School Projects

Who: Dean and Tad
Where: MSHS
When: Morning

Dean was at school - and actually intending to stay all day, which was a depressing thought in and of itself. But, Sophie's little chat with him the day before had had the desired effect, and he was here. No more cutting classes - unless something important came up, of course, he had told himself. Then again, what Dean classed as 'important' wasn't necessarily what anyone else would agree with him on. He had his rules though, and not even a dressing down from Sophie would make him change those. Hell, not even Thia could really get him to change those.

He walked into history class in half a dream, not really paying attention to anything, heading through the door with his bag hung over his shoulder, his posture slightly slouched, and he'd already started towards his usual chair when he realized that the room had been all moved round, which was weird. Instead of the normal rows, the chairs had been moved so that they were paired off, and the board at the front of the class had 'project' written on it and a list of names underneath. Dean found his, next to some name he didn't recognize at all, and went to his new assigned seat, dropping his bag on the floor next to the chair and sitting down, automatically sprawling in the seat, making himself as comfortable as was possible in the uncomfortable chairs.

Tad ducked into class quickly. He'd just narrowly avoided one of the bullies in the hall who had a knack for shoving his head in a toilet and history had become his safe haven. It was the only class he had all day where no one in the room had ever beat him up. Seriously, that had to be some sort of record or something.

Two steps into the room he stopped short when he noticed the new set up. This had to be some sort of torture right? Noticing the crowd around the board he realized that the teacher had some sick idea and now he was going to be partnered with one of his classmates (that is if the teacher remembered to add him to the list; most school projects he got left out or was the odd number and ended up working alone). He checked the list, which the teacher must have done off the class roster because his name was listed next to "Dean Conway." Awesome. He got paired with the kid who doesn't show up to class. Which is essentially the same thing as being left off the list. Turning back to the room he was shocked to see Dean actually in the room, and lounging in one of the paired of chair sets. Shrugging Tad went to sit next to him. "Sup?"

Dean looked up and sat up a little more as the guy appeared. he shifted his chair round so that he was facing more toward him - this could be hell, he knew. Paired off for some kind of group project and he was betting that they were going to be expected to get a start on it in class, which meant that everyone else would have to as well, which meant that he was going to have real issues hearing whatever this guy was saying. Which, in turn meant falling back on lipreading, and hoping that the guy didn't get weirded out by him staring at his mouth for the whole entire class. "Hey," he replied, with an upnod. "You... Charles?" he added, casting a glance to the board to check the name, hoping that the guy didn't get offended by the fact that Dean didn't automatically know. He was shit with names at the best of times, and this guy he didn't even recognize. Maybe Sophie was right, maybe he really had been pushing the truancy thing a little too much - but, in his defense, he'd ended up going back to England for almost three weeks, and he'd nearly died and been laid up in bed with blood loss for a few days before that! it wasn't all just him cutting classes! But still, he usually had a fair memory for faces, even if names continuously escaped him, but this guy - apparently they'd been in the same class since the start of the semester and he just hadn't noticed. Unless he was new-new. That was possible. Maybe.

Charles. Another obvious note that his teacher didn't even know who he was. He told the moron he didn't go by that name and watched that get written down and lo and behold three months later it's still wrong. "Yes, but it's Tad. No one calls me Charles." Hell no one called him anything to be honest, but that wasn't necessary. Dean was obviously looking at him like he'd never seen him before. Fantastic. He'd been staring at the back of the kid's head for a while now. "You're Dean." It wasn't a question, just a statement. Tad dropped in the chair next to Dean, pulling his hoodie up around his ears and trying to flatten his hair which had decided to stick up in the front today. "Any idea what's going on?"

Dean shrugged. "No idea - project, I guess. But only know that much cos I can read," he added, smirking very slightly. "And Tad, k - though, should warn you, I'm really crap with names, nothing personal if I get it wrong, I do it with almost everyone." He'd still feel bad about it though. And embarrassed. He felt a real depth of inner failure when he did something like that, something so damn simple - he should be able to remember people's bloody names, everyone else managed it, but he was just crap.

"Right yea, I sort of gathered the project part from the giant letters on the board," Tad quipped. "And don't sweat the name dude. No one remembers my name." Although the statement was loaded with truth it came out lighthearted, because that was Tad's way. "I'm just relieved you bothered to show up today. This would be the first group project in two years where I actually got a partner, and you bailing would have just been karma beating down on me." He grinned at Dean. This had to have been the first conversation he'd had with someone who wasn't online or working a store or kicking the crap out of him in months. Longer probably. So far so good dude, he told himself.

There was another shrug from Dean, this time accompanied by a cringe at the mention of his cutting. Right, yeah - noticeable. "Yeah, I, er... yeah, I'm here," he said, haltingly, considering launching into an explanation, but backing off from it at the last moment. He hardly knew the guy, did he. And it wasn't like he'd asked for one, was it. No - he'd just said he was glad Dean'd bothered to turn up today, so, leave it at that. He opened his mouth to say something more, but was interrupted as the teacher called for attention and started to walk about, handing a sheet of paper to each couple, telling them all about how the semester's project was going set out on the sheet, a different topic for each pair. She droned on and on as Dean glanced at the paper and then handed it across after he'd seen they had been given some kind of project on the history of the local area. He wasn't sure whether that was good or bad. He waited until she finished speaking and then looked back to Tad. "So, why Tad and not your given name anyhow?" he asked, hoping that maybe if he had some kind of reasoning or connection with that then maybe he'd remember - it had worked for Thia, after all. He'd remembered her actually name cos 'Lullaby' was bloody stupid, and his name for her, because, well, okay he'd remembered her names because she was damn cute, but still! Unusual with reasons helped.

Tad almost pointed to his eye, or lip or whatever, but then he remembered he'd been noting in the mirror this morning that all his latest bruises had healed. Why go by Charles when just Tad gets the crap kicked out of you? "'Cause Charles, Charlie and Chuck are lame ass names. Plus I've been Tad longer than I remember. I think it's short for Theodore which is my lame ass middle name." He turned to face Dean, really studying the kid's features. It was probably a little creepy but Tad had actually see Dean's face like what twice? Three times? There was a faint hint of bruising on his cheek, barely noticeable unless you were the type who got used to the progression of bruises and how they healed. "Who worked you over?" Part of Tad hoped he might have found an ally in his own never-ending struggle just to survive high school. Odd are though, this kid does like mixed martial arts competition or something bad ass like that.

Dean chuckled at the reasoning behind the name, thinking with it being that, he might actually have a start at remembering. In fact, he had to bite back telling the guy that his girlfriend went by her middle name as well now. No, she didn't - she'd changed her name and nobody needed to have any reason to associate the Thia who was his girlfriend with the Lullaby Draven who'd been shot dead outside the fair at the beginning of September. And everyone in this damn school knew who Lullaby had been. So, he just left it at that.

His face clouded over, however, at the question, the chuckle dying and his jaw becoming more set. "Nobody you know," he said, clearly not wanting to talk about that. he hadn't even really wanted to talk about what had happened with Caleb after all.

"Right." Tad left it at that. All of his therapists had talked to him about the mentality behind kids who were bullies and because he was interested, he'd convinced a few to talk at length about kids who were abused. Dean didn't seem the type, but he hoped it wasn't the kid's dad or something that was beating him up. That was a million times worse than being a target in the hallways. "My own bruises just healed up which is a relief. The last bunch were ugly. Contrary to what they say, chics don't dig scars." He shrugged and attempted to read through the history project, which seemed to be on local lore. Hopefully Grams would just feed him all the answers, she'd been here forever. "Project doesn't seem too bad."

Dean wasn't so sure about the comment that chicks didn't dig scars. Thia definitely seemed to like his, but then again, that was different, kind of unique. The thought, at least, cleared his expression a little more and he shrugged again. "Some bruises can't be avoided," he offered, which was his way of indicating that he wasn't pissed over things. he didn't know if the guy would realize that or not though and so he gratefully took the change of subject. "Yeah, well - looks like she gave us some leeway. S'long as we don't have to do a presentation or anything, then it'll be fine, I think," he decided. Dean wasn't good at standing up and talking in front of the class. he hated being the centre of attention. His ambition in life had always just to be to fade into the background and be left to get on with things. The spotlight was not where he wanted to be, not even just for a few minutes. Hell, he never even put his hand up in class.

"Not a public speaker eh? Then you'd better hope we don't have to do one. If I have to do, we'll get marked down as having not done it." As ludicrous as it sounded it had actually happened once. It took twenty minutes to explain that he had done the presentation before the teacher caved and gave him credit. Tad fished his insulin pump out of his pocket and started fiddling with the buttons. He should check his blood sugar first, but he'd been living with this for 12 years now, and he knew his body pretty well. Plus pricking your finger in front of most people made them freak out. "Since it's local history stuff we should ask my grams," he told Dean without looking up from the pump which looked more like a little pager with a tube coming out of it. "She's been here longer than the town itself."

"You that bad at it or something?" Dean asked, wondering why they'd be marked down as not having done it. Maybe he was one of those guys who go so nervous when he stood up to speak he ended up throwing up in the toilet or something. Dean knew he wasn't that bad, but he did have a tendency to mumble, and not be able to get his sentences out, and talk really really quietly. The rest of what tad said though, Dean had more of a problem with. Other people in the room were having their own conversations, and the effect was a wall fo noise that meant that Dean couldn't really hear what Tad was saying. It hadn't been too much of an issue til the guy looked down at the little thingy-whatsit he had. "Huh?" he asked, trying to figure that out, hoping that the 'clueless' sound would make the guy look back at him again. He hated admitting he had hearing issues, especially when they weren't standard ones people could understand 'I hear too well' just had most people looking at him like he was insane.

"No, I'm quite literally invisible," Tad answered looking up, but not done with his pump yet, so still holding it. "And I was saying my grams knows everything about this town. She's as old as dirt. It's better than holing ourselves up at the library trying to read about the town. Plus if we're nice she'll make cookies." Shit, she'd make a freaking six course meal with all the trimmings if Tad brought a friend home, even if he was just a partner for a school project. He didn't think he'd mumbled, but it was getting pretty loud in class. "Sorry about that, just taking care of this," he explained waving the pump around a little.

The edges of Dean's lips turned up very slightly - which was as good as a proper smile for the kid who hardly ever smiled. It just wasn't him. "Well, if your gran's been around for a while, it'd seem rude not to ask, right? better than anything I have. I've only been here a few months, and my cousin's been here, what? Three years max now?" he suggested. Not long enough to know anything really about the history of the area. He didn't mention anything about the cookies - it was probably just a throwaway comment, he didn't need to bring up the fact that he didn't really eat much. There was a reason he was a skinny thing that had nothing to do with exercise. Food and he just didn't get on. Dean nodded at the device. "What's that?" he asked Tad.

Tad chuckled. "I meanwhile have been in this wasteland most of my life. Not that people have noticed." He lifted the pump just about as far as it would reach. "This is my tether." There was a grin across his features, which was generally how he dealt with his disease. "I've got diabetes and it's my insulin pump. Keeps me from having to give myself shots whenever I eat. Less stuff to carry around ya know?"

Dean leaned in a little to take a better look at the pump, little thing that it was. He glanced up - his habit being that he always looked at people when he was talking to them, the way he wished they'd always look at him. Would make things easier. "Eh, this wasteland's not so bad," he commented. For all that he'd run away from things here, reflecting on everything back home had made him realise that he belonged here. As scary as he found that thought occasionally. "So, what - does it just keep giving you little bits all the time or something?" he asked, sounding interested and wondering if that meant the guy had a needle stuck into him all the time.

"True but you've probably got friends, plus you mentioned your cousin. It's a lot worse when it's just you." He flipped the pump on it's side so you could see the cartridge in it. "Yea it gives me one level of insulin all day, and then I can add more depending on what I eat, or how I'm feeling." Tad was doing his best to keep eye contact, as that seemed to be what Dean was going for. Briefly he wondered if it had something to do with how he hadn't heard what Tad said earlier, but wrote it off as reading too much into things. "Goes through the tube and into me at my site which is like a mini IV I guess." It wasn't exactly easy to explain without showing his site, but at the moment it was just below his hip bone on his butt, which A) wasn't something you just whipped out in class, and B) odds were Dean didn't want to see his ass.

"You've got your gran," Dean said with a shrug. Well, Tad had mentioned his cousin, after all, so family members seemed to be included, rather than just talking school and friends. but, Dean was getting the whole 'not popular' message loud and clear. It was a hard one to miss in the overall picture. "I know a few people," he admitted. "Not many though. Not so good at meeting people." What with the fact that he didn't talk so much and felt hideously self-conscious speaking to new people of it all. "Does it hurt?" he asked, looking back at the pump. So the guy did have a needle in him. That must be weird.

Tad laughed at Dean's comment. "Yes my grams, she is one groovy old broad." He winked for the extra effect. It was obvious Dean wasn't really going to get nominated Prom King either (granted, the kid was good looking enough for it, plus the accent, it was a short wonder why the girls in school weren't climbing all over themselves to get to him). "Nah, doesn't hurt. It's a little awkward putting in the site the firs few times you do it, but after a while you get used to it. The needle is like yeh big," Tad held up his fingers less than an inch apart. "Doesn't have to go in too deep, which is what keeps it from hurting. Hurts more to prick my finger eight times a day." He held up his hands to show the callouses and bruises on tips of his fingers.

Dean chuckled, then winced as he saw the state of the other guy's fingers. "Shit - god, I don't know how you do that. So, like, you have to stab yourself in the fingers. That's that 'get a drop of blood' thing, right?" he checked - he'd seen that done once with a little clicker thing needle, looked dead quick, but still, he couldn't imagine having to do it all the time.

"Yup. I got one of the fancy lancets that you can set to however you want, different speeds and such." Tad shrugged. "As far as doing it, I dunno. I guess it's better than the alternative right? You just learn to deal. But it's why I live with grams, or well why I lived with her before my parents died." A quick glance around the room, which was habit, revealed that most of what the class had turned into was just students gabbing back and forth like he and Dean. That and every other grouping seemed to be pairs of friends. Had the teacher really just been left with him and Dean as the last two kids without partners? Another scan revealed that the class did seem to have an even number of students and Tad decided that must have been the scenario. Put the two anti social kids together. That ought to work out all right. Look back at Dean though, he decided it wasn't going too terribly. "We are so not going to get any work done on this today dude. When's this damn thing due anyway?"

"You moved to live with your gran because of your diabetes?" Dean asked, a little confused about that. What had been wrong with his parents that he couldn't stay there. Then he admonished himself for that thought. Probably nothing had been wrong with the guy's parents - much like there was nothing that was wrong with his parents, other than they hadn't been able to cope with his behaviour or weirdness. Sometimes people just couldn't cope and that kind of uncharitable thinking wasn't good enough and he should know better. He never did seem to learn, but he could catch himself after the fact sometimes at least. "Did you prefer it? I kinda thought that moving from my parents' would suck, but it's not that bad. And my cousin normally goes easy on me, so..." 'Normally' being every day but yesterday when he found out how long the rope was. He looked down at the piece of paper, eyeing for a hand in date. "And cool - we've actually got til we break up for Christmas to get it in, but Christ, there's a list of things that we've got to include. Like, they want this to be done properly or something..." he added, handing the page back with it's long list of requirements and subjects that needed to be covered.

"Huh? Oh no. My 'rents were on the road all the time for work. They didn't think it was a good environment for a toddler with an incurable disease that demanded structure." Some days it bothered Tad that his parents had just dropped him off in Marquette, but most days he got it. It wasn't like dealing with this day in and day out was easy, and having to deal with it when you didn't know exactly where the closest hospital or pharmacy was? That wasn't worth the effort. His parents absence bothered him more because he never really got a clear answer about what they did and why they had to do it away from home. Tad took the sheet from Dean, scanning the list quickly. "Jesus," he said in Spanish. "What is this? Work? Buncha facists. Man I was really hoping to putting this off all semester, but it's almost like we have to start on it now."

"Oh right," Dean said, reminding himself that that made sense. He wondered about the almost casual way the guy had said they'd died. It sounded like a long time ago, and with the toddler reference, it may well have been. That had to be hard though, but there was no way Dean was going to ask about something like that in the middle of class. "Seems like Marquette's just one of those places - you got sent to live with your gran, I got sent to live with my cousin, I've got another friend who was sent to live with his brother..." Marquette, the dumping ground for children. But Dean wasn't going to say that either, you didn't suggest that dead parents dumped their kid before they died. he did occasionally have some tact. "And yeah, looks like we're gonna have to do something with it. But, at least we have time, right?" dean said, without a great deal of enthusiasm. He wasn't a big one for schoolwork.

"People come and go out of here more than you'd ever believe." Again this was a statement of fact from someone who'd spent most of his time observing others. "Probably for the best that we've got this though. Grams swore she wouldn't buy me or let me buy another video game until after Christmas so she'll have something to get me. And I've beat all of the games I have. Now I have a school project to distract me from withdrawl symptoms." The last line was played up with mock enthusiasm, giving his tone sort of a valley girl cheerleader sound. It was compliment with a cheesy fake grin. Under that bruised, bullied exterior that's who Tad was, a giant goofball. "You want to start this weekend? Or well, pretend to start at least."

"Sure, this weekend sounds good - you want me to come over to yours. You know, cos of your gran and everything," Dean said, explaining the suggestion away that way and not at all to sidestep the whole 'don't come round to my house or you'll find that girl who you thought was dead being very much not dead and that would be really fucking awkward' of it all. Downside of that was, though, that he was so busy trying to get that in that the joke completely passed him by. Dean was never very good at reacting to jokes when he was dealing, and there were times when he really seemed to have had a sense of humour bypass.

Tad eyed Dean, knowing his joke got missed. Not that it really bothered him; most of the people that he joked with didn't think he was funny either and they usually just hit harder afterward. His humor had been just for him for so long he didn't really care enough to point out that Dean had missed the joke. "My place sounds great. Let me give you the address." He scribbled down the address on the sheet about the project and added his phone number at the bottom for good measure. "Just let me know if you need help finding it. Saturday afternoon work for you?"

Dean took the paper and looked it over, before scribbling his own numbers on the bottom and tearing that strip off, handing it back. "Saturday afternoon's good for me. And those are mine. Best to try me on my mobile first, but I'm kinda clumsy at times and hold the world record for breaking the damn things, so if it's off, you can try the house phone." One of the facts of life of being a disruptor: you went throguh a lot of phones. And TVs. And microwaves. And anything around that happened to be electronic. He wondered if he should warn the guy about his phone, but decided against it - there really was no way to explain about his little brand of weirdness which meant that any digital clock he was around suddenly developed a 13th hour. Let the guy work out for himself that if he had a cell phone it now operated a 26 hour day.

Grinning Tad took the paper. "I'll give you a fair warning that grams might be acting like a complete looney. She isn't nuts, I just never bring people over and she won't know what to do with herself." He mumbled a silent prayer under his breath that it wasn't a girl he'd been assigned to work on this dumb project with; Grams might literally hurt herself being so damn excited.

Dean nodded as the bell ran to indicate the end of class and everyone started moving, eager to get out as always. "Will do - so, I'll see you Saturday then, Tad," he added, putting the name in there with a determination to remember it. He stood, grabbing his bag. "See ya tomorrow," he added, before heading off.