Chapter Text
You know all those sayings about high school? That it's the "golden opportunity" in your life before college, and it's the greatest moment in your last couple years as a kid?
Well, whoever said all those things is a goddamn liar.
I've barely been a freshman for a month, and I already want to just crawl in bed and sleep for the rest of my life. Is this what seniors feel like, after three stinking years of this bullshit? Maybe that's why they looked so sympathetic when they saw all of those other underclassmen on the first day. They just became lambs to the slaughter the moment they walked in, not knowing that they just walked into the fiery pits of Hell itself.
Okay, maybe that was an exaggeration. But you got to admit, high school is probably the worst thing to happen to me since, well, ever. After the first week was over, I was so tempted to throw my bag with all my school stuff out my bedroom window, like a saw in a Vine when I was in seventh grade. God, I would literally kill somebody if it meant I could be in junior high again.
Especially during English, with Ms. Toriel Dreemurr.
Now, don't get me wrong, I don't hate English. I'll admit, it's one of my favorite classes here at Monarch High. Ms. Toriel is really nice. A bit strict, at times, but she's also very fair. She tries to make class fun, by reading out short stories in funny voices, letting us choose our own books for reports. She's also close friends with Nightmare, my older brother, who teaches French, a class that I'm also in, so I guess that's an added bonus.
The problem here is that who I have English with.
Cross was already there when I got to Room 108.
Ms. Toriel had assigned seats based on who sat where on the very first day. I happened to be sitting next to him, so when she announced that these would be our permanent seats for the rest of the school year, I tensed and looked at him. He looked at me sideways, then took a very sudden interest at the Japanese comic book that he was reading.
Don't get me wrong, he seems nice and all, but I don't think we could ever get along. I consider myself a "people person", though most don't know that, since I'm kind of a quiet kid. But I like talking to people, though I'll admit, I'm more confident when talking on the Internet or texting. Cross looks and acts like the type of guy who likes to stay inside and watch anime, like an introvert. And speaking of anime, he is obsessed with anything from Japan. Manga, anime, K-pop, he probably loves it all. I never got into the stuff myself, never saw the point in it. I actually heard a rumor from Noelle Holiday, a girl from my French class, that he and a bunch of other people were petitioning to start an anime club, for all the weebs to hang out and talk about Sailor Moon and Mew Mew Kissy Cutie. God, I really hope the principal turns down that idea. It would be like a real-life flame war. The weekly food fights in the cafeteria are enough for the staff, we don't need Coach Undyne tearing two kids apart just because one kid likes the reboot better than the original.
We avoid each other as much as possible, which is kinda hard, given that we have English, History, Pre-Algebra, and Debate together. But as long as we sit on opposite sides of the room during our other classes and avoid each other's eye contact, and pray to The God Of Class Partners that we don't get paired up together, we are good as gold.
I took my seat, avoiding eye contact. Cross was busy reading his manga, so he either didn't notice me or he did and pretended not to.
Ms. Toriel stood up and clapped her hands. The noisy classroom immediately went silent, everyone's attention on her. I could see Cross closing his book from the corner of my eye.
"Alright, class, now that we're settled in, let's begin by discussing our new assignment," Ms. Toriel's voice was strong and confident, reminding me of a female politician that I saw speaking on TV once. She picked up some papers from her desk and continued. "We're going to be doing passion presentations. You will be choosing a school appropriate topic, research and write a report about said topic, and give a presentation, complete with visual aids. This will be worth thirty percent of your final grade for the quarter." She held up a paper, which highlighted the important parts of the assignment. The class groaned.
Ugh. I hate presentations. I'm a pretty good student, but writing a research paper and give a full-out presentation? Bit of a pain in the ass, but it seems too... simple. Like there's a catch to this.
"But this is not a solo project. You will be working in pairs that I will be randomly selecting for you,"
Wait. Pairs? Randomly selected? Aw, shit. This is not good, for me and Cross.
Our teacher opens the supply closet that she keeps all her supplies in. She's pulling out a glass cookie jar, with tiny slips of paper inside of it. I cross my fingers. I'm panicking inside my head. Please, please choose someone else. I don't even care if it's Susie, the girl who eats chalk and lets her partner do all the work. Even she's better than getting Cross.
She begins pulling out names. "Let's see...Chara and Frisk, Kris and Susie..."
Crap, that's four off the list.
"Epic and Color, Killer and Dust..."
I hear Cross swear under his breath. I'm not familiar with any of those names. Cross must know one of them.
"Dream aaanndd.."
Oh God, please don't be Cross, please please please.
"Horror? Oh, I think I've made a mistake, he's in the AP class. I'll just pick another, then."
She raised my hopes and dashed them to pieces in an instant. Oh Jesus, she's pulling out another name. As long as it's not-
"Cross!"
Oh bloody hell.
I look at him. He's staring at me with a petrified look on his face. I can hardly imagine the look on mine. Ms. Toriel is still reading names. It's just background noise to us now, like a white noise machine in a therapist's office. "I'm your partner?" Cross finally speaks, in a harsh whisper.
I slowly nod. Fear is making a pit in my stomach. We barely know each other, we turn in the other direction if we see the other coming when we're in the hallways. And we just got paired for a stinking group project.
I want to crawl in a hole and die.
"Okay, everyone!" Our teacher's voice rips us out of our nightmare. "We have ten minutes left in class. Get with your partner and decide what you want to do with your project! Remember, it has to be school appropriate!" Everyone scrambles, and the classroom starts buzzing. I can hear snippets of other conversations, words like "anime" and "pop culture" floating around.
"Isn't your dad the French teacher?" Cross hesitantly asks, rubbing his arm as if he had just gotten slugged there. "We could do...like, French history?"
"One, he's not my dad," I reply. "And two, he only knows French because he studied abroad in college. So, that's out of the question."
"Oh."
We exchange looks, an unsettling pause shared between us. "How about art history, then?" He suggests, fidgeting a little.
"I didn't take you for the artsy type."
"I'm not, really," Cross's face goes purple. "I mean, I take the class, yeah, but it's mostly because my dad's the art teacher-"
"Wait, you're Ink's kid?" That kind of took me by surprise, to be honest.
He nods. "That's why I keep to myself. He's really weird, which is one of the nicest things I've heard people say about him. I don't want to be picked on, so I just lay low. That's the key to surviving high school."
"True. So, he can help us?"
"We have an entire room in our house full of art books and journals. I am literally living with a primary source when it comes to this stuff." A slight eye roll.
I smile. "Art history it is, then."
The bell rings. "Give me your phone," Cross looks at me dead in the eye.
"Wha-" I'm a bit startled.
"I need your info so we can call each other, dude. You know, to talk about the project and stuff."
Oh. Right. I hand him my phone. He turns it on, presses the contact icon on the screen, and types in his name and number. He hands it back to me. "Text me your info later?" It seems like a statement that comes out as a question. I give him a thumbs up.
"See ya later, then." He walks up to the teacher's desk, probably to tell her about our project topic. It's our lunch period, so I walk to the cafeteria. That exchange... went better than I thought it would go. We actually got along okay. Maybe this whole group project thing will work out, somehow.
I really hope it does, at least. I don't want to crash and burn.