It was always… a weird kind of vibe, at the end of a school concert.
It was hard to explain, honestly, what made it up, what made it feel so different, what fueled the need to call it to attention. Maybe it was how unorganized it felt, compared to everything before: this whole performance, this whole leadup had been so scheduled, yet now, as Jeremy walked towards the storage room, it felt freeform. People packing up their stuff on whatever surfaces they could find. People leaving out whatever door, whenever time they wanted to. It was chatter, it was movement, it was the sound of things hitting tables, being packed up, scraping against the surface as they all got picked up.
Or maybe it was how… how it kind of hung on a precipice. Between normal and not. He’d gone through these two little music rooms so many times the last couple of years, but not usually this late at night, not usually with this many people crammed in. And not usually with all the mirrors and makeshift stalls and makeup booths dispersed everywhere. Jeremy hadn’t gotten a chance to see this place much, coming in. People in the orchestra were shepherded straight to their pit. They were allowed to head in, during the intermission, but Jeremy hadn’t done that: he’d taken the opportunity to go outside instead. See what school looked like when the sun went down. He never really had the chance to do that. Not many, at least. Had to take that while he could.
Or maybe it really was just a vibe. He didn’t know. Sometimes things had a quality to them and Jeremy knew it was there but he didn’t really know how to describe it. Didn’t know what made it what it was.
What he did know was that tonight’s performance of Guys and Dolls was done. The audience was leaving. Everybody performing was getting ready to go, too. Most likely everybody was waiting to get picked up by their parents, but not Jeremy. He was walking. His house was near enough, his parents were busy enough, and it was still early enough in the night that it wasn’t too hard to mental gymnastics doing it this way as taking the path of least resistance. The streetlights would be bright enough to blind him on his way, he’d be legging it through basically the safest part of town, and he wasn’t the kind of guy that people would want to stab anyway, so… yeah. Walking it was. Exercise had never hurt Jeremy. Much.
…He just hoped the key he had actually worked. He hoped that he wouldn’t have to wake up his parents just to get inside. Again.
…
…
But that was a problem for Future Jeremy. First he had to get out of here. He found his way through the path of people, the hall of mirrors, before he got to the storage room. He scanned around to find his case, walked over to it, and started to unpack his violin.
lemme introduce ya to the featherweight queen
she's got hollywood eyes, but you can't shoot what she's seen (private)
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Wham Yubeesling
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MurderWeasel
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BB sat on a desk near the exit, feet on the chair, frowning at her phone.
She'd been keeping an eye out for her brother all through the night, phone off because she wasn't going to text during the play like an animal. The last thing she'd heard before the lights went down was that he was on his way, but now she saw that he'd sent another message that explained that—oops—this girl he was kind of sort of seeing had this thing come up and so he had to miss it after all to see her instead, so sorry.
And that was fine. Really. BB didn't care that he hadn't been there for Guys And Dolls. It was whatever. She could spend time with her brother whenever.
But what was not so great was that he was also supposed to be her ride home, but his last message had been forty-five minutes ago and had carried the implication that he wasn't going to be around, like, at all, in any capacity. And he was probably unaware, since BB hadn't told him—which was, okay, a little bit on her—that their parents had taken the opportunity to go out for a date night, and wouldn't be home until quite late.
This meant that BB was now stranded, no ride, no plan, just left to figure out on her own how to get home.
Oh, and she had her bass with her too, because she hadn't gone home between school and the play. And her backpack. And her textbooks.
She sent another message to her brother, but her hopes were low.
She was going to have to wing this.
She'd been keeping an eye out for her brother all through the night, phone off because she wasn't going to text during the play like an animal. The last thing she'd heard before the lights went down was that he was on his way, but now she saw that he'd sent another message that explained that—oops—this girl he was kind of sort of seeing had this thing come up and so he had to miss it after all to see her instead, so sorry.
And that was fine. Really. BB didn't care that he hadn't been there for Guys And Dolls. It was whatever. She could spend time with her brother whenever.
But what was not so great was that he was also supposed to be her ride home, but his last message had been forty-five minutes ago and had carried the implication that he wasn't going to be around, like, at all, in any capacity. And he was probably unaware, since BB hadn't told him—which was, okay, a little bit on her—that their parents had taken the opportunity to go out for a date night, and wouldn't be home until quite late.
This meant that BB was now stranded, no ride, no plan, just left to figure out on her own how to get home.
Oh, and she had her bass with her too, because she hadn't gone home between school and the play. And her backpack. And her textbooks.
She sent another message to her brother, but her hopes were low.
She was going to have to wing this.
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Wham Yubeesling
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Chin rest off the violin. Chin rest into the violin case. Violin into the violin case. Strap velcroed over the neck — a bit tight, over the strings, but the alternative was having the violin bump around the entire walk home. Bow loosened, enough to see the hairs sag a bit, not enough that they could touch the stick. Bow placed in its area, then locked in. Case closed. Case zipped up. Hand wrapped around the… handle, the thing you held, whatever it was called, before Jeremy dragged it off its shelf and let the case fall by his side. Violin packed up. Routine fulfilled.
…He thought, at least. So many little parts. So easy to forget one of them when it was a thing you did every single day. He was pretty sure he’d gotten it all this time. He hoped he’d gotten it all this time.
But he didn’t see the violin case snap open as it dropped down by his hip, and he couldn’t hear anything bump around as he walked to the door, so he was pretty sure he’d at least done the most important things. He had his violin, he had his phone, he had his keys, and he had his earbuds-
…which he hadn’t put on. Fuck. He put the violin down for a second so he could pop them in. Tapped the left one twice so that whatever song he had on would start up however many moments it took for everything to connect.
Okay. Okay. Now he was ready to go. He left the storage room, took a left at the hall of mirrors, and beelined it for the door outside. It was a bit out of the way — he’d have to curve around the entire building just to get to the gate out of the school — but that meant less people, and the less people blocking his path meant the faster he could get home, and the faster he could get home meant the more likely of a chance his dad would still be awake meant the less big of a deal it’d be if his key didn’t-
…He thought, at least. So many little parts. So easy to forget one of them when it was a thing you did every single day. He was pretty sure he’d gotten it all this time. He hoped he’d gotten it all this time.
But he didn’t see the violin case snap open as it dropped down by his hip, and he couldn’t hear anything bump around as he walked to the door, so he was pretty sure he’d at least done the most important things. He had his violin, he had his phone, he had his keys, and he had his earbuds-
…which he hadn’t put on. Fuck. He put the violin down for a second so he could pop them in. Tapped the left one twice so that whatever song he had on would start up however many moments it took for everything to connect.
Okay. Okay. Now he was ready to go. He left the storage room, took a left at the hall of mirrors, and beelined it for the door outside. It was a bit out of the way — he’d have to curve around the entire building just to get to the gate out of the school — but that meant less people, and the less people blocking his path meant the faster he could get home, and the faster he could get home meant the more likely of a chance his dad would still be awake meant the less big of a deal it’d be if his key didn’t-
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MurderWeasel
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Nope. No reply. BB had given it five minutes, and nothing.
That meant she now had a choice. She could keep waiting here, in hopes of hearing back eventually, but if it didn't happen pretty soon the janitors would come around and throw her out, unless they somehow managed to miss her and locked her in instead, which would be a cool story a couple weeks from now but really inconvenient in the moment. Or, she could start walking, and if her brother ultimately did get back to her and was available to come pick her up he could meet her partway, and she could give him endless grief about it.
The only real cost to the latter option was that she'd be stuck outside for longer, and since it wasn't the middle of winter that wouldn't be too bad. Oh, and she'd have to lug all her stuff a ways, but again if he didn't come through all of that would be happening regardless, just delayed.
Plus, whatever the case, he was definitely going to owe her one. The farther she got, the bigger the guilt trip, and the greater the debt.
With a sigh, BB gathered her things, packed all her books into her backpack, strapped it on, and slung her bass over her shoulder. It bumped up against her pack, putting a little sway into her step, but this wasn't her first rodeo; the only unusual part of this was the distance which would potentially be traversed.
So she crossed the classroom, still caught up in her own thoughts, opened the door, and stepped out—
That meant she now had a choice. She could keep waiting here, in hopes of hearing back eventually, but if it didn't happen pretty soon the janitors would come around and throw her out, unless they somehow managed to miss her and locked her in instead, which would be a cool story a couple weeks from now but really inconvenient in the moment. Or, she could start walking, and if her brother ultimately did get back to her and was available to come pick her up he could meet her partway, and she could give him endless grief about it.
The only real cost to the latter option was that she'd be stuck outside for longer, and since it wasn't the middle of winter that wouldn't be too bad. Oh, and she'd have to lug all her stuff a ways, but again if he didn't come through all of that would be happening regardless, just delayed.
Plus, whatever the case, he was definitely going to owe her one. The farther she got, the bigger the guilt trip, and the greater the debt.
With a sigh, BB gathered her things, packed all her books into her backpack, strapped it on, and slung her bass over her shoulder. It bumped up against her pack, putting a little sway into her step, but this wasn't her first rodeo; the only unusual part of this was the distance which would potentially be traversed.
So she crossed the classroom, still caught up in her own thoughts, opened the door, and stepped out—
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Wham Yubeesling
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He’d been walking down the little side alley around the music building, waiting for his music to come on, thinking about his keys, when-
“Ow-!”
-the door in front of him opened right when he was just about to start walking past it. It didn’t quite hit him in the face, and it didn’t quite plow him to the ground, but as it flew towards him and slammed a little bit onto his hip he was sent backwards, almost reeling, the next second spent both figuring out what had just happened and how to stop himself from falling over.
“Ow-!”
-the door in front of him opened right when he was just about to start walking past it. It didn’t quite hit him in the face, and it didn’t quite plow him to the ground, but as it flew towards him and slammed a little bit onto his hip he was sent backwards, almost reeling, the next second spent both figuring out what had just happened and how to stop himself from falling over.
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MurderWeasel
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—and the door impacted against something, rebounded, and swung right back towards BB. It caught her off guard, but she still reacted quickly enough to stick her hand out and catch the door so it didn't smack into her.
She stood there like that for a moment, hand resting against the little window in the door that she hadn't looked out of, snapped out of what had been an almost meditative state of stewing over her situation. She was running through what had just happened. She'd opened the door, perhaps a little more forcefully than strictly necessary, it had hit something and rebounded, there had been a voice...
"Hello?"
This time, BB opened the door slowly and more carefully, aware that it probably wasn't just a poorly-placed trash can she'd bonked. Her query was neutral—on the one hand, she wasn't committing to an "Are you okay?" and the implicit admission of guilt that carried with it, but on the other she wasn't going for the aggressive option ("Watch where you're going") or the sneaky choice (letting the door swing shut, killing the lights, and hiding behind the teacher's desk).
Instead, she stepped outside to see just what she was dealing with.
She stood there like that for a moment, hand resting against the little window in the door that she hadn't looked out of, snapped out of what had been an almost meditative state of stewing over her situation. She was running through what had just happened. She'd opened the door, perhaps a little more forcefully than strictly necessary, it had hit something and rebounded, there had been a voice...
"Hello?"
This time, BB opened the door slowly and more carefully, aware that it probably wasn't just a poorly-placed trash can she'd bonked. Her query was neutral—on the one hand, she wasn't committing to an "Are you okay?" and the implicit admission of guilt that carried with it, but on the other she wasn't going for the aggressive option ("Watch where you're going") or the sneaky choice (letting the door swing shut, killing the lights, and hiding behind the teacher's desk).
Instead, she stepped outside to see just what she was dealing with.
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Wham Yubeesling
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She was dealing with one of the other members of the orchestra. He was tall, pale, with brown curly hair, and earbuds in his ears. He was wearing theatre blacks: a blank long sleeve shirt, with tracksuit pants underneath. One hand was holding the violin he’d been playing earlier tonight. The other was on his face, feeling it up. He’d managed to not tip right over from when the door had slammed into him but he had to make sure he hadn’t, like, split his head open or anything. There was no blood, which was probably good. No external injuries, which was probably even better. He just had to deal with how much this fucking hurt for a minute or two and then-
Then he saw the person staring at him. He put his hand down. Took a step back.
“Sorry, um, got hit by the door.”
Then he saw the person staring at him. He put his hand down. Took a step back.
“Sorry, um, got hit by the door.”
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MurderWeasel
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BB blinked at the guy standing there rubbing his head. The first thing she noticed was that he was really tall, a little stocky, just in general a physical presence. The second thing she noticed was that he really didn't carry himself like it. It would be easy for someone with that build to come off scary, or angry, but this guy—whose name BB was sure she knew, just not right now—was on the back foot. He was touching his face, like he wanted to make sure it was still in one piece, right up until he noticed her, at which point he apologized.
"Oh shoot," BB said, "my bad."
She stepped out more fully, still holding the door open, and squinted for a second. He didn't seem concussed, and she couldn't see blood, so she carried on like normal instead of running for the nurse or something.
"I was a bit early, I guess," she said. "You want to try that again?"
She wiggled the door.
"I'll take you out for real, nice and quick, wham-bam, no pain, no fuss."
"Oh shoot," BB said, "my bad."
She stepped out more fully, still holding the door open, and squinted for a second. He didn't seem concussed, and she couldn't see blood, so she carried on like normal instead of running for the nurse or something.
"I was a bit early, I guess," she said. "You want to try that again?"
She wiggled the door.
"I'll take you out for real, nice and quick, wham-bam, no pain, no fuss."
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Wham Yubeesling
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No. Okay. Wait. Hold on. Jeremy knew this person. She was a person. She was- she was in the ensemble with him. The musical band. She played bass and she sat up near the back of the orchestra pit and that meant- okay yes, brain, that did mean she had way more room in the pit than anybody else did, but also it meant he didn’t really get many glimpses of her. It was enough to turn his head in the direction of the stage, and even then she hadn’t been in his cone of vision. But he knew her. She was in his grade. Was she in his grade? There were enough people that-
No. No. He had it. She was-
Owwwwwww-
No. No. He had it. She was-
Owwwwwww-
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MurderWeasel
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He just stood there, dazed. BB just stood there, watching.
She hadn't, like, actually concussed him, had she? She'd opened the door pretty hard, but she didn't think she could muster the force to crack a skull if she tried. It was a sort of scrambling desperation—he had to be okay, right? And if he wasn't, it definitely wasn't her fault, right?
It was an accident, and really he should've been more careful about where he was walking, like, doors opened outwards sometimes, and there was plenty of room. Who walked that close to the wall, anyways?
Dimly she was registering some other little details. He was carrying an instrument case too—violin, she thought. That's right, she kind of knew this guy. He sat in front of her in the pit. They were on more or less okay terms, so there didn't need to be any sort of trouble or blame between them, she decided. Just had to make sure they were on the same page about that.
"Hey," she said, tone a lot less chipper than a second ago, "you alright?"
She hadn't, like, actually concussed him, had she? She'd opened the door pretty hard, but she didn't think she could muster the force to crack a skull if she tried. It was a sort of scrambling desperation—he had to be okay, right? And if he wasn't, it definitely wasn't her fault, right?
It was an accident, and really he should've been more careful about where he was walking, like, doors opened outwards sometimes, and there was plenty of room. Who walked that close to the wall, anyways?
Dimly she was registering some other little details. He was carrying an instrument case too—violin, she thought. That's right, she kind of knew this guy. He sat in front of her in the pit. They were on more or less okay terms, so there didn't need to be any sort of trouble or blame between them, she decided. Just had to make sure they were on the same page about that.
"Hey," she said, tone a lot less chipper than a second ago, "you alright?"
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Wham Yubeesling
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"You remember that girl who hit her head?"
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MurderWeasel
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"Huh?"
The swerve caught BB wholly off-guard, which she wasn't used to. She didn't care too much for it, either—she wasn't sure what she was dealing with, but had this sinking feeling, like maybe this wasn't going to be so quick and easy as she'd initially hoped.
She stepped out of the door properly now, letting it fall closed behind her, which it did with a touch more force than she'd expected. Once again she looked at the guy, now make eye contact like she was just being polite, but actually she was looking to see if his pupils were really dilated or anything.
And, of course, she wasn't sure what he was talking about. Had a girl hit her head? Like, recently? Whoever it was, it wasn't one of BB's friends.
"Um," she went with, "which one?"
The swerve caught BB wholly off-guard, which she wasn't used to. She didn't care too much for it, either—she wasn't sure what she was dealing with, but had this sinking feeling, like maybe this wasn't going to be so quick and easy as she'd initially hoped.
She stepped out of the door properly now, letting it fall closed behind her, which it did with a touch more force than she'd expected. Once again she looked at the guy, now make eye contact like she was just being polite, but actually she was looking to see if his pupils were really dilated or anything.
And, of course, she wasn't sure what he was talking about. Had a girl hit her head? Like, recently? Whoever it was, it wasn't one of BB's friends.
"Um," she went with, "which one?"
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Wham Yubeesling
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“Yeah I- I remember this- there was this girl- this small victorian child- who slipped on the ice and cracked her head and then got up and was like ‘oh, hey, I’m fine!’ And then she went home and was like ‘I feel a little sleepy tonight’ so she went to bed and fell asleep and then she didn’t wake up for forty years. She fell asleep and she woke up and she had wrinkles and her mom was dead and all her friends had moved away and all her family had given up on the idea that she was ever going to come back and she was in a hospital. She had to learn how to walk and talk again. She had to deal with the fact that she was a prepubescant girl in a elderly lady’s body. She had to learn to live with the fact that the life she used to live was no longer a life she had and that the one she was in now was one she was never, ever going to feel at home in. All because she hit her head once.
“That’s what’s going to happen.
“That’s what you’ve done to me.”
“That’s what’s going to happen.
“That’s what you’ve done to me.”
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MurderWeasel
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The speech flowed over BB, enveloped her, a tale of woe that she had not heard before and also found more than a little suspect. Like, how would they keep a kid alive through a multi-decade coma in the Victorian era? Did they feed her like a baby bird? This was some Rip Van Winkle nonsense.
It also didn't matter. What had or had not happened in the 1800s was totally irrelevant to the situation now, which was that BB had indeed clocked this guy and now was being forced to interact with the consequences of her carelessness. And, unusually for her, she was having a hard time getting a read on him. Was he teasing her, or was he freaking out? She knew that some people reacted badly to getting hit in the head. She'd had this one friend who was the nicest, chillest person but if she bumped her head she became a seething ball of fury for the next sixty or so seconds, then went right back to normal. Was this something like that? Was this some sort of weird panic attack? Had she actually hit him hard?
Off-guard, she fell back on that old standby: hyperbole and dubious sincerity.
"Oh," she said, "oh no. No, it can't be—it's too cruel. I'm sorry, oh, I'm sorry."
She took another step, closer now, still meeting his gaze. She might not be an actress per se, but she was a performer. She knew how to embody a mood.
"I'm so sorry," she continued. "Can you forgive me? To rob a family of their child for years—and you'll miss your last summer break. Oh, forgive me, please."
It also didn't matter. What had or had not happened in the 1800s was totally irrelevant to the situation now, which was that BB had indeed clocked this guy and now was being forced to interact with the consequences of her carelessness. And, unusually for her, she was having a hard time getting a read on him. Was he teasing her, or was he freaking out? She knew that some people reacted badly to getting hit in the head. She'd had this one friend who was the nicest, chillest person but if she bumped her head she became a seething ball of fury for the next sixty or so seconds, then went right back to normal. Was this something like that? Was this some sort of weird panic attack? Had she actually hit him hard?
Off-guard, she fell back on that old standby: hyperbole and dubious sincerity.
"Oh," she said, "oh no. No, it can't be—it's too cruel. I'm sorry, oh, I'm sorry."
She took another step, closer now, still meeting his gaze. She might not be an actress per se, but she was a performer. She knew how to embody a mood.
"I'm so sorry," she continued. "Can you forgive me? To rob a family of their child for years—and you'll miss your last summer break. Oh, forgive me, please."
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Wham Yubeesling
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“I, uh-”
So it was meant to fuck with her. Like maybe it’d gotten away from him at the end there but the idea was to maybe make her squirm a little there. She’d slammed the door into him, and the first thing she did was make a joke about it, so maybe he’d earned the right to maybe get a little mad about it. Have a little bit of fun. Maybe this lady would forever know him as the weirdo who went on and on and on about head injuries, but that would be a problem for Future Jeremy. Something he’d have to mull over at 1 AM five years from now. Right now it felt… decent. Okay. Maybe could’ve done it better, but, like, still good for what was pretty impromptu.
And then she started apologizing. And then she kept on doing it. And he kinda got that maybe it was a joke but he also wasn’t really sure if it was a joke. And also she was getting a bit close and she kept trying to look him in the eyes and also maybe one of those sorries felt unsarcastic and-
“It’s- fine,” he said, looking towards the ground. “You only- actually got me in the hip. Sorry.”
So it was meant to fuck with her. Like maybe it’d gotten away from him at the end there but the idea was to maybe make her squirm a little there. She’d slammed the door into him, and the first thing she did was make a joke about it, so maybe he’d earned the right to maybe get a little mad about it. Have a little bit of fun. Maybe this lady would forever know him as the weirdo who went on and on and on about head injuries, but that would be a problem for Future Jeremy. Something he’d have to mull over at 1 AM five years from now. Right now it felt… decent. Okay. Maybe could’ve done it better, but, like, still good for what was pretty impromptu.
And then she started apologizing. And then she kept on doing it. And he kinda got that maybe it was a joke but he also wasn’t really sure if it was a joke. And also she was getting a bit close and she kept trying to look him in the eyes and also maybe one of those sorries felt unsarcastic and-
“It’s- fine,” he said, looking towards the ground. “You only- actually got me in the hip. Sorry.”