II

Fair Game |  Dayglow

How hard could it be? Not thinking is my biggest fucking strength, Richie thinks, chewing thoughtfully at his blue pen.

The second period bell rings and Richie is quick to speed out of the classroom to his favourite elective. Theatre, of course. He can't deny, it's one of the only classes where he isn't shouting and making crude jokes, because he's always so calm and at peace in the black box. One of his 'safe spots'.

He strides down the hall in a much more upbeat mood, careful to not trip over the shoes of other evil classmates. He winks at Beverly as she walks by, the usual flip of the bird in response, and approached the black box.

He swings open the door, greeting the teacher (meant to go by "director" which Richie only messes up every now and then) with his obnoxious comments, and settles himself into his seat in the very back of the room, courtesy of said theatre teacher. He keeps him there in a separate table, while everyone else has a shoulder partner, because studies show Richie works better (and talks less) alone. There are only around 15 people in the class, the schools only performance class. Bummer.

Richie kicks his feet up on the chair beside him and waits for the bell to ring as he takes out and begins to flip through his script for October and November. At the beginning of every two months, Richies theatre class receives a new in-class play to memorize and perform.

And he absolutely fucking loves it.

The scent of the dusty wooden stage down in the auditorium, delicate soft curtains that he's always told not to touch. The smell of tacky goodwill scraps and whirr of sewing machines. It gets him fucking ecstatic to begin a new play every month. (And perhaps other stuff excites him as well, things such as being forced to wear stage makeup and try on clothing for his roles.)

But most of all, it's the acting that grips Richie in tight and has him gawking at the very idea of it. Whoever invented theatre.. Shakespeare or some shit, deserves the whole fucking universe, Richie always seemed to think. Getting to craft and perform his own Voices? As schoolwork?! What on earth could be better!

Since it's merely the middle of November, the class is in the works of their upcoming play, Our Town. Written by Thornton Wilder, Richie knows every single curve and crevice of this play already. His memorizing skills have done him good and only bettered these past few years, so after a few weeks, he's already got his lines down and everyone's around him.

The bell blares in the hallway, and a boy scurries in. Without looking, eyes glued to the notes in his script, Richie was about to shout a foul comment about being late. But before a single syllable can leaves his lips, the teacher clasps his hands together loudly, loud enough for Richie to flinch in his seat and have his eyes go up to the front of the room for a split second. He shrugged and decided it was unimportant, looking back to his script and beginning to highlight notes.

The following words that the director says are a complete blur to Richie, because he's accidentally blocked them out. Something about a new student maybe? Richie could care less. He needs to get to work.

He sighs at the page. A scene in Act III where Richie always seems to forget his blocking. Now it's all he works on. Since the rest of his lines in the show are mostly memorized by now, he narrows his attention to this one damn scene. He's meant to cross over in front of Meredith, as said in the script, just as he says his line, but he always seems to go behind her on accident, crash into a set piece, then forget his line all at once.

By now, the page where he does that scene is packed with notes and strategies to help him remember; Move to the front. Don't trip. Downstage. Forward, you idiot! Then an abbreviation of his line is repeated and scattered all over the paper in different ink colours.

He wonder all of a sudden, if memorizing lines would be better with someone else to help him. Everyone else gets a partner, but he presumes it's his fault he doesn't get one. Or perhaps his mouth.

Before he knows it, someone is scooting a chair right over to the table next to him and sitting awkwardly.

Richie freezes for a second, confused, nervous and slightly taken aback at the fact that some rando is sitting in the back of the class, where he's comfortable and used to being on his own.

His feet shift on the chair that resided next to himself, unsure of whether it'd matter if he should put his ragged shoes down. He didn't. Richie doesn't look up, doesn't move a muscle, but he eyes curiously at the floor by his table.

He sees bare calves and bright converse with normal striped high socks. Richie compared them to his own spaceship burger socks that barely hid under his black vans, and speculated that this kid was not an original true thespian. A newborn in the theatre department, Richie guessed.

He stared at the floor for another minute, then finally, he couldn't take the suspense, and looked up. It was a boy.

This boy had brown rooted hair and (seemingly) soft bleached strands that curled at his forehead, and big brown eyes that struck Richie with such surprise that it caused him to widen his own. He was a small boy, and had nice posture with his hands crossed over his lap, unlike Richie, who was lanky and slouched in his chair with his feet kicked onto the other chair. It sort of threw Richie off, the combination of his almost punk-looking hair and polite seating and manners.

The boy was facing the director, so Richie couldn't see much of his facial features. He could only see him listening and focusing intently on the front of the classroom.

Richie felt like he had never seen him around the halls ever, but he felt a bit crazy for thinking he already knew him in some distant way. As if they had met without even knowing it. His hair surely looked familiar, Richie didn't know how.

This boy sported a warm maroon sweatshirt and dark knee long navy blue shorts. It had to have been the most casual attire in the world, but still, Richie couldn't deny, he looked good in it.

There's a big gap between the two of them, where students could easily fit in between if Richie were to move his long fucking legs from the chair. But the boy merely sits there, two seats across from him, not glancing over his shoulder until he feels Richie staring.

"Hi" he says. That's when Richie realizes he'd been staring for about five minutes now.

It's an awkward sort of greeting. One that Richie can feel was forced, but nevertheless, Richie smiles cheekily back. No sarcasm, no jokes, just Richie smiling at a cute-... smiling at a boy that's sitting next to him.

Richie instinctively scolded himself internally for thinking such a quick, odd thought, turning back to the front of the class where the director begins citing their day's plan. He doesn't even know this kid, who is he to even think about him at all. Just don't think, he tells himself, eyes clenching shut as he tries to will away the thought of the boy beside him.

Usually he's open to thinking about people during the day. All of the time! It's something he quite frankly cannot control.

He thinks about Beverly during his classes. About how eager he is to go to the next football game together and shout insults to the jocks that trip him in the halls "as an accident". He thinks about ways to get her out of her house; calling her home with a (surprisingly accurate) girl voice and chatting into the phone obnoxiously until her father hands it to her. He thinks about Stan a lot too. About his dumb noodle hair and funny monotone voice and his much too formal clothing style. If he had a sunday best, it'd be fucking exquisite, Richie used to think to himself with a chuckle.

But somehow, at some recent point in time (in the last few seconds), Richie had suddenly without warning decided that it was not okay to think of this boy. It feels different to think of him, and anything out of the ordinary immediately signals bad to Richie.

The director continues giving out detailed instructions on what they're getting into today, something about Act 3 Scene 2, but Richie doesn't listen. He know for sure what he's working on.

Why be so hard on yourself?, Richie's heart tells him, in reference to the boy beside him. It's just a boy, Rich. It's not like...

Richies brain trails off, his heart skips a beat, and he practically chokes on air.

"Woah woah, you okay?" the boy suddenly asks worriedly, his eyes growing with concern for the boy he just barely took a glance at, noticing Richies odd manner. Richie tries to hide the fact that his eyes widen and his heart starts jumping at that. Not helping!

"O-oh yeah I'm fine" Richie laughs dryly, placing his glasses further up his nose and quickly looking back to his script and pretending to read through his notes again. Usually at this time in class, Richie would be practicing the Voice to use for his character, Dr. Gibbs, in comfortable solitude. But instead he's flushed a tint of red from the neck and ears next to a boy he doesn't even know. Richie takes a deep breath and laughs at himself inside, I'm an idiot-

"What's your name?".

The question is all so sudden, and at first Richie doesn't hear it. He never expects people to talk to him, that's just looking for trouble.

A second later, Richie lifts his head in a startled jump and looks back at him, bewildered.

"You want to know my name?" Richie says. It's meant to be more of a thought, but when has Richies mouth ever done him justice?

The boy snorts with a smile, and Richie wants to run to the bathroom, because his stomach feels like it's being eaten from the inside out. It's bothering him, annoying him; the feeling in his stomach. He wants to feel normal right now. But he immediately forgets about it at the sound of the boys laugh. He smiles.

"It's uh- It's Richie" He says. The boy nods and looks back down to his hands. They're stubby and small, and Richie can't help but oogle at how different in size they must be compared to his own.

"I'm Eddie" he says after a very long silence. Richie glances back at him, but noticed that he hadn't turned his head, as if it were a game, or a secret just between the two of them. Richie liked it. He smiled a little to himself and looked back to the board.

"Eddie" Richie whispers under his breath, testing out the name on his tongue. It's sweet. He wants to say it again.

He suddenly feels a burst of giddiness, as if saying Eddies name just filled him up with lollipops and candy and he's on the verge of a massive sugar rush. Richie tries hard not to act on it, but he can't control his leg beginning to bounce at a crazy pace.

The director finishes up his instructions and the class scrambles around to spread out and practice on their own. A few minutes later, and the class is rowdy with overlapped dialogue and dramatic teens, rehearsing lines separately. Some students are discussing little things with the director and touching up a few scenes together. Richie stays in his seat, and lightly skims through his script.

Abruptly, the director walks up to Eddies table and says a few things to him. Richie can't hear it, but he refuses to look up.

"Tozier!" the director suddenly calls, and Richie jumps in his seat with wide eyes. "Can you uh.. give our new student here a run down of what we do here in theatre? It'd be greatly appreciated, Rich" he says, walking away before Richie can say anything in return.

"No problem, sir!" Richie salutes. "You obviously know how..." he sighs in fake thoughtfulness, putting a hand to his heart. "..so very important I am to this theatre department, don't you?" Richie says noisily. A few students laugh, and he refuses to wonder if their laughter is with him or at him.

"Yeah yeah yeah, get to it, Tozier!" he waves him off with a smirk. "And get your shoes off my seats, for the love of God!" the director finishes off with.

Richie tips his head back and cackles, finally removing his feet from the chair. Then he suddenly remembers his original task and turns to Eddie.

He has a sort of confused, awestruck expression, and it made Richie want to laugh even more. He held back though, hoping that the first impression wouldn't be to obnoxious already.

"Are all theatre teachers this laid back?" Eddie asks, fighting a smile that he sports on his lips.

"Indeed, I'm afraid, from my experience, that is a true statement" Richie nods, a playful smirk on his as he moves from his chair to the one next to Eddies.

Richie is actually pretty impressed at his own casualness in this situation. A few minutes ago, he was practically pulling at his imaginary hair in his mind, fighting off the thought of this boy.

"So..." Eddie trails off, dragging out the 'o'.

"So..." Richie repeats, appearing just as dumbfounded as he was at the time.

"Uh, you aren't new here, right? So what made you choose to be in theatre?" Richie asks. "It's one of the least chosen electives here, and the school doesn't even take it seriously.." he states with a chuckle, genuinely confused as to why.

Eddie breathes out a laugh and looks down to his hands. "Well, I gained a free period this year for doing lots of work in the last, and hiding in the bathroom for a whole hour every morning began to be a lot less appealing to me so..".

Richie let out a laugh, surprised at the openness and humor of the boy sitting next to him. He looked like one to be extremely rigid and for a second, before the boy had opened his mouth, Richie was afraid he would be hated by him right off the bat. It'd be and understatement to say Richie was relieved at that.

"Ah, so you're a smart one." Richie says, rubbing at his pretend beard. "That really isn't our thing here though, ain't that right, Jared!" he shouts, a boy from two tables down immediately flipping him off. Richie giggles in satisfaction and turns back to Eddie.

"Well, welcome to Theatre, Eddie!" he says, smiling. "We are lucky to have you here, Mr...." Richie pauses.

"Kaspbrak." Eddie said, pointing finger guns to the boy in front of him.

"Kaspbrak!" Richie repeats. He thinks it over for a second. 'Eddie Kaspbrak'. That's a sick name.

"Hmm, that was a real 'Band Nerd' move, Eddie" he says, motioning to Eddies finger guns while shaking his head.

"I dunno if you'll be Theatre Kid material if I'm being honest" Richie says dramatically, touching his imaginary moustache while eyeing him up and down.

Eddie rolls his eyes. "Oh please, what else is there to it other than being as obnoxious and loud as you?" he responds sassily with a smile.

Richie scoffs, genuinely taken aback. He puts his hand to his chest as if he had just been given a heart attack from Eddies words, and considers yelling for a paramedic. He doesn't, for the sake of his poor teacher that already puts up with him on the daily.

"You wound me, Edward" Richie breathes out, pretending to be exasperated and offended. Eddie giggles and shakes his head at him.

Richie feels extremely triumphant over the sound of Eddies cute little giggle, and how he managed to get it out of him. It makes Richie giddy and hyper all over again.

"So what exactly is there to learn in this class?" Eddie asks, tilting his head a bit to the side like a confused puppy. Dear sweet jesus- Richie pinches at his thigh.

"Uh, lots of stuff! There's blocking, projection, acting... it's hard to summarize, but we're a performative class basically. The two other theatre classes are Beginner and Tech.

"My friend Bev is in Tech Theatre, where you learn about the technical parts like lighting and sound, and she helps out with the shows we put on!" Richie explains. He knows he's already beginning to babble on like he always does, but he notices that Eddie listens and seems actually interested.

"The only question now is... why aren't you in Beginners Theatre?" Richie asks, quirking an eyebrow and wondering if Eddie even has the answer.

"I honestly do not know. I saw it on my schedule and freaked out because I literally don't know a thing about performing in front of people.. or even performing at all" he responds, shaking his head as if to say 'it's unbelievable'.

"I think i'll go ask the teacher now though, because I'm still thoroughly confused about the mix-up." Eddie states, standing from his chair. Richie nods, but oddly finds that he as well stands up and follows Eddie to the directors desk.

"Sir," Eddie says, waving at the teacher who stares intently into a page in his directors binder. He closes it and looks back to the two boys standing there.

"It's a great class and all, but I was wondering why I'm in here and not in Beginners Theatre, because I've actually never taken a class before" Eddie says matter-of-factly, fiddling with the hem of his sweater. Richie stands behind him awkwardly, rubbing the nape of his neck for something to do.

"Oh.. yeah, about that..." he says, wincing as though bad news is approaching. Richie furrows his eyebrows in confusion, and Eddie quirks his ahead to the side the same way he did before.

"There was a bit of a mix-up, and I'm very sorry about that, Mr. Kaspbrak." Eddie nods in understanding. "Richie," the director says, startling the boy by the sound of his name. "I was hoping you'd be up for helping Eddie get accustomed and educated on the topic of theatre instead, since you of all people are very dedicated and ahead.. and also because I don't want to do the paperwork to get Eddie into the right class" he says the last part quickly.

Richies jaw drops. Him. Teach Eddie. Theatre. On his own. It seemed like a great idea and a horrible one all at once.

"Since you, Richie, are all caught up, I can give the both of you this class period off for the next..." he checks the calendar behind him, "two weeks! That's by the end of this month."

Richie wasn't sure his jaw could go any lower, but it did. Eddie audibly gasped, his eyes growing wide.

Him. Teach Eddie. Theatre. On his own. Within two weeks!? Now this was definitely a horrible idea.

"Yes? Yes? Great! You can start tomorrow."

damn👀 shits boutta get HECTIC in the next chapter be fucking ready KHDKFKJD

love and light - author