"When you weren't noticing, asshole. Bless your heart, you're not even conscious most of the time. Can I go now, or do you have more intelligent questions for me?"
"I don’t think your life is in danger. Though if you do feel sick or light headed, please get yourself checked out. No one I know is allowed to get concussions." Garrett listened to Frank speak and nodded his head, laughing a bit. "Yeah uh- lacrosse is a tough sport. Usually as the goalie I only really get huge bruises on my legs. But sometimes when they rip one at you it can hurt. I don’t notice it though since there’s so much adrenaline during the game." as he talked, he made it to his dorm room, pulling out his keys and opening the door. "Go sit down by the desk, I’ll get the ice pack." he hurried to his closet, opening up a drawer with his lacrosse clothes that also had his small med kit and a hefty amount of instant ice packs. After popping one in his hand, he shook the bag as he came back out to Frank. "Here, put that on your face."
"You're - hardcore, is the only word for it." Frank didn't bother to hide his admiration. Rowing wasn't the most trauma-prone of activities, and Garrett talked about lacrosse injuries like they were nothing. "Those must get really sore the next day, though." He moved to the chair obediently and took the ice pack. In seconds, the cold was numbing his cheek slightly, thank God. Talking took his mind off the pain somewhat. "Fuck, that feels good. Thanks again, Garrett. And I just gotta say, your room is impressively neat."
"Here’s the official challenge for the week (Elliot will say it isn’t, but we’re just testing your loyalty). Every one of you has to dunk a freshman’s head in a toilet by 3pm today, or you’re out of the Society."
"Aw, great, our freshman to Society member ratio is more than enough. Can freshie members dunk their own heads? If I dunk more than one do I get a fucking promotion? You're so full of shit, Montgomery."
"Ahh…I see. What were they doing this time?" Garrett understood completely. In sports, sometimes upping the others came at a price. Sadly- it had to be Frank’s face this time. "Yeah, I always have something in my room. Always be prepared. Plus, I’ve been bruised almost everywhere on my legs from lacrosse. Gotta keep ice packs handy. Come on, let’s get you fixed up."
"I'd feel sorry, but your experience with injury is sorta saving my life here." He grinned lopsidedly, feeling the ache in his jaw. "I hear there isn't a lacrosse match that doesn't end in someone carried off the field on a stretcher. Care to verify that one?" Frank followed the other boy down the hallway, pressing around the bruise tentatively. "Fuck, I hope it didn't loosen a tooth."
"Fuck you. You were in my place just last week, Montgomery - only not all of us can get punched for just being an asshole. If you'd be so kind as to provide this Society member with a small towel, captain, I'll wipe the blood off so I don't drip on the carpet and be on my way."
"A little sympathy would be nice, but I guess I set the bar a little high. If you don't happen to have a first-aid kit on you, I'm just going to take my leave."
"Oh shit- you need ice." Garrett always fussed over people that were hurt, it was part of his nature. "I have some emergency ice packs in my room. What happened?"
"Rowers happened." He shrugged. They all had their stupid vendettas, their competitive streaks, their school pride. Garrett had to understand, Frank figured; he was a sportsman too. "You have 'em in your room? You're an angel amongst men, Herbert."
"Was s'posed to be a friendly competition, but an oar to the face isn't exactly friendly. I know there's a risk to every sport, but I wasn't counting on this one."
It's his first foray into spoken word, and honestly, he feels kind of silly. He practices in front of the mirror and he can't stop his voice from shaking, so he prays he won't have to read this at the next meeting; he wonders if it's too opaque (deliberately so?), this parallel of the cruelty of survival of the fittest to his own inability to slide into place in any system, back home in Georgia or here, where the boys are vicious and tortured all at once.
You can believe in both evolution and God –
the way people love and wreck in the same breath.
B l e s s your heart, Darwin, you were always fond of the freaks of nature. Mutation, that ugly word, was a step in the great big staircase towards the pie in the sky of natural selection. It’s the age-old story of
trial-and-error -
close-your-eyes-and-point -
fingers-crossed -
is it science if it’s dumb luck?
I’m told I was born with blond hair like my dad’s; not a compliment, I don’t think. But DNA, yours and mine, has seen wars fought long before we were born, wars where w i n n e r doesn’t always take a l l, wars where the odds shift and the tables turn. Adaptation is possible: from yellow to patchy brown to
t h i s ; red, freckled, coarse.
But, bless your heart, Darwin, it just takes too goddamn l o n g, waiting for this cycle of dying and living and hoping against hope that the arrow meets its mark when you’re shooting blind. Mutation, that ugly word, is a game of chance.
Nothing so tame as a fish out of water;
You ever seen one of those? Then let me tell you -
Some whales lie at the bottom of the ocean, and deep-sea species find a home among their bones. The ones that heave themselves onto land they waste their blood on sand and tarmac, rot so all that's left is a putrid petrichor and a crumbling dust.
Elliot knew there was a rift in the society. There was a side that favored him and there was a side that favored Declan with a few stragglers in between. Frank leaned extremely close to Elliot and he didn’t need the other to speak to deduce that his wounds had hurt him — visible marks of an attack he could not prevent. To be fair, it couldn’t have been with Declan’s biting comment that could arise anger in anyone of Elliot’s background. It could have been handled better, Elliot knew this. Unfortunately, the small monster hidden under his ribcage and chest didn’t. “They aren’t. History and art proves that.” He spoke softly, nodding in approval as Frank’s fists unclenched from his sides. He hadn’t noticed how quick they were to rise to his defense. “Yeah, I know.” Though Elliot didn’t believe that he deserved better. The society was all he had and all he would fight for it. “But I’d do it any day. Some things just stick with you and cleaning up those messes are one of them. I can’t say I know if I really deserve more. I wouldn’t mind a thank you. That much I can say for certain.”
He couldn't help the surge of respect as Elliot spoke, something akin to reverence; Frank hadn't expected to look up to anyone the way he did to Christian, but what he felt for Elliot came close. There were other emotions he didn't want to consider just yet, but they were what delineated his interactions with both boys, the difference between admiration and want - fine as the line between rain and sleet. "I'll help," he said, feeling foolish even as he declared it. It was stupid. He, of all people, wouldn't know how. "You know. If I can. Just want you to know." Frank shrugged helplessly, shifting so he wouldn't have to look Elliot in the eye. "You don't have to clean up on your own." Then he smiled slightly, flicking his gaze back to the other boy again. "Well, then. Thank you, O Captain."
"Oh, damn, I'm sorry. Just that the library gets so noisy. Stuff a crowd of boys into a small space and that's what you get. Hey - keep it down, y'all. He's working on - what are you working on, anyway? Journalist's stuff?
"Selfish? How the fuck am I being selfish? Yeah, he’s the exact type of company I want, maybe if you used that as an example, I wouldn’t be so fucking sick of you nagging me all the time. Just fuck off, Frank, you’re not doing any fucking good."
"I can't reach you if you won't let me, Ade, you're just not fucking listening to me - it's selfish if you're the only person you care about! It's selfish if you're getting yourself into all this bullshit without even considering - "
"Well, you sound like an avid reader. I confess to having attempted to read all of Shakespeare's plays - couldn't make it through Antony and Cleopatra. Any reason for Hedda Gabler? I mean, the character is infamous, but most people like A Doll's House."
"Maybe because Hedda's pretty dark, as characters go. But I can understand the desire to control someone's destiny. Weird as that sounds."
"Well, O’Dea, if we’re being honest… if I could in some way escape myself I would. Unfortunately, though, I care too much about my future too much to allow myself to get caught up in the lovely drug reign of the Society. So, for now, we’ll say I’m wanting to escape a certain someone because it’s the next best thing on the list."
"The need to get out of oneself. Way too philosophical for casual conversation. Bless your heart, as if drugs were the only way of escapism - wis it the kids do these days? Road trips? Computer games? Pick your poison, as they say, only this kind isn't half as toxic. I myself bake the shit out of whatever's bothering me, but I figure that's not your cup of tea."
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