Chapter Text
Moving to a new school right before the start of junior year was something that ONLY happened in movies. David was nowhere near starring in a film, let alone one about his life—his life was too “ boring” for that.
Nonetheless, as he leaned against his mother’s car window, it felt as if he were the star of some dumb, cliché film. But unlike the movies, he had nobody to text and complain about having to start fresh. Not like he cared, he was perfectly fine with facing the unknown without the moral support of friends cheering him on and begging for his return (who was he lying to?)
Turning away from the window, he stared down at his outfit. It was nothing crazy—baggy jeans with a white long-sleeve and a blue button-down shirt. One of the perks of finally attending a public school after years at Catholic schools was that there was no itchy or uncomfortable uniform.
“Mooooooom, do we have to go to a new school? What was so bad with Saint Francis?” Ann, David’s younger sister, complained.
David looked over at the almost 14-year-old slumped in her seat, arms crossed with her phone in her hands. David felt bad for his sister; she had to start the eighth grade in a new school with people she didn’t know.
The only lucky one was John, who was entering his freshman year.
“All my friends are back in Saint Francis! It was supposed to be our last year together before high school.”
“It doesn’t have to do with Saint Francis, Ann. You know how your father’s job is, he was bound to get moved eventually,” their mother sighed, turning the corner down an unfamiliar road.
She spared a glance at David, who pretended to ignore her and kept his focus on the houses they passed.
Only David and his parents knew the real reason why they moved.
David had known he was gay since the sixth grade. Near the end of his freshman year, he made the mistake of kissing his then-best friend—it wasn’t out of the blue, the guy had been flirting and hinting that he reciprocated the feelings for months. Nonetheless, he had outed David to the whole school, and things turned to hell.
Soon, everyone in their town knew his little “secret,” and not only did it ruin David’s life, but his family’s—his father’s—reputation.
While David’s mother had been more supportive of him, his father had felt more... displeasure.
After a year of pure hell—bullying, harassment, multiple suicide attempts, self-harm relapses, even a trip to the mental hospital—his father managed to move up in his company, get relocated to some fuck-ass town in the middle of nowhere, and with that, they were gone.
But that information was a secret David shared with his parents; Ann and John had no clue that was the real reason why they moved (his mother liked to say it was because they were sick of seeing him harassed, but David knew that it was mainly because his father’s reputation had been “tarnished.”)
“Ann, you’ll make new friends, I promise,” his mother reassured, but David knew it was hopeless.
Out of all three Webster siblings, Ann had been the best off. John was more on the antisocial side; he had a couple of friends but they were more of “school friends” than “home friends.”
David had a solid friend group most of his life, but that disappeared once freshman year ended. But Ann had friends like no other, and they were a good group, too.
“Johnny or Davey won’t be with me, either! This is so unfair,” Ann grumbled, a scowl on her face. David, resisting the urge to laugh, rolled his eyes.
“Anny, you’ll live. You can make friends with anybody in under five minutes, I’m sure you’re gonna come home today with ten new friends,” David laughed, grinning harder when her scowl lifted.
It wasn’t like he was lying; Ann could make friends with anyone.
“True,” she started, looking down at her phone. “But they aren’t Sophie or Gina.”
Sophie and Gina were Ann’s closest friends and were the well-known trio.
David sighed, smiling sadly at his sister before turning to focus on the road. The drive from their new house to his new school wasn’t far, but they had to drop off Ann first.
They passed by quaint houses, not exactly the typical All-American home, but nothing crazy different. Most houses were either one or two stories, with the occasional three-story here and there. They usually came with a small patio/front lawn and a driveway. Most houses were painted different colors and had a different layout. It was a nice town, and David hoped it was nothing like his old one.
After another five minutes of driving through the city—or town, though David thought it resembled more of a small city than a town—they reached the middle school.
It took some coaxing and half-hearted threats to convince Ann to get out of the car. Once she was inside the building, his mother roared the vehicle to life and they drove a couple of blocks before stopping in front of a large building.
Having grown accustomed to small, Catholic schools, David felt slightly taken aback. In front of him lay a two-story building made of concrete, gray-brown bricks, and what he assumed to be evergreen metal. A large parking lot in the front led to the sidewalk in front with trees and benches alongside it.
There was a long half-moon “overhead” with TOCCOA HIGH SCHOOL written across. Under the overhead were four double doors that served as the front doors, but David noticed similar doors along different walls. There were large windows along the walls. The school wasn’t long in width and was slightly stretched out in length, but it was not the largest high school in the world.
He also knew the back connected to the large football and track field.
Inhaling sharply, David unbuckled his seatbelt and opened the car door. John had already kissed their mother goodbye and was waiting for David. Turning to face his mother, David noticed the somber look on her face.
While he had a relatively strained relationship with his parents, his mother was always kinder to him than his father. Despite how much of a shitty mom she could be, David loved her and knew she just wanted to see him happy. With a smile, he kissed her cheek and bid her farewell.
“Ready to tackle high school, John?” David asked as they made their way towards the front.
It was still early and only a handful of students were seen lingering around, but the principal had requested that they come in early so David could get a tour—all the freshman had their orientation on the first day, and that was when they had an official tour, but juniors didn’t have that, so David needed to get his own.
“I guess,” John shrugged, looking around in awe. “Sure is bigger than Saint Francis.”
“You nervous?”
“For what? Freshman year?” John asked, raising his eyebrow in amusement. “It’s like every other year of school. I think I should be the one asking if you’re nervous since you’ve basically been freaking out over junior year since the day we moved to Toccoa.”
David laughed, playfully shoving his brother. “I have to make a good first impression!"
John rolled his eyes, avoiding another shove. The duo bickered quietly as they made their way to the front, but drew silent once they entered the building.
Upon entering the school, a little room served as the entryway. Opening the doors to properly enter the school, David took in the change of scenery.
The walls were drywall and cream color with brick outlining the base/crown molding. The floor was made of polished concrete—newly polished, to be exact. Straight ahead was a small hallway with green lockers on both sides and supposedly a janitor’s closet to the left.
Behind that were two large doors, similar to the main entrance ones, that led to what David presumed to be the cafeteria. He noticed that to the right of the left-side lockers was another hallway, and he saw some lockers and a bulletin board before the hallway was cut off by a wall.
The wall that had “cut” the hallway off belonged to the main office, which was to their right.
Tapping John’s shoulder, David made his way into the open-wall office.
It was a small room, with a large half-moon desk in the front that “sheltered” the smaller desks in the back. On the right wall was a large filing cabinet. David looked around, noticing two women typing on their computers near the back. He was contemplating whether or not he should call their names out when a third woman appeared.
“Oh!” she called out, putting her hand on her chest. “You guys scared the daylights out of me! How may I help you?”
“Sorry, ma’am,” David grinned sheepishly. “We’re the new kids, and when we came in last week, they told us to report here on the first day.”
She made a sound of recognition before motioning for them to follow her.
They passed through a small hallway before reaching a large wooden door with the words “Principal's Office” written across a plaque. She knocked before a gruff voice told her to come in.
The room was small: a “dresser” was pushed up against the wall, with a desk in front of it, and on either side of the desk were bookshelves. An older man sat at the desk, shuffling papers around. His hair was dark brown, neatly swooped to the side, and cut short. Brown eyes, a bushy mustache, and a wrinkly face paired with a kind smile and calm demeanor.
“Who have you picked up along the way, Melinda?” he asked, and the woman—Melinda—laughed.
“These are our two new students. I was informed that they had been told to report here, so I just assumed to bring them to you,” she explained, and the principal nodded.
A few meager words were exchanged between the two before Melinda left.
“Welcome to Toccoa High School, Mr...” The principal started, placing his hand out.
“Webster. David Webster, and this is my brother, John,” David introduced, shaking his new principal’s hand.
John followed suit, and the older man looked quite pleased.
“Nice to meet you both. I’m Robert Sink or Mr. Sink. If you couldn’t tell, I’m the principal here,” he laughed before continuing. “I asked you to report here because you’re getting an official tour, David. John, I would offer one to you, but as you know, we host freshman orientation today for all the freshmen, so you’re going to get a tour with the rest of your grade.”
David nodded, half-listening. He knew he ought to make a better first impression, but conversations like these bored him.
A second later, the door burst open, and David noticed a short man in front of him. He had short brown hair that resembled a mess since it stuck out in all directions. He wore a white baseball shirt with the word “Bulldog” written across in black, jorts, and beat-up Converse.
A white cap matched his shirt, but David noticed big ears from underneath it. The kid had a friendly smile, and his brown eyes scrunched up as he grinned.
“Good morning, Mr. Hoobler. How was your summer?” Mr. Sink asked, genuine interest laced in his tone. David had never seen a principal so welcoming, but he knew he could get used to it.
It was a big change from his old school, but things were starting to look more promising.
Hoobler—or whatever his name is—wiped the sweat off his face before answering. “Pretty good! We mainly stayed here, but I visited my cousins in Ohio for the Fourth of July. How was your summer, Mr. Sink?”
“Same old, same old. Nothing too interesting. Now, I think you know why you’re here?” Mr. Sink asked, raising a brow. When Hoobler nodded, he continued. “Perfect! These are our new students, David and John Webster. David is the one you’ll be giving a tour to.”
David shook Hoobler’s hand, smiling at him. He received a large grin in return.
“You have time to get through the tour before the first bell rings, so I recommend you get to it,” Mr. Sink warned, though there was no malice in his words.
“Yes, sir!” Hoobler nodded, placing his hand to his head and mimicking a military salute. Mr. Sink laughed, clapping lightly.
“Welcome to our school, David and John. We’re glad to have you,” Mr. Sink smiled, before waving them off.
Following Hoobler, David turned to his brother. They shared a knowing glance that read “maybe a new school won’t be so bad.”
Leaving the main office, they walked down the “cut-off” hallway. Lockers were on either side of the halls, with the occasional gaps that held the door to a classroom. Banners, award cases, old projects, motivational posters, school flyers, and country flags lined the walls they passed.
Reaching the middle of the hall, David realized it separated—you could either go right, left, or continue straight ahead. Hoobler led them left, before stopping in front of large wooden doors. On either side of the doors were skinny windows and trophy cases decked in awards—the gymnasium.
Hoobler opened the door, and lo and behold was the large gym.
The floors were wooden beige, and the walls were white, with green wall pads. David noticed the bleachers—which were green—had been folded in, and banners hung across the walls displaying all the championships different sports teams had won.
In the middle of the gym floor was their school mascot—a screaming Eagle—painted with a green and yellow ring around it. The wall pads across from them had SCREAMING EAGLES written across, with two screaming Eagles on either side. The exterior of the volleyball line was painted green, with the words TOCCOA HIGH SCHOOL written across.
Basketball hoops hung on either side, and a large scoreboard hung on the wall opposite the bleachers. It was the spitting image of a stereotypical high school gym, but David liked it more than expected.
Crowds of freshmen hung around the gym, their conversations drifting throughout the room. David spared a glance at John, who looked more frightened than he would admit. Shoving his brother forward, David squeezed John’s shoulder comfortingly. “You got this, dude.”
John smiled, nodding slowly before swallowing his fears away. “Yeah, you’re right. They’re all my age, I shouldn’t be so scared.”
“It’s normal to feel nervous, John. But I promise, you got this. If you need anything, find or text me, okay?”
“Okay. Bye, Dave. I'll see you later,” John sighed before descending into the crowd. If David still believed in God, he would’ve sent a prayer.
Turning to face Hoobler, he smiled timidly. “Sorry about that, we can start the tour now.”
“Hey, it’s no biggie,” Hoobler reassured him, and the two left the loud gym.
The pair began to walk back towards the main entrance.
At first, David thought it would be a quiet tour until Hoobler turned to him and began to talk.
“Look, I’m just gonna warn ya now... I’m gonna be talking this entire tour. It’s cool if you don’t wanna talk, but I’m so bad at keeping my mouth shut, an’ I just ramble so much even though I don’t mean to, but it’s so hard not to when there’s so much to say and—” Hoobler paused, his face turning scarlet. “Sorry, didn’t mean to start rambling like that.”
David laughed, waving him off. “You’re good, dude. I don’t mind if you wanna ramble—be my guest. I tend to be quiet though, just don’t take it personally.”
Hoobler nodded, grinning at him in appreciation. Day 1, and David was already making... a friend. What a pleasant surprise.
“Okay, well, I’m just gonna re-introduce myself real quick. I’m Donald Hoobler, but everyone calls me Hoobler or Hoobs since there’s another Donald in our grade. Not sure if you have a nickname or something, so just let me know what I can call you!”
“Well, my name’s David, as you already know. My family call me Dave or Kenny—my middle name’s Kenyon, and all my older relatives call me Kenny. I prefer if you don’t call me that,” David shuddered at the thought. “A lot of my old friends would call me Webster or Web. So either Dave, Web, or Webster works.”
Hoobler clicked his tongue as he listened. “A lot of people here tend to go by their last names, don’t ask why, so I might as well call you Webster or Web.”
“Sounds good.”
“So, Web,” Hoobler started—there went Web’s plans of staying silent—as they drew closer to the main entrance. “Why’d you move here? If you’re comfortable with sharing, of course.”
Webster sighed; he knew this question was coming. As much as he wanted to lie, he knew telling the truth about his situation would help him with his healing process (at least that’s what his therapist used to tell him).
“Two reasons: 1) my dad was promoted to assistant manager of Allied Financial Services, and 2) I was getting bullied and harassed at my old school. So when they asked if my dad wanted to move offices, he picked here to save his reputation and me from another year of that—but mainly his reputation.”
Sparing a glance at Hoobler, Web noticed the sympathetic gaze he wore.
“Damn, that sucks, man. Hope you’re doing okay. D’you mind, or are ya comfy, with telling me why you were being bullied?”
“I got outed as gay, and turns out that whole bum-fuck town hated gay people. Wish I’d known that earlier,” Webster joked, a dry chuckle falling from his lips.
“Bro, I fucking hate homophobes,” Hoobler cursed, and Webster couldn’t stop the smile that grew on his face. “You don’t have to worry about that here, man. I know Georgia ain’t the most accepting state, but Toccoa’s full of gay people. I’m straight, but most of my friends are gay.”
Webster sighed in relief; the tension and worry that he’d have to deal with what he went through again disappeared. Who would’ve thought such a small town in the middle of nowhere would be this accepting?
Either way, Webster wasn’t complaining.
“Thanks, Hoobs. That means a lot.”
“Of course, dude.”
They continued in silence for a few seconds before Hoobler began talking again. “So, where’d you come from?”
“Upstate New York, from a little town nobody has ever heard of. Very much happy I got to leave, there was nothing to do there, and everyone fucking sucked.”
“I hear you, pal. I come from this little town in Ohio—actually, none of my friends are from Toccoa—and I moved here in the seventh grade. At the time, my dad was in the military, and he’d been stationed here. My parents ended up loving the warm weather and cheap housing, so we just stayed. I’m pretty happy about that, though; I hated where I used to live.”
“Who would’ve guessed that the first person I meet shares a similar hatred with me,” Webster laughed, and Hoobler joined in.
They reached the front entrance seconds later, and the tour officially took off.
Hoobler turned left, leading them down a hall similar to every other hall they had passed. He stopped near the end of it, opening a wooden door and entering a large room.
Webster realized it was a library before stepping inside, and he was surrounded by the smell of old books. The room was full of tall bookshelves lined with books. Along the sides and the middle were couches, desks, lounge chairs, etc.
It was perfect—everything Webster had envisioned. He pictured spending hours in this room, hunched over a good book or a notebook, writing stories of characters he wished he could be.
Hoobler must’ve seen the amazed look on his face because his next words were,
“You’re a reader?”
“Yeah,” Webster muttered, staring at the room in awe. It was paradise and so much more.
Hoobler chuckled, grabbing his wrist and pulling him towards the back.
They passed by a spiral staircase that led to the second floor and walked by rows of shelves until they reached the back. Huddled in a corner was a half-moon desk with a woman standing behind it.
Her curls were tossed into a bun with a few strands hanging out, black glasses resting on her scalp.
“Hi, boys,” she called out, not once looking up from her computer.
“Hi, Mrs. Demry! This is David Webster, our new kid,” Hoobler introduced, and Webster waved at her. “I’m giving him a tour, and turns out he’s a reader.”
Mrs. Demry smiled, waving back at Webster.
They spent a few minutes setting up his library account before she dismissed them both, but not before making Web promise to visit during his study hall period.
Web left the library with a wide grin on his face. Hoobler threw an arm across his neck, yapping happily as they turned the corner.
He couldn’t believe things were starting to look so good, and it was only the first day. Who knew what else was in store for him?
Webster could only hope the rest of the year matched.
[...]
The rest of the tour had passed by in a flash.
Hoobler showed him each hall and classroom, along with the bathrooms and janitor’s closets.
He explained how the halls worked—different clusters of halls were nicknamed “wings.” Most of the freshmen and sophomores classes were in wings A, B, C, and D, while junior and senior classes were typically in wings E, F, G, and H.
Most of the tour consisted of walking through the halls and taking quick peeks inside certain rooms: teachers’ lounges, bathrooms, etc.
The second floor was almost a replica of the first floor, but with a mezzanine between wings E and H. The basement held the more “fun” classes/rooms: the art rooms, the computer/graphic design room, the photography room, the weight rooms, the music rooms, the locker rooms, the woodshop room, and the swimming pool.
The auditorium was by the gym, and it was huge. Multiple black chairs lined in rows across, with a long stage in the front of the room.
The cafeteria had been one of the last stops of the tour.
To no one’s surprise, it was by far the biggest room in the school. The floors were white and green tiles, which matched the walls.
Rows of circular, oval, and rectangular tables lined the room. There were vending machines in every corner, paired with the serving lines in the middle.
They weren’t allowed inside the room behind the serving lines, but Hoobler had explained that was where the kitchens were. According to Hoobler, the food they served was relatively good—it just depended on the day.
Not like it mattered to Web, he always brought home lunch.
The last area they had toured was the back. There were more parking spaces in the back, but the main course was the track and football field. It was huge, and it resembled the high school dream. They didn’t have time to tour the field itself, but Hoobler promised Web a proper tour after school.
Retreating towards the A-wing staircase, Web ran his hand through his hair.
Toccoa High School was... a lot. It was so different from Saint Francis, but in a good way.
It almost didn’t feel real—a part of him still couldn’t believe he had gone from getting tormented at a place he hated to a school he could see himself happy at.
“So, final question of the hour... what’d ya think?” Hoobler asked, leaning close to Web's face.
“Hmm, I like it. It resembles every other American high school, but I don’t mind. Anything is better than Saint Francis,” Web made a face at his comment, shooing away the bad memories of his old school.
Hoobler nodded, pleased at his rating.
The two spent the rest of their time talking back and forth at Web’s locker. It was located in Wing E, a few “doors” down from Hoobs’s.
By then, the halls had grown crowded, and Web saw who his future classmates were. He spent his time waiting for the bell, analyzing each person that passed, and listening to Hoobler’s rants.
Hoobler had been in the middle of complaining about his old biology teacher when the bell shrilled.
They both had Algebra II first period—which just so happened to be their homeroom class—so they continued their conversation as they walked toward the class. As much as Webster hated math, he was glad he had a friend in that class.
He didn’t have many classes with Hoobler: Algebra II (1st period), AP World History (7th period), and P.E. (8th period) were the only classes they had together—they also had 6th period lunch, but lunch wasn’t a class.
It was a shame since Hoobler was Web’s first friend, but the shorter man had promised to introduce Web to his friends.
“Seriously, having math first period has to be illegal. How do they expect me to have the energy to learn algebra?” Hoobler complained, groaning as they reached their class—Room 306.
“You do realize the first fifteen minutes count as homeroom, right?” Web asked, laughing at the annoyed look his friend wore.
Hoobler muttered a string of curses as they entered the room, and Web rolled his eyes jokingly.
Room 306 was like any other math room. The walls were cream and covered with algebra-themed posters or bulletin boards containing old work. The desks were lined in neat rows across about twenty desks total.
The front of the room had a large chalkboard and a Promethean board, with the teacher’s desk in the corner. There were longer desks in the back of the room that held file compartments and buckets for folders.
“Welcome to Room 306” was written across the board in elegant cursive.
“Wanna sit in the back or the middle?” Hoobler asked. They were some of the first kids in the room, which meant the good seats were up for grabs.
Webster analyzed both areas before pointing at two seats between the middle and back rows.
The two sat down in their seats, watching everyone else pile in. Web spent most of the time taking in his new classmates, while Hoobler greeted old friends he hadn’t seen since school let out.
Resting his cheek in his palm, Webster pulled out his phone, tuning out the conversations around him. He opened his messages, searching for his brother’s contact.
johnny😑
web: Johnny
Johnny
JOHNNY
johnny😑: omg what.
web: Show me your schedule
johnny😑: okay, but u gotta show me urs 2
web: Yeah, yeah, okay
Fishing his crumbled schedule from his bag, Webster snapped a quick photo of it. He sent it to his brother, humming along to the sound of the air conditioner.
johnny😑
web: [attached photo of a wrinkled white paper on a desk. at the top of the paper were two boxes: one read SY: ’24-25, 506 - Toccoa High School with the school’s address at the bottom, and the second had Student Schedule: Webster, K. David, Grade: 11, ID: 297248, Courses Enrolled: 6. underneath was one large table with all his classes and teachers: 0 - Homeroom (08:15-08:30 - Wilcox, Olivia, Rm: 306), 1 - Algebra II (08:30-09:15 - Wilcox, Olivia, Rm: 306), 2 - AP English Literature & Composition (09:20-10:05 - Randolph, Martin, Rm: 310), 3 - Intro to Journalism (10:10-10:55 - Schopp, Kyle, Rm: 403), 4 - Physics Honors (11:00-11:45 - Cleere, Liliane, Rm: 414), 5 - Study Hall (11:50-12:35 - Rm: Library), 6 - Lunch (12:35-1:05 - Rm: Cafeteria), 7 - AP World History (1:10-1:55 - Panton, Emanuel, Rm: 408), 8 - P.E. (2:00-2:45 - Kunz, Eddie, Rm: Gym), 9 - French 3 Honors (2:50-3:35 - Escoffier, Ines, Rm: 312)]
johnny😑: hm, not bad ig
personally, mine is better
web: Alright, dickwad, show me yours 😑
johnny😑: [attached photo of a white paper on top of a folder. at the top of the paper were two boxes: one read SY: ’24-25, 506 - Toccoa High School with the school’s address at the bottom, and the second had Student Schedule: Webster, A. John, Grade: 9, ID: 223880, Courses Enrolled: 6. underneath was one large table with all his classes and teachers: 0 - Homeroom (08:15-08:30 - Quiles, Claude, Rm: 111), 1 - French 1 Honors (08:30-09:15 - Quiles, Claude, Rm: 111), 2 - Chemistry Honors (09:20-10:05 - Ragno, Isabella, Rm: 217), 3 - P.E. (10:10-10:55 - Kunz, Eddie, Rm: Gym), 4 - Study Hall (11:00-11:45 - Rm: Library), 5 - Lunch (11:50-12:35 - Rm: Cafeteria), 6 - U.S. History 1 (12:35-1:05 - Toma, Nabil, Rm: 216), 7 - Geometry Honors (1:10-1:55 - Kallman, Nathaniel, Rm: 108), 8 - English & Creative Writing 1 (2:00-2:45 - Harlee, Mina, Rm: 210), 9 - Intro to Photography (2:50-3:35 - Cordrey, Mariah, Rm: 12B)]
web: Damnn, gym in the morning must suck
And for the record, your schedule is not better
Also, have you made any friends?
johnny😑: wtvv
yeah, i have. henry and liam, they’re chill
wbu?
web: Good. Just Hoobler so far
I think he’s about to introduce me to someone, so I’ll text you later
Don't get into any trouble
johnny😑: k, same for u
Webster closed his phone, placed it on the desk, and shoved his schedule into his bag.
They had a few minutes until homeroom ended, and more people were starting to enter the class. A few people had gone up to Hoobler, but none stuck around long enough for Webster to talk to them fully.
That was until a lanky man stumbled in. Almost immediately, he staggered over to them and plopped into the chair ahead of Hoobler.
“Hey Hoobs!”
“VK, wassup!” The two dabbed each other, and Webster took the other kid in.
He was fit, but not too tall. His head was sporting a brown buzz, and his eyes were light green. He had hints of a light stubble, but it was nothing crazy. He wore jorts, a tank, and a tacky, orange Hawaiian shirt. Paired with a similar basketball cap to Hoobler’s.
His smile was contagious, and Webster felt himself crack into a grin.
“Who’s this?” VK—which Webster assumed wasn’t his real name because who in their right mind would name their child VK—asked, finally noticing Web’s appearance. Hoobler turned, grinning between the two.
“This is David Webster, our transfer! You can call him Webster or Web,” Hoobler introduced. “Web, this is Robert Van-Klinken. Everyone here calls him Van-Klinken, VK, Klink, or Kinky!”
Van-Klinken made a face, shoving the other man lightly. “Shut up, Hoobs. Nice to meet ya, Web. Nobody calls me Kinky, please don’t listen to him.”
Web laughed, waving him off. “Nice to meet you, too. And I won’t, don’t worry.”
“Hey!” Hoobler called out, touching his chest in mock offense. “Words hurt!”
Webster laughed harder, and Van-Klinken stuck his tongue out.
They spent the rest of their time talking until the first-period bell rang, silencing all conversations.
Their teacher, whom Webster had just noticed, clapped her hands and stood up. She had black, pin-straight hair tied back into a low bun and warm, brown eyes.
She was young, maybe in her late twenties to early thirties.
“Good morning, everyone. I’m Ms. Wilcox, your homeroom/Algebra 2 teacher for the rest of the year.”
Her voice was sweet, and it reminded Webster of honey. “I know nobody wants to do anything on the first day, and hell, neither do I, so I have some get-to-know-me packets for you guys to do. Sounds good?”
Everyone nodded, and Van-Klinken stared at them with a love-stricken gaze. Webster raised his brow in confusion, while Hoobler sighed. “What now, Kinky? Last time I checked, you didn’t fancy blokes.”
“You’re so annoying, Hoobs," Van-Klinken complained, groaning. “And for your information, I wasn’t giving you two that look: it’s for Ms. Wilcox and Ms. Wilcox only.”
Webster spared a glance at Hoobler before bursting out laughing. The duo cackled at the love-struck boy, who rolled his eyes and mocked their laughs.
“It’s not funny! C’mon, guys, you’ve seen her!” Van-Klinken sputtered out, and Webster laughed even harder. “You guys just don’t have good taste in women.”
“You’re right, I don’t have good taste in women,” Webster teased, and Van-Klinken flushed red (Webster had come out to him minutes prior).
His attempt to regain his composure was pathetic, and tears pricked out of Hoobler’s eyes as he laughed.
By then, Ms. Wilcox had made her way to them and smiled patiently as they regained themselves. She handed them each a paper, smiled, and made her way to a group of girls sitting behind them. One look at Van-Klinken’s tomato face sent Webster over the edge, and he clutched his stomach, trying to control his breathing.
“Back to what I was saying, you guys just don’t get it. Sure, she has a nice bod, but that isn’t what I’m focused on—” Van-Klinken explained as Webster began to focus on the paper she’d given them.
“That’s surprising,” Hoobler teased, and Van-Klinken shut his eyes in annoyance.
“AHEM! Anyways, she just has this perfect face, it’s so indescribable. It’s so comforting to look at, almost like she can solve your issues with just a smile. She radiates... motherly, caring vibes.”
“Easy there, Van-Klinken, we all know you crave motherly love from every elderly woman you meet,” Hoobler joked, and Van-Klinken flipped him off.
It was then that Webster lifted his head, staring at them in confusion. His focus had been on the paper—a simple paper with six boxes and a large circle in the middle. Each box was a different category of information about himself, and he was meant to draw himself in the circle.
“Huh?”
Webster noticed Hoobler and Van-Klinken sharing a look. While Hoobler looked sympathetic, Van-Klinken just shrugged and smiled.
“My mom had me at seventeen, and my father was twenty-four. He left two weeks after he found out she was pregnant, and she had to raise me as a single mom...” Van-Klinken explained, and Webster listened sympathetically.
“Let’s just say she wasn’t the best. When I was seven, CPS finally managed to prove that she wasn’t fit to care for me, so I was sent to live with my uncle. All is good now, though, and my uncle’s dope!”
Webster nodded, patting the other man. “Sorry about that, Klink.”
“’s fine, I don’t really think ’bout it much.”
The three men stayed silent before Hoobler began to talk about his July spent in Ohio.
As he told tales of being forced into tea parties and Nerf-gun battles every day, Webster focused on completing his get-to-know-me paper. By the time Hoobs finished, they had moved on from heavier subjects, and each recounted their summers.
Van-Klinken complained about his neighbor, who refused to pay him more than $10 an hour to cat-sit his thirteen cats, and Webster explained how adjusting to Toccoa had been.
When the bell rang, they were in a heated debate about whether hobby horsing was a sport—Van-Klinken and Hoobler firmly believed it was.
Webster packed his bags, opened his phone, and scrolled through notifications while waiting for his friends. He and Van-Klinken had the next two periods together, which Webster was grateful for.
“Go any slower, would you?” he complained, rolling his eyes when Van-Klinken stuck his tongue out.
“I’m coming, I’m coming!”
The trio dropped their papers off, bid goodbye to Ms. Wilcox—Van-Klinken rambled a long goodbye to her while she awkwardly smiled and nodded—and made their way to their second class.
As he and Van-Klinken turned to the corner towards the stairwell, Webster’s phone vibrated. Nodding along to whatever Van-Klinken was rambling about, he tapped it open and noticed a notification from a group chat he had been added to.
ms wilcox’s students + secret admirer
hoobs: new gc alert
+1 (***) ***-**** is kinky n +1 (***) ***-**** is web
web, tell vk to check his phone cuz that mf always has dnd on
web: Lmao, will do
“Klink, check your phone.”
“Why?”
“Ms. Wilcox texted you.”
Two seconds later, Van-Klinken was glued to his phone, trying to find her texts. When he realized what had happened, he punched Webster and muttered a string of threats. Web cackled at his friend, turning bright red from laughing.
ms wilcox’s students + secret admirer
web: LMFAOOOO OMFG
van-kinky: WEB STOP
web: I TOLD KLINK TO CHECK HIS PHONE AND SAID MS. WILCOX TEXTED HIM
HE FUCKING BELIEVED IT
hoobs: OMFG
LMFAOOOOOOOOOOOOO VK UR SO STUPID
holy shit i js laughed out loud n twenty ppl looked my way
van-kinky: i hope the worst for u two.
web: Watch him write a book about her in 20 years
van-kinky: im right njxt to u asshoole
hoobs: well
the only “writers” here are fanfic writers
tho they’ve made some pretty rad stories
web: Even better. Catch you on AO3, VK
van-kinky: man fuck u web, im abt to move tables
...
omfg.
Webster stifled a laugh, hiding his phone in his pocket as his teacher attempted to hook his computer to the Promethean board. He spared a glance at Van-Klinken, who sat next to him with a half-annoyed, half-shocked expression on his face.
“Webster. Why the fuck is my name ‘van-kinky’ on your phone?”
Webster stared at Van-Klinken for a good three seconds before bursting out laughing, lowering his head on the other man’s shoulder to steady his breathing. He could feel Van-Klinken try to hold back his laugh, but to nobody’s surprise, it failed.
As Webster regained his composure and managed to control his giggles, he realized one thing.
Toccoa was the school for him.