November 3rd
Drista's game against St. Francis is tomorrow and I think she'll do well. Maybe it's the bias of having her as a little sister, but I think she's the best on the team even without my help. It's a shame I won't be there to see it play out.
The three siblings entered the school together, though Clay kept glancing back at the doors they had just entered through. George was planning on sticking with Drista until he found Bad and Skeppy when the group was approached by Quackity.
"George, there you are! Wanna hang out with us?" Quackity had asked, stopping the three before they could reach the quad.
"How's Sapnap doing?" Clay asked from George's left. Quackity glared at him.
"He's doing so much better without you." He grabbed George by the crook of his arm. "So, you coming?"
George looked over to his host siblings, and Drista waved him off.
"I see my friends anyway. Have fun with those band nerds," She said.
"I can come, too," Clay said.
"Oh no you don't," Quackity interfered. "Look, Dream, Karl finally managed to get Sapnap somewhat emotionally stable, we don't need you waltzing over and ruining it."
Clay huffed. "Fine. Whatever. I don't care. Take the Bitch Boy. I don't need him anyways." He turned on his heel and walked up the stairs. George assumed he was going up to the library. Skeppy and Bad always hung out there reading books about Greek mythology.
George followed Quackity as he brought him to where he and the rest of their group usually spent their mornings before class— the band room. George couldn't tell which one was the band kid or if all of them were. And even though he himself wasn't one, he did feel at home inside the classroom.
The room was far more spacious than the band room in George's old school. None of the chairs had been set up around the classroom yet, leaving the four of them to sit on the floor. Instrument cases lined one of the walls, and lockers lined the other one. At the front of the room was the platform the band director would typically be standing on, though their teacher was nowhere in sight. The whiteboard had a list of events, majority of which involving the marching band.
"You know, the brass players sit there," Quackity said, pointing at the carpet beneath George.
"So?"
Quackity and Karl looked at eachother and stifled a laugh. Karl said, "Do you know anything about brass instruments, George?"
George's mind blanked. All he knew was that they were brassy and loud. Karl giggled.
"You have to blow into the instrument to make sound, and obviously spit builds up and you have to let go." Karl pointed at where George sat. "That's where the trumpets sit."
George grimaced. "That's disgusting."
The two boys broke out laughing, leaning against one another as they did so. Sapnap watched them quietly, tracing the mark imprinted on his wrist. Even if he did find it funny, he didn't appear to be in the mood to laugh. George moved and sat down next to Sapnap, and the boy turned to him.
"How's Dream doing?" He whispered to him.
"He's...doing," George replied, not quite knowing the answer himself. Between that morning and the evening before, he didn't see the boy at all. The most activity to come out of his bedroom was the door opening to let his cat out as he shouted out to anybody in the kitchen to feed her.
Sapnap straightened up. "Is he okay?"
"Ah, Sapnap, stop worrying about him. I'm sure he's fine," Quackity waved off.
George debated whether to tell the group about how just the day before he and Clay almost died in the middle of nowhere. He wondered how much the other three would care. Would they care more for George's safety or Clay's?
"I still love him," Sapnap confessed quietly, glancing down at his wrist again. George gaze down at his own wrist— the fresh smiley face marking glaring right back at him.
Karl covered Sapnap's soulmate marking. "Look at me, Sapnap." He bent over to enter Sapnap's view. "Maybe he's a little confused right now."
"What's there to be confused about? We're soulmates! Soulmates always spend the rest of their lives together." He pointed at George. "Are your parents soulmates?"
George leaned back, as if Sapnap had just shot him when he pointed at him. "Um, yeah."
"What about you two?" He turned to his other side at Quackity and Karl.
"Yeah," Karl said lowly.
"My parents aren't together anymore. But neither of them ever remarried or got into any more relationships," Quackity replied.
"I'm going to die alone," Sapnap groaned.
Karl sighed, his gaze staying consistent on Sapnap even when he turned away. He wrapped his arm around the other boy's shoulder and pulled him closer. "He'll come back. When has Dream ever left us? Never. Just give him time. He's probably just as hurt over all of this as you are."
"He is," George reassured, and all three of the other boys looked to him.
"You talked to him?"
"Well, a little bit. Not really."
George judged purely off body language and the way the boy barely mustered the energy to snap at him and find something wrong with him to pick at. In fact, he ignored him all morning. He barely gave Drista a viable 'good morning'. His mother said he did this often. That every time he got in huge trouble, he'd mope around before getting back up to his feet and becoming his condescending self again. Drista described her brother as a drama king. That still didn't make it any less off-putting to George
"Did he tell you why he broke up with Sap?" Karl asked, and George shook his head.
The bell rang and the four of them stood up. Sapnap and George grabbed their bags.
"This is our first period," Karl said, pulling Sapnap into a hug. "Feel better, Sapnap."
"Doubt it. I'm gonna end up like Quackity's mom."
"Not if I can help it," Quackity warned. "Bye, George."
Sapnap and George walked out together, and Sapnap grabbed George's arm and pulled up his sleeve.
"A smile? I've never seen that one before."
"Me neither," George replied, saddened to hear he wasn't mutuals with his soulmate either.
"Atleast you're not soulmates with Dream." He sighed, letting go of George's arm and pulling his bag up.
"I'm sorry about what happened," George said.
Sapnap waved it off. "It's not your fault."
"Maybe it's better off this way."
"How?"
George shrugged. "If he broke it off out of blue, there's a chance he was probably considering it for awhile."
"But why? What did I do wrong?"
"I don't know. It might not have even been you. Maybe he's not ready for a relationship."
"We've been together since eighth grade." His set frown deepend. "My first class is upstairs. You?"
George pointed to the nearby hallway, and the other boy nodded.
"Alright, I'll see you later, George. You're pretty chill. I don't understand how Dream could hate you."
"I'm the British fuck staying at his house. That's why."
Sapnap laughed. "Bye, George."
"Bye."
Sapnap raced up the stairs as George approached the doors to his first period. His class was in the hallway closest to the entrance of the school, and as the crowds around him bustled and pushed to squeeze into the narrow hallway, he spotted a familiar face by the front entrance doors. He pushed past the crowd just in time to watch his host brother walk out the doors.
***
English was not George's specialty. Essays never failed to cause his grades to plummet, and he found the books they read to be long, strenuous, and boring. Over the years, words became longer, more advanced, and more tiring to read. Not to mention he found the class to be incredibly boring. He stared down at the poetry before him, tapping his desk with the rhythm of the song trapped inside his mind. His eyes flickered to the clock every few seconds, longing for the bell to ring and set him free to his next period.
He blamed his distaste in English class as the reason his mind became captivated in his host brother. His legs urged to take him out of the school and to search for him. Not because he was worried for the boy, but because he couldn't help but wonder what he was doing. In all the times George had ditched classes, it was always with his friends. No one ditched school alone, and that only made the thought manifest in his mind further.
He felt a tap on his shoulder that brought him out of his thoughts, and he turned around to see a boy, and George assumed he was about to ask him for the answers.
"I don't know what the poem means," He said.
"Oh, I know. I've been watchin' you for the past ten minutes." The boy said. His voice was lower and more monotone than what George was expecting.
"Oh."
"I know what the poem means. I'll let you copy."
"Okay," George said slowly, he glanced down at his paper to see it filled with his small handwriting. The boy quickly pulled it away.
"It'll have to cost you. And I know what you're thinkin'. You think it's not worth the investment since you can just bullcrap your way through and pass with a C, but I'll have you know that I may have been a gifted kid growin' up, but I'm not a burnout." He leaned back in his seat. "I have never scored below a 97% on any of my English assignments since kindergarten, and I have proof if need be."
"So what are you doing in this class? Shouldn't you be in honors or AP or something?"
"I should, but I'd rather make a livin' off of stupid people."
George raised an eyebrow. "Nice sale's pitch."
"Thanks. Now, for a flimsy worksheet like this, I'd say it will cost a solid five dollars. Essays cost ten bucks, and group projects cost fifteen if you want me to do all the work. If you want test answers? Twenty-five bucks for a normal test, thirty bucks for a unit test, and fifty bucks for midterms and finals." He dug through his backpack.
"I think I'm good," George said as he searched.
"Here, I also sell bathroom passes. I'm kind of low right now, though, so it'll cost you." He pulled out a stack of blue bathroom passes and placed them on his desk.
That caught George's attention. "Bathroom passes?"
The boy smiled. "Yes, bathroom passes. Ten bucks for one, but you do get half off if you're my soulmate." He held up his wrist and pulled down his sleeve to reveal a sharp pixelated sword. "My friends call me The Blade."
George stared at the mark, his heart dropping. He had seen that mark before, though it had been awhile since it was across the ocean from him and always covered either by a sleeve or by concealer.
"What's up with your face? Are we soulmates or somethin'?"
"No." George shook his head and held up his wrist, and the boy cocked his head to the side.
"You can have faces for a markin'?" He held out his hand. "Welp, pay up the full ten dollars. We're not a match."
George grabbed his wallet and handed over a ten-dollar bill that was meant to be his lunch money. The boy gladly took it and handed over the pass.
"Nice doin' business with ya," He said, checking the bill in the light. "Also, here ya go." He handed his completed worksheet across the table. "Free for the purchase. It's due next class, so just give it back to me tomorrow. Also, ignore my name. Call me Techno. Feel free to spread my business around."
"Alright," George said, skimming over the page to make sure the paper was a valid analysis of the poem. Techno wasn't lying. He wrote like a gifted kid. "Can I give you my number? Just incase I have any other questions."
"Look, man, I'm not a tutor. I just give out answers for cash."
"I meant your handwriting is small. Just in case I can't read some of your words."
Techno sighed and pulled out his phone. He opened up his contacts and handed the phone to George. George took it and entered Wilbur's phone number. He then texted from Techno's number a simple "hello" Before handing his phone back. Wilbur owed him later.
"Thanks," He said. "And you're welcome."
"Heh?" Techno said. "Welcome for what?"
"Huh?" Said George as he began to pack his bag. He zipped up his backpack as he got up and approached his teacher at her desk. He dropped the pass onto her desk, and she gazed up at him.
"May I help you?" His teacher asked. She had just been grading papers, and the kid she was currently grading had a lot of red ink on their page.
"Can I use the bathroom?"
"It's may I, but sure." She took the pass and dismissed George. He took his bag and left the classroom. His heart pounded as he walked through the silent halls. Each step echoed against the lockers and walls, and he ran as quietly as he could down the hall and into the outside. To his surprise, it was empty aside from a couple janitors talking and cackling to one another.
The exit was right ahead, and George hesitated. What he was doing was stupid, and he knew it was because it was the same thing Clay had done. He didn't know where to go either. The young junior could easily be anywhere in the residential area. And if he found George looking for him, he'd probably call him more than a Bitch Boy. He'd call him a stalker despite him simply wondering a bit too much. He'd snitch on him and drag him down the same rabbit hole George had witnessed him fall into the day before.
Yet as he thought it through, his legs had already led him out the door and into the parking lot. He was free, yet the sudden anxiety that crept up caused the feeling to become more restricting than patriotic.
***
The last time George had decided to ditch school was the year prior with Wilbur and Tommy. They'd go exploring down underground tunnels hidden throughout the town and would laugh when one of them jumped at a sudden echo in the pitch-black darkness. George remembered spending their school hours laughing as Wilbur made up satirical songs on the spot. On days it rained, they'd attempt to push Tommy into the incoming pools of water, and his shrieks would fill the rest of the tunnel and would drown out the laughter coming from the older two boys.
However, this time was different. This time George was alone and out in the open. He didn't know where the hidden tunnels were in this town; he didn't deem them as safe anyway with how often it rained there. He didn't know where the rest of the ditching students were, and he ended up going home instead. He stepped up the porch and discovered the door to be unlocked despite supposedly nobody being home. He opened the door to see his dirty blond host brother at the kitchen table. Upon the door's loud squeal, his head shot up, and he spat the cap of his pen out onto the floor. As George jumped at the sudden movement, the former sighed and let go of the tension in his shoulders.
"Oh, good. It's just you." Clay finished up whatever he was writing and bent down to grab the pen cap. "What are you doing here?"
George shut the door. "I saw you leaving school."
"So you followed me?"
"I have English first period." George pushed himself off the door and glanced at the paper Clay had just been writing before it was swiped away and folded up.
"Goody-two-shoes George ditching. That's not very respectful of you." He tossed the paper carelessly onto the counter and walked to his room.
"You ditched too."
"I'm doing what's expected of me. You're just being a wannabe. Do you wanna be yelled at by my mom? Are you into that kind of thing?"
"What?"
"Actually, now that I think about it, this is perfect."
George raised an eyebrow as he followed the younger boy into his room. He almost tripped over a duffle bag, and he discovered there to be multiple bags full of clothes and Clay's other belongings. "What are you doing?"
Clay smiled, and the pit of George's stomach sank. He grabbed a random bag from the floor and poured his things onto his bed before shoving the bag into George's chest.
"Pack your bags, Bitch Boy. We're going on a roadtrip."
=============
I edit these chapters after I write the chapter after it and it's so weird because you guys are so behind lol like my mindset is already set on the roadtrip and I come back to this chapter where they're still in school and I realize that while I was writing the roadtrip scenes, you guys were left at dream getting grounded LOL
Anyway yayyyy the exposition is over wooo it's dnf time *celebration noises*