird crumbs at the bottom. I'm sitting among the crumbs. They're talking about some old TV show, "Add Asterisk" or something. To be honest, it seems like the type of thing that would interest me, but you can't be the dangerous bad boy and the sci-fi nerd at the same time, and I know which one will get my ass kicked. So I sit and pretend not to listen, while secretly listening intently. Which is how lunch has always been for me, since That One Time At The Lake. One of the nerds, a salamander, keeps looking at me and furrowing his brow. I guess he recognizes me. But the perk of sitting with the nerds is that they're too chickenshit to tell you to fuck off, even if they really want to. So I sit and eat my... I think this is supposed to be a rib sandwich? Of course, rib meat is supposed to come from a rib, but I don't think anyone told this butcher that. It's a pressed patty, one of those meat "products" that has the texture of wet plywood. The barbecue does enough to mask whatever the meat tastes like, however, so it's a high-quality dining experience by cafeteria standards.
"Well, whatever, I tend to watch more of the second series anyway" a stoat sitting to my left chimes in.
"Ugh, I can't stand that... What's the captain's name in that one again?" a frog on my right responds.
"Captain Neferu" the stoat responds proudly.
"Yeah, well, Captain Amicus could take Neferu in a fight any day" is the frog's response. Uh oh. Nerd war.
"You're probably right, but that's not the point. Amicus just punches things. Captain Neferu is contemplative, tactical. Captain Neferu is the thinking man's captain." The stoat asserts.
"Yeah, well, Captain Amicus probably gets way more ass than Neferu does anyway" the amphibian retorts.
"I rest my case" the stoat concludes. I suddenly get the stupid, stupid urge to say something.
"If Amicus and Neferu were to..." I start, and gesture with my hand "...you know..."
"Fight?" the frog asks.
"No, I mean like..." I lean in towards the table, as if to tell a juicy secret, "...I mean like which one would be..." I raise my eyebrows meaningfully. They're not getting it. "Which one would be catching?"
Why did I ask that. I don't know why I asked that. Just to stir some shit, I guess. The nerds look at each other, as if they're unsure what I said, or how to respond. Finally the frog speaks up, "Neferu would" he says smugly. The stoat puffs up like he's about to launch into a tirade, then sighs dejectedly.
"Nah, that's... That's probably right," he admits. After a moment of thought, he adds "Captain Neferu would choose to catch, if it furthered the mission objective."
"Fine" the frog accepts this surrender. And so ends my attempt to plunge the table into a bloody civil war. "If Neferu is lowering his shields for Captain Amicus'... photon torpedo... he can make up whatever excuse he wants. Blame it on the synthehol for all I care."
The joke goes over my head, but they all laugh, so it was probably a good one. The rest of the lunch period is spent coming up with new and creative Add Asterisk style names for dicks and butts. Delta flyer. Wormhole. Warpcore manifold. Sonic screwdriver is accepted begrudgingly, despite its not being lore-accurate. The bell rings and we stand up to leave.
"Hold on, didn't catch your name" the stoat says to me.
"Oh, uh..." Shit, I didn't want to make friends. I hate friends. "...Chase. Chase Hunter."
His mouth suddenly hangs open, and I know he recognizes the name. He looks me up and down, as if he expects to literally find blood on my hands. Good news: I didn't make a friend after all. I'm not sticking around for whatever comes next.
"Yeah, so uh... bye" I offer, grab my backpack, and quickly walk away, trying not to look like I'm running, which is hard to do on stubby otter legs. Better he find out now, I guess.
I would hate to accidentally make a friend today.
#
After lunch, my next class is Chemistry. I'm not great at any subject, but science tends to be one of my better ones. Science is, at the very least, reliable. Input bread, output toast. English and History involve too much... humanity. To much analysis, and second-guessing. To much trying to analyze people's motives. Boron doesn't have an agenda.
As we walk into the classroom, I sit in the back corner, of course. The other students find their friends in the class and find seats next to them. So, of course, the seat next to me is left empty. The teacher, a female sable with a fussy demeanor which means she probably hasn't made tenure yet, trots in right as the bell rings.
"Hello class, welcome to Chemistry, I'm just going to read your names off of this list and you say 'here' when you hear yours, okay?" she explains in a rushed tone. Cool it lady, we've all done roll call before.
She starts calling names. Again, they don't seem to be in any particular order. Guess alphabetization is a bit too expensive for this school.
"Chase?" I hear, and see her eyes darting around frantically, like she might miss me if she blinks. I sullenly raise my hand, and she points at it, whispers something under her breath, and marks on her clipboard.
"Micha?" she requests next, eyes darting about again. I know sables are prey animals, but Christ woman, calm down. "Has anyone seen Micha?" she asks.
"I saw him earlier today" some narc offers. I glance over to find that the narc is none other than Tobias Hess. The same Tobias Hess that I saved from drowning by trying to drown Sydney. Yeah. That Toby. His eye catches my gaze, and he offers me a weak smile. Of the old gang, he's the only one who still acts halfway decent to me. Says "hi" in the hall, little things like that. I think maybe it's because he feels guilty. Like what happened to Sydney, and by extension, me, was somehow his fault. Which, since I was doing it to protect him... It kind of is. But then again, maybe it's just nice Toby being nice Toby. He was always kind of a pushover like that.
"Hmm, well, alright, maybe he went home sick" the teacher offers optimistically. Some snickering in the class indicates that it's much more likely he's just skipping. Or up to no good. Something's bothering me about that name, though. It's not like it's common, and I swear I've heard it before. I can't picture him though. Who the fuck is Micha?
Roll call continues, primarily uneventful aside from Toby mentioning that he prefers to go by T.J. now. Which is something I didn't know, but then, why the hell would I? The teacher finishes attendance, then announces that it's time to pick lab partners. Everyone jumps up to grab a friend before someone else can, and that's when I get an idea. He always was a pushover like that, after all.
"Hey, Toby" I holler as I close the distance between us. His face lights up, but I can't tell if he's actually happy to see me or just being nice. Doesn't really matter.
"Hey, Chase," he grins, "it's T.J. now, by the way." Duh, I think to myself, I literally just learned that.
"Oh, right, T.J." I try to laugh it off, "how was your summer?"
"Great!" he grins, though I notice his ear twitching with nervousness, "how was yours?"
Lonely mopey miserable hell.
"Oh, not too bad" I lie. Damn it, just make the ask already. "So, what do you say?"
T.J.'s smile droops a bit.
"Um... about what?" he asks.
"I mean," I begin, giving him the most sincere smile I can, "Do you wanna be lab partners?"
"Oh" he says, and I can tell by his tone what his answer is.
"Oh, that's alright..." I begin. Part of me wants to keep the pressure on, maybe I can talk him into it. But this is Toby we're talking about. For one, he's the only one who's still halfway nice to me. I'm not gonna punish him for that. Two, if I did try to pressure him, he'd probably just end up crying.
"Oh, no, it's not..." he interrupts, "I just... I already paired up with Heather. It would be rude of me to..."
"No worries" I assure him, "didn't realize you were already paired up."
"Yeah, sorry..." he offers.
"Hey, I said no worries. Listen, Tob-- T.J., it was good catching up with you again." I say, hoping to extend an olive branch of sorts.
"Yeah" he smiles at me, before sighing deeply, "you too." I guess that's the best I'm going to get for now.
Just then, the classroom door swings open, and a bat walks in. Suddenly it all comes together.
Fuck, I think to myself, that's Micha. He lives in Echo, and I know from what little I've seen of him that he's a total douche. Skinny little shit, wannabe punk, kleptomaniac extraordinaire. Somehow manages to still be one of the bad kids, even with the murderous otter running around. If someone from Payton mentions that problem child from Echo, it's me. If they say those problem children from Echo, it's Micha and his deadbeat little friends.
"You're late" the teacher says, nervously trying to assert authority.
"Looks like it" he responds. Douche.
"Where were you?" she asks.
"Not here" he growls. Is he trying to make his voice sound deeper on purpose?
"Well, I know that" the teacher starts.
"Well then, why'd you ask?" he quips. If there's one thing that pretending to be a badass has taught me, it's how to tell when someone's pretending to be a badass.
"Ugh" the teacher gives up, "just find a lab partner. Who doesn't have one yet?"
Oh God, kill me.
"There's an even number of you, someone must not have one yet?" she repeats.
"Chase doesn't have one" a familiar voice responds helpfully. Thanks Toby. T.J. Whoever the hell you are.
Micha's eyes find mine, and he looks exactly as thrilled about it as I am.
"I'm stuck with psycho?" he sneers. Dude, who the fuck do you think you are?
"Find your seat, Micha" the teacher orders.
"They're all taken."
"There's one next to Chase."
"I'm not sitting next to psycho."
"Should've shown up on time then," the teacher retorts, and while I don't typically root for the establishment, I'm a little bit happy to see her finally stand her ground. Mainly because it shuts Micha up. He walks over and stands next to the desk. A scent hits my nose, and I know that he was either getting a quickie from a skunk in the bathroom, or he was getting blazed on the cheapest weed in the county. His lip curls in a scowl. He's clearly trying to look tough, but something about his pig-like bat nose being flared up like that is almost... cute?
"What?" he asks me.
"What do you mean?" I spit back. Two can play the fake tough guy game, hotshot.
"You're staring at my nose" he responds. Shit, was I?
"If I sit here..." he starts, "You promise you're not gonna try and kill me?" Oh, real bold. You're referencing that time I tried to kill Sydney. Not like every other kid in this school would go for that too.
"Maybe," I respond, "If you sit there, am I gonna need to get a bike lock to keep my backpack at my desk?" You thieving little fuck, I add in my head.
"Nah," he gives me a snide smile, "You ain't got shit worth stealing. Besides, wouldn't make a difference anyway. Bike locks are easy." He finally sits down.
The teacher starts going over the rules for the class, safety procedures, and all that other crap. I'm not really listening, instead still fuming over being stuck with Micha for a lab partner. Micha and Heather are friends, or at least I think they are. If he'd been here, he could have paired with her and I could be paired with Toby. Instead, I've got this tool to deal with. I try to consider my options. I don't really have any. Finally, I think back to my discussion with Sydney. Maybe that could work again?
"Hey" I whisper over to him. He ignores me, but his ears flick, so I know he heard me. Then again, with ears that huge, he can probably hear me thinking.
"Listen, I want to make a deal with you, alright?" I offer. He glances over to me, a scowl tugging at his lips. He looks like he's got something to say. Probably something shitty. But he swallows it.
"Go on" he mumbles. He's definitely making his voice deeper than it naturally is.
"Look man," I whisper, "neither of us wants to be here. I don't want to work with the klepto, and you don't want to work with the psycho." He doesn't say anything, but he appears to at least be listening. I continue, "So let's just make a deal. I don't give a shit if we don't say two words to each other outside of here, let's just agree to get along just enough to get through this hellhole of a class. Deal?" His lip curls again, and I can see him fighting the reflex to say something rude. He considers for a moment.
"Whatever, fine" he finally hisses back. I'll take it. Sometimes you have to take what is offered, and let it be enough. A lesson I learned fast when my life went to shit.
The bell rings, and we stand to leave. Micha and I lock eyes, like we both want to say something. But neither of us does, and after a moment, he scowls and walks away. As he does so, the artist formerly known as Toby approaches me.
"Hey, Chase, just wanted to say, sorry again..." he starts.
"Hey, I told you, don't worry about it" I assure him, "I'm partners with Micha."
"Yeah, I saw that, I think Heather's actually kind of friends with him" he says, in that cheery way that only Toby can pull off without sounding fake, "she says he's a good guy, just kind of has some issues."
"Yeah, maybe" I concede, "I mean, everyone from Echo has issues though."
"Yeah, I guess," he frowns, but quickly regains his composure, "who knows, maybe you and Micha will end up being friends." I'd rather die, I think to myself.
"After all," T.J. continues, "you guys kind of have a lot in common. You know, you're both..." and then his mouth hangs open, as he realizes where that sentence ends. Say it, Toby. Were both bad kids. Just fucking say it.
"I just mean..." he stammers, "you've both kind of been through some stuff, and you both have..." he tugs at his ear, "...reputations, let's say?"
"Reputations, huh?" I ask, and his eyes immediately flick downward in shame. Shit, I'm gonna make him cry, aren't I?
"Hey" I offer, as cheerily as I can muster, "I know exactly what you mean, no worries. Listen, it was good seeing you. See you tomorrow?" He still looks distressed, but he offers a smile.
"See you tomorrow, Chase" he grins.
He walks away, towards wherever his next class is. I can hardly contain myself. I don't want to sound like a loser or needy or something, but... That's the longest I've talked to any of the old group. I know I shouldn't get excited, because it doesn't matter. I'm the psycho killer, and they all hate me. T.J. couldn't talk them out of that, even if he wanted to. And I don't even know if he wants to, he's just being nice. But still, it's something. Then a chill runs down my spine. I know better. Life doesn't give me something without expecting something in return. Equivalent exchange and all that. The problem child doesn't get to have a good day. There has to be a catch.
#
But the rest of the day progresses and there is no catch. I mean, I'm still stuck at school, which sucks, but it's a normal day. The rest of my classes pass without incident, no murder victims or deadbeat kleptos to ruin them. The ride home is boring as well, I sit on my own gazing out the window. I think I catch Jasmynn glancing my way every now and then, but whenever I glance up at her, she's buried in whatever manga she's into this week. The bus groans to a halt, sounding almost as if even it can't stand having to stop in Echo. Which, believe me, I sympathize with. The few of us that remain trudge off of the bus, and the engine groans as it pulls away. I nod a farewell to Jasmynn and Carl, hoping to get a response, but neither reacts, and I trudge home alone. Like always.
When I get home, I know I have about a half hour or so before Mom gets home, which means exactly one thing: time to jerk off. I sit in front of my outdated computer, still running Windows Millenium Edition, and open up the browser. I consider a moment, as the cursor blinks in the search bar. This is possibly the most important decision I've made today. Finally, I settle on something. I type "otter stallion breeding" into the bar and let the internet whisk me away to pornographic heaven. But as the video starts, I'm slightly put off by something.
Fuck, that otter kind of looks like Sydney, I think to myself. And he does. Dark fur, blue eyes, thick build. But then the stallion gets behind him and... yeah. Pretty sure Sydney doesn't do that. At least not without a lot of lube.
I'm not going to tell you how my little masturbation sesh goes, except to say it goes pretty much exactly how you expect. 20 minutes opening tabs, 5 minutes actually watching videos. For some reason lately I've been drawn to gay porn, and I'm not sure why that is. Probably just a phase, I mean it's all porn right? I'm a teenager, a particularly curvy piece of driftwood could set me off. At the very least, I'm sure it doesn't mean I'm... Well I'm obviously not. Psycho, problem child, and gay? That would just be overkill.
As I'm wiping up my... doings... I hear the door slam shut, and know Mom's home. I realize it's probably about time for dinner, and walk out hoping that she picked something up on the way home. I know she's not going to want to cook, and I sure as hell don't want to.
"Hey, hon" she offers wearily, "How was your first day of school?" I think about the question for a moment. Should I tell her about Sydney?
"Oh, it was okay, you know..." I trail off, "...boring."
"I was hoping maybe you could make dinner tonight?" she asks hopefully. Called it. "I just had a really rough day at work."
"Yeah, I kind of had an off day at school too." I respond.
"Oh? Well, then we can order in, I guess..." she starts.
"No, no" I respond guiltily, "I'll make something, no worries." I know we can't afford to order in. She tries to keep up appearances like we're doing fine, but I'm not a fucking idiot. I know what a letter marked "urgent" from the electric co-op means.
"Are you sure?" she offers, "I know you said you had a rough day, we can get Chinese..."
"No," I interrupt, "I'll make mac and cheese and hot dogs. It's no problem." Of course, I don't really want to cook. But I'm sure as hell not letting her spend money on take out.
"If you're sure..." she trails off, offering me one last chance to renege.
"No, it's fine," I lie, "I really don't mind cooking. Go shower or whatever, I'll get it started."
"Aww, thanks dear" she coos, and scratches at my headfur. Obviously if anyone from school were around, I'd be mortified, but... When it's just us, I put up with it. Because at the end of the day, she's the one who didn't give up on me. The only one.
She leaves, and I get a pot started on the stove. Of course, I don't feel like cooking, but damned if I'm going to let her spend money on food from outside when I can cook it here. I throw the macaroni and hot dogs in the same water. That's probably not correct, and maybe even a health code violation, but, like... fuck that? I'm just going to boil the fuck out of it until it's edible then add the cheese powder. I'm not Gordon-fucking-Ramsay.
I hear the shower running, and I mull over my day. Should I tell her about Sydney? About T.J.? Micha? She always asks me how my day is, and I always have nothing to say. Today I do, but I don't know how she'll react. Last thing I want is to give her one more thing to worry about. I may be the problem child, but like... fuck. She's my mom. I don't mind being a problem for everybody else, but I'm not about to pile all of my shit onto her.
I drain the pasta and questionable sausage, and toss it back in the pan. I throw the powdered imitation cheese product in, and open the fridge. I glance at the milk, and immediately scowl. Expiration date from last week. But sometimes you can stretch milk... I open the cap and take a sniff. Fuck. That went bad two weeks ago, if I had to guess. There's no way. I pour it down the drain. This isn't the first time this has happened though, and I know how to react.
"Hey, Mom?" I holler down the hall. The shower shut off some time ago.
"Yeah?" she hollers back.
"Milk's gone bad" I shout back. A moment's pause.
"Oh, just..." she begins.
"Yeah, I know. It's just gonna be goopy is all."
"Fine, then it'll be goopy."
I throw in the butter (or margarine) that the recipe calls for, then throw in an extra slice. I measure out some water, about half as much as the recipe called for in milk, and throw it in. Then I stir, like somehow I'm going to unify the butter and water into milk. It doesn't work, but it makes passable macaroni and cheese, provided you've never had actual macaroni and cheese before. I plate up two helpings, and carry them into the living room, where Mom is flipping through channels. She stops on some dated sitcom about a struggling comedian in New York. It'll do.
We watch in silence, eating our dinner. Eventually, the commercials come on, and Mom is quick to hit the mute button.
"So, how was your day?" she asks.
"Fine" I lie again.
"Anything interesting happen?" she asks. She always asks that. Usually the answer is no, but today...
"I uh... Ran into a couple of people from Echo" I explain.
"Well, everyone from Echo goes to Payton, so that makes sense," she reasons, "Who'd you run into?"
Well, fuck.
"Sydney," I admit, and she chokes on her macaroni for a moment.
"You mean Sydney..."
"Yeah, that Sydney" I confirm.
"Oh. Where did you run into him?" she inquires.
"We're in the same P.E."
"Oh, honey, I'll call the school tomorrow and--"
"Mom..."
"No, we have an arrangement, I'll call and make sure--"
"Mom..."
"We just all agreed it would be best for both of you, and there's no reason they can't--"
"Mom!" I finally shout. She looks at me in surprise, and I realize how loud I was.
"Mom, it's fine. He and I talked about it. It'll be fine" I assure her, although I'm hardly convinced of that myself.
"I can call if you need me too--"
"Mom, please!" I beg, "he and I talked, it's cool."
"Oh, well, okay" she gives up, "if you're sure." She hesitates, clearly lost in thought. The show has started again, and the wacky neighbor is explaining his clip-on tie dispenser idea. Of course, it's muted, so it's all pantomime, but I've seen this one before.
"You two have really grown up, haven't you" she says, quietly enough that it might have just been to herself.
"I guess" I mumble. She unmutes the TV, and we sit in silence until the next commercial break.
"So, anything else happen?" she inquires. Now I feel like she's getting nosy.
"Ran into T.J." I say.
"T.J...?"
"Oh, Toby. Toby Hess. He goes by T.J. now, I guess."
"Huh. I guess you're all growing up, aren't you?" I'm not sure what she means by that.
"I guess."
"Where'd you run into Toby?"
"Chemistry."
"Oh, are you two, like, lab partners or something?" she asks. I think about that a moment. I sort of want to tell her the truth. But me, and Micha... Both have reputations, as T.J. put it. If people find out we're connected, in any way whatsoever, they'll never leave us alone. So I do what I usually do in this sort of situation. I lie through my teeth.
"Yeah, kind of" I confirm. I hate lying to my mom. She's the only person on the planet who's never lied to me. Well, there was that whole "the stork" thing, but we've cleared that up since. Turns out babies come from drunk, unprotected prom night sex.
"Well, that's interesting" she says. The show's on again, and she's not reaching for the unmute button. "How do you feel about that?"
"Well..." I begin. I don't want to spill my guts out for her, but clearly she's looking for some sort of juice. Because she cares. "I mean, Toby's not bad."
"Of course not," she confirms, "he's a very nice young man."
"Well yeah..." I start, "But that's not what I mean. I just mean... After..." My arms gesticulate wildly, and she understands exactly what I mean, "...he's the only one who's been sort of okay with me. I know it's just because he's nice, but..." I chew my overcooked macaroni and undercooked hot dog, considering my next words. "I mean, he's a good guy. I know the others would never let him close to me, but..."
"Well, why should that be their business?" she asks. Mom's just don't get how shit works.
"Because, that's just how it works. They're all protective of him, and of Sydney. If they knew he and I were talking, they'd put a stop to it. But..."
"But...?" she bids me to continue.
"But there's nothing they can do about us having Chemistry together. So I'm just gonna try to be as nice as I can to him. And to Sydney."
"I'm proud of you" she grins.
"Mom, it's not that big a deal..."
"No, it is though" she assures me, "it's something." It is something, isn't it.
"Yeah, I know, I know. Listen, I'm gonna head to my room for the night."
"Going to bed already? It's barely eight o' clock."
"Yeah, but..." I sigh, "I didn't really sleep well last night."
"Did you have the dream again?" she asks, suddenly deathly serious. I don't answer, but my shifting eyes, looking for an answer, give me away.
"Do you want me to call a..." she tries to start.
"I don't want another psychiatrist!" I insist.
"I don't understand, Chase. If you're having these dreams, then why don't you want to..."
"I don't want a fucking shrink!" I shout, and the silence lingers. I realize that I'm yelling at the only person I have left, and suddenly I feel like absolute shit.
"Well, okay..." she begins, and I can tell by her tone that she's stifling sobs of her own, "...if you don't want..."
"Hey," I rush over to her and hug her. When I hugged her as a kid, she was always so much bigger, and stronger than me. It was reassuring. But now, as I've grown, she feels frail and weak. I hate it.
"Hey, listen" I offer, "if it gets bad... again... I promise I'll get help, okay? I'm not saying I'm gonna see a shrink, but..." I think for a moment, "I'll figure something out, okay?"
She looks at me, her eyes steely with resolve. But she can't hide the tears glistening in them.
"Okay."
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