Chapter Text
Hope is being able to see that there is light despite all of the darkness.
-Desmond Tutu
Charlie Spring has only been at Truham School for Boys a handful of hours and he’s already questioning every decision that got him here.
The boarding school is very picturesque atop its hill of lush emerald. It is arranged in a diamond from a birdseye view, with the school itself being front and centre and everything else, dorms, office buildings, etc. falling into place behind it. The Headmaster lives in the building at the head of the diamond, as though that is the best place to keep watch over the rest of the school. A king overlooking his kingdom—or, at least, that’s how Charlie Spring sees it. Higgs, to Charlie’s knowledge, is laid out very similarly, though it’s not quite on a hill. It’s not as beautiful either.
He’s also pretty sure they don’t have a group of shirtless boys with camo face paint running around throwing handfuls of pebbles at every dorm window—and each other—as they yell chants in discordant synchronicity that Charlie frankly cannot understand—nor does he want to. He tries not to jump at the thundering clang of dozens of projectiles hitting what he is sure are expensive, original windows when it’s supposedly his turn. He thinks he manages to downplay his reaction to a wince.
Sitting on the lumpy twin bed in a stuffy room with boring white walls and hardwood floors that is decidedly not his, but is now, Charlie doesn’t think he’ll ever forgive his parents for sending him off to boarding school.
Well, he and Tori.
-
It all started when Jane Spring announced at dinner one early summer night that Julio had gotten a job promotion down in Spain and they would all be moving at the end of summer. Tori and Charlie immediately protested.
“But I have one year left. I am not going to start all over and try to find a new friend group with one year left.” Tori glared, dropping her fork to the table.
Charlie had two years left but he shared the sentiment. Making friends was hard enough as it was, and he finally had a promising start to a few budding friendships at his current school--now his parents wanted to thrust him into a brand-new school in a completely different country?
Charlie loathed change. It made his insides twist unpleasantly and his jaw clench almost involuntarily.
Julio tried to reassure them that it would be a good change, that they would get to learn more about their Spanish heritage, see the family they so often don’t get to, and that they would “grow to enjoy it, you’ll see,” but Charlie and Tori adamantly refused, spouting off reason after reason as to why they couldn’t (and wouldn’t) leave England.
“Well, you certainly can’t stay here all on your own,” Jane argued, and Charlie knew she would have no issue uprooting them and taking them--kicking and screaming--to Spain where they wouldn’t know a single person. He also knew that she made a decent point. Tori was only seventeen and Charlie had just turned sixteen a few months back. Neither of them had the resources they would need to stay in Kent.
“Can we stay in England at least? With Nan and Pop?” Tori offered up as a last resort.
Charlie didn’t like that idea in the slightest. If Jane was a lot to handle, her parents were worse. Homophobic and stuck in their ways, Charlie could only tolerate them in little spoon-fed doses, but even that was asking for too much most of the time. Living with them? Hell, he could only imagine that nightmare. “No, absolutely not,” he spoke up, much to everyone’s surprise.
Tori looked at him, betrayed that he wasn’t on her side, but Charlie was firm in his decision.
“There has to be somewhere else we could go.”
–
If they weren’t going to leave with their family, this was the compromise they came to. He tries to remember that as another dozen handfuls of rocks bounce off the window of the room next door. He can hear those boys laugh at the antics of the ones outside. He envies them for their reaction even as he rolls his eyes.
Technically, boarding school is the compromise Tori, and his parents came to. Charlie was just brought along for the ride as he had no other ideas to offer at the time. He just knew that living with his maternal grandparents was completely off the table. So was Spain.
It isn’t so bad; he tries to rationalize with himself. It’s a beautiful old school steeped in so much history and somehow, even after nearly a century, it’s kept its original structural integrity. It’s also only two hours away from home so Tori can see her old friends on weekends with permission, and Charlie has the opportunity to visit his beloved haunts if he wants to. It’s all perfect in theory.
In practicality?
Charlie is used to attending an all-boys school. It was par for the course (though he could always escape the toxic masculinity at the end of the day).
But as he’s sitting on his bed in the stuffy little room listening to the sound of rocks hitting antique glass over and over, accompanied by inane, bellowing ululations, and the sound of other boys in his hall moving in, he can’t help but think, God, I’ve jumped out of the frying pan and into the fire. He only needs to hear the loud voices and taunts to know that he’s attending another school full of insufferable (this time rich) twats who would most likely look down on him the second they somehow found out he got lucky enough to attend on a last-minute scholarship. And what’s worse? He can’t escape them.
He regrets his lack of research. He did plenty of it about the school itself, including the riveting history that he found himself sinking into the rabbit hole of as the long summer nights drew to a close. He did not do the same research on who exactly attended a school like this. He should’ve known. Could’ve prepared himself or rejected the idea of attending altogether.
It was either this or Spain, he reminds himself again.
Charlie sits quietly as if that will somehow convince the others that this room is empty and that no one lives here—maybe no one will try to knock on the door to see who occupies the room-- and as he sits there, he contemplates whether it’s too late to hop on the next flight to Spain.
Even seeing the empty bed two meters away makes Charlie’s stomach clench uncomfortably as he’s reminded that he will be sharing his room for the first time in his life. It is all he can do to pray that his roommate isn’t going to be a complete bellend.
His door opens and he braces himself for impact.
“Oh, uhm, you’re already here.”
Charlie shakes himself out of his spiral and hesitantly looks over at the door. Standing by it is a boy with short brown hair, a shy but wide smile, and twinkling brown eyes.
“Uh. Yeah.” Charlie replies haltingly. Fuck, I thought I would have a few more minutes to settle in. When he first got to campus, he was surprised to find the room completely empty. He was even more surprised when a few hours had passed, and he remained the only occupant. He managed to convince himself it would stay that way somewhere along the line.
The other boy carries a large duffel bag on his shoulder, his shirt sleeve all rucked up at the strap, and pulls a medium-sized suitcase along behind him as he walks over to the empty bed by the window. The boy sets his things down and smiles as he looks around the small space. “Bit drab in here,” he comments.
Charlie couldn’t agree more. He misses how his room back in Kent used to look. Misses the neon music sign above his bed, and all his art on the pale-yellow walls. He misses his drum kit most of all. Unsure how to respond, though, Charlie simply nods.
The other boy shrugs. “No matter. Nothing I’m sure a few posters won’t fix.” He looks back at Charlie, a curious expression taking over his face, though his smile is still polite. “Didn’t want the window bed then?”
Charlie shakes his head. “God no.” He huffs a little laugh. “I’m not much of a morning person so the less I’m woken by the sun the better.”
His roommate nods and plops down onto the bare bed. “Noted.”
Charlie tries not to cringe at the thought of all the germs and other substances that could be covering the surface of the bare mattress and all the germs and other substances that are now racing along the other boy's jeans.
His roommate doesn’t seem to care as he ploughs on. “I, for one, am grateful for that.” At Charlie’s confused look, he elaborates, “I’m like a cat, I love to curl up and sunbathe in the morning. Best way to wake up.”
Charlie feels a grin come to his face and he lets it. “So long as you don’t wake me up with any purring,” he lightly teases, unsure of where the boundaries lie with this boy. Hell, he doesn’t even know his name yet.
The other boy simply snorts and says, “I’ll try my best,” before he unzips the suitcase and starts pulling out clothes to put away.
Charlie, who has already unpacked everything within an hour of moving in, sits, and watches for a bit, contemplating whether they will get along. The other boy seems cheery with perhaps a touch of mischief dancing in his eyes. So far, he isn’t loud or rude. If he respects when Charlie needs quiet time, he sees no reason why they wouldn’t get on just fine.
Maybe they could even be friends.
Charlie shakes the hope off just as fast as it comes. One step at a time, Spring.
“I’m Charlie, by the way.”
The other boy turns to face him and chuckles awkwardly. “Whoops, sorry. I was so focused on getting in and seeing the room. I’m Isaac.”
Charlie gives him a shy grin. “It’s nice to meet you.”
Isaac tilts his head before scooping up a pile of t-shirts and walking over to his dresser. “I’ve never seen you round campus before, what year are you in?”
Charlie swallows nervously. Well, shit. This came up even sooner than I thought. “Uh, well, I’m in Year 12 but I’m a transfer. My, uh, dad got a promotion down in Spain and my parents let my sister and I stay in England, but only if we went to boarding school.”
Isaac furrows his brows. “They were gonna make you move down to Spain with two years of school left?”
Charlie feels himself relax slightly at the question, for whatever reason. “Ridiculous, right? Anyway, yeah, uh. I’m new. I’ve…never been to boarding school before. What about you?”
“I live with my grandparents in Edinburgh, but they wanted me to have an English education, so,” he shrugs, “here I am.”
Charlie’s eyes widen slightly. “Whoa! You’re from Scotland? That’s really cool!”
The pair chat and laugh and ask questions about their respective families for the next hour while Isaac unpacks, and in that time, Charlie finds himself adding more adjectives to Isaac’s character. He’s cheery and slightly mischievous but also incredibly witty and smart. He shares Charlie’s dry humour, as well as his taste in books and literature, and as they talk, the conversation drifts naturally to book recommendations and their opinions on different authors. It’s all incredibly peaceful and exciting at the same time.
Until it isn’t.
There’s a bang on their door and neither boy can even get to it in time before the door goes flying open, bouncing off the door stop on the wall, and causing both boys to wince.
“Oi, oi!” A boy with blonde, flat spiky hair, leering eyes, and a sneering smile bursts into the room oozing far too much confidence for Charlie’s liking. He’s instantly reminded of the boys he used to go to school with that bullied him. “House meeting, get your asses down to the common room.”
The boy leaves just as abruptly as he arrives--before Charlie and Isaac can even give a greeting. They look at each other and shrug before grabbing their phones and heading down to the common room with the others.
The hallway is lined with thin floor-to-ceiling windows along the exterior wall. It filters in sunlight that bounces off the dark hardwood floors and reflects off the white walls, making Charlie squint as he walks.
He isn’t aware of how many boys are in this dorm until they all pool out of their rooms and file into the hall, and the sheer number of them just on this floor makes Charlie nervous. All these boys are talking loudly to each other, joviality about their tones, and Charlie feels his heart pang. Of course, they all know each other already. They probably all have lots of friends and Charlie is cruelly reminded that he has none. But that thought prompts him to look for his roommate, who fell behind a bit, his gait slower than the others.
Maybe Charlie doesn’t have to be as alone as he feels.
Charlie falls back so Isaac can catch up and he gives Charlie a grateful smile. The pair meander at the back of the crowd and show up last but not late. As soon as they join the rest of the group, they stand along the far wall and Charlie takes a minute to look around.
He briefly caught a glimpse of this room when he first arrived, but he was eager to see his room and unpack and, honestly, he was afraid of someone coming up to him in the common room to start a conversation, so he didn’t linger here. Now, though, he has an excuse to take in his surroundings. The common room is on the small side with one small three-seater sofa and a few armchairs facing a tiny box television that Charlie gets the impression existed since at least the late ‘90s. A few tables dot the rest of the space with only two barstool-type chairs situated at each table. The space is well-lit with a storefront wall letting in a well of end-of-summer sunlight that floods along the hardwood and makes the space feel warmer. Brighter. At least this place has a lot of natural sunlight, Charlie reasons. The warm light and the view of the sprawling landscape outside make up for what the communal space lacks. The rest of the walls are solid, bland, and brown, with old photos of alumni and outdated motivational quotes as the only things that count as decoration.
“All right boys, listen up,” a voice says from the front of the room. Charlie and Isaac turn their attention toward an older gentleman who is standing in front of the crowd of boys. His hair is greying, and he has a bored look on his face--like he would rather be anywhere else. Even his voice hums with a lack of excitement or pitch.
“Welcome to Hamlet House. I’m your Housemaster, but you lot can call me Mr. Lange. Now, some quick rules to go over. Returning boarders will already know this but listen anyway. Breakfast is served in the dining room down the hall from 7 am-8 am, and dinner will also be held there from 6 pm-7 pm. If you miss out on these times, it’s up to you to find your own meal. You may not keep any hot plates or microwaves in your room, but you can use the one down here in the common room, or you can get something from the canteen if it’s open.
“The common room is available from 9 am-9 pm on weekdays. On weekends, it is available to you from 8 am to 2 am. On weekdays, curfew is at 9 pm and lights out at half past. Your door needs to be shut and there better not be a peep heard from the room. The weekend curfew is midnight--there are no exceptions, do not take advantage of the later time or it will be revoked. The same rules apply, doors closed and lights out by half past.
“There will be quiet study hours on weekdays from five to nine. I don’t care if you work with a peer but keep the noise down. On weekends it will be up to you to do whatever assignments and studying you need to do. Your parents are not here to hold your hand, so you’re responsible for managing your time. The library will be available to you all day Saturday and Sunday but be sure to check the hours posted online and on the doors during weekdays.”
Mr. Lange casts a look around the group, his eyes flicking to every boy but also somehow glancing over them completely, expression still dull but eyebrow raised in a way that has Charlie convinced he’s challenging someone to complain. When no one does, he continues, “Anyone who disobeys these rules will be speaking with me and the Headmaster, and we don’t want that, do we?” His question prompts a low, droning chorus of: “No sir.”
“Very good. The telly is only available to you on weekends and there will be no fighting over it, or those privileges will be revoked. We have a sign-up sheet. You get two hours to watch your program or play your video games, so plan accordingly.”
Charlie looks at the old machine skeptically. Does that thing even run video games?
“Last few things: absolutely no girls in your rooms, at all. You will risk suspension if caught. Keep the noise down, and obey quiet hours when they occur, especially during exam week. Keep your space tidy and listen to your Prefects when they tell you to do something. They are my eyes and ears. Disobeying them is akin to disobeying me and that will result in you meeting with the Headmaster for disciplinary action. Any questions?” Mr. Lange looks around the room again, but no one raises their hand or opens their mouth. He nods. “Good.” As he takes a step back, two boys move to step up, taking his place.
“This is Nicholas Nelson and Harry Greene, your school Prefects this year. Both boys are in Year 13 and will be available to you whenever you need them. Should you have any issues, please see them first. They will now introduce themselves to you, so give them your full attention.” To Harry and Nick, he says, “You have the floor.” His piece now complete, Mr. Lange shuffles out of the room, leaving the group of boys to themselves.
Harry is the boy who burst into their bedroom not fifteen minutes ago (Charlie knows this because when his name is brought up, a smug, almost prideful look comes to his eyes and Charlie wants to groan in annoyance. How did someone who radiates twattery get a position like this? Simple answer: money), but the other boy, Nicholas, is someone Charlie does not know.
He is much taller than Harry, bigger too, in terms of bulk. Charlie has to actively pry his eyes away from the boy’s exposed arms. He looks unfairly good in a white T-shirt and jeans. His hair is blonde with a tone of copper to it, but what draws Charlie in is the faint smattering of sun kisses across the boy’s pale complexion arranged like rain droplets against the pavement. Randomly placed but perfect just the same. Charlie wants to see them up close, wants to count them, and trace the tip of his finger over them gently. His eyes are unfortunately too far to see the color of and Charlie almost whines in disappointment. How can a boy possibly be so pretty?
Nicholas looks at Harry, who gestures for him to speak first. He shrugs and opens his mouth, and Charlie is enraptured. The boy’s voice is so soft and smooth, like butter or velvet. The low tenor of his voice resonates in Charlie’s heart, causing it to vibrate and flutter like a giant butterfly flapping its wings.
“Right, well. My name is Nick, as Mr. Lange said. Um, I’m also captain of the rugby team.” He rubs the back of his neck. “Uh, my cell number will be on my door in case you need me, but only reach out for emergencies. And, yeah. Just follow the rules and we won’t have any issues.”
Harry boos, causing a few snickers around the room. “Come off it, mate.” He grins wickedly, eyeing the rest of the crowd. “Listen up lads! We have a little tradition in Hamlet Hall. All students must do what their Prefects say and all students Year 10 through 12 must listen to Year 13s. No exceptions. We tell you to move, you move, we tell you time is up on the telly, time is up. No complaints. Lange chose us for a reason, so don’t bother complaining to him, yeah? Just do as you’re told, and we won’t have any issues. Oh, and parties are by invitation only and only cool people are allowed to go. If you aren’t cool, don’t show up, plain and simple.”
Some of the boys laugh at that and Harry sneers, soaking up the attention, but from the look in his eyes, Charlie knows he’s serious.
God, what an insufferable shitbag . Charlie glances at Isaac and both boys roll their eyes. Charlie already knows he’s going to steer clear of literally everyone, especially the Prefects.
Nick folds his arms and frowns at his peer. “Harry, that goes against what we’re meant to be doing.” It’s whispered, but it’s loud enough that Charlie can still hear him. He thinks the entire group can.
Harry guffaws and playfully shoves at Nick. “Come on, Nick, don’t be like that. We’ve been waiting for this opportunity for years! It’s tradition.”
Charlie scrunches his face at that, hoping that Nick rebukes that claim—that they’ve been looking forward to lording their power over everyone below them--but the boy simply purses his lips and looks down at his feet. Charlie sags in disappointment.
“Follow the rules and we’ll have a good year, yeah, boys?” Harry cheers.
There’s a chorus of assent and then boys start filing out of the room again.
Charlie and Isaac follow behind silently.
When they get back to their room, Isaac closes the door and locks it. “No more loudmouths barging in. I have a migraine.”
Charlie slumps down onto his bed and covers his face with his hands. “God, please don’t tell me it’s going to be like that all term.”
Isaac sighs and his mouth contorts like he’s tasted something sour. “I’m afraid so. This is my first year living in this hall, so thankfully I didn’t have to run into Harry much in the past, but from the times I did come across him, he was always unbearable. Always had something to say and he always thought he was funny.”
He sounds exactly like the bullies at Charlie’s last school. “Right, well, looks like I’ll be locked up in here until the year ends, then.”
Isaac pulls a book from his stack on the bedside table and lays down on his own bed. “You know, there’s a pretty nice library on campus and an even lovelier bookstore in town right next to this adorable little cafe. Upper years are allowed to leave campus whenever we want so long as we sign a form with admin. There’s even a bus that takes students to and from town. I work in the library on campus, so I’ll most likely be in one of those three locations every day. You’re more than welcome to join me.”
Charlie smiles gratefully at the offer. “That sounds nice, Isaac, thank you.” He furrows his brows as something clicks in his mind. “Did you say you worked in the library?” It comes out sounding more rough and disbelieving than Charlie intends.
Isaac doesn’t look up from his book, but he suddenly sounds guarded when he answers. “Yeah, work-study program.” Here, he does look up and gives Charlie a cloudy look. “We can’t all be rich pricks.”
Charlie feels his face heat. “Oh-- no...I-- um…I’m not-- I’m here on…uh…scholarship, actually.”
Isaac’s face clears and he gives Charlie a reassuring, if somewhat guilty-looking smile. “Ah. Sorry. I shouldn’t have assumed.”
“It’s fine,” Charlie rushes to say but he feels too awkward to continue the conversation and keeps his mouth shut, eyes locked onto his duvet. He would have to ask more about the work-study program later.
Once the silence drags on for too long, Charlie glances over to see Isaac buried in his book and he decides not to bother him with incessant nervous chatter about the first day of classes tomorrow. He grabs his phone and his keys and makes his way out of the room.
The hallways are too risky to make a phone call and Charlie has decided to avoid the common room like the Plague, so he heads outside. In the distance, a group of boys are tossing a ball around, but Charlie thinks they’re far enough away that they won’t hear his phone conversation. Luckily, the group of shirtless idiots running around earlier seem to have disbanded as well, or at least pissed off elsewhere.
Charlie pulls up the contact of the only person who has had his back since birth: Tori. He’s never been away from her for more than a single school day. Even if she always retreated to her room in the evenings, Charlie knew she was just two doors away, their shared bathroom between them. Now, however, she’s in another building entirely and the only way Charlie can see her in person is off-campus. He doesn’t like how unsteady that makes him feel; makes his nerves fizzle like a caffeinated drink; makes his stomach feel like it’s been coated in sludge. In the past, Tori had always been his buoy, his life raft when the storms got too chaotic and the waves too high. Without her, he’s afraid he will drift out to sea, lost forever in the cold, bottomless, dark depths.
Dramatic much, Charlie?
He shakes off his melancholy thoughts and fretful worrying and presses the call button. Tori picks up on the first ring.
“Charles. I take it you’re all unpacked then?” She says by way of greeting, tone dry like always.
“Victoria,” he echoes with a giggle. Tori is the only person who can call him by his government name that he doesn’t immediately want to smack for doing so. “More or less. You?”
“Well, unlike you, I didn’t bring a bunch of junk with me so, yes.”
Charlie squawks indignantly. “Junk?! Excuse you, but my belongings aren’t junk! We are going to be here for almost a year, I wanted to be prepared.”
Tori sounds exasperated when she responds, her breath making the line crinkly like a plastic bag blowing in the wind. “In what world of “preparedness” would you need drumsticks and enough books to fill a bookshelf? We’re at boarding school Charlie, not in an apocalypse.”
Charlie huffs. “If you must know, I brought the sticks because I was hoping they would have some sort of band or drums I could practice on. I like my sticks better, they’re the most comfortable and familiar.” He cracks a grin thinking back to a few hours early when his new roommate walked in with an entire bag full of books. “And if you think I brought too many books, my roommate Isaac has enough with him to fill a small library.”
Tori snorts and Charlie can hear the smile in her voice. “Sounds like you’ll get along swimmingly.”
Charlie allows a small dash of hope to ricochet around his heart cavity. He isn’t quite ready to hope that he and Isaac will be friends but if they simply get along as roommates, maybe the year will be bearable. “I really hope so.”
They talk for about twenty minutes more about classes, their rooms, and their first impressions of their other dorm mates before Tori excuses herself. Charlie doesn’t take it personally. Her social battery wouldn’t be enough to charge a phone to 50%. He gets it. After wishing each other good luck on the first day of classes and making promises to call each other after, Charlie lets her go with little fanfare.
He spends the rest of the day exploring the campus, locating the canteen and his classes. More specifically, he tracks how long it takes him to get from his dorm to his first class so that he can set an alarm on time. The birds are chirping, and, for once, the UK sun is warm on his face, the breeze comforting as it blows through his curls.
Charlie isn’t usually one for superstitions, but maybe this is a good omen. Maybe the school year will actually be good.
That dash of hope grows ever so slightly larger.
-
Charlie’s first day of classes is underwhelming. Between the stale heat of the crowded classrooms and the droning buzz of his teachers, he curses his anxiety for keeping him awake half the night with unshakeable thoughts. He’s been caught dozing twice now and his maths teacher gave him a disparaging look.
He gets lunch in the canteen, and he eats alone outside in the grass. He never did work up the courage to talk to Isaac about classes after his phone call with Tori and his self-guided tour of campus, so he has no idea what his roommate’s schedule looks like. The upper years have the freedom to eat al fresco, so Charlie finds a nice shady tree and digs into his sandwich, book in hand. It’s the Odyssey, a story he could probably quote in his sleep, but he will never tire of reading it. The pages are dog-eared, some of the ink smudged from clammy fingers running over the words again and again. There are notes in the margins that tell a story of their own. It’s a well-loved book and Charlie is of the firm belief that that is the only way a book should be: loved by its owner.
It’s on Charlie’s second day that he begins to wonder if there is something to this whole hope thing.
Charlie is alone at lunch again, outside, under the same tree and its overhanging branches as yesterday. The leaves are still green, but Charlie knows that not too long from now, they will begin to crumble away; some changing colour, some dying immediately. Close by (though not close enough to physically disturb Charlie), a group of guys are tossing a rugby ball around. Their boisterous shouts of laughter and jeers make Charlie’s ears perk up and at one point he gives up whatever line of his story he was on to watch them.
He decides that the boys aren’t so awful from afar. They’re quite nice to look at--when they aren’t chucking rocks at his window and running around like deranged hooligans. He’s had thoughts about boys plenty of times before, but he’s always kept them to himself. In the past, he always tried to shut that part of himself down, not wanting to dwell on the fact that he was different from the other boys. But as he’s gotten older, he’s found that he doesn’t mind the thoughts as much. He would even go as far as saying that he enjoys them, though he still keeps them to himself. He’s not an idiot, he’s heard what some of the more cruel “banter” entails. He shoves down the unpleasantness of that particular train of thought and focuses instead on the way their trousers cling to firm calf muscles as they run around in their school uniforms, their jackets disposed of on one of the picnic tables or along the ground somewhere. Most of them have their shirt sleeves rolled up, exposing strong arms. Charlie is agog as he watches their muscles flex when they throw the ball or jump to catch it. He’s so fixated--sandwich long forgotten--that he doesn’t see Isaac sidle over to him until he hears him.
“Dinner and a show?”
Charlie jumps and snaps his head to face his roommate who is standing just to the left of the rugby boys with a shit-eating grin on his face. Charlie narrows his eyes even as his cheeks glow. “No,” he mumbles, unable to make eye contact with the brunette. He’s blocking Charlie’s view of the group now, and it’s just as well.
Isaac snorts but doesn’t say anything more. Maybe it’s because he can tell Charlie doesn’t feel comfortable with this line of questioning, or maybe he just doesn’t care either way. “Right. Well, feel free to say no, but I was wondering if you wanted to come sit with some of my friends and I.”
Charlie blinks, uncertain that he’s heard correctly. “Your…friends?”
Isaac gives him a bemused look but repeats, “Yes, my friends. I know it’s only the second day and you looked rather at peace over here but if you would like to join us for lunch, the option is available.”
Charlie is at a loss for words for just a moment. No one has ever invited him to do anything, let alone sit with them at lunch. “I- I don’t want to intrude.”
Isaac shakes his head. “You wouldn’t be, I invited you. Plus,” he adds, a small smile dancing across his lips, “I need to get to know my roommate more. Make sure he isn’t some psycho killer or something. Can you imagine having to live with that fear for nearly a year?” Isaac mock shudders and Charlie cracks a grin.
“Everyone loves a bit of true crime,” Charlie teases. Isaac’s eyes twinkle with mirth and Charlie seriously considers the offer. On the one hand, he does want to meet new people, and start fresh with this new opportunity he’s been given. He wants to figure out who he is now that he doesn’t have his mother breathing down his neck at every turn, and this means coming out of the shadows--off the wall where he’s been hiding, hoping to coast on by without making a splash.
On the other hand, Charlie is very aware of how socially awkward he is. He’s completely the opposite with his sister and little brother, of course, but with people he doesn’t know very well, he may as well not even bother trying. He very much does not want to make a fool of himself with Isaac’s friends, an already established friend group, and be attached to some horrible rumour or end up the butt of a joke. But…
“Can I think about it?”
Isaac smiles and his eyes soften. “Yeah, of course. We eat over at the picnic tables outside the library. You can sit with us whenever you’d like.”
Charlie smiles, his chest alight with hope. “Thanks, Isaac.”
-
Charlie doesn’t join them until the fourth day when he’s gone over every possible outcome in his head and has a filing cabinet full of responses ready to pull out in his brain. He’s slept on it, he’s talked about it in length with Tori (who encourages him to go for it, albeit with exasperation lacing her tone) and he’s hemmed and hawed about it until he was blue in the face. And maybe it’s the desire for actual friends or the hope that guides him forward but at lunch that Thursday, Charlie finds himself shyly shuffling over to the picnic tables Isaac directed him to on Tuesday. Seated on both sides are three people—Isaac on one side and a boy and girl on the other. The boy is short and lanky with a bright orange beanie on his head which Charlie finds slightly comical because it stands out so much against their school uniform, and the girl has gorgeous cascading brown locks that coil tightly and bounce ever so slightly when she shifts her head.
Charlie stands there and watches a moment, shifting his body weight nervously and grasping his backpack straps with clammy hands. The smaller boy waves a hand around dramatically, clearly passionate about something and the girl tips her head back and laughs in response, the sound light, like a cherry blossom in spring. Charlie instantly likes her. He can’t discern whether Isaac is invested in the conversation or not as the boy’s head is buried in a book.
It doesn’t mean he isn’t listening, though.
In the few days that they’ve lived together, Charlie has learned that Isaac can multitask. Charlie hasn’t seen much of his roommate because, as promised, the other boy had shifts at the library, but when they did have time to talk, sometimes Isaac would have full-on conversations with Charlie while flipping pages of his book every so often. At first, it was unsettling. Charlie apologized for interrupting during the first occurrence, but Isaac waved the apology away and told him to continue. After that, Charlie got a bit irritated because he didn’t understand how Isaac could listen to him and read at the same time, and he felt like Isaac wasn’t paying any attention and was just brushing him off. Before Charlie could voice his qualms, however, the other boy responded appropriately every single time. He would even ask follow-up questions.
As Charlie stands there, the wind picks up, carrying the hum of conversations in the background. The wind reminds him that no matter how still he stands, the world will continue to move on around him. The birds chirp, the leaves change, the sun rises and sets, people change and grow. He can be as stagnant as he wishes but the world won’t stop moving and if he doesn’t move with it, the world will pass him by. It’s enough motivation to help him push down any lingering doubts and fears. He doesn’t want to just watch the world pass by. He wants to play an active role in it.
Isaac’s friends don’t see Charlie standing there as their backs are to him, but he is in clear view of Isaac, who finally spots him and shoots him a wide smile.
“Charlie.”
The other two turn their heads over their shoulders, finally seeing him standing there. Charlie feels his face get two degrees hotter under their scrutinizing gaze. The boy has a disdainful look on his face as he looks over Charlie from head to toe, but the girl’s chocolate eyes are warm and melted, and her smile is gentle.
“Er, hi,” Charlie squeaks.
The girl’s smile widens. “Hi, your name is Charlie?” Charlie nods and the girl reaches out a hand for Charlie to take. It’s soft and firm and Charlie feels his nerves calm slightly. “I’m Elle.” She tips her head in the direction of the boy sitting beside her. “This is Tao. Don’t mind his face, he’s like that with everyone.”
Tao squawks and bumps her shoulder. “Excuse me. I am not like this with everyone.”
“Everyone but us, which doesn’t count because we’re already your friends,” Elle argues.
Tao tips his face up, his nose pointed heavenward. “Precisely. Friends .”
Charlie swallows nervously, the anxiety pooling in his gut making his palms slippery and his arms itchy. He tightens his grip on his backpack strap.
Isaac pipes up from his spot at the table, saving him from the onslaught. “Take a seat, Charlie, join us.”
Charlie nods and meanders over to Isaac’s side. He can hear Elle and Tao bickering behind him. “ Don’t scare him away before he’s even properly met us.” Elle. “ If he can’t handle us now, then what is the point in him being here.” Tao. Charlie does his best to ignore them and instead, focuses on Isaac’s friendly smile. Even though they’ve talked in different intervals this week, Charlie barely knows his roommate, but he wants to. Of everyone at this school, he feels Isaac is the one that he would get along the most with.
“Hi.”
“Hello, hello. Welcome to our humble little group,” Isaac says, gesturing around the table.
Charlie allows the smallest smile to grace his lips. “Thanks for inviting me. That was very nice of you.”
Done arguing with Tao, Elle turns her attention to Charlie. “So, Isaac tells us you’re a transfer? What year?”
“Uh, twelve. And, yeah. My dad got a promotion down in Spain, and we have family down there so he, my mum, and my little brother Olly moved down there at the end of summer. I didn’t want to go with them, so I ended up here.”
Elle gives him a sympathetic smile. “Transferring with two years left sounds pretty rough.”
Charlie shrugs. “It’s definitely weird. Especially because it feels like everyone is already part of an established friend group.” Elle and Isaac nod in understanding.
“How have your classes been so far?” Elle asks kindly.
Charlie opens his mouth to respond but Tao cuts in before he can. “If we’re going to do the whole “small talk” thing, can we please not talk about bloody classes? Surely, there are more interesting topics of conversation.” He arches a brow and glowers at the group.
Charlie clasps his hands together in his lap and swallows. “I-- uh, I know Isaac is in my year, but what about you guys?”
“Year 13,” Elle says.
“Same year as you and Isaac,” Tao responds with a bored expression. Charlie knows that if he wants to get on Tao’s good side he’s going to have to try something else, but Elle seems friendly enough, so he turns his attention to her instead.
“You’re in the same year as my sister Tori. Victoria Spring.” He furrows his brows and tilts his head. “I thought the boys and girls were supposed to remain separate on campus?” That was Charlie’s main issue so far. Not being able to visit Tori without plans to do so off-campus. He can’t go to her room for comfort or advice or just to see her face. He thought it wasn’t allowed. But if Elle is sitting with them at lunch…
Elle’s smile turns sheepish and her eyes cloud with guilt. It’s a look Charlie doesn’t like seeing on her face. It feels unnatural. “Uh, technically they are.”
“They aren’t supposed to but if you haven’t noticed, the teachers don’t exactly monitor us outside. They’re more worried about the lower years misbehaving inside,” Tao cuts in.
Now that it’s been mentioned, Charlie takes a moment to really look around and he’s surprised that he didn’t notice it before, but Tao is correct. There are no members of staff to be seen. Charlie isn’t sure how he feels about that.
Elle continues where Tao leaves off and Charlie is hit with the impression that it’s natural for them to carry on each other’s conversations. “I divvy up my time between here and the girls’ school where some of my other friends eat lunch. We’ll all have to do a big outing soon so you can meet them, Charlie, they’re very sweet.” Elle shrugs as she admits, “And, occasionally, a member of staff will see me out here and I’ll get detention, but it isn’t that big a deal. Just more free time for me to paint or sketch.”
Charlie’s eyes light up. “You’re an artist?”
Elle giggles, picking up on Charlie’s enthusiasm. “I dabble. What about you? Any cool hobbies?”
Charlie tells them all about the drums and what got him into them and even Tao gets more invested (and a lot less prickly) when Charlie talks about some of the covers he’s played for fun in his childhood bedroom. He learns that Tao is a Radiohead fan, and they go off on several tangents about music. Tao boasts about his exquisite taste in films while Isaac and Elle take the piss out of him for his choices of Wes Anderson and black and white foreign films. They even invite Charlie to a film night.
The lunch period flies faster than any of them would like but Charlie is bursting at the seams with a deluge of hope by the end of it. It covers him like a warm blanket, wrapping his anxious heart with peace, filling him with excitement that he can feel chasing the cold from his veins. And anywhere the cold used to be, warmth and a pleasant pressure reside instead. It evokes an innate sense of caution within him, but he likes the feeling regardless. It’s new and different and good.
He hopes he can hold onto it for as long as possible.