fic: One Of England's Finest (3/5)
Tuesday, 3 February 2009 23:15![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
extemporallypart ii.
"And then," Brendon said the next day at lunch, "he said 'I could bring my friends'! Wasn’t that nice of him?"
"I know," Spencer said, "You’ve already told us what he said, and how nice it was of him, about a dozen times." Ryan smirked and leaned over, stealing Spencer’s last mouthful of steak-and-kidney pie.
"I was eating that!” Spencer said.
"Whatever," Ryan scoffed, "You don’t even like steak-and-kidney."
"That doesn’t give you the right to take my pie, does it."
Brendon cleared his throat pointedly. "As I was saying," he said loudly, "Then we went to the sixth-formers' common room and Jon called his friends and they all came down at once. And then we feasted." And so they did. Brendon felt tired just thinking about it.
Ryan rolled his eyes. "You mean they just sat down and ate," he said flatly. "I’ve been to midnight feasts, that’s the only thing that happens. People wake up late and eat because they haven’t got the good sense to do it in the middle of the day, when if you’re caught eating you don’t actually get persecuted? Because eating is a good thing, in the middle of the day."
"That’s not true!" Brendon defended. "We had beer too. It was good fun." Brendon wasn’t, however, too abstruse to notice the concerned look Spencer shot Ryan. He wondered what he’d said wrong again. "And weed."
There was a slight pause before Spencer leaned forward and said, almost too casually, "So did you have any?"
"Um, yeah, a little." Brendon’d had just a sip of the beer, but when he’d asked for a smoke William Beckett, who was in a different section in the choir from him, had held it away from him lazily and said kindly, "It’s probably a little too strong for you, I think."
This time Brendon definitely caught the look they exchanged.
"It wasn’t like that," Brendon protested.
Spencer raised his left eyebrow, and said flatly, "We didn’t say anything."
Ryan didn’t say anything but Brendon could tell he was thinking Methinks the lady doth protest too much. He said sharply, “Ryan, stop quoting Hamlet.”
Ryan jumped a little at that, and Brendon felt oddly satisfied, in a spiteful sort of way, at being able to rattle Ryan.
He looked down and kicked at his chair legs, suddenly feeling miserable.
"It wasn’t like that at all," he repeated. "Jon’s really nice." He was aware of how defensive his words sounded, and felt even more miserable that he had to disagree with his only friends Ryan and Spencer, who were never wrong except about things like this, and wasn’t even doing a good job of defending Jon into the bargain. He slumped back in his chair, and rubbed at his eyes again. He felt tired, having only gotten to bed at three in the morning.
--
Nevertheless, despite the fact that his friends were completely unreasonable when it came to Jon Walker, life soon settled into a comfortable routine for Brendon. For the first time, he felt utterly at home in Malory Towers, and he learnt to love it – meals in the hall with Ryan and Spencer, who made Brendon laugh all the time with their mocking remarks, the sound of the sea that provided the background to all the noise and chatter of the boys at work, and the little village which they would sneak out to, sometimes, and visit legitimately on Saturdays.
Even though Spencer and Ryan were day scholars, Brendon spent most of his downtime with them anyway. He didn’t want to intrude – but they didn’t seem to mind having him with them, and for the most part Brendon was all right with much of their communication taking place in non-verbal exchanges between Spencer and Ryan while he stood aside, content. Many of Brendon’s happiest times were on Saturdays, when he’d bounce up to Spencer’s house and all three of them would stroll in the village together, often meeting Matron Greta and Miss Asher doing the same, arm-in-arm. The sun could often even be persuaded to shine, and Brendon would be imbued with such a sense of well-being that he often thought he could not get any happier.
Usually nothing much ever happened on these outings, but the boys would have fun, all the same – it was worth it for the looks Ryan received from the village shopkeepers alone. Ryan had, as the term wore on, only become more and more outlandish in his makeup styles. It was fashionable for boys in the school to wear the occasional eyeliner – a couple of the boys at school, including a certain sixth-former, Wentz, did it, but Ryan’s makeup was on another level entirely.
One Saturday, when Brendon rang the bell of the Smiths’ home, Ryan answered it. Brendon took one look at him and burst out laughing uncontrollably. Ryan had put his newest blue eye shadow and, it seemed, gone slightly overboard, even for him. He had applied it thoroughly – lid to brow – and it seemed to form a strange unibrow over his low forehead.
"Shut up," Ryan said imperiously. "This is modeled after what they’re doing in the cabarets of Paris now. It’s Artistic."
"Uh," Brendon said. "In case you haven’t realized, we aren’t exactly in the cabarets of Paris now, getting sucked into a den of inquity. We are in England, yes?"
Spencer appeared at the door, saying, "Don’t think I haven’t told him that," and shared a long-suffering look with Brendon. (Brendon loved that he could share long-suffering looks with Spencer, over Ryan. I have friends, a voice in his head said, friends!)
Ryan lifted his chin proudly, "I’m –"
"Rebelling against the overly conservative social mores of your time and place, etcetera etcetera, we know." Brendon slung an arm each around both of them and started walking, dragging the both of them around. "Come on, let’s go. I can’t wait for everyone to see this."
That day, Brendon insisted on them visiting each and every shop in order to let all the shopkeepers get an eyeful of Ryan’s makeup. Most of them restrained themselves to finger-pointing and whispering, when their backs were turned, but Mrs. Brown, the greengrocer, took one look at Ryan and squawked, "Lord, boy, what you done now?"
Brendon smiled winningly. "Don’t you like it, Mrs. Brown? Ryan spent simply ages on it."
Mrs. Brown, used as most shopkeepers were to Ryan’s doodling all over his face, said, "I simply won’t have it! Out of my shop, now, and go wash your face, boy. It can’t be good for your skin."
Brendon said earnestly, "But we did so want some of the latest strawberries, Mrs. Brown!"
Mrs. Brown hefted herself out of her seat behind the counter and approached threateningly, her bosom quivering under her apron, a broomstick raised above her head. "I said out! Your mothers will hear of this, boys."
Ryan, Brendon and Spencer waited until she couldn’t possibly get any nearer, then started to make a run for it, waiting only for Spencer to have enough time to slip a clementine into his pocket, and wink at her before running down the main street for their lives. Mrs. Brown stood in the doorway of her shop and shouted, "You’ll have to pay for that the next time, boy!"
Ryan flashed a thumbs-up behind him, and the boys waited to duck into a side-street before stopping to howl with laughter. Brendon thought he’d heard Mrs. Brown chuckling slightly, too, as they ran away.
They hadn’t gone another two steps before Brendon walked – quite literally walked – into Jon Walker. It was one of those awkward hard bumps, worse than awkward street dancing bumps. Ryan was going on about something imperiously, and Brendon had turned to look at him and suddenly there Jon was, and there Brendon was, holding onto his elbow while Jon rubbed his chest ruefully, eyebrows raised.
"You alright?" Jon asked, reaching out to tap Brendon’s elbow. Mike Carden sheepishly scooped up the football Jon had been running for, while Tom Conrad slipped up guiltily behind them. "Sorry about that."
"You should have looked where you were going," Ryan said cattishly. "Isn’t there a field at the school for that sort of thing?"
"But then we would never have gotten to see your beautiful face, Ross," William Beckett tossed back, before turning to Brendon and smiling at him. Brendon froze, while Ryan glared at Beckett. William tossed his chin and pretended not to notice, as Carden stood next to him slouching, grinning sheepishly at Ryan, Spencer and Brendon from behind his hair.
"Or the picture," Jon intervened. "We’re headed to the cinema, Pete knows someone and he gave us free passes." He gave Ryan and Spencer an appraising look. "You should come with us, we have extra tickets."
"Sisky made sure of that," William said grumpily.
Conrad took the football from him and tossed it into the air. "Butcher helped."
"What’s really important is that no one will be using the east hall bathroom for its intended purpose any time soon," Jon said, and shrugged. "Come, anyways. It ‘ll be fun."
Brendon blinked, not quite catching at the significance of their remarks, then looked at Spencer and Ryan pleadingly. They turned to each other and had another of their secret eyebrow conversations, while Jon and his friends stood by, waiting. William examined his fingernails boredly, and said, "Well, aren’t we going?"
Jon shushed him, while Brendon followed the eyebrow conversation eagerly – he still wasn’t able to interpret everything, but from what he could see, Spencer seemed to be winning. Ryan blinked, and looked away first.
"We’ll go," he said reluctantly, and Brendon whooped.
"Great!" Jon said. He seemed genuinely pleased. His friends all rolled their eyes ("Well," William said snarkily, "that’s settled") before turning to walk to the cinema. Jon lagged behind slightly, to walk alongside Brendon. Ryan gave Jon what Brendon considered an unnecessarily vicious stare and not-so-subtly edged Jon out of the way, then took Brendon’s arm. Spencer walked along Brendon’s left, so that they resembled a slightly grim cavalry marching Brendon off to prison, instead of a cheerful Saturday cinema visit.
Spencer, however, looked slightly apologetic, although not as apologetic as he should have been, Brendon thought nastily. Jon didn’t appear to notice anything and continued conversing with all three of them, although Brendon noticed that he had at least had the good sense to walk next to Spencer, instead of Ryan.
At the cinema, as everyone was piling into the seats, Brendon squirmed out of Ryan’s surprisingly strong grip and said loudly, "So, Ryan, you probably want to sit next to Spencer."
From the displeased look Ryan gave him, he probably did not want to sit next to his best friend, but couldn’t very well say no. Brendon continued cheerfully: "I’m sitting next to Jon!", then squeezed past Ryan and sat down. Ryan opened his mouth, but it was already too late, then reluctantly plopped into his seat, which was unfortunately next to William’s. Ha, thought Brendon, two can play at this game. He then smiled back innocently at Ryan, who was glaring daggers at him, before settling down into his seat, fidgeting a little, just as the picture began.
The movie wasn’t a very interesting one, and within five minutes Brendon couldn’t stop fidgeting, stretching his arm out to see if his fingers were discernible in the dark cinema. As it turned out, they were. However, Brendon had underestimated the reach of his arm and had unwittingly pushed the down the head of the cinema-goer in front of him. The person turned around and looked at him strangely.
"Sorry," Brendon muttered, and shrunk down into his seat. He couldn’t stop from jiggling his leg.
"Don’t worry about it," Jon whispered into his ear unexpectedly, "the picture’s pretty boring anyway."
By the time Brendon turned to look at him, Jon was back to staring at the screen affably.
Brendon focused on the screen again. A woman was taking off her earrings absent-mindedly, and the camera focused on the grey outline of her fingers against her ear before panning down to show a dropping skirt, before cutting immediately to the next scene. Carden and Conrad wolf-whistled, while William could be heard drawling, "Don’t get so overexcited, boys."
Brendon’s head jerked up of his own accord, eyes widening. Jon smiled at him, taking his eyes off the screen. "Forgive my friends," he said drily, "they’re complete idiots." Brendon beamed back at him, although Jon might not have been able to see it. He stretched, and felt rather drowsy. How could anyone think Jon Walker was up to no good, he thought sleepily. Jon Walker was the antithesis of up to no good. Jon Walker was…
When he was next conscious, Brendon was being shaken gently by Jon, who said: "Brendon, wake up. The film’s over."
People were filing out of the cinema, and Brendon joined the line of people rather blearily. By the time they stumbled out into bright daylight, Brendon was fully awake. He looked at Spencer and Ryan and said happily, "Wasn’t that nice?"
There was a pause as Spencer and Ryan looked at each other again. "Brendon, you were unconscious for most of it," Spencer pointed out.
"Well, it was a really good nap!" Brendon protested. He tried to remember what position he had fallen asleep in, although there weren’t a great variety of those to consider, given that the seat had been a stiff wooden chair. A horrifying thought occurred to Brendon – had he fallen asleep and leaned against Jon? He simply couldn’t remember a thing! On one hand, Spencer and Ryan so far hadn’t smirked at him in that way Brendon knew they would have if he really had nestled on Jon when he was asleep, but it had been an exceedingly comfortable sleep… Brendon really hoped that he hadn’t drooled on Jon, at least – he didn’t think he could deal with the humiliation.
"Anyway, what was with Walker’s friends?" Ryan demanded. "They’re all such louts. And I have never seen anyone as stuck-up as William Beckett in my entire life."
"He rather reminds me of you when you’re making fun of people with Spencer, actually," Brendon said mildly, and pretended not to notice when Ryan glared at him again. He had learned a thing or two, in the course of his friendship with them.
He regretted it a moment later, though, when Ryan shot back, "We’ll talk when you’re actually conscious and not sleeping on Jon Walker’s chest, Urie."
--
The next Saturday, Spencer and Ryan appeared in Brendon’s dorm. He was mildly surprised, since usually he was the one going to the Smith (and Ross) household to meet them, and be fed cake by Mrs. Smith.
"Ryan’s not going to the village with us today." Spencer informed Brendon, a little sourly he thought.
"Why?" Brendon demanded.
Ryan looked at some indeterminate spot beyond Brendon’s shoulder. "Consulting," he said, "with Pete." Pete Wentz was the sixth former who wore eyeliner and somehow got away without ridicule, simply by virtue of the fact that he was more popular than anyone else - for some strange reason, everyone wanted to be his friend.
He also hung out with Jon Walker’s crowd, but for the most part he had his own gang, and his long-suffering sidekick was a fifth-former named Patrick. When Ryan had first spoken of Patrick, Brendon had guessed correctly that he was the red-haired boy in choir – but the following weeks of Ryan talking incessantly of Wentz had been enough to give Brendon such a thorough knowledge of them that he could have passed an exam on them. With his eyes closed.
"Really, again? I didn’t think you needed any more lessons on applying eyeliner." Ryan had, in fact, surpassed Pete long ago, in terms of makeup skills.
"Not that." Ryan glared. "We’re talking about, um… writing. Poetry. The modernist poets."
"Hmm." Brendon looked at him suspiciously, but he really couldn’t think of any cause Ryan had to behave suspiciously, unless he was planning something for Brendon’s birthday – which in any case was six months away, and there was the fact that Pete didn’t know Brendon. He glanced at Spencer, but Spencer shrugged and looked away.
"Let’s go then, Spencer. You’ll be sorry when we go to the bakery and return with free baked goods, Ross. Freshhhh." Ryan laughed – all their talk of coaxing the baker into giving up free pastries had so far just been empty talk – and swatted at Brendon. He was in an especially good mood and didn’t even seem to mind the loss of potential baked goods.
It was a relatively dull day this time, and Brendon and Spencer, having circled the village once after going to the local bakery in their neverending quest to scrounge for free baked goods (which never succeeded), decided to go back to the Smiths’ house. Mrs Smith said reprovingly, "You know, if you wanted pastries, boys, I would have given you them," as they were trying their utmost best to polish off her currant cake.
Brendon smiled his most charming smile at her. "It’s all about the thrill of it, Mrs. Smith. Obviously your cake is better."
Mrs. Smith smiled, flattered. Beside her, Spencer snorted.
"Don’t do that, Spencer. It’s unbecoming."
Spencer scowled. Brendon smiled sweetly at him.
In the end, they didn’t manage to finish the whole cake, mostly because Ryan wasn’t there. Mrs. Smith gazed sadly at the remains of the cake, though Brendon and Spencer had already eaten more than their fair share, and said, "I’ll save the rest for Ryan, for when he gets home later."
"Come on," Spencer said to Brendon. "Let’s go extricate Ross and bring him back. Mother, we’re going off."
"All right, then," she said. "See you, Brendon, dear."
When they returned to Malory Towers, they saw a minor commotion in the hall, and the group fell silent as soon as they saw Brendon and Spencer. It was unnatural, and Brendon saw Spencer’s face crinkle in confusion before he pushed past a huddle of people to grab at Adam Siska’s shoulder.
"Hey, what’s going on?"
Little Adam Siska (he was the youngest in the fourth form, younger than Brendon, even) bit his lip. "I, um, don’t know how to tell you this. Ryan…"
"What happened to Ryan?"
Siska dithered some more. "He, um…"
Spencer looked as if he was on the verge of doing noticeable violence to Siska; Siska cowered, a little. He looked genuinely at a loss for words, and finally whispered, "He got caught with Pete, and they were kissing, and, um, doing other things, like…" he gestured helplessly between his mouth and the vague region of his groin; Spencer went white and let go of Siska abruptly.
"Does the Headmaster know?" he demanded, before muttering, "Stupid question, everyone knows…"
"Um, yes," Siska said uncertainly, unsure if his confirmation was required.
Brendon didn’t get it; not at first. Then it slowly dawned on him, and he wasn’t quite sure what to say. It didn’t seem necessary, though, Spencer was already striding to the main entrance, barely bothering to toss an impatient "Come on," over his shoulder.
They had nearly made it out of the school grounds before Brendon dared to ask, "Where are we going, Spencer?"
"Back home," Spencer replied, still striding along as fast as he could, without actually running, "I’m going to tell Mother." From anyone else but him that sentence would have sounded tattlish, but Spencer’s voice was alarmingly even, and almost composed.
"Um, all right," Brendon replied uncertainly, before hurrying to keep up.
The rest of the walk through the village was silent, and both of them were left to their thoughts.
Once they reached the house Spencer opened the door and said tersely to Brendon, "Stay here, it won’t take long."
Within five minutes Mrs. Smith had her hat on and joined them on the long walk back to the school. Brendon had no idea what Spencer had told her – what did one even say during these circumstances? – but she appeared to have quite as good a grasp on the situation as anyone else, even though she didn’t say much on the walk there.
"Poor boy, poor boy…" Brendon thought he heard her mutter, a slightly upset expression on her face.
Brendon had never thought that Spencer looked much like his mother – he rather favoured his father in terms of colouring, and their noses were almost exactly the same – but this time he thought he could detect a certain similarity in both their determined expressions, their chins set at exactly the same angle as they strode towards Malory Towers. For just a moment, Brendon shut his eyes and allowed himself to believe whole-heartedly that nothing very bad could happen to Ryan, as long as he had Spencer and Mrs. Smith on his side.
--
As soon as they arrived, Spencer’s mother swept into the Headmaster’s office, where Ryan was already waiting, and remained there an alarming three hours while Spencer and Brendon paced outside relentlessly. Occasionally, they met each others’ eyes and dropped them, almost at once.
"Spencer?" Brendon said, once. "What do you think’ll happen?"
Spencer swallowed. "Don’t know," he said. "Anything could happen. At the worst, he might get expelled." His voice cracked slightly on the last syllable, then he shut his mouth tightly. After that, both boys passed the time in silence.
When Mrs. Smith and Ryan finally emerged, Spencer’s mother looked at the both of them and guessed that they had been waiting outside the entire time, and softened.
"I’ve got to go back," she said, "and prepare supper. Ryan’ll stay, for a while. Don’t be too late, boys." Touching the back of Ryan’s neck lightly but insistently, she swept off.
"Ryan!" Brendon blurted. "What’s going to happen?" Beside him, Spencer tightened his lips further and crossed his arms across his chest.
Ryan said flatly, "Nothing. I just got suspended for a week, that’s all."
Brendon was relieved, but tried not to show it too hard, since that would involve him flinging his arms around Ryan, and he was sure Ryan didn’t need that.
"And Wentz?"
Ryan’s jaw was set. "Nothing."
"What?" Brendon couldn’t help exclaiming. This was unfair, shouldn’t –
"I took the blame, Brendon." Ryan interrupted him, looking miserable yet proud. "His parents, they’re – they won’t understand."
Brendon wanted to ask about Ryan’s parents, too, but he’d spent almost half a term not asking about them, and it seemed strange. He didn’t think they were important, though, and Mrs. Smith had at least seemed supportive. He floundered around for something else to say, but most of his possible lines – the one he was most curious about being how could anyone believe that something like that could be blamed on just one person? – didn’t seem like a good idea.
"This is the first we’ve heard of it." Spencer interrupted, narrowing his eyes.
Ryan looked shocked, then defensive. "Well, three guesses as to why. Guess who’s being a douche now?"
"You –" Spencer said, then stopped. "I don’t care what you do with Pete Wentz, honestly."
"If that’s going to be the way it is, then fine."
"Fine."
Spencer left first, walking back to his house. Ryan looked after him for a few long moments, then went in the same direction, walking as slowly as possible to show that he wasn’t following Spencer, his jaw set, face closed.
Brendon watched them go, before saying, "I don’t mind you and Pete Wentz either, Ryan." He regretted it as soon as it slipped out – the way it sounded, the way he’d phrased it. Ryan looked strange, and the expression on his face could have been interpreted any number of ways – surprise or scorn or gratitude, Brendon honestly couldn’t tell – and then he said curtly, "There is no me and Pete, Brendon. Goodbye." He jerked his head, and was off.
Brendon watched the Spencer and Ryan stride off in the same direction, over two metres’ worth of distance between the both of them, and felt strangely disappointed in the both of them.
part iv.
"And then," Brendon said the next day at lunch, "he said 'I could bring my friends'! Wasn’t that nice of him?"
"I know," Spencer said, "You’ve already told us what he said, and how nice it was of him, about a dozen times." Ryan smirked and leaned over, stealing Spencer’s last mouthful of steak-and-kidney pie.
"I was eating that!” Spencer said.
"Whatever," Ryan scoffed, "You don’t even like steak-and-kidney."
"That doesn’t give you the right to take my pie, does it."
Brendon cleared his throat pointedly. "As I was saying," he said loudly, "Then we went to the sixth-formers' common room and Jon called his friends and they all came down at once. And then we feasted." And so they did. Brendon felt tired just thinking about it.
Ryan rolled his eyes. "You mean they just sat down and ate," he said flatly. "I’ve been to midnight feasts, that’s the only thing that happens. People wake up late and eat because they haven’t got the good sense to do it in the middle of the day, when if you’re caught eating you don’t actually get persecuted? Because eating is a good thing, in the middle of the day."
"That’s not true!" Brendon defended. "We had beer too. It was good fun." Brendon wasn’t, however, too abstruse to notice the concerned look Spencer shot Ryan. He wondered what he’d said wrong again. "And weed."
There was a slight pause before Spencer leaned forward and said, almost too casually, "So did you have any?"
"Um, yeah, a little." Brendon’d had just a sip of the beer, but when he’d asked for a smoke William Beckett, who was in a different section in the choir from him, had held it away from him lazily and said kindly, "It’s probably a little too strong for you, I think."
This time Brendon definitely caught the look they exchanged.
"It wasn’t like that," Brendon protested.
Spencer raised his left eyebrow, and said flatly, "We didn’t say anything."
Ryan didn’t say anything but Brendon could tell he was thinking Methinks the lady doth protest too much. He said sharply, “Ryan, stop quoting Hamlet.”
Ryan jumped a little at that, and Brendon felt oddly satisfied, in a spiteful sort of way, at being able to rattle Ryan.
He looked down and kicked at his chair legs, suddenly feeling miserable.
"It wasn’t like that at all," he repeated. "Jon’s really nice." He was aware of how defensive his words sounded, and felt even more miserable that he had to disagree with his only friends Ryan and Spencer, who were never wrong except about things like this, and wasn’t even doing a good job of defending Jon into the bargain. He slumped back in his chair, and rubbed at his eyes again. He felt tired, having only gotten to bed at three in the morning.
--
Nevertheless, despite the fact that his friends were completely unreasonable when it came to Jon Walker, life soon settled into a comfortable routine for Brendon. For the first time, he felt utterly at home in Malory Towers, and he learnt to love it – meals in the hall with Ryan and Spencer, who made Brendon laugh all the time with their mocking remarks, the sound of the sea that provided the background to all the noise and chatter of the boys at work, and the little village which they would sneak out to, sometimes, and visit legitimately on Saturdays.
Even though Spencer and Ryan were day scholars, Brendon spent most of his downtime with them anyway. He didn’t want to intrude – but they didn’t seem to mind having him with them, and for the most part Brendon was all right with much of their communication taking place in non-verbal exchanges between Spencer and Ryan while he stood aside, content. Many of Brendon’s happiest times were on Saturdays, when he’d bounce up to Spencer’s house and all three of them would stroll in the village together, often meeting Matron Greta and Miss Asher doing the same, arm-in-arm. The sun could often even be persuaded to shine, and Brendon would be imbued with such a sense of well-being that he often thought he could not get any happier.
Usually nothing much ever happened on these outings, but the boys would have fun, all the same – it was worth it for the looks Ryan received from the village shopkeepers alone. Ryan had, as the term wore on, only become more and more outlandish in his makeup styles. It was fashionable for boys in the school to wear the occasional eyeliner – a couple of the boys at school, including a certain sixth-former, Wentz, did it, but Ryan’s makeup was on another level entirely.
One Saturday, when Brendon rang the bell of the Smiths’ home, Ryan answered it. Brendon took one look at him and burst out laughing uncontrollably. Ryan had put his newest blue eye shadow and, it seemed, gone slightly overboard, even for him. He had applied it thoroughly – lid to brow – and it seemed to form a strange unibrow over his low forehead.
"Shut up," Ryan said imperiously. "This is modeled after what they’re doing in the cabarets of Paris now. It’s Artistic."
"Uh," Brendon said. "In case you haven’t realized, we aren’t exactly in the cabarets of Paris now, getting sucked into a den of inquity. We are in England, yes?"
Spencer appeared at the door, saying, "Don’t think I haven’t told him that," and shared a long-suffering look with Brendon. (Brendon loved that he could share long-suffering looks with Spencer, over Ryan. I have friends, a voice in his head said, friends!)
Ryan lifted his chin proudly, "I’m –"
"Rebelling against the overly conservative social mores of your time and place, etcetera etcetera, we know." Brendon slung an arm each around both of them and started walking, dragging the both of them around. "Come on, let’s go. I can’t wait for everyone to see this."
That day, Brendon insisted on them visiting each and every shop in order to let all the shopkeepers get an eyeful of Ryan’s makeup. Most of them restrained themselves to finger-pointing and whispering, when their backs were turned, but Mrs. Brown, the greengrocer, took one look at Ryan and squawked, "Lord, boy, what you done now?"
Brendon smiled winningly. "Don’t you like it, Mrs. Brown? Ryan spent simply ages on it."
Mrs. Brown, used as most shopkeepers were to Ryan’s doodling all over his face, said, "I simply won’t have it! Out of my shop, now, and go wash your face, boy. It can’t be good for your skin."
Brendon said earnestly, "But we did so want some of the latest strawberries, Mrs. Brown!"
Mrs. Brown hefted herself out of her seat behind the counter and approached threateningly, her bosom quivering under her apron, a broomstick raised above her head. "I said out! Your mothers will hear of this, boys."
Ryan, Brendon and Spencer waited until she couldn’t possibly get any nearer, then started to make a run for it, waiting only for Spencer to have enough time to slip a clementine into his pocket, and wink at her before running down the main street for their lives. Mrs. Brown stood in the doorway of her shop and shouted, "You’ll have to pay for that the next time, boy!"
Ryan flashed a thumbs-up behind him, and the boys waited to duck into a side-street before stopping to howl with laughter. Brendon thought he’d heard Mrs. Brown chuckling slightly, too, as they ran away.
They hadn’t gone another two steps before Brendon walked – quite literally walked – into Jon Walker. It was one of those awkward hard bumps, worse than awkward street dancing bumps. Ryan was going on about something imperiously, and Brendon had turned to look at him and suddenly there Jon was, and there Brendon was, holding onto his elbow while Jon rubbed his chest ruefully, eyebrows raised.
"You alright?" Jon asked, reaching out to tap Brendon’s elbow. Mike Carden sheepishly scooped up the football Jon had been running for, while Tom Conrad slipped up guiltily behind them. "Sorry about that."
"You should have looked where you were going," Ryan said cattishly. "Isn’t there a field at the school for that sort of thing?"
"But then we would never have gotten to see your beautiful face, Ross," William Beckett tossed back, before turning to Brendon and smiling at him. Brendon froze, while Ryan glared at Beckett. William tossed his chin and pretended not to notice, as Carden stood next to him slouching, grinning sheepishly at Ryan, Spencer and Brendon from behind his hair.
"Or the picture," Jon intervened. "We’re headed to the cinema, Pete knows someone and he gave us free passes." He gave Ryan and Spencer an appraising look. "You should come with us, we have extra tickets."
"Sisky made sure of that," William said grumpily.
Conrad took the football from him and tossed it into the air. "Butcher helped."
"What’s really important is that no one will be using the east hall bathroom for its intended purpose any time soon," Jon said, and shrugged. "Come, anyways. It ‘ll be fun."
Brendon blinked, not quite catching at the significance of their remarks, then looked at Spencer and Ryan pleadingly. They turned to each other and had another of their secret eyebrow conversations, while Jon and his friends stood by, waiting. William examined his fingernails boredly, and said, "Well, aren’t we going?"
Jon shushed him, while Brendon followed the eyebrow conversation eagerly – he still wasn’t able to interpret everything, but from what he could see, Spencer seemed to be winning. Ryan blinked, and looked away first.
"We’ll go," he said reluctantly, and Brendon whooped.
"Great!" Jon said. He seemed genuinely pleased. His friends all rolled their eyes ("Well," William said snarkily, "that’s settled") before turning to walk to the cinema. Jon lagged behind slightly, to walk alongside Brendon. Ryan gave Jon what Brendon considered an unnecessarily vicious stare and not-so-subtly edged Jon out of the way, then took Brendon’s arm. Spencer walked along Brendon’s left, so that they resembled a slightly grim cavalry marching Brendon off to prison, instead of a cheerful Saturday cinema visit.
Spencer, however, looked slightly apologetic, although not as apologetic as he should have been, Brendon thought nastily. Jon didn’t appear to notice anything and continued conversing with all three of them, although Brendon noticed that he had at least had the good sense to walk next to Spencer, instead of Ryan.
At the cinema, as everyone was piling into the seats, Brendon squirmed out of Ryan’s surprisingly strong grip and said loudly, "So, Ryan, you probably want to sit next to Spencer."
From the displeased look Ryan gave him, he probably did not want to sit next to his best friend, but couldn’t very well say no. Brendon continued cheerfully: "I’m sitting next to Jon!", then squeezed past Ryan and sat down. Ryan opened his mouth, but it was already too late, then reluctantly plopped into his seat, which was unfortunately next to William’s. Ha, thought Brendon, two can play at this game. He then smiled back innocently at Ryan, who was glaring daggers at him, before settling down into his seat, fidgeting a little, just as the picture began.
The movie wasn’t a very interesting one, and within five minutes Brendon couldn’t stop fidgeting, stretching his arm out to see if his fingers were discernible in the dark cinema. As it turned out, they were. However, Brendon had underestimated the reach of his arm and had unwittingly pushed the down the head of the cinema-goer in front of him. The person turned around and looked at him strangely.
"Sorry," Brendon muttered, and shrunk down into his seat. He couldn’t stop from jiggling his leg.
"Don’t worry about it," Jon whispered into his ear unexpectedly, "the picture’s pretty boring anyway."
By the time Brendon turned to look at him, Jon was back to staring at the screen affably.
Brendon focused on the screen again. A woman was taking off her earrings absent-mindedly, and the camera focused on the grey outline of her fingers against her ear before panning down to show a dropping skirt, before cutting immediately to the next scene. Carden and Conrad wolf-whistled, while William could be heard drawling, "Don’t get so overexcited, boys."
Brendon’s head jerked up of his own accord, eyes widening. Jon smiled at him, taking his eyes off the screen. "Forgive my friends," he said drily, "they’re complete idiots." Brendon beamed back at him, although Jon might not have been able to see it. He stretched, and felt rather drowsy. How could anyone think Jon Walker was up to no good, he thought sleepily. Jon Walker was the antithesis of up to no good. Jon Walker was…
When he was next conscious, Brendon was being shaken gently by Jon, who said: "Brendon, wake up. The film’s over."
People were filing out of the cinema, and Brendon joined the line of people rather blearily. By the time they stumbled out into bright daylight, Brendon was fully awake. He looked at Spencer and Ryan and said happily, "Wasn’t that nice?"
There was a pause as Spencer and Ryan looked at each other again. "Brendon, you were unconscious for most of it," Spencer pointed out.
"Well, it was a really good nap!" Brendon protested. He tried to remember what position he had fallen asleep in, although there weren’t a great variety of those to consider, given that the seat had been a stiff wooden chair. A horrifying thought occurred to Brendon – had he fallen asleep and leaned against Jon? He simply couldn’t remember a thing! On one hand, Spencer and Ryan so far hadn’t smirked at him in that way Brendon knew they would have if he really had nestled on Jon when he was asleep, but it had been an exceedingly comfortable sleep… Brendon really hoped that he hadn’t drooled on Jon, at least – he didn’t think he could deal with the humiliation.
"Anyway, what was with Walker’s friends?" Ryan demanded. "They’re all such louts. And I have never seen anyone as stuck-up as William Beckett in my entire life."
"He rather reminds me of you when you’re making fun of people with Spencer, actually," Brendon said mildly, and pretended not to notice when Ryan glared at him again. He had learned a thing or two, in the course of his friendship with them.
He regretted it a moment later, though, when Ryan shot back, "We’ll talk when you’re actually conscious and not sleeping on Jon Walker’s chest, Urie."
--
The next Saturday, Spencer and Ryan appeared in Brendon’s dorm. He was mildly surprised, since usually he was the one going to the Smith (and Ross) household to meet them, and be fed cake by Mrs. Smith.
"Ryan’s not going to the village with us today." Spencer informed Brendon, a little sourly he thought.
"Why?" Brendon demanded.
Ryan looked at some indeterminate spot beyond Brendon’s shoulder. "Consulting," he said, "with Pete." Pete Wentz was the sixth former who wore eyeliner and somehow got away without ridicule, simply by virtue of the fact that he was more popular than anyone else - for some strange reason, everyone wanted to be his friend.
He also hung out with Jon Walker’s crowd, but for the most part he had his own gang, and his long-suffering sidekick was a fifth-former named Patrick. When Ryan had first spoken of Patrick, Brendon had guessed correctly that he was the red-haired boy in choir – but the following weeks of Ryan talking incessantly of Wentz had been enough to give Brendon such a thorough knowledge of them that he could have passed an exam on them. With his eyes closed.
"Really, again? I didn’t think you needed any more lessons on applying eyeliner." Ryan had, in fact, surpassed Pete long ago, in terms of makeup skills.
"Not that." Ryan glared. "We’re talking about, um… writing. Poetry. The modernist poets."
"Hmm." Brendon looked at him suspiciously, but he really couldn’t think of any cause Ryan had to behave suspiciously, unless he was planning something for Brendon’s birthday – which in any case was six months away, and there was the fact that Pete didn’t know Brendon. He glanced at Spencer, but Spencer shrugged and looked away.
"Let’s go then, Spencer. You’ll be sorry when we go to the bakery and return with free baked goods, Ross. Freshhhh." Ryan laughed – all their talk of coaxing the baker into giving up free pastries had so far just been empty talk – and swatted at Brendon. He was in an especially good mood and didn’t even seem to mind the loss of potential baked goods.
It was a relatively dull day this time, and Brendon and Spencer, having circled the village once after going to the local bakery in their neverending quest to scrounge for free baked goods (which never succeeded), decided to go back to the Smiths’ house. Mrs Smith said reprovingly, "You know, if you wanted pastries, boys, I would have given you them," as they were trying their utmost best to polish off her currant cake.
Brendon smiled his most charming smile at her. "It’s all about the thrill of it, Mrs. Smith. Obviously your cake is better."
Mrs. Smith smiled, flattered. Beside her, Spencer snorted.
"Don’t do that, Spencer. It’s unbecoming."
Spencer scowled. Brendon smiled sweetly at him.
In the end, they didn’t manage to finish the whole cake, mostly because Ryan wasn’t there. Mrs. Smith gazed sadly at the remains of the cake, though Brendon and Spencer had already eaten more than their fair share, and said, "I’ll save the rest for Ryan, for when he gets home later."
"Come on," Spencer said to Brendon. "Let’s go extricate Ross and bring him back. Mother, we’re going off."
"All right, then," she said. "See you, Brendon, dear."
When they returned to Malory Towers, they saw a minor commotion in the hall, and the group fell silent as soon as they saw Brendon and Spencer. It was unnatural, and Brendon saw Spencer’s face crinkle in confusion before he pushed past a huddle of people to grab at Adam Siska’s shoulder.
"Hey, what’s going on?"
Little Adam Siska (he was the youngest in the fourth form, younger than Brendon, even) bit his lip. "I, um, don’t know how to tell you this. Ryan…"
"What happened to Ryan?"
Siska dithered some more. "He, um…"
Spencer looked as if he was on the verge of doing noticeable violence to Siska; Siska cowered, a little. He looked genuinely at a loss for words, and finally whispered, "He got caught with Pete, and they were kissing, and, um, doing other things, like…" he gestured helplessly between his mouth and the vague region of his groin; Spencer went white and let go of Siska abruptly.
"Does the Headmaster know?" he demanded, before muttering, "Stupid question, everyone knows…"
"Um, yes," Siska said uncertainly, unsure if his confirmation was required.
Brendon didn’t get it; not at first. Then it slowly dawned on him, and he wasn’t quite sure what to say. It didn’t seem necessary, though, Spencer was already striding to the main entrance, barely bothering to toss an impatient "Come on," over his shoulder.
They had nearly made it out of the school grounds before Brendon dared to ask, "Where are we going, Spencer?"
"Back home," Spencer replied, still striding along as fast as he could, without actually running, "I’m going to tell Mother." From anyone else but him that sentence would have sounded tattlish, but Spencer’s voice was alarmingly even, and almost composed.
"Um, all right," Brendon replied uncertainly, before hurrying to keep up.
The rest of the walk through the village was silent, and both of them were left to their thoughts.
Once they reached the house Spencer opened the door and said tersely to Brendon, "Stay here, it won’t take long."
Within five minutes Mrs. Smith had her hat on and joined them on the long walk back to the school. Brendon had no idea what Spencer had told her – what did one even say during these circumstances? – but she appeared to have quite as good a grasp on the situation as anyone else, even though she didn’t say much on the walk there.
"Poor boy, poor boy…" Brendon thought he heard her mutter, a slightly upset expression on her face.
Brendon had never thought that Spencer looked much like his mother – he rather favoured his father in terms of colouring, and their noses were almost exactly the same – but this time he thought he could detect a certain similarity in both their determined expressions, their chins set at exactly the same angle as they strode towards Malory Towers. For just a moment, Brendon shut his eyes and allowed himself to believe whole-heartedly that nothing very bad could happen to Ryan, as long as he had Spencer and Mrs. Smith on his side.
--
As soon as they arrived, Spencer’s mother swept into the Headmaster’s office, where Ryan was already waiting, and remained there an alarming three hours while Spencer and Brendon paced outside relentlessly. Occasionally, they met each others’ eyes and dropped them, almost at once.
"Spencer?" Brendon said, once. "What do you think’ll happen?"
Spencer swallowed. "Don’t know," he said. "Anything could happen. At the worst, he might get expelled." His voice cracked slightly on the last syllable, then he shut his mouth tightly. After that, both boys passed the time in silence.
When Mrs. Smith and Ryan finally emerged, Spencer’s mother looked at the both of them and guessed that they had been waiting outside the entire time, and softened.
"I’ve got to go back," she said, "and prepare supper. Ryan’ll stay, for a while. Don’t be too late, boys." Touching the back of Ryan’s neck lightly but insistently, she swept off.
"Ryan!" Brendon blurted. "What’s going to happen?" Beside him, Spencer tightened his lips further and crossed his arms across his chest.
Ryan said flatly, "Nothing. I just got suspended for a week, that’s all."
Brendon was relieved, but tried not to show it too hard, since that would involve him flinging his arms around Ryan, and he was sure Ryan didn’t need that.
"And Wentz?"
Ryan’s jaw was set. "Nothing."
"What?" Brendon couldn’t help exclaiming. This was unfair, shouldn’t –
"I took the blame, Brendon." Ryan interrupted him, looking miserable yet proud. "His parents, they’re – they won’t understand."
Brendon wanted to ask about Ryan’s parents, too, but he’d spent almost half a term not asking about them, and it seemed strange. He didn’t think they were important, though, and Mrs. Smith had at least seemed supportive. He floundered around for something else to say, but most of his possible lines – the one he was most curious about being how could anyone believe that something like that could be blamed on just one person? – didn’t seem like a good idea.
"This is the first we’ve heard of it." Spencer interrupted, narrowing his eyes.
Ryan looked shocked, then defensive. "Well, three guesses as to why. Guess who’s being a douche now?"
"You –" Spencer said, then stopped. "I don’t care what you do with Pete Wentz, honestly."
"If that’s going to be the way it is, then fine."
"Fine."
Spencer left first, walking back to his house. Ryan looked after him for a few long moments, then went in the same direction, walking as slowly as possible to show that he wasn’t following Spencer, his jaw set, face closed.
Brendon watched them go, before saying, "I don’t mind you and Pete Wentz either, Ryan." He regretted it as soon as it slipped out – the way it sounded, the way he’d phrased it. Ryan looked strange, and the expression on his face could have been interpreted any number of ways – surprise or scorn or gratitude, Brendon honestly couldn’t tell – and then he said curtly, "There is no me and Pete, Brendon. Goodbye." He jerked his head, and was off.
Brendon watched the Spencer and Ryan stride off in the same direction, over two metres’ worth of distance between the both of them, and felt strangely disappointed in the both of them.
part iv.