It is not an easy thing, trying to integrate into a new group. There is a sense that you are intruding into a place that doesn’t belong to you, that the people you are trying to associate with have a history, that the topics of their conversations held far different context for them than they did for you.
“Hey, Patrick! Dropped your dorm key!”
“Oh! Thanks for the help,” Patrick said, thoroughly confused by John’s wince as he handed back the keys.
“Hey, what are friends for?” Oliver said rather enthusiastically, playfully slapping Patrick on the shoulder. Funny. He didn’t exactly leave a stellar first impression last time they had met. What was with this attitude all of a sudden? “Here we are. Four boys waiting around for our - ahem - buds to show up. As it were.”
“They <i>are</i> taking a while,” Jamie mused aloud. That they were. You get a little bit self conscious when you’re a girl pretending to be a guy standing around waiting with three boys you barely know and all of you are wearing shorts and a shirt and not really much else. “You don’t think that Frank is, er, assisting Alec, do you?”
“Possible,” John replied, rocking on his heels with hands in his pockets. The very picture of innocence. “It depends on how ‘helpful’ Frank felt like being.”
There it was again. That same feeling she was missing something. Still. Better to try to fit into a group her own age rather than go in completely blind in a club full of older, athletic boys. Patrick fidgeted nervously. She was rather used to pretending to be a boy, being surrounded by men who never would guess the truth, but it did not make those new club jitters disappear. At the very least showing up with these four should provide an excellent chance to make the integration easier -
“And the king of space awakens from slumber, lo these many years!” Jamie said, baffling Patrick utterly, while Oliver gave him a bit of a derisive stare. Following Jamie’s gaze, Patrick saw Frank and - and adorableness incarnate, wearing the same manner of shirt and shorts as the rest of these lowly mortals. Alec was blushing, tugging at his shirt’s collar and hem, looking all the world like a lost baby dolphin approaching for help with cautious optimism. Patrick managed to be so distracted by this helplessly entrancing sight that she missed the same distracted gleam in the eyes of the other two next to her. A gleam which sharply retreated when Frank made a very pointed cough.
“W-What?" Alec asked. "Is there something on my face?"
“Gee, I dunno!” Jamie rubbed his chin and leaned in for a closer look. “Are you wearing blusher?”
“Eh?!” Alec gasped, slapping hands to her cheeks. Too cute! This far exceeded the recommended daily dose of cute! This guy should come with a warning from the surgeon general before he caused a heart attack. Lucky thing this was an all-boys school or he might have cut so many girls’ lifespans in half.
Mercifully they were able to get to the actual club itself with little trouble, though Patrick did rather take note that the boys had pretty much ignored her in favour of sticking to their own group.
“Well, here we are!” John said.
“Got any more obvious observations, or are you gonna head inside and let the rest of us pass?” Frank asked.
“Oh, my most sincere apology,” John replied, bowing sarcastically. “Here is another obvious observation: Frank woke up on the snarky side of bed this morning!”
Before Alec could protest or Jamie chuckle with amusement, a hearty voice enveloped the very air, which protested but yielded to its deep, buttery inflections.
“Salutations,” said the very living embodiment of the handsome athletic boy. You know the sort. Blonde hair, short, headband hiding most of it. A smile that could charm the sap out of a tree and projected an aura of a happy future no matter what. A happy future which was in jeopardy regardless, due to 1: his hands grasping John and Frank, pulling them into a friendly embrace, and 2: the promise of different kinds of pain being blatantly imagined by both boys. The stranger remained oblivious. “It warms my heart to behold such a sight! Ian Shell, future Wimbledon champion (multiple times)! At your service!”
“Pleasure,” Frank said through gritted teeth, pulling out of the grip with force while John simply seemed to be there one minute and not there the next. “Given the way everything has gone, you are almost certainly the club captain.”
Ian ran his fingers through his hair while flashing another winning smile. “Smart, tall and easy on the eyes! You will make a truly wonderful addition to the team. Come! Allow me to show you the court.”
All six of the first years turned to face each other, shrugged and followed the almost annoyingly handsome club captain on towards the court. It was, of course, a well-maintained tennis court. Seen one, seen ’em all. This said, there was one thing about this court had which stood out. The rest of the club, which, need you be reminded, consisted entirely of older boys, were lined up to one side and staring at the captain with actual stars in their eyes and hands clasped in adoration.
“Are you guys also kind of pissed off for reasons you cannot articulate?” John asked. Ian gave a big thumbs up to the rest of the club members and several of the boys fainted. Four of the first years nodded to John's question, earning Jamie -sole dissenter - a series of curious looks.
“I just figured it was Venetian earwigs putting thoughts in my head. They’re kinda tricky like that.”
Right. So, ignoring the freaky nerd for a minute, as far as Patrick could tell the tennis club was a bit of a cult of personality. They had done everything but set up an altar for the guy, and then the crowd moved out of the way to let him sit on the altar plastered with his image. Self-diagnosed warning of a migraine coming any minute now.
“Welcome to our humble little club,” Ian said. He reclined in his seat and with one hand rapidly spun a racquet while with the other balancing a tennis ball on a single outstretched finger. “It will surely be a pleasure to meet with you. To begin with, it would be my great pleasure to assess your talents on the court. Naturally, a genius tennis player like myself will be able to ascertain your strengths and weaknesses within two points. One serve each.” He smiled, and the remaining standing male club members were reduced by half as the rest fainted in extremely exaggerated, almost effeminate ways. Palm against forehead, et al.
“In that case, I think I’d like to go first,” Frank said, stepping to the front of the group. “Should be a lot of fun. Lookin’ forward to playing!”
<hr>
There it was, right in front of her. Of course a school like St Doria’s had a club like this. It was only natural that they’d put out a newsletter, so here she was fulfilling at least the cultural side of the school’s club requirements. What could be more cultural than those that report on culture?
“Kevin” raised a hand to knock on the door. It was a perfect opportunity for two main reasons. First, journalist experience. Second, where better to find material for reporting on her own story regarding the school? The door slowly swung open and then Kevin was left completely blind, though she imagined seeing a really old camera being pointed right in her face just before it happened. She felt a pair of hands guiding her into the room towards a seat, by which time she’d blinked and rubbed her eyes sufficiently that her sight could return and -
“Gentlemen of St Doria’s School for Boys, as always it is a pleasure to greet you again! For the freshmen that don’t know, my name is Owen Lee, the chief editor and front face for the Daily Doria! Your best and only resource for school events.”
By this time Kevin’s gaze had fully returned. In front of him was an older boy, third year at her best guess. He was wearing sunglasses indoors and was addressing a camera being wielded by another student, while another one was sitting in the corner typing away diligently yet silently. All three were, in their own ways, handsome by her opinion though they came in very different flavours. The cool, take-charge guy, the silent, mysterious type and the adorable, huggable, hyperactive, older-than-he-looks sort. As for the room itself, it had a desk. Several computers. Newspaper clippings. A room off to the side labelled “Dark Room! Knock Before Entering” written in black ink while, in a much harsher red font, the words “Or Else!” were scrawled beneath in much the same manner of someone that had just been stabbed in the back.
“On camera is our ever-devoted Perry Foreman, while our background research is being performed by Nathaniel Dalton.”
“Uh…” Kevin began. Then Owen swivelled around in his chair as if turning from camera one to camera two. In actuality he was turning to face Kevin.
“Today’s top story! Freshmen recruitment drive throughout the school. Few have attempted to join the reporters’ club so far, and sadly none have yet met the club’s standards”
In the corner, Nate smiled at Kevin and held up a piece of paper that read “Standards include putting up with Owen.” Then got back to work before anyone noticed.
“However! We have a real opportunity with this young man. Well educated and born into a family of journalistic legends, in particular his mother! Kevin, it’s a delight to meet you. How have you found St Doria so far?”
“A little strange, but I’m settling in quite well,” Kevin answered, easily slipping into the correct attitude for an interview. She could see it now. This was an interview session. Putting her on the other side to see how she reacted. Very clever. The next question was obvious, and she had a few answers formulated already.
“Strange?” Owen asked. “In what way? Could you elaborate?”
“Oh, it’s the sort of thing I expect you already know about,” Kevin chuckled. That’s right. In truth, an interview is a sort of battle between the interviewer and the interviewee. Who has control over the conversation? He was trying to gauge her personality with probing questions. How wonderful. “In my enquiries regarding sports clubs, I had discovered the rather dreadful fate of the former table tennis club… It sounded positively ghastly, if you ask me!”
The trick to it is to always leave a direct opening to another question, never give the interviewer the complete answer right there so that the conversation draws out on that single point as long as possible. Drip feed it, without making it seem like you’re stalling for time. Answer the question in a way that keeps you in control over the likely responses so that the interviewer has to follow your lead to prevent any question on another topic from seeming like a non sequitur. Kevin smiled. She was going to have fun with this. It would be a true testament to her abilities as a journalist! Next, either he would have to ask which sporting club she intended to join… Or he might be able to change the topic entirely. To what, though?
“Yes. A terrible tragedy, and to anyone listening I do pray that you are able to avoid a similar fate. Speaking of ghastly,” Owen said with a slight cough. “This morning, several interviewed students complained of strange dreams.” Owen leaned closer. His sunglasses were tugged down to the end of his nose. He was looking her dead in the eye. “Tell me, Kevin… Did you have any strange dreams last night?”
Kevin blinked and suddenly felt like a deer in the headlights. It didn’t take much to shake her confidence, did it? But she could see it in his eyes. Her instincts were screaming at her. Do not lie to this man. He is the sort that, if you were to play poker with him, he would clean you out in a moment! He would see through every bluff and tell in the blink of an eye. He already knew her answer would be yes, and what was worse, from the way the edges of his lips turned up ever so slightly she knew - He knew that this was an uncomfortable subject for her and was going to press her for absolutely everything!
Well then. Maybe joining a club devoted to journalism wasn’t the smartest idea after all. The only clubs more likely to catch her out would’ve been, for example, the swimming club….
- Kevin muddles through her interview and somehow keeps things intact.
- Owen reveals he already knows she’s a girl, but decides not to release that information to the public.
- Meanwhile, Frank loses in the game against Ian. Badly.
- Back with the swim club captain, Simone makes an appearance with a “ninja apprentice”…
- Something else
No comments:
Post a Comment