Chapter Text
God, I hope the stereotypes are exaggerated.
Newt fears going to school in America as much as he loves it. He won’t lie, watching Disney Channel, the teen comedies, the coming-of-age stories and whatnot is a guilty pleasure of his but living in one? Not so much. And he never thought he would. But here he is; a resident of America with, alas, a very temporary green card. Besides, he’s not alone in this. He’s got Sonya, hasn’t he? This is as new to her as it is to him. Like everything else, they’ll share this daunting experience.
Luckily, their parents were nice and smart enough to get everything settled before the semester started so there is no chance of the two of them having to burst right into a classroom and announce their arrival… well, not in the way they’d expect anyway. Everyone knows they’re new but at least it won’t be in the middle of the year.
Obviously, California is hot in the summer - dry and unbearable. Makes Newt kind of miss the grey, gloomy rain periods of England. He’s got a white t-shirt and a jean vest over it, buttoned up and a pair of matching jeans with a faint flare to them. He likes flared jeans. The chain he’s wearing feels like it’s seering into his skin like a stone in a sauna and he stuffs it into the t-shirt while he and Sonya are approaching the building, swimming with students and their friend groups filtering inside.
“It’s not looking promising,” Sonya notes with a hint of resignation in her voice. Newt agrees. It does all seem very stereotypical. But there isn’t much they can do. All they can do is hope they won’t be stuck in a Burn Book labeled ‘Colonisers’ with a bunch of also stereotypically British things like a bulldog, the Queen’s Guard and Spotted Dick (?).
“If I’m ever saved by the bell,” Sonya says and Newt barks a laugh before she can continue, “if that ever happens, I’m quitting. I’m sailing back to Blighty and taxing the shite out of their tea,” she continues.
“I’ll hold you to that. I’ll gladly be your accomplice,” Newt lets her know and she nods in confirmation before they start walking into the school, seemingly blending in when they’re not speaking. Apart from the fact that they’re almost identical.
“Wait, what if we get bloody dress coded?! ” Sonya frets before they make it inside. Newt takes her aside to make way for the others trying to get inside and she raises a very important issue. Well, ‘important’, a very fair concern. Their school in London was very lenient with dress codes while others in the same area had real, Harry Potter-like uniforms. They’re certainly not used to having their style dictated.
But, “it’s California. It’s a bit more forward-thinking. I think we’ll be fine,” Newt reassures her and she nods eventually.
“Now that I think about it, you’d probably be fine. When do guys ever get dress coded?”
Fair.
“I have heard that guys can’t have earrings,” Newt tells her and Sonya pulls her mouth into a thin, sarcastic smile.
“Well, you’re in trouble, then.” The stud in his left ear and the very thin and small hoop he’s wearing on the right one usually passes everyone by and he hopes that if this godforsaken school has that rule, no one will enforce it.
Discussing every possibility of this going wrong, they make their way inside and follow the stream towards the office where people get their schedules and it takes some time and it takes even longer when the man starts going over more or less everything you could possibly (not) need to know about the school before letting them go find their lockers and classes.
Should we be so lucky, Newt dejectedly thinks as he realises that he and Sonya only share one class together - American history. How fitting. Did they do that on purpose? Are they trying to indoctrinate the Brits into their beliefs! Kidding.
“I’m gonna decorate my locker like they do in Victorious,” Sonya says as they’re trying to navigate a packed hallway all the while scoping out the correct numbers for their respective lockers.
“You can’t draw to save your own life,” Newt tells her and she gives him a dangerous glare. He holds his hands up in surrender and keeps quiet about it, even if it's true.
Sonya has her locker way over at the other side of the building while Newt’s is relatively close to the cafeteria. Lucky him. He wonders if there are seating arrangements divided by groups and archetypes and interests like in the movies. Like the rowdy jocks, the outcast alt kids, the nerds, the famed mean girls. He’ll find out. He hopes it’s not like that because what . It would be really weird.
Personally, he knows a bunch of people with many different interests. But maybe he’s being presumptuous and judgmental.
Sonya groans, exasperated already. Newt hums to get her to explain her complaints. “My first class is fucking political science.”
Newt scoffs. “You’re lucky then. I’ve got Algebra II.”
“Fine. Oppression olympics it is.”
Newt shakes his head before the two of them go their separate ways, the blond all of a sudden feeling very alone and small in a hallway of people he doesn’t know that are very loud and different to Brits. And worse it gets when people start filing into their classrooms, leaving the hallways empty like no man’s land. Newt’s footsteps echo almost ominously, the silence almost eerie and he can hear his own limp.
He isn’t exactly paying attention anymore now that the hallway is so sterile and elongated. Nobody likes crowded spaces less than Newt but when they’re ominously empty it’s almost as bad. Even worse because he has no idea where he’s going. The map makes no sense. He’s really bad with orientation.
While he’s twisting and turning the map trying to find his class, he hears a distant kind of whooshing, like strong wind blowing while you’re inside but the closer it gets, the more it sounds like wheels. And he looks up to find a guy skating the halls and looking quite graceful and almost like he’s surfing smoothly rather than skating.
The two of them being the only ones in the hallway, they get eye contact and the guy squints at Newt as if he’s trying to discern whether he knows him or not. He obviously doesn’t. At some point, the eye contact is too lengthy and penetrating for Newt so he looks away for a brief second but that doesn’t last long because of the subconscious double take he does once he registers how attractive he is. He’s bolder than he usually is when he turns around to look after the guy when he realizes the guy is doing the same thing and his heart jolts out of his chest.
Not because of what you think. The poor guy falls off his effing skateboard and crashes to the ground, landing with a loud thud and a groan accompanied by clanging from a belt and some keys.
“Oh, fucking hell,” Newt exclaims, horrified, and hurries up to the poor guy who’s getting off the floor and dusting himself off. His face screws and unscrews as he’s trying to lessen the pain while sucking in air. “Are you okay?” Newt asks when he’s approached the guy who’s an inch or two shorter than him with a buzz cut and amber eyes that are basically glowing .
The guy chuckles dismissively. “Yeah,” he replies and sets his hands on his waist and leans back, stretching his back out and hissing a quiet ‘ow’. He’s quite adorable. His face is remarkably expressive and he’s got the cutest nose Newt’s ever seen. And he’ll mention his eyes again. They’re beyond this world. It’s like the pillars of creation are encapsulated in his eyes and then lined with the most perfect eyelashes.
“Are you sure? You took quite a tumble,” Newt says and realizes he’s worried the guy when he momentarily freezes with widened eyes and knitted brows, like he’s horribly embarrassed.
“I- no, I’m okay! Thanks, uh…?”
“Oh! I’m Newt,” he greets and doesn’t know if he should hold his hand out or not so he just for some reason adds a meek ‘hi’ as if they hadn’t been speaking before that.
The guy’s pained expression subsides and turns into something much softer and almost enchanted. Newt’s gay-ass heart flips and spills onto the floor almost, banging away at his ribcage like it’s a graveyard instrument to get dead people turnt. (Who the fuck says turnt anymore?)
“Thomas.” He holds out his hand, thankfully taking the step Newt was too quick to shy away from. His eye contact is the same amount of unbearably sharp and intimate so Newt redirects his gaze toward their hands which shake and then stop, only to briefly remain entwined between them before Newt can’t bear the grip anymore and lets go. “What are you doing here? Did you get kicked out of class?” Thomas asks and stuffs his hands into his jeans pockets, rolling his shoulders and going from leaning on his heels and getting up on his tiptoes a few times.
Newt shakes his head. “I can’t even find it,” he answers and puts his own arms criss-cross over his chest, keeping in mind those ridiculous notions that someone who does that wants to shrink and leave… he’s got no choice but to shrink beneath Thomas’ relentless scrutiny that seems so innocent with the jovially curious puppy eyed gaze and the way it perfectly mixes with his attentive eyebrows.
Thomas seems to have connected the dots and picks up his skateboard just like they do in the movies - by stepping on one end of it and then grabbing the other. “So you are new,” he says but seems to do it mostly for himself. Thomas steps closer and takes the freedom to glance at the heap of papers he’s holding, making it known to Newt how lovely he smells. And his skin is blemish-less. He doesn’t have a single flaw.
“Algebra II?”
Newt nods. Has he gone mute, what is this? Very rarely does he have trouble speaking unless it’s in front of masses of people. Then again, the weight of those looks Thomas is giving him is equal to that of a hundred people looking at him.
“Well, you were on the right track!” He encourages cheerfully and takes the map sheet Newt’d been clutching between his fingertips and turns it to face the correct position. “It’s up the B stairwell. So down this hall and to the right, up one flight,” he explains and makes motions with his right arm to simulate Newt’s future path to that blasted classroom. “And then directly to the left. Ms. Wick usually has her door open so you’ll know which door.”
Newt blinks at him, feeling utterly foolish for not being able to say anything. Not even a simple thank you. If he does, he might just thank him for being such a looker and then thanking his parents for his existence. Which would be like him saying ‘thank god your parents decided to have sex’ which is incredibly disturbing to hear.
“Thanks,” he finally manages to squeeze out of his constricted throat, squeezed tight thanks to his heart trying to climb out of his chest since being a battering ram didn’t work. “I’m bad with maps,” he admits completely needlessly. Thomas doesn’t care. Though it might be deceiving since he’s looking at Newt with such engagement and enthusiasm despite him only saying worthless shit. But why would Thomas care? And why should Newt care if he cares?
“That’s okay ‘cause I’m great with maps. And also I’ve been going here for three years so… I kinda know every corner of this place,” he rambles effortlessly. A real chatterbox, in a very endearing, comforting way. “I think- I mean, if you want I could show you? I’m usually not great at explaining things so- and I just wanna make sure I don’t send you off into another dimension or something ‘cause, like, one time I totally did that to some old lady or something.”
Newt’s heart is going into overdrive. This might just be the cutest person he’s ever come across. Though judging by the anxious qualities his expression has adopted and the way his fingers are nervously tapping against the skateboard, he’s impatiently waiting for an answer.
“That’d be really great,” Newt tells him gratefully and Thomas smiles.
Newt joins Thomas’ side and the latter immediately starts barrelling on with questions.
“You’re British, right?” Newt fights the urge to be sarcastic since that is his natural state of being but not everyone likes that so he refrains from it and just answers kindly. “That’s really cool! I’ve never met anyone from there. I’m one of those Americans who’ve never been out of the country and it’s kinda really embarrassing to admit but I wanna do better in not making everything so America-centered.”
“Well, I mean… we are in America so that makes sense,” Newt shrugs and even if he might not agree with what he said, he’s happy to keep Thomas’ spirits up, even if he’s kind of a traitor to every value he had while living in England. It’s all in good fun, however. And how can Newt resist fraternising with the enemy if the enemy is so fucking likable?
“I still don’t wanna be ignorant. And I hope I’m not.”
“I don’t think you are,” Newt reassures casually and Thomas beams at him. The two of them find the stairwell and Newt tries to remind himself to keep track of where they’re going so he can memorise it but he already knows he’s gonna do a shite job of it when talking to Thomas.
“When did you move here?” Thomas quizzes as they ascend the stairs, Newt going quite slow and Thomas matching his pace like it’s nothing. Usually he’d go up the stairs loads of steps down from whoever he’s going up with. Even with Sonya sometimes.
“Two weeks ago. We’ve been settling in and then we started school today,” he answers.
“We?”
“My sister and I. She found her class, I think,” Newt tells Thomas and looks at the time on his phone, seeing that it’s twenty past eight and here Thomas is, guiding him to a class he doesn’t even take. At least not with Newt. “Is some teacher going to be cross with you? You know, for being late?”
“‘Cross’ as in angry?” Right. Accent barrier. Newt nods. Thomas waves it off. “I’ll have a reason today. And besides, all my teachers know I have terrible time management skills,” he explains to Newt who smiles softly. Thomas is so refreshingly bubbly that Newt’s heart is doing another range of tricks and his stomach joins in as he feels this fluttery sensation inside. He obviously knows what that means; he’s got a crush on Thomas. Or at least something that will grow to be one.
Thomas takes a sharp turn to the left once they’re up the stairs and Newt immediately sees the open door to the white classroom where the students are quietly writing. Shit. He’s gonna have to go inside while everyone’s quiet and then sit down and just sit there, being handed books and shit.
Newt sighs dejectedly as he pauses very briefly to the right of the open door, shielded from other students. Thomas looks at him, even faintly tilting his head like a real puppy watching Animal Planet. “You don’t like doing that, do you?” Thomas asks, joining Newt’s side and peering inside like they’re in an Indiana Jones movie, avoiding crooks while trying to steal a precious gem.
“Not really, no,” Newt says simply all the while his heart is finally hammering on about something other than a boy he just met.
“I get it. Medium crowds are the worst. Okay, maybe one-on-one meetings are worse but whatever. I can go in first if you want?” Thomas suggests but Newt shakes his head.
“No, I don’t wanna be announced . That’s weird.”
“Yeah, you’re right.”
The two of them stand in silence for a moment, Thomas a little ways behind Newt while the Brit is still trying to figure out how to go about making it seem natural and like he’s not a total tosser. Newt turns around and is faced with Thomas, close enough at this point for the two of them to instantly step out of the other’s zone.
“Thanks again, Thomas. It was really kind of you to guide me here. And to show me how a bloody map works,” he jokes but really does mean it.
“Of course!” Their voices are hushed but Thomas is still as cheerful as ever. “If you… if you’re ever in need of a guide again, I’m your guyde… get it? Guy-de.”
“Yes, yes, I get it, Tommy, very clever. Thank you.”
That endearing, almost forlorn but dedicated look sneaks onto Thomas’ flawless face and it has Newt in a frenzied spell, really reminding him of why he likes guys so much. This one might be the prettiest one he’s seen, and he’s seen Josh Hutcherson. But he’s actually seen him too. In London. He was nice. And pretty.
“I don’t remember my number and I think you should really get to your class but if you- if you ever have trouble finding something, my locker is A2. I won’t always be there ‘cause I usually- whatever, you understand, but maybe you could drop a post-it in there if you ever wanna find me- “
“Slow down,” Newt chuckles.
“Okay,” Thomas says in an exhale but with the same easy expression and light tone as always, clearly not being shut down but simply regulated.
“My locker is A5. I’m sure we’ll run into each other at some point,” Newt lets him know and Thomas finally shows his teeth in a wider smile than the other’s he’s shown so far. He has straight, perfect teeth and goddamnit, his and Newt’s lockers are right beside each other and he might just spontaneously combust if he has to see Thomas every day and utterly melt and fizzle away each time they’ll see each other.
“Then I’ll… see you later,” he says like he’s hesitating but excited and walks backwards down the hallway, seemingly going to his class which must’ve been on the way then. “Bye, Newt.” He waves.
“Bye, Thomas.” Newt returns the wave and Thomas smiles again, yelping once he trips on the hem of his jeans, that are too long but look great, before laughing it off and offering Newt one last wave as Newt gathers the courage to go inside twenty-five minutes late with his heart going into overdrive.
Sonya’s gonna have a field day with him when he tells her because he will tell her. They always tell each other about the hot people they see. Hot people are fun to look at
“Honestly, I think we’re too much alike,” Sonya almost declares. She’s filling a water bottle from one of the water fountains and takes a few gulps of it after, offering some to Newt who gladly takes some. After explaining the whole situation with Thomas, Sonya comes to him with the biggest shocker (not) that she also met someone she’s interested in. Her name is Harriet, a girl in her political science class who’s smart, steadfast and, most importantly, dominant.
Kidding. Or at least that’s what Newt said and she denied but he knows it’s true. Sonya is a total bottom pushover.
Alas, Sonya’s statement is correct. They’re twins, first of all, and they’re gay and they’re down bad for some charming Americans on their first day of school. Great. As if they needed any more of that twin talk like how everyone always keeps asking them if they can read each other’s minds and they always say a firm ‘no’ when in reality, they can do that. But only because they know each other so well.
“How do you think mum and dad will feel about the fact that the bloodline ends with us?” Sonya jokes but it isn’t really a joke, is it? It does end with them.
“They don’t care. You know that.”
“I know but I’d be maybe a little upset that we didn’t die out from something cool or tragic, not because we think sleeping with the opposite gender is nasty.”
She’s got a point. Thousands of years and thousands of ancestors and the Isaacs family dies out not from being trampled by a mammoth or fighting off a tiger but because of the legalisation of gay marriage. Not really but almost, eh?
“Well, at least we won’t get unhappy marriage-wrinkles,” Newt remarks and Sonya scoffs.
“You’re marrying a man. You’ll look sixty-five in ten years.”
Newt smacks Sonya across the head and she retaliates, pretending to throw water at him and he shields himself with his hands from absolutely nothing. While waiting for their next classes to roll around, they talk about whether they’ve seen any stereotypical groups and so far; nothing. It’s refreshing to see any type of person interact with another completely different person, especially since they themselves are foreigners.
Though Newt will say that the guy that made fun of his accent during Algebra II was a bit of a dick. Alas, nothing Newt can’t handle. He’s hardened into stone these past few years anyway, he was made for this environment where nothing can hurt him anymore. He hopes…
When their respective classes take them close to Newt’s locker, he can’t help but crane his neck over the other students to try and find Thomas, even keeping track of the locker numbers they’re passing. A2 is empty. No one’s there. And Newt didn’t tell Sonya about how close their lockers are, wanting to keep the developments as secret as possible for now. Developments? Nothing’s gonna develop. This is just another instance when Newt starts crushing on a straight guy who’s either gonna entirely blow him off when he finds out he’s gay or be the sweetest guy ever and completely unaware of Newt’s feelings.
Whatever. They’re gonna see each other at some point, aren’t they?
Newt sits through Biology with mild interest, taking his notes, doodling in the unfilled spaces of his notebook and telling himself to avoid sitting next to the guy he’d sat down next to because he smells. Rude or not, it’s the truth. There are many points during the lecture that he’s veering off to think about Thomas and the way he talks and how he does it effortlessly and without shame, his otherworldly eyes and the way he seemed to give Newt his undivided attention, even how his baggy clothes fit on him. And the undeniably great fact that he’s a skater boy. For some reason, Newt is always very drawn to that. But most of all, he seems kind and thoughtful.
After Biology, the twins’ first American high school lunch is about to begin. The daunting question whether the tables are divided by factions like bloody Divergent circles their minds and different variations of the same question is asked aloud, usually coming up without an answer or a quiet ‘don’t know’.
Sonya meets Newt at his locker, smoothing down her off-shoulder top that resembles one Regina George wore in Mean Girls. She does it again and again and it’s not until then that Newt realises it’s a nervous tick.
“We’ll be fine, Liz,” he reassures, gently swatting away her hands from going in again to readjust the top, also then going in to move the clasp of her necklace to sit at the back as the small, heart shaped diamond pendant sits by the hollow of her neck. “At least there’s two of us,” Newt then reminds her and she nods affirmatively.
“Right. Right…”
Newt closes up his locker and is about to flip the numbers on the padlock to randomise the digits when,
“Hey, Newt!”
A cheerful voice that causes him to jump and both him and Sonya turn around, faced with Thomas. Newt absolutely cannot help how his face cracks into a sunny smile at the giddy mood Thomas is still somehow in, despite it being a Monday noon.
“Hi, Thomas,” he greets in return. Thomas’ attention goes to Sonya and he introduces himself, acting like a proper gentleman.
“How’s the map reading going so far?” He asks with an open expression and his hands on his hips. Newt chuckles.
“I did find my next class before getting late so thank you, again,” he answers, trying to sound his very kindest despite it really not being his true voice. But there’s been instances where Newt has tried to befriend people and they then tell him they think he’s outright rude when he’s really only ever being sarcastic. It’s his prefered way of bonding but evidently, not many agree and he doesn’t wanna jeopardise a chance at befriending Thomas because he can’t keep his complaints and jeers to himself.
“It’s no problem,” Thomas beams and his already infamous eye contact commences again. He wishes it wouldn’t. He doesn’t want Sonya to have a visual of what Newt explained but judging by her wide-eyed smirk, she’s already noticed. “You two headed to lunch?” He still makes it a thing to acknowledge Sonya’s existence properly because he’s clearly not an asshole who leaves people out.
“Yup,” Sonya says, popping the p.
“You wanna sit with me and my friends? They won’t mind. Besides, I think Harriet mentioned you, Sonya.”
Newt and Sonya look at each other. He doesn’t even need to say anything and neither does she. They’ve already had an entire conversation before Thomas can even register it.
He knows Harriet?
Yeah.
Did we hit the jackpot?
Yeah!
“We’d love that,” Sonya tells him, usually the one to take the reins in a conversation. Thomas tells them to come along and they enter the cafeteria,
Thomas goes on to talk about his friends while they get one tray each and pick out probably the first stereotype the twins have witnessed with the selection of foods. Mostly just finger food you’d eat with your family on a Friday watching Kitchen Nightmares or something. Maybe getting lunch boxes is a good idea.
But the twins stay far away from the cartons of milk. They’re like an urban legend in Europe. And even if any type of chocolate seems tempting when you’re at school, Newt caught a glimpse of the watery, jelly-like pudding someone was eating and lost his appetite for it.
“I’ve brought twins!” Thomas announces to a table of kids and sets down his tray and people start moving so that the two new additions can sit down. “This is Newt and Sonya,” the twins wave and Newt’s eyes glaze over every face around it, being met with openness and enthusiasm. Is this just a jolly bunch of sods the lot of them? Are all of them as kind as Thomas?
Everyone introduces themselves and Newt makes it his mission to really remember all their names because Sonya usually struggles with them so for her sake, and his own really, when he’s not answering questions about England he takes the time to in his head, connect each name with the right face. Like a game.
And he also finds out Thomas has a sister too, Brenda. A few times during their lunch break, the two of them start talking in Spanish and Newt has extremely limited knowledge of it already and with the pace they’re doing it it’s even less discernible. But it’s quite attractive, Newt hates to admit.
Newt feels relieved that when Harriet (Newt understands how Sonya immediately took a liking to both her personality and her looks, she’s gorgeous and funny) asks what their next classes are and Newt says he’s got English, followed by Minho, Thomas’ friend from Track, saying he’s in that class too.
Great, he doesn’t need to use a bloody map to get around like a caveman. Besides, out of the people he’s met today, Minho’s one of them he’s got along with the most. Sonya whispers to Newt that he seems like a himbo, kinda like Kronk and he agrees. He’s lean like a runner should be, tall but muscular and has tan skin. And a really nice smile. His eyes would turn into half moons whenever he was laughing hard.
On their way through the halls, Newt and Minho keep conversing with effortless ease, like they’ve known each other forever. He has the same sarcastic nature as Newt, however he manages to make it sound a lot nicer than Newt, who just sometimes sounds plain rude. Maybe he understands those that called him out for it now.
Newt’s day keeps on being good and he can’t recall ever not being stressed and anxious and judged in school. Right now, he feels like he’s on top of the world, a feeling he’s been deprived of for many years. Minho is great, Thomas is great, they’re friends are the same - even Sonya seems content and even jokes about staying for study hall with Aris and Harriet. Aris being Harriet’s best mate.
When he walks to his locker to take his books home to get started on bloody homework, his day gets unbelievably even better. He puts in the correct code and a small square of paper flails down onto the floor. A post-it note. A baby pink one. There’s more or less a scrawl written on it, rushed and charming and very Thomas as the note is signed. Like many times today, he smiles but this is the first time he doesn’t try to hold back to look like a twat.
I remembered my number! In case you want it
If you don’t that’s fine.
But here it is:
xxx-xxx-xxxx
:)
//Thomas
He even rambles in text. Be still my beating heart, Newt thinks as his hand comes to rest on his chest, breathing through his grin. Even if this is just a guy being the friendliest motherfucker in the universe, Newt can’t help but hope and wonder if this is Thomas showing interest in him. He’s been wrong in assuming people’s sexualities before and it’s not like they’re at a stage of talking about that after just meeting.
But Newt would be a complete and utter fool if he didn’t contact Thomas. He’ll do it when he gets home. He doesn’t want to risk seeing him yet. He takes a steadying breath before stuffing the note into his pocket, fingers twitching and pathetically smitten chuckles leaving his lips like sharp breaths.