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ds_flashfiction2006-05-19 06:44 pm
jasmasson.livejournal.com) wrote in ds_flashfiction2006-05-19 06:44 pm
Entry tags:
School Challenge by jasmasson
Title: Popularity
Rating: PG-13 (only for language, though)
Category: Pre Slash
Pairing: F/K
For: School challenge
Words: 3,792
A/N: New to this fandom. I find both the Rays delicious, particularly RayK with his hideous self esteem issues and his heart on his sleeve. Can you imagine that in high school, the poor dear?
Archive: Now at AO3
Summary: So what if he doesn’t have any friends other than Stella and her friends now? Okay, he was tight with Paulie back at his old school and, yes, he kind of misses the way they could talk about anything, and hung out after school and shit. For fucking sure, though, Paulie’s friendship was cold fucking comfort when Billy Marconi rubbed his snotty nose in the dirt every day for three years. Yeah, so, with Paulie he didn’t have to watch what he said like with Stella and her friends, but at least now he’s not talking through a mouthful of mud.
***
This is by no means the first detention Ray has ever had. By no means.
But he rather thinks this is the first detention Benton Fraser has ever had and, well, the guy looks kinda cut up about it, which makes Ray feel bad.
He chews hard on the end of his pencil and wishes he had a cigarette. He has a horrible tendency to run off at the mouth if he doesn’t watch it, about anything and everything, and the way to stop that is to keep his mouth busy.
Smoking has been proven the best way, because when he’s smoking, it’s like he’s saying something without actually saying any thing at all. And what he’s saying is cool. Which is greatness, because he still can slip into sounding like a dork at any moment without even realizing it.
He’d be talking and it’d going OK, and Stella would be smiling, and then, bam, from nowhere dorkdom would leap out and pop him in the face (the wrong word, the wrong accent, the wrong thing) and it’d go all quiet and Stella would be frowning and her friends looking at him funny.
So. Silence. Silence was his friend.
Fraser sighs softly, miserably, and Ray bites down hard on his pencil to keep from saying something.
“Shit!” he says, when he suddenly gets a mouthful of wooden chips from his pencil, which surrendered unexpectedly to his gnawing.
“Are you alright?” Fraser asks. They’re sitting on desks next to each other as the teacher directed them, as though they were easier to control that way, in a tight space.
“Yeah yeah,” he says, spitting the three tiny bits of pencil chippings from his mouth. The pencil, in fact, looks almost unscathed, and he supposes, reasonably, he’d have to be like, a wolf, to have actually snapped a pencil with his teeth. He pulls a face. “They felt a lot bigger in my mouth.”
Damn. Words. And about mouths, which were not cool unless they were girls’ mouths.
“That’s not surprising, Ray,” Fraser says. “The mouth is a particularly sensitive area of the body, and the tongue has...” Fraser stops suddenly, and glances at the door.
Ray realizes that Fraser is worried about getting caught talking.
“Nah, it’s OK,” he says, before he stops to think that this is a perfect way to avoid talking. “I’ve done this a gazillion times before. The teachers tend to leave you for detention, usually just doin’ a drive by to check you’re still here. And Mr Lomax is the best cos he’s probably drunk in his office right now and don’t usually even bother to come tell us to leave. My dad knows him from...”
*Beep* Boos from the audience. Talking about his folks is his number one way to mess up in front of Stella’s friends. He flushes slightly.
He’s realized that it’s OK for him to be trailer park, smoking, poor, and public school, because he’s young and as close to James Dean as they’re ever gonna get, and it’s cool and exciting. But James Dean died when he was still young, and never got to be old. Ray has the creepy feeling sometimes that Stella & co. are waiting for his tragic death, and they’d be pleased because then he wouldn’t grow up to be old, trailer park, smoking, poor and dead end job. Like his folks, which they don’t want to be reminded of.
When you get old it turns from cool to sad, and at 16 Ray is already old enough to know that, which makes old and sad seem that much closer.
But Fraser doesn’t seem to have picked up on this, so Ray’s heart slows a little as he realizes he’s managed to dodge round a dork trap in the road.
Instead, Fraser says, “A gazillion isn’t really a number, you know, Ray. The largest named number is a googolplex, which is a 10 raised to the power of a googol. A googol is 10 raised to the hundredth power. Interestingly, there has been speculation of a number referred to with an amusing pun as a killion, which would exceed human understanding and therefore comprehending it would prove fatal to humans who are, by nature, finite, whereas numbers are infinite.”
Ray stares at Fraser open-mouthed for a long moment and he feel his face flushing again with embarrassment. Not a dork, but an idiot, a fucking moron. Too stupid to live. And Fraser looks so earnest, like he expects Ray to come up with some related fun fact about numbers. It was that earnestness, Ray knows, that bizarre expectation of other people, that had won Fraser the black eye that was currently, slowly blooming on his face, and had also therefore been the cause of Ray’s bruised knuckles and split lip.
And, looking into Fraser’s blue eyes (one of which was swelling shut as he watched) Ray is angry angry angry, and defensive. A dork and an idiot.
“Shut the fuck up,” he hisses. “This is detention, not fucking math.”
Fraser flinches slightly, and goes back to looking at his hands which are laced primly in front of him on his desk.
Fraser’s a dork. Picked on by the guys, and adored by the girls. Ray thinks the girls would love to braid his hair, if it was more than half an inch long. Fraser is the smartest kid in the class by, like, a googly-whatsit. This does not make for popularity.
He’s also clean, polite and well spoken. The kids picked on him cos they didn’t understand what he was doing here in public school, clearly a posh kid, when he transferred in about two weeks ago. Turns out he was Canadian, not rich, or nothin’, but that didn’t cut any ice with the ruthless panel of school hierarchy judges. The East German judge had nothin’ on MacBain, the school quarterback, for meanness.
Ray had changed schools himself only recently, coming here about a year ago, when his folks had to move to a new park. But the move had gone well for him. Really fuckin’ well.
He left behind Stanley Kowalski, skinny, dorky kid with glasses, and became Ray Kowalski. Still skinny, sure, there was nothin’ he could do about that, but he never wore his glasses anymore, even though his schoolwork suffered, but he figured that was a decent trade. Stella had given him her cousin’s old leather jacket that he’d grown out of and Ray had made it his own. He was cool. He changed his hair to fit with his jacket, making it all spiky and full of ‘tude, he got sunglasses, he took up smoking and he stopped talking. Somehow, Stella and Steve McQueen had rubbed off on him through some kind of miracle and he was cool.
None of the kids at his new school gave him shit, and he gave them nothing but attitude.
Not even the jocks gave him hell, because even though the cheerleaders waiting for them to get out of practice were pretty cute, he had Stella waiting for him to get out of detention and Stella was like a movie goddess. She was like Faye fucking Dunaway and she was waiting for him.
So what if he doesn’t have any friends other than Stella and her friends now? Yeah, he was tight with Paulie back at his old school, and he kind of misses the way they could talk about anything, and hung out after school and shit, but for fucking sure Paulie’s friendship was cold fucking comfort when Billy Marconi rubbed his snotty nose in the dirt every day for three years. Yeah, so, with Paulie he didn’t have to watch what he said like with Stella and her friends, but at least now he’s not talking through a mouthful of mud.
Silence is his friend, yes. But Ray has never been silence’s friend. He gets the impression Fraser would be happy to sit there in silence for the next hour, but Ray is already shifting restlessly in his seat. Ray’s natural inclination to talk, and his memory of Fraser’s blue blue eyes win out.
“You gonna be in trouble?” he finds himself asking. “With your folks about detention?”
Fraser’s glance is wary now, like at a dog that’s bitten him once, and Ray feels like a shit, but he answers.
“No. I’ll explain what happened to my father.” Fraser’s smile is mostly incomprehensible to Ray, but his first guess would be at bitter. “This is the kind of thing he understands.”
Ray nods.
“So your Dad thinks fighting’s all manly, huh? Mine too. How about your mom, though?”
Fraser pauses for a moment before answering.
“My father will be disappointed that I could not resolve the problem without fighting, but he will also understand that it can become necessary.” Fraser pauses for another moment, but then goes on in a rush like he wants to get it over with. “My father’s a Mountie, which is a Canadian policeman. We first came to Chicago when he was on the trail of my mother’s killer and, for reasons which do not need exploring at this juncture, he has remained attached to the Canadian consulate in Chicago.”
Ray stares. Fraser meets his eyes defiantly, daring him to say something.
Fuck, Ray felt badly for Fraser and all before this, what with the new country, new school, and being a picked on dork, but now he feels so bad his insides are all screwed up.
“Sorry,” he says, “that fucking sucks.”
Jeez, words really aren’t his friends, but Fraser seems to take them in the spirit in which they were meant, and smiles at him.
Ray looks away from that too bright smile before he starts feeling angry again. He’s angrier at Fraser than he is at MacBain, and he’s angrier at himself than he is at either of them.
Fraser appears to have caught Ray’s talkative bug.
“My father caught Muldoon, who, uh, who killed my mother, and even though he was so angry and broken that he wanted to kill him, he took him in instead because it was the right thing to do. My father understands the right thing to do if very little else, and he’ll understand what I did today.”
“Well, I don’t understand, Fraser!” Ray bursts out. “MacBain and Seaborn pick on Johnston every fucking day. Trust me, kids like that, they’re used to it. They were just throwing his bag around for chrissake, and it’s a pretty good fucking day for a kid like that when they don’t go home with a fucked up face and pants smelling of piss. And you’re, what, gonna stand up for him every fucking day?”
“If I have to,” Fraser says quietly.
Ray believes him, absolutely. And it makes him nauseous.
“Yeah, well, don’t expect fucking help from me every day, Fraser, I’m telling you that.”
Fraser looks at him for a moment, and the light in his eyes dims slightly.
“I won’t Ray,” he says, and he sounds apologetic and sad. “I’m sorry to have put you in this position today.”
“Fuck,” Ray says, unable to believe Fraser could make him feel fucking worse. “Don’t apologize. You didn’t say ‘Ray, Ray, help me!’ did you. I did that all by my stupid fucking self.”
And that was the worst of it. Ray had been leaning against the gym, fucking up his lungs alone like he always did at break and he’d seen MacBain and Seaborn messing with Johnston like they always did.
Ray had seen it a dozen times and always, always ignored it. Because while it made him grit his teeth and feel like a bastard, because Johnston reminded him a little bit of his old friend Paulie, he couldn’t do anything about it.
The truth was that Johnston reminded him a little bit too much of his old friend Stanley Kowalski, and if he did anything or said anything, MacBain would suddenly look at him and realise that the leather jacket meant nothing and he was still Stanley Kowalski after all. And there was nothing worse than going home with the words cocksucker and fag ringing in your ears, to wash dirt out of your mouth and some bully’s piss out of your clothes before your mom got home. Dried piss was the worst smell in the world, one Ray had had intimate experience of long before Marcus Ellery, and sometimes Ray can still smell it on himself.
And so he’d been acting like he didn’t notice until Fraser had come out of nowhere, pulled the bag out of the air and handed it to Johnston.
Mainly Fraser had just taken name calling from the jocks. They already had their punching bag of choice, Johnston, for fun and frolics, and there was something about Fraser. Something that made pettiness seem even more petty, something untouchable and good that had protected Fraser physically.
So far.
It did not extend to getting in MacBain’s face and insisting he apologize to Johnston. MacBain’s rep was not going to stand for that.
Ray had noticed Fraser before now, of course. Who wouldn’t notice Fraser? He’d noticed Fraser’s soft voice, and pretty face and red lips and thought very hard about Stella. Because if Ray could ever possibly help it there would never be any truth to Billy Marconi’s taunts.
But then MacBain had started wailing on Fraser, with Seaborn for company, and Ray had chucked his cigarette and was jumping on Seaborn’s back before he’d had time to think.
Against all fucking odds as far as Ray was concerned (still so fucking skinny, despite what baggy jeans and a leather jacket could hide) Fraser and him had cleaned up.
Fraser was only about Ray’s height, which was maybe a bit above average, but MacBain was a good three inches taller, and Seaborn, who played defense in the football team, at least two more than that, and about twice Ray’s weight.
But Fraser was pretty solid himself and could, evidently, hit like a mule, and Ray had developed some rhythm for these things himself over the years, and could duck and dive with the best of them one on one. So he'd managed to hold Seaborn up until Fraser had come to help him.
This was how Mr Lomax had found them, MacBain down, Johnston nowhere to be fucking seen (the little pissant) and Fraser and him two on one on Seaborn.
MacBain and Seaborn were football heroes, Ray the weirdo rebel and Fraser the new kid and so, obviously, it had been Ray and Fraser who got into trouble and were consequently now in detention.
Ray feels ill again when he thinks about seeing MacBain and Seaborn tomorrow. What were they gonna say? Were they suddenly gonna look at him and realize that underneath that leather jacket there was only Stanley ‘Clark Kent’ Kowalski, fucking prime target for fists and urine and cocksucker insults.
Ray wants to really blame Fraser but he can’t although that would be better then blaming himself. But he actually figures that under Fraser’s Clark Kent exterior there actually is a Superman, and he somehow knows that Fraser will take on MacBain and Seaborn alone every day if he has to, and win.
Ray thinks, hopes, that he can front this one out with a sneer. “Looked like fun,” he’d say, or something like that if MacBain or Seaborn made a thing of why he suited up for Fraser. Or “Sometimes you just gotta cut loose, man.” And they could be men of the world and snort and high five or something. Maybe he can get away with that. Maybe once. But it wouldn’t be once. Fraser will do it every day if he has to, and Ray won’t be able to just watch.
“Have you tried out for the team?” Ray asks suddenly, because that’s where the likes of MacBain and Seaborn get their power from, and Ray thinks Fraser would probably be good at sports. Not only could he take out MacBain in a fight, but also there’s something about the way he moves. Which Ray has tried not to notice, but failed.
“No,” Fraser replies, “the team doesn’t seem very nice.”
Ray laughs at Fraser’s cluelessness.
“Of course they’re not nice! They’re a high school football team. They’re on it to Lord it over everyone else in the school. It's about being able to look back and remember their glory days when they become adults and mere mortals like everybody else when they grow up, and hate their lives, their jobs and their wives.”
“I thought it was about playing football,” Fraser says.
Ray begins to gesticulate about how, no, it is fucking not about playing football, but then catches a twinkle in Fraser’s eye, dear Lord an honest to God twinkle, (in the eye that isn’t nearly closed from the swelling) and Ray suddenly has an erection.
Ray grits his teeth and looks down at his desk, willing it away. He will not have a hard on for Fraser, who is – albeit unintentionally – very close to ruining Ray’s life, and, oh yes, a guy, while in detention, which is all Fraser’s fault.
“You should join,” he says after a moment, because suddenly it’s vitally important to Ray that Fraser is popular. “I bet you’d be great.”
“I don’t want to be on their team,” Fraser replies firmly.
“That’s dumb, Fraser,” Ray argues, “D-U-M, dumb. Your life would be a lot easier on the football team, believe me. Popularity is not to be taken lightly in high school.” No, sir, not at all.
Fraser looks at him assessingly, for a long moment.
“Would your life be easier if I was on the football team?” he asks.
If Fraser was popular... if Fraser was popular maybe Ray could afford him as a friend. Maybe Fraser could actually make him cooler. And if they were friends, maybe, Ray could go to Fraser’s house, and maybe spend time there, and maybe they could get to know each other and...
Ray can smell urine in the air. Cocksucker.
Ray shrugs, looking away.
“Nothin’ to do with me,” he says, and as he puts his pencil back in his mouth, he realizes he’s holding it like it’s a cigarette.
***
Mr Lomax clearly hasn’t drunk enough to pass out yet, and comes to let them go at the right time.
Ray walks out and Fraser falls in beside him. Fraser smells clean and good and Ray wants to say something to him, but he doesn’t know what to say.
They haven’t resolved anything, he knows that. MacBain and Seaborn will still pick on Johnston, and Fraser will stick up for him, and God only knows what Ray will do if he’s there.
“I like your jacket,” Fraser says suddenly. “Do you think it would help if I got a jacket like that?”
Ray glares at him. Fraser looks a bit pissy and a bit disappointed and is really much, much too smart for Ray to be friends with anyway.
Ray looks over to the bus stop where Stella is sitting waiting for him. She’s doing some schoolwork and hasn’t noticed him yet. What is it with him and smart people anyway?
Fraser wouldn’t like Stella, he thinks. Not that that’s important, of course, they’re not friends or anything, but the thought makes him uncomfortable. He wants Fraser to like everything about him, and he knows he’s already disappointed Fraser in a big way.
He tries to get angry, thinking that Fraser has no right to be disappointed in him. He helped him, didn’t he? Today at least. But he’s not angry, not at Fraser, anyway.
“It might,” he says with a sigh.
Fraser smiles at him, and Ray’s stomach flips over.
“I don’t think it’s really me, though,” Fraser says, sadly. “But it looks good on you. Better than a ‘fucked up face and pants smelling of piss’ I’m sure.”
Ray does feel a spike of anger then, and humiliation. Bastard is way too smart for his own good, and who the hell is he to judge, anyway?
“Too fucking right,” he snarls, and starts to leave.
“I’m sorry,” Fraser sounds sincere, and stops him with a hand on his sleeve. “I just meant I understand, that’s all.”
Fraser’s hand feels like a band of iron on his arm, and Ray’s heart pounds. He can’t, he can’t.
“Thanks for helping me today, though,” Fraser says. “I’m sorry you got hurt.”
Fraser’s other hand brushes his split bottom lip and Ray thinks he’s going to fucking pass out, right here on the school steps.
Fraser licks his lips and for one, wild moment Ray thinks he’s going to kiss him in front of school and God and Stella. And Ray thinks that’s probably all it would take to split him wide open for Fraser, irrevocably. But Fraser doesn’t. He steps back.
“Your girlfriend’s waiting for you,” he says, and Ray thinks of course Fraser won’t kiss him while he’s got a girlfriend, let alone while she’s within sight.
He turns to look and as if on cue Stella looks up, her bright blonde hair catching the sun. She smiles and gives a little wave before starting to gather up her books.
“I’ll see you, Ray,” Fraser says and his voice is so sad.
“Ah, wait, look,” Ray says, because he can’t take being the cause of that sadness. “Uh, Stella has swimming on Tuesdays and tennis on Thursdays, and horse riding on Saturday afternoons. Maybe, uh, we could hang out then?”
Ray waits, feeling flushed and dizzy. It’s the best he can do. He can’t promise to stand up for Johnston and he can’t say he’ll give up Stella who is surely the best thing to ever happen to a kid like him, but he wants to be Fraser’s friend, and that has to count for something, right?
Fraser looks at him, assessingly. Fraser knows what he’s offering and how limited and pathetic it is; friends in secret.
“Very well, Ray,” Fraser says, with a nod.
“Okay,” Ray feels stupidly relieved.
“I plan on becoming a Mountie, you know,” Fraser says after a moment. “Do you know what the Mountie’s motto is not, Ray?”
“Is not?”
“Is not,” Fraser confirms.
“Uh, ‘God Save the Queen?’”
“You’re quite right, Ray, it’s not that. Nor is it, despite popular misconception, ‘we always get our man’. And therefore I feel quite free to adopt that as my own, personal motto.”
Fraser smiles blindingly at him, and leaves.
Ray still feels a little wobbly as he goes down the steps to Stella.
Fraser will take on MacBain and Seaborn and Ray’s own cowardice.
And Ray wouldn’t bet against him beating them all.
***
Rating: PG-13 (only for language, though)
Category: Pre Slash
Pairing: F/K
For: School challenge
Words: 3,792
A/N: New to this fandom. I find both the Rays delicious, particularly RayK with his hideous self esteem issues and his heart on his sleeve. Can you imagine that in high school, the poor dear?
Archive: Now at AO3
Summary: So what if he doesn’t have any friends other than Stella and her friends now? Okay, he was tight with Paulie back at his old school and, yes, he kind of misses the way they could talk about anything, and hung out after school and shit. For fucking sure, though, Paulie’s friendship was cold fucking comfort when Billy Marconi rubbed his snotty nose in the dirt every day for three years. Yeah, so, with Paulie he didn’t have to watch what he said like with Stella and her friends, but at least now he’s not talking through a mouthful of mud.
***
This is by no means the first detention Ray has ever had. By no means.
But he rather thinks this is the first detention Benton Fraser has ever had and, well, the guy looks kinda cut up about it, which makes Ray feel bad.
He chews hard on the end of his pencil and wishes he had a cigarette. He has a horrible tendency to run off at the mouth if he doesn’t watch it, about anything and everything, and the way to stop that is to keep his mouth busy.
Smoking has been proven the best way, because when he’s smoking, it’s like he’s saying something without actually saying any thing at all. And what he’s saying is cool. Which is greatness, because he still can slip into sounding like a dork at any moment without even realizing it.
He’d be talking and it’d going OK, and Stella would be smiling, and then, bam, from nowhere dorkdom would leap out and pop him in the face (the wrong word, the wrong accent, the wrong thing) and it’d go all quiet and Stella would be frowning and her friends looking at him funny.
So. Silence. Silence was his friend.
Fraser sighs softly, miserably, and Ray bites down hard on his pencil to keep from saying something.
“Shit!” he says, when he suddenly gets a mouthful of wooden chips from his pencil, which surrendered unexpectedly to his gnawing.
“Are you alright?” Fraser asks. They’re sitting on desks next to each other as the teacher directed them, as though they were easier to control that way, in a tight space.
“Yeah yeah,” he says, spitting the three tiny bits of pencil chippings from his mouth. The pencil, in fact, looks almost unscathed, and he supposes, reasonably, he’d have to be like, a wolf, to have actually snapped a pencil with his teeth. He pulls a face. “They felt a lot bigger in my mouth.”
Damn. Words. And about mouths, which were not cool unless they were girls’ mouths.
“That’s not surprising, Ray,” Fraser says. “The mouth is a particularly sensitive area of the body, and the tongue has...” Fraser stops suddenly, and glances at the door.
Ray realizes that Fraser is worried about getting caught talking.
“Nah, it’s OK,” he says, before he stops to think that this is a perfect way to avoid talking. “I’ve done this a gazillion times before. The teachers tend to leave you for detention, usually just doin’ a drive by to check you’re still here. And Mr Lomax is the best cos he’s probably drunk in his office right now and don’t usually even bother to come tell us to leave. My dad knows him from...”
*Beep* Boos from the audience. Talking about his folks is his number one way to mess up in front of Stella’s friends. He flushes slightly.
He’s realized that it’s OK for him to be trailer park, smoking, poor, and public school, because he’s young and as close to James Dean as they’re ever gonna get, and it’s cool and exciting. But James Dean died when he was still young, and never got to be old. Ray has the creepy feeling sometimes that Stella & co. are waiting for his tragic death, and they’d be pleased because then he wouldn’t grow up to be old, trailer park, smoking, poor and dead end job. Like his folks, which they don’t want to be reminded of.
When you get old it turns from cool to sad, and at 16 Ray is already old enough to know that, which makes old and sad seem that much closer.
But Fraser doesn’t seem to have picked up on this, so Ray’s heart slows a little as he realizes he’s managed to dodge round a dork trap in the road.
Instead, Fraser says, “A gazillion isn’t really a number, you know, Ray. The largest named number is a googolplex, which is a 10 raised to the power of a googol. A googol is 10 raised to the hundredth power. Interestingly, there has been speculation of a number referred to with an amusing pun as a killion, which would exceed human understanding and therefore comprehending it would prove fatal to humans who are, by nature, finite, whereas numbers are infinite.”
Ray stares at Fraser open-mouthed for a long moment and he feel his face flushing again with embarrassment. Not a dork, but an idiot, a fucking moron. Too stupid to live. And Fraser looks so earnest, like he expects Ray to come up with some related fun fact about numbers. It was that earnestness, Ray knows, that bizarre expectation of other people, that had won Fraser the black eye that was currently, slowly blooming on his face, and had also therefore been the cause of Ray’s bruised knuckles and split lip.
And, looking into Fraser’s blue eyes (one of which was swelling shut as he watched) Ray is angry angry angry, and defensive. A dork and an idiot.
“Shut the fuck up,” he hisses. “This is detention, not fucking math.”
Fraser flinches slightly, and goes back to looking at his hands which are laced primly in front of him on his desk.
Fraser’s a dork. Picked on by the guys, and adored by the girls. Ray thinks the girls would love to braid his hair, if it was more than half an inch long. Fraser is the smartest kid in the class by, like, a googly-whatsit. This does not make for popularity.
He’s also clean, polite and well spoken. The kids picked on him cos they didn’t understand what he was doing here in public school, clearly a posh kid, when he transferred in about two weeks ago. Turns out he was Canadian, not rich, or nothin’, but that didn’t cut any ice with the ruthless panel of school hierarchy judges. The East German judge had nothin’ on MacBain, the school quarterback, for meanness.
Ray had changed schools himself only recently, coming here about a year ago, when his folks had to move to a new park. But the move had gone well for him. Really fuckin’ well.
He left behind Stanley Kowalski, skinny, dorky kid with glasses, and became Ray Kowalski. Still skinny, sure, there was nothin’ he could do about that, but he never wore his glasses anymore, even though his schoolwork suffered, but he figured that was a decent trade. Stella had given him her cousin’s old leather jacket that he’d grown out of and Ray had made it his own. He was cool. He changed his hair to fit with his jacket, making it all spiky and full of ‘tude, he got sunglasses, he took up smoking and he stopped talking. Somehow, Stella and Steve McQueen had rubbed off on him through some kind of miracle and he was cool.
None of the kids at his new school gave him shit, and he gave them nothing but attitude.
Not even the jocks gave him hell, because even though the cheerleaders waiting for them to get out of practice were pretty cute, he had Stella waiting for him to get out of detention and Stella was like a movie goddess. She was like Faye fucking Dunaway and she was waiting for him.
So what if he doesn’t have any friends other than Stella and her friends now? Yeah, he was tight with Paulie back at his old school, and he kind of misses the way they could talk about anything, and hung out after school and shit, but for fucking sure Paulie’s friendship was cold fucking comfort when Billy Marconi rubbed his snotty nose in the dirt every day for three years. Yeah, so, with Paulie he didn’t have to watch what he said like with Stella and her friends, but at least now he’s not talking through a mouthful of mud.
Silence is his friend, yes. But Ray has never been silence’s friend. He gets the impression Fraser would be happy to sit there in silence for the next hour, but Ray is already shifting restlessly in his seat. Ray’s natural inclination to talk, and his memory of Fraser’s blue blue eyes win out.
“You gonna be in trouble?” he finds himself asking. “With your folks about detention?”
Fraser’s glance is wary now, like at a dog that’s bitten him once, and Ray feels like a shit, but he answers.
“No. I’ll explain what happened to my father.” Fraser’s smile is mostly incomprehensible to Ray, but his first guess would be at bitter. “This is the kind of thing he understands.”
Ray nods.
“So your Dad thinks fighting’s all manly, huh? Mine too. How about your mom, though?”
Fraser pauses for a moment before answering.
“My father will be disappointed that I could not resolve the problem without fighting, but he will also understand that it can become necessary.” Fraser pauses for another moment, but then goes on in a rush like he wants to get it over with. “My father’s a Mountie, which is a Canadian policeman. We first came to Chicago when he was on the trail of my mother’s killer and, for reasons which do not need exploring at this juncture, he has remained attached to the Canadian consulate in Chicago.”
Ray stares. Fraser meets his eyes defiantly, daring him to say something.
Fuck, Ray felt badly for Fraser and all before this, what with the new country, new school, and being a picked on dork, but now he feels so bad his insides are all screwed up.
“Sorry,” he says, “that fucking sucks.”
Jeez, words really aren’t his friends, but Fraser seems to take them in the spirit in which they were meant, and smiles at him.
Ray looks away from that too bright smile before he starts feeling angry again. He’s angrier at Fraser than he is at MacBain, and he’s angrier at himself than he is at either of them.
Fraser appears to have caught Ray’s talkative bug.
“My father caught Muldoon, who, uh, who killed my mother, and even though he was so angry and broken that he wanted to kill him, he took him in instead because it was the right thing to do. My father understands the right thing to do if very little else, and he’ll understand what I did today.”
“Well, I don’t understand, Fraser!” Ray bursts out. “MacBain and Seaborn pick on Johnston every fucking day. Trust me, kids like that, they’re used to it. They were just throwing his bag around for chrissake, and it’s a pretty good fucking day for a kid like that when they don’t go home with a fucked up face and pants smelling of piss. And you’re, what, gonna stand up for him every fucking day?”
“If I have to,” Fraser says quietly.
Ray believes him, absolutely. And it makes him nauseous.
“Yeah, well, don’t expect fucking help from me every day, Fraser, I’m telling you that.”
Fraser looks at him for a moment, and the light in his eyes dims slightly.
“I won’t Ray,” he says, and he sounds apologetic and sad. “I’m sorry to have put you in this position today.”
“Fuck,” Ray says, unable to believe Fraser could make him feel fucking worse. “Don’t apologize. You didn’t say ‘Ray, Ray, help me!’ did you. I did that all by my stupid fucking self.”
And that was the worst of it. Ray had been leaning against the gym, fucking up his lungs alone like he always did at break and he’d seen MacBain and Seaborn messing with Johnston like they always did.
Ray had seen it a dozen times and always, always ignored it. Because while it made him grit his teeth and feel like a bastard, because Johnston reminded him a little bit of his old friend Paulie, he couldn’t do anything about it.
The truth was that Johnston reminded him a little bit too much of his old friend Stanley Kowalski, and if he did anything or said anything, MacBain would suddenly look at him and realise that the leather jacket meant nothing and he was still Stanley Kowalski after all. And there was nothing worse than going home with the words cocksucker and fag ringing in your ears, to wash dirt out of your mouth and some bully’s piss out of your clothes before your mom got home. Dried piss was the worst smell in the world, one Ray had had intimate experience of long before Marcus Ellery, and sometimes Ray can still smell it on himself.
And so he’d been acting like he didn’t notice until Fraser had come out of nowhere, pulled the bag out of the air and handed it to Johnston.
Mainly Fraser had just taken name calling from the jocks. They already had their punching bag of choice, Johnston, for fun and frolics, and there was something about Fraser. Something that made pettiness seem even more petty, something untouchable and good that had protected Fraser physically.
So far.
It did not extend to getting in MacBain’s face and insisting he apologize to Johnston. MacBain’s rep was not going to stand for that.
Ray had noticed Fraser before now, of course. Who wouldn’t notice Fraser? He’d noticed Fraser’s soft voice, and pretty face and red lips and thought very hard about Stella. Because if Ray could ever possibly help it there would never be any truth to Billy Marconi’s taunts.
But then MacBain had started wailing on Fraser, with Seaborn for company, and Ray had chucked his cigarette and was jumping on Seaborn’s back before he’d had time to think.
Against all fucking odds as far as Ray was concerned (still so fucking skinny, despite what baggy jeans and a leather jacket could hide) Fraser and him had cleaned up.
Fraser was only about Ray’s height, which was maybe a bit above average, but MacBain was a good three inches taller, and Seaborn, who played defense in the football team, at least two more than that, and about twice Ray’s weight.
But Fraser was pretty solid himself and could, evidently, hit like a mule, and Ray had developed some rhythm for these things himself over the years, and could duck and dive with the best of them one on one. So he'd managed to hold Seaborn up until Fraser had come to help him.
This was how Mr Lomax had found them, MacBain down, Johnston nowhere to be fucking seen (the little pissant) and Fraser and him two on one on Seaborn.
MacBain and Seaborn were football heroes, Ray the weirdo rebel and Fraser the new kid and so, obviously, it had been Ray and Fraser who got into trouble and were consequently now in detention.
Ray feels ill again when he thinks about seeing MacBain and Seaborn tomorrow. What were they gonna say? Were they suddenly gonna look at him and realize that underneath that leather jacket there was only Stanley ‘Clark Kent’ Kowalski, fucking prime target for fists and urine and cocksucker insults.
Ray wants to really blame Fraser but he can’t although that would be better then blaming himself. But he actually figures that under Fraser’s Clark Kent exterior there actually is a Superman, and he somehow knows that Fraser will take on MacBain and Seaborn alone every day if he has to, and win.
Ray thinks, hopes, that he can front this one out with a sneer. “Looked like fun,” he’d say, or something like that if MacBain or Seaborn made a thing of why he suited up for Fraser. Or “Sometimes you just gotta cut loose, man.” And they could be men of the world and snort and high five or something. Maybe he can get away with that. Maybe once. But it wouldn’t be once. Fraser will do it every day if he has to, and Ray won’t be able to just watch.
“Have you tried out for the team?” Ray asks suddenly, because that’s where the likes of MacBain and Seaborn get their power from, and Ray thinks Fraser would probably be good at sports. Not only could he take out MacBain in a fight, but also there’s something about the way he moves. Which Ray has tried not to notice, but failed.
“No,” Fraser replies, “the team doesn’t seem very nice.”
Ray laughs at Fraser’s cluelessness.
“Of course they’re not nice! They’re a high school football team. They’re on it to Lord it over everyone else in the school. It's about being able to look back and remember their glory days when they become adults and mere mortals like everybody else when they grow up, and hate their lives, their jobs and their wives.”
“I thought it was about playing football,” Fraser says.
Ray begins to gesticulate about how, no, it is fucking not about playing football, but then catches a twinkle in Fraser’s eye, dear Lord an honest to God twinkle, (in the eye that isn’t nearly closed from the swelling) and Ray suddenly has an erection.
Ray grits his teeth and looks down at his desk, willing it away. He will not have a hard on for Fraser, who is – albeit unintentionally – very close to ruining Ray’s life, and, oh yes, a guy, while in detention, which is all Fraser’s fault.
“You should join,” he says after a moment, because suddenly it’s vitally important to Ray that Fraser is popular. “I bet you’d be great.”
“I don’t want to be on their team,” Fraser replies firmly.
“That’s dumb, Fraser,” Ray argues, “D-U-M, dumb. Your life would be a lot easier on the football team, believe me. Popularity is not to be taken lightly in high school.” No, sir, not at all.
Fraser looks at him assessingly, for a long moment.
“Would your life be easier if I was on the football team?” he asks.
If Fraser was popular... if Fraser was popular maybe Ray could afford him as a friend. Maybe Fraser could actually make him cooler. And if they were friends, maybe, Ray could go to Fraser’s house, and maybe spend time there, and maybe they could get to know each other and...
Ray can smell urine in the air. Cocksucker.
Ray shrugs, looking away.
“Nothin’ to do with me,” he says, and as he puts his pencil back in his mouth, he realizes he’s holding it like it’s a cigarette.
***
Mr Lomax clearly hasn’t drunk enough to pass out yet, and comes to let them go at the right time.
Ray walks out and Fraser falls in beside him. Fraser smells clean and good and Ray wants to say something to him, but he doesn’t know what to say.
They haven’t resolved anything, he knows that. MacBain and Seaborn will still pick on Johnston, and Fraser will stick up for him, and God only knows what Ray will do if he’s there.
“I like your jacket,” Fraser says suddenly. “Do you think it would help if I got a jacket like that?”
Ray glares at him. Fraser looks a bit pissy and a bit disappointed and is really much, much too smart for Ray to be friends with anyway.
Ray looks over to the bus stop where Stella is sitting waiting for him. She’s doing some schoolwork and hasn’t noticed him yet. What is it with him and smart people anyway?
Fraser wouldn’t like Stella, he thinks. Not that that’s important, of course, they’re not friends or anything, but the thought makes him uncomfortable. He wants Fraser to like everything about him, and he knows he’s already disappointed Fraser in a big way.
He tries to get angry, thinking that Fraser has no right to be disappointed in him. He helped him, didn’t he? Today at least. But he’s not angry, not at Fraser, anyway.
“It might,” he says with a sigh.
Fraser smiles at him, and Ray’s stomach flips over.
“I don’t think it’s really me, though,” Fraser says, sadly. “But it looks good on you. Better than a ‘fucked up face and pants smelling of piss’ I’m sure.”
Ray does feel a spike of anger then, and humiliation. Bastard is way too smart for his own good, and who the hell is he to judge, anyway?
“Too fucking right,” he snarls, and starts to leave.
“I’m sorry,” Fraser sounds sincere, and stops him with a hand on his sleeve. “I just meant I understand, that’s all.”
Fraser’s hand feels like a band of iron on his arm, and Ray’s heart pounds. He can’t, he can’t.
“Thanks for helping me today, though,” Fraser says. “I’m sorry you got hurt.”
Fraser’s other hand brushes his split bottom lip and Ray thinks he’s going to fucking pass out, right here on the school steps.
Fraser licks his lips and for one, wild moment Ray thinks he’s going to kiss him in front of school and God and Stella. And Ray thinks that’s probably all it would take to split him wide open for Fraser, irrevocably. But Fraser doesn’t. He steps back.
“Your girlfriend’s waiting for you,” he says, and Ray thinks of course Fraser won’t kiss him while he’s got a girlfriend, let alone while she’s within sight.
He turns to look and as if on cue Stella looks up, her bright blonde hair catching the sun. She smiles and gives a little wave before starting to gather up her books.
“I’ll see you, Ray,” Fraser says and his voice is so sad.
“Ah, wait, look,” Ray says, because he can’t take being the cause of that sadness. “Uh, Stella has swimming on Tuesdays and tennis on Thursdays, and horse riding on Saturday afternoons. Maybe, uh, we could hang out then?”
Ray waits, feeling flushed and dizzy. It’s the best he can do. He can’t promise to stand up for Johnston and he can’t say he’ll give up Stella who is surely the best thing to ever happen to a kid like him, but he wants to be Fraser’s friend, and that has to count for something, right?
Fraser looks at him, assessingly. Fraser knows what he’s offering and how limited and pathetic it is; friends in secret.
“Very well, Ray,” Fraser says, with a nod.
“Okay,” Ray feels stupidly relieved.
“I plan on becoming a Mountie, you know,” Fraser says after a moment. “Do you know what the Mountie’s motto is not, Ray?”
“Is not?”
“Is not,” Fraser confirms.
“Uh, ‘God Save the Queen?’”
“You’re quite right, Ray, it’s not that. Nor is it, despite popular misconception, ‘we always get our man’. And therefore I feel quite free to adopt that as my own, personal motto.”
Fraser smiles blindingly at him, and leaves.
Ray still feels a little wobbly as he goes down the steps to Stella.
Fraser will take on MacBain and Seaborn and Ray’s own cowardice.
And Ray wouldn’t bet against him beating them all.
***
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