Carson Phillips (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
boywhoflew) wrote2016-02-09 08:49 pm
boywhoflew) wrote2016-02-09 08:49 pm
Entry tags:
[Darrow: Settling In - Dated to 2/6/16]
Carson's time in Darrow so far had been a mess of frustration and confusion. After settling in to his apartment, he had raided the closest convenience store for necessities and shut and locked his door. He hadn't left since then.
He'd tried calling home. He rang his mom's cell four times and the house phone six. He had even tried calling Malerie, his Grandma's home, and in a fit of desperation the Clover community library. Every dial had ended fruitlessly, leaving him nothing but so frustrated and angry that he had nearly thrown his phone at the wall but settled for stuffing it between the cushions of the couch and going to bed for an anger nap. He hadn't actually expected it to work, but he had hoped.
What were you even going to say? He'd thought spitefully. 'Hi, Mom. I got struck by lightning and now I'm stuck in a new city that might be in an alternate dimension. Don't worry about setting me a plate for dinner! I'll see you never.' He couldn't imagine that would have gone particularly well.
By the time the present had rolled around, he had managed to shake off some of his funk. He had used the laptop in his apartment to look up the local school district, had called the high school to inquire about getting his GED only to find out his transcripts had been successfully transferred and he was ready to be enrolled (what? how?) and now he was set to finish out his senior year at a whole new school. As relieved as he was that he could finish what he'd started, he still found himself not particularly wanting to leave the apartment. The walls and quiet made it feel safe and normal, and walking the streets had so far just resulted in awkward confrontations. Only two days until Monday. I can just tough it out and then go start school.
He laid back on the couch and frowned at the ceiling. In two days, he had more or less memorized the pattern of the tiles.
He'd tried calling home. He rang his mom's cell four times and the house phone six. He had even tried calling Malerie, his Grandma's home, and in a fit of desperation the Clover community library. Every dial had ended fruitlessly, leaving him nothing but so frustrated and angry that he had nearly thrown his phone at the wall but settled for stuffing it between the cushions of the couch and going to bed for an anger nap. He hadn't actually expected it to work, but he had hoped.
What were you even going to say? He'd thought spitefully. 'Hi, Mom. I got struck by lightning and now I'm stuck in a new city that might be in an alternate dimension. Don't worry about setting me a plate for dinner! I'll see you never.' He couldn't imagine that would have gone particularly well.
By the time the present had rolled around, he had managed to shake off some of his funk. He had used the laptop in his apartment to look up the local school district, had called the high school to inquire about getting his GED only to find out his transcripts had been successfully transferred and he was ready to be enrolled (what? how?) and now he was set to finish out his senior year at a whole new school. As relieved as he was that he could finish what he'd started, he still found himself not particularly wanting to leave the apartment. The walls and quiet made it feel safe and normal, and walking the streets had so far just resulted in awkward confrontations. Only two days until Monday. I can just tough it out and then go start school.
He laid back on the couch and frowned at the ceiling. In two days, he had more or less memorized the pattern of the tiles.
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"And waste the opportunity while we're there? I don't think so." He scoffed, rolling his eyes. It wasn't even that the paper application was important, as he had been originally intending to download one himself. But if they were going to go through the effort of physically wander the grounds and see it themselves, there was no reason to not take that extra, minute step. There was a very real probability that this was going to be their school. It would never be Northwestern or even Samwell, but it was all they had and damned if he wasn't going to approach it with every ounce of homeless passion he had.
He had to channel it somewhere or he was sure the restless feeling plaguing him since arrival would never disappear.
Eric's question makes his teeth grit, and he has to will away his instinct to wince and remained neutral. "Yeah." He agreed dully. "It was actually March, so I guess I took a step back. Graduation wasn't until June." Have they noticed that I'm not at school? Did mom call the police? He shrugged. "Honestly I wasn't even that excited about graduation itself. I just couldn't wait to be out of there." He flapped his arms at the street around them. "Tada. Mission accomplished."
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"Was it the school you hated or the whole town?" I ask, wondering if he ever faced anything like I did before Madison, if he was bullied as bad as I had been. The way he carries himself, I'd assume he doesn't. He's a lot more confident and sure of himself than I'd expect of someone who's bullied, but I suppose everyone reacts differently to something like that. And I'm a little jealous if that's the case, too. I'd give almost anything to be so self-assured.
Carson starts waving around at the area around us and I have to bite back a laugh at his enthusiasm. It's nice though, if I'm honest. Nice to see him excited about something in this strange city. It'd taken me a lot longer to be excited about anything here.
"Yep, it's a campus all right," I say with a wink. I haven't a clue where to start so I just keep walking, squinting at a big brick structure as we pass. "Anyway, you didn't fall that far back, at least. And I bet the next few months go by pretty quickly. Hopefully what they teach here isn't all stuff you've already covered back home. Do you have any idea where we should start here?" I ask, pulling out my phone. "Maybe I can find a map."
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Shoving his hands back into his pockets before the skin could prickle from the cold, he looked around with a critical eye. "This shouldn't be too difficult." He said thoughtfully, turning in a slow circle to get a feel for the campus. There were some people walking the area, arms laden with books and some carrying what appeared to be overly filled rucksacks. Idly, he tried to imagine spending four years walking what would surely become a familiar path.
"What do you think?" He mused aloud. "I'm leaning towards checking out one of the academic buildings, if they aren't key card protected. Then the admissions office, student services, and the financial aid office."
He mulled that over for a moment and then nodded to himself. "That works," he announced, regardless of Eric's input. Eying a large building that could only be for classrooms, he grabbed the shoulder of Eric's jacket and began steering him in that direction. "I want to see a classroom," he said. "Use your google-fu to figure out the rest."
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"Goodness, Carson, I'm not a rollie cart," I grouse, squirming out of his hold to walk alongside him instead, throwing him a quick glare as I readjust my jacker across my shoulders. I glance up ahead at a building that seems to match the one on my phone and then give a nod of my chin. "That one should be classrooms according to this map. And the the admissions office is..." I turn a little, squinting across a quad to a lower building off in the distance, "over there, I think. The whole campus really isn't all that big."
It's certainly no bigger than Samwell, but I suppose I'm not entirely sure how Samwell compares to colleges across the country. I'd only visited a few when I was looking around; I'd decided on Samwell pretty early, especially when they offered my the hockey scholarship.
"Do you think they have an athletic department?" I ask then, glancing over at Carson again. "I mean. It's not like they could play any other schools, but maybe intramural?"
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"It is a fishbowl." Carson said as he turned his head to follow where Eric had pointed to. The campus was hardly anything spectacular. It didn't take his breath away or awe him as being something grandiose or reverential. But despite his knee-jerk response to cast some judgement upon it, it did hold a certain charm with it's simplicity and brickwork. The students milling around the area seemed well adjusted if not a tad sloppy, and according to the website it had a decent spread of student services and options.
It was a simple university. It held no candle to Northwestern, but it beat the hell out of Clover Community College. Beggars couldn't be choosers, and he supposed he had come dangerously close to doing considerably worse.
"I'm not sure," he said as he strode quickly towards the academic building. He spared a glance to make sure that Eric was keeping his pace. "According to the website this is home of the Barton Bearcats." The eye-roll was implied. "If there's no athletics, it makes you wonder what they need the mascot for. Unless there's a particularly well established furry club no-one has mentioned yet, you would assume there is athletics, although it makes you wonder why they even bothered."
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"There are worse things than bearcats," I tell him with a grin, pointedly ignoring the furry comment. "Samwell's mascot was a dancing well. Unofficial, but it's not like we had a better official one, so."
There are a lot of things about Darrow that make me wonder so I wouldn't be at all surprised if they do have an athletic department, with or without the ability to actually play any other teams. The weirder thing is that all the people in that department probably wouldn't see anything wrong with about not having other teams around to play.
"Maybe they'll have a school newspaper or literary magazine," I say, glancing over at him again. "Or did you already look into that?"
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As they approached the building he jogged the last few steps, catching the large door before it closed behind an entering student. Propping it open with his foot he paused and waited for Eric. After walking through the cold, he was looking forward to the reprieve of being in doors.
"I hadn't actually gotten that far in my research," he admitted. "I had just crossed the high school off my list and started looking into Barton when you came baring pie and a lack of personal direction. But if they do?" He tsked. "I will be all over it. Even if I have to operate under a senior, working on a paper with people who give a shit will be a welcome change. Personally, I look forward to not having to write every single article myself." Unlike with the Chronicle, with which he had been ghost writer, editor and distributor.
"And if they don't?" He grinned with an air of deceptive sweetness. "Then its all mine for the taking," he said lightly. And I will rule with an iron fist.
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He waxes poetic about his dreams for the student paper for a moment and, at this point, nothing he says is at all surprising given everything else I've heard from him. It's nice, though. Not quite like listening to Jack talk about hockey or Derek talk about cooking if only because I can't quite personally relate, but it's not unlike those either. Carson has a passion and, even if he seems a little cutthroat sometimes, there's no denying how much it means to him.
"What if they have someone running it that's as controlling as you are?" I ask him with a faint smirk as we head further down the hall, slowly to a stop when we near a closed door, trying my best to take a peek into the window without catching the attention of anyone inside. I certainly don't want to interrupt.
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That and the head coach was more interested in playing touch sports with the head cheerleader instead of actually coaching.
Following Eric to a nearby classroom he craned his head to peek through the window over the other boy's shoulder. "Not bad." He murmured. It seemed to be some sort of lecture, and the students were busy taking notes as opposed to texting or throwing spit-balls. Oh, college. How you beckon me with your siren call. Pulling back he leaned against the wall next to the door.
"If it's someone with a brain and drive, I'll do my best to learn from them." He said with a shrug. "I wasn't born editor of my high school paper. I took it over when the last editor graduated. But if it's run by some half-assed slob?" He shook his head with a wry grin. "I will stage a coup so righteous that the Ides of March wouldn't hold a candle." He paused and conceded. "But without the literal bloodshed. Tears are an acceptable substitute, though."
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He steps back a moment later to lean against the wall and I throw him a quick, wary glance before heading further down the hall, glancing into another room as we pass it.
"Are you very experienced in making people cry?" I ask him, meaning for it to sound like a joke, only it comes out like a genuine question. Because, honestly, I can't tell. Carson is clearly much more jaded and cynical than just about anyone I've ever met, but he still has drive and, dare I say, hope. It seems an odd combination to me, but it could be that I just don't know him very well. Yet.
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"Not intentionally." He said, glaring when one of the students gave him an odd look. He ducked away from the window before he could attract more attention. "Most of the time people just try to argue with me, which is pointless when I'm almost always right. But sometimes you get the soft ones who don't take constructive criticisms well." He stuffed his hands into his pockets and shrugged. "I prefer the arguing anyway. It's more fun watching them try and fail to win."
He fell into step back beside Eric, gravitating towards another classroom. "I thought about joining debate, but my hands were full with the newspaper and the writer's club." He paused and frowned down at the other boy. "Did you have any extra-curriculars outside of hockey? It makes for a well rounded transcript."
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Or maybe I'm just reading into things. Certainly wouldn't be the first time.
"Oh, back home?" I ask, surprised by his question as we walk further down the hall, slowing as we near another door and surreptitiously taking a peek inside and accidentally catching the attention of a boy in the front row who raises an eyebrow at me. I dart away quick, feeling a rush of embarrassment and a strange little thrill, too. "Honestly, I was so busy with hockey and vlogging, I really didn't have a chance. I used to be a counselor at a summer camp though. Two weeks every year. That should count, shouldn't it?"
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"I mean, I'm sure it adds something to your portfolio. Maybe in the same way that community service does. I wrote on mine that I performed community service at the assisted living home." Which was a technical lie, but he had visited his grandma enough that he suspected that the nurses felt bad and signed it off for him anyway. "But I actually meant academic clubs." He gave the doorknob a forceful turn and the shoddy lock gave away with a small pop. Pushing the door open he gave Eric a smirk from over his shoulder.
"What, no Pie Maker's of America meetings?" He paused and dipped his chin thoughtfully. "Actually, if Clover had Future Farmer's of America, you could probably get away with calling that a legitimate club. Food for thought." He stopped and snickered. "Sorry, unintentional pun."
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But then I remind myself that, like just about everyone else, he's probably already guessed.
Despite what Shitty's told me before, that just makes me feel crappier.
My hand still shoved in my pockets, I watch as Carson giggles the doorknob of an empty room and somehow pops it open. His smirk is pure mischief, but, despite the fact that I'm still not entirely sure what he even thinks of me, it's a look that makes me feel included. Despite my better judgment, I follow him inside, glancing over my shoulder briefly to make sure no one's seen us.
"Pretty sure I'd have been the only member of that club," I tell him, but then shrug. "Though I guess that wouldn't have been so bad. And anyway, I clearly had enough on my application for Samwell to accept me. With a scholarship, even." Granted, an athletic scholarship, but still. There's no way I would've gotten in one for my academics.
I pause for a moment to look around, looking first to the whiteboard and then at the sprawl of empty seats. "You're not gonna steal anything in here, are you? I doubt a criminal record is going to look so good."
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Carson threw himself into one of the empty seats at the front of the room and tapped the table top with a quick hard rhythm. "I don't know if I would have had a scholarship to Northwestern." He admitted, a touch softer than he had been before. His stomach clenched and he pushed the returning sense of disappointment away. "I never saw the letter. But I have-- I had a college fund." Slouching down in the seat he stared hard at the whiteboard and tried to imagine the classroom full and a professor standing attentively at the front of the room. It was easier than once again letting himself get caught in the anxiety of finances.
Rolling his eyes he shimmied further down into his seat and just took a moment to appreciate the fact he was sitting in a university classroom, even if he had technically broken in. It wasn't his fault that the doorknob had a shitty lock. "I'm not a burglar," he said. "I just wanted to get a feel for it. Don't try to tell me you weren't curious."
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Looking back to Carson again, I take in how comfortable he looks there. Eager, even. And I feel a little bad he still has to wait so long to actually be here when this is clearly something he's wanted for a long time. Not here at Barton, of course, but just... at school. At college. Not even Ransom and his 4.0 GPA has ever struck me as this excited to learn.
"If I was really that curious, I'd have come here on my own months ago," I point out, stepping up closer behind the podium and carefully resting my hands just on the edge. "So how does it feel? Like someplace you can see yourself spending most of your time soon? I know it's no Northwestern or Samwell, but... do you think it'll be good enough?"
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He stretched his legs out. "It's hard to say, to be honest." He shrugged and continued the hard, steady drumming of his fingers across the table. "I mean, with Northwestern I had been doing my research for years. Even if I had never been there I knew what the dorms, cafeteria, library and classrooms all looked like. It was so easy to imagine myself there." He looked around the barren classroom, the space between his brows puckering as he frowned and took it all in. "But if this is the only option, then it could be a whole lot worse?" He leaned forward, resting his chin on his cupped hands and giving the other boy a studious look.
"What about you?" He asked. "You were in college back home. You have actual memories. I know you're on the fence, but how does it compare?" It was one thing to draw from his own research, or his own dreams. But Eric had a genuine point of reference to draw from, and despite himself he was curious.
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And they were. Some of them at least. Not the dorms, really, but Norris is huge and beautiful and, of course, Faber. I wish I'd really taken the time to appreciate such a beautiful rink while I was there. I never realized how badly I took it for granted.
"Well, it's... I guess it's hard to say without being enrolled," I answer, stepping close enough to the podium to rest my arms on it, leaning carefully. "Samwell scared the heck out of me when I first started. I was away from home and living on my own and I've never been the greatest student ever. It was completely different from anything I'd ever known. Being on the team helped a lot because I had sort of a built-in group of friends without even really tryin' and the Haus gave me a place to go when I needed to get out of the dorm. That'll be different here, obviously -- I'll have my own apartment and all that. No Haus. But, I think. I don't know. I liked the Haus. I liked my friends. At this point, I'm not sure I even know how to really meet people my own age without just sorta stumbling into it blindly."
Looking over at Carson again, I take a breath. Hesitating.
I may not be out to absolutely everyone I've ever met here, but I don't like to think I'm still hiding. Alone in an empty classroom is probably not the best place to say anything, but even if Carson is taller than me, I'd bet I'm stronger and, apart from that, he might be sorta judgmental and grouchy, but he doesn't strike me as the bullying type.
"Half the reason I chose Samwell was because they're known as the number one most LGBTQ-friendly campus in the country," I tell him, glancing away with a shrug. "I know those lists don't really matter here and I have no idea where Barton would stand if they do, but I have a feeling it wouldn't be so high. Just... makes me nervous, I guess. Even if it shouldn't."
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He had never taken the time to consider going off to Northwestern to make friends. To make a new home. It had always been a necessary stepping stone towards more. To his big, bright future. It was the key to his success and passion, but aside from the aspect of worthy peers and capable instructors, he had never fully grasped the concept of the social aspect of going off to college. The furthest he had ever gotten was the general idea of a roommate, which he was more resigned to than anticipating.
He chewed his cheek and listened attentively. To him, it seemed as though Eric was clinging to the past as an excuse to not move forward, but he kept that observation to himself for the time being.
When the letters LGBTQ were dropped his brows rose involuntarily, but he kept his mouth firmly shut. He generally didn't pay much heed to other people's body language, but he couldn't miss the way Eric's was almost forcefully casual. His only experience with gay guys were Scott and Nicholas, who on most days he had rather gleefully disdained. But that had everything to do with them being assholes and nothing to do with them being gay.
But Eric was about as far from an asshole as he had ever met. He squirmed in his seat and tried to ignore the stab of guilt he felt as he remembered his threat to out the two student council members.
"You're right," he said after the silence had stretched too long. "It shouldn't make you nervous. I mean," he rubbed his jaw thoughtfully. "Yeah, some people are douchebags. You'll run into that anywhere, regardless of how conservative or liberal it allegedly is." He leaned his hand on his chin and frowned at the whiteboard. "But letting yourself back away because of a what if? That's stupid. Would you avoid applying for a job because the manager could be a homophobe? Or eating out because the waiter could be prejudiced? Maybe those are things you worry about or maybe not, but you just... shouldn't. If the school isn't as gay friendly as it should be, make it. No one ever wins anything by walking away." He shrugged. "I'm not saying you need to start a civil rights campaign. I'm just saying that being held back by something you can't predict or control shouldn't be a deciding factor."
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But I'm also pretty sure Carson is straight and that he doesn't really have any idea how it feels. I've lived in Georgia nearly my whole life, I've been pushed around just for being small, weirdly revered and judged both at once being the high school football coach's kid, stuffed into closets and shoved into lockers just because people thought I might be gay. I've had nightmares wondering what they'd have done if they'd known it for sure.
Carson isn't entirely wrong though. There are no sure things in life. For instance, you can't really prepare yourself for being magically transported to an entirely different dimension without any way to get back home. What makes me think I could prepare myself for anything else after that?
"It makes me nervous, yeah, but I was nervous about Samwell at the start, too. I actually know more people here now than I did when I started taking classes there, but there's still... it's still a lot, no. Can you really tell me you're not nervous at all? Not even a little bit?"
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"Why should I be?" He retorted, and for all the belligerence he still managed it as a legitimate question. With a contemplative frown he leaned forward over the desk. "How could anything here be any worse than what's already happened? I waded through years of small town bullshit with the idea that going to university would be the finish line. Between high school, Clover, humiliation, success and failure, to being struck by lightning and being kidnapped into another dimension... how is college something to be afraid of? If anything, it should be a reward for all the bullcrap I've put up with." He pushed himself up from the desk and walked over to the podium Eric stood behind, and raised his hands to clasp the sides of the wood between them.
"I'm serious." He said, quirking his brow and watching the boy carefully. "After everything that led up to this point, shouldn't we just get to enjoy something normal? To go to classes, complain about assignments, eat over priced cafeteria food and come out the other end having earned something that will literally do nothing but be beneficial for the rest of our lives?" He cocked his head to the side. "And you said it yourself. You went off to Samwell on your own. Here you have friends and a support system. If anything, it sounds like you're more prepared for it now than you were there."
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But I have no idea what it feels like to be struck by lightning and that definitely catches my attention.
Before I can even open my mouth to ask, Carson's directly in front of me, gripping the podium between us, his voice ratcheting up a few notches as he grows more heated. It reminds me a whole lot of Coach Hall, actually, trying to get us all riled up before a big game. And... well, despite myself, it's working. Maybe I don't even know what normal is anymore if the idea of going back to school seems so scary. I've gotten so used to just going to work every day, baking until my feet ache, checking in on Thomas and Lee and Jack, and skating when I can. Somewhere along the line, I forgot how it feels to be a normal kid my age, a freshman in college, unsure and irresponsible and full of poor decisions.
"Maybe you're right," I concede after a long moment, and have to take another breath. "I guess I've... I've gotten comfortable here. School shouldn't seem so scary, I know that. I really wish I could see it like you do, though. Maybe it'd help if I had half as much drive as you seem, too." I try for a smile then, small as it might be. "I don't think I'm really cut out for world domination."
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He honestly shouldn't give a damn if Eric enrolled or not. It wasn't any of his business, and he didn't need the other boy to go with him. He didn't need anyone and ninety percent of the time he preferred the solitude.
But he had to concede that what would have most likely been a cut and dry trip was considerably more fun with the uncertain boy in tow.
"Come on," he finally said. Pushing away from the podium he clapped his hands and rubbed his palms together. "We should probably get out of here before campus security finds us and thinks we were up to something nefarious or inappropriate. I don't want to get banned from the campus before I can even apply." Stuffing his hands into his pockets he tried for a reassuring expression. "We'll check out financial aid and student services. If it's something that genuinely bothers you, we can ask about the policies regarding protection and discrimination."
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He pulls away from the podium and rubs his hands together and I realize there's nothing about his expression or mannerisms that are at all cruel or aggressive. He's not even chirping me. I didn't realize just how nervous I was until I'm suddenly not any more and I let out a breath, my smile much more genuine.
"Okay," I agree, fighting back a strange impulse to laugh before heading toward the door, peeking through the little window for a second before stepping back out into the hall, Carson close behind. "I still can't believe you were able to talk me into this, but I have the feeling you could talk a fish into buying a car. And don't think I've forgotten about groceries and clothes, mister. We better make this quick; I still have work to get to and I'm not letting you out of our deal."
I'm grinning a little as I say it, though. As scary an idea as it still is, I gotta admit, for the first time since I showed up here, I feel like maybe I could actually have a life in this place.
Maybe.