Big Brother
Aug 18, 2019 15:00:45 GMT -6
Post by Snick on Aug 18, 2019 15:00:45 GMT -6
There was nothing like wearing a crisp pair of slacks and a fresh jacket straight from the tailors. It was like a baptism of sorts to Makepeace, who marked the line of demarcation between the muggle and magical worlds by how well he dressed. He didn't need to glance back at the house to know that his fellow group home occupants were peering through the front window, watching him standing on the sidewalk with only the mildest signs of sympathy.
The official story was that Makepeace's parents had left it in their wills that they wanted him to attend a military boarding school every year. To enhance the lie, he'd magically put a red cloth stripe down the sides of each pant-leg, attached epaulets to the shoulders of the jacket, had a woven lanyard hung from his left shoulder, and a bunch of army surplus store ribbons and patches attached to his deltoids and chest. A quick wave of his wand when he got far enough away from the school would make the decorations all fall away, but for the time being, the expensive suit would have to bear this unaccustomed burden
He had spent the last three months regaling this new batch of house-mates with horror-stories of military discipline, grueling calisthenics, tasteless chow served out of large aluminum pans and other outright lies and fabrications that he came up with from watching Full Metal Jacket. It didn't keep the other kids from wanting to test him to see if he was big enough to piss in the tall grass with the alpha dogs, but Makepeace had been in the system long enough to know how to hold his own.
He had scarcely waited ten minutes on the sidewalk before his ride arrived, and he sighed a little when he saw her coming his way, wondering if it was too late to go back inside the home and hide under the bed. They'd sent the school's counselor, Corky, to pick him up, and she had come in an old Chevy Kammback Vega that was more or less exactly the color of asparagus-tainted urine.
"Hey, soldier." She called in a chipper voice, rolling down the passenger side window. "Want a ride?"
Makepeace glared for a moment before opening the door of the station wagon and tossing his rucksack in the back seat. He could hear the laughter behind him, and his only real comfort came from the fact that he'd never have to see any of these punks ever again. He climbed into the passenger seat with a bit of a snarl creasing his lips, and said, "They couldn't find a Pinto or an AMC Gremlin for you to pick me up in?"
"Believe it or not, this is actually my car, Makepeace." Corky returned placidly. "I'll thank you to speak nicely about her. She's my first car. I bought her used, and she's got almost a million miles on her. I call her Cammie. Get comfortable, it's going to be a long trip."
"You're not going to, I don't know, apparate us to Salem?" He asked anxiously. Most times, that was the deal. Someone official-looking, usually Llewellan, picked him up in a cab at the home, got him far enough away from muggle eyes that they could apparate, and then transported him to the Museum in Salem. The last thing he wanted to do was spend eight hours cooped up in a car with the school counselor.
"Oh, I could, but where would the adventure be in that? This way, we'll have all this time to just talk!" Whereas Makepeace was waxing sullen, Corky was enjoying the moment with a sort of gaiety that he found to be extremely irritating. Especially in the uncomfortable warmth of the still-summer sun. When they stopped at the light at the freeway on-ramp, she reached up to her car's sun visor and pulled out a small picture, handing it to Makepeace. "I want you to take a look at this."
Makepeace took the picture and looked. It was a young girl with dirty blonde or brown hair, wearing a baseball cap and sports tee. "Tatum O'Neal in the Bad News Bears?"
"Ha Ha. But you're wrong. No, that's Lex. She's one of our new students."
"Peachy. Why are you showing me?" He asked, handing back the picture. This couldn't be going anywhere good.
"Because, ideally, I'd like for you to look out for her. It's going to be her first year at Salem, and she's a lot like you were when you were her age. Coming to the school from foster care, she's had a rough life, and it might help her to know that somebody cares."
"That's just it, though, I don't care." Makepeace said, looking at Corky in much the same way as he'd look at someone who wanted him to spray a can of Cheez Whiz into his left ear. "Why should I? Hard life? Guess what? So's everyone else's. Cry me a river."
"Come on. I know, you, right? I know you're not like that. You're a good kid-"
"-does it say that in my official records-"
"-you're kind to others, respectful-"
"-Did I tell you that I got a blow job from one of the girls at the home yesterday?"
"Relatively respectful..." Corky amended, grinding the gears of her car loudly as Makepeace's revelation, true or not, derailed her train of thought.
"Abandonment issues." Makepeace said smugly, knowing that he'd managed to gain the upper hand for a moment. "Girls with daddy complexes, I tell you..." He added, folding his arms behind his head. "She's going to make a damn fine stripper some day." This last was a personal shot, a low blow to let her know how little he appreciated this unwarranted intrusion.
"Oh, Makepeace, you're such a bad-ass." Corky retorted mockingly in the vapid tones of a fawning teenage girl. "You're so cool with your single name and tragic past and world-weary, don't-give-a-horsefeathers-about-anyone-else attitude." Her face hardened, and her voice took on a hard steel edge, but the real indicator of how angry she was came in the subtle but perceptible increase in speed as Corky began bearing down on the accelerator. "You don't want to do it, that's fine. This girl's had it tougher than most, kiddo, and you know what? You have the chance to help her. You think your life's been hard, maybe you deserve to be coddled and carried until you make it to legal age? Fine. You'll probably end up telling your sob story to girls in bars for a pity horsefeathers, and that's all it will ever mean to you."
The cabin of the car was taut with tension and barely-restrained hostility between the two, and the school's counselor was plunging her old clunker through late morning D.C. traffic like someone intent on vehicular suicide, a fact that had Makepeace grabbing onto the dashboard and the window frame of the passenger-side door for dear life. From his first year onward, Corky Rogerian had been at least a monthly thorn in Makepeace's side, there to offer him unsolicited counseling to help him cope with things that he didn't think he needed help coping with in the first place, and poking her prodigious nose into places where it had no business being. In five years of therapy, she'd never lost her patience with Makepeace, but she had lost it big-time today. And driving angry, like she was doing now, was one of the more gripping fears that Makepeace had developed in the wake of his parents' deaths.
"Slow down." He demanded, trying to keep the near-panic out of his voice and wondering if there was any spell in his repertoire that could actually slow the car down. The impediment jinx perhaps, but he'd rather not bring the car to a jarring stop only to be plowed into by the car behind them.
Thankfully, Corky caught on, and with a quick "Oh. Sorry," slowed the car down to a more reasonable 70 miles per hour. It was a few minutes before she spoke again. "Look, I'm sorry. I forgot." Forgot that his parents died in a car accident? Makepeace doubted it. "Look," She said again as he let his grip on the dash and door frame slacken to the point that blood could flow back into his fingers. "I don't expect you to hold her hand and wipe away her tears. You got through five years of school without anyone doing that. I just was hoping you could give her a little guidance and encouragement from time to time. Maybe help her sidestep some of the stuff that might have tripped you up when you were her age."
"Alright." Said Makepeace thoughtfully. "But if I do this for you... will you sponsor me for legal emancipation?"
"Oh, for God's sake, Makepeace, I'm not going to bribe you!" Corky returned in exasperation. "You turn seventeen in June, for crying out loud! You only have to go back to the group home for a few weeks."
"It's not about that. Well, ok, it's partly about that. I want to get my life back, Corky-"
"-Don't call me Corky-"
"Don't think of it as a bribe or incentive. I'll do as you ask... I can't guarantee she's not going to see me coming a mile away and shut me out, or think I'm some perv who likes little girls; and I'm not going to blow happiness and sunshine up... Yeah, you know." Somehow, it seemed inappropriate to bring that statement to its logical conclusion after some of the earlier subject matter brought up in the conversation. "I know you're probably asking me to do this because it'll build character and moral fiber and stuff like that, I just don't know if having me as a "big brother" is going to help this girl. I mean, sure, we're both foster kids, but the homes are like social Darwinism in action. The one you picked me up at, their motto is, "We give children the tools they need to succeed." Never mind that it's about the least creative motto ever -- Yeah, I see you shaking your head, but you know it's true -- they didn't give me anything that the state wasn't paying for. Price Club Mac and Cheese with every meal isn't what a child needs to succeed."
"It's more than some kids have to look forward to, Makepeace."
He could tell by her tone that Corky was tired of trying to blow sunshine up his ass, so he reached down and pulled one of the levers on the side of his seat, leaning back rather abruptly as the backrest flew backwards until it was resting on the seat behind him. "I know. I just... What if I f... What if I mess up, and this girl ends up more screwed up than the kids that come out of Throckwattle after a couple weeks? I can accept that I'm pretty screwed up. I'm good with that. But that's just me." he shook his head, unsure of whether Corky was taking the hint. "I'm going to take a nap. Wake me up when we get to a state with White Castle." He said with a sigh.
The official story was that Makepeace's parents had left it in their wills that they wanted him to attend a military boarding school every year. To enhance the lie, he'd magically put a red cloth stripe down the sides of each pant-leg, attached epaulets to the shoulders of the jacket, had a woven lanyard hung from his left shoulder, and a bunch of army surplus store ribbons and patches attached to his deltoids and chest. A quick wave of his wand when he got far enough away from the school would make the decorations all fall away, but for the time being, the expensive suit would have to bear this unaccustomed burden
He had spent the last three months regaling this new batch of house-mates with horror-stories of military discipline, grueling calisthenics, tasteless chow served out of large aluminum pans and other outright lies and fabrications that he came up with from watching Full Metal Jacket. It didn't keep the other kids from wanting to test him to see if he was big enough to piss in the tall grass with the alpha dogs, but Makepeace had been in the system long enough to know how to hold his own.
He had scarcely waited ten minutes on the sidewalk before his ride arrived, and he sighed a little when he saw her coming his way, wondering if it was too late to go back inside the home and hide under the bed. They'd sent the school's counselor, Corky, to pick him up, and she had come in an old Chevy Kammback Vega that was more or less exactly the color of asparagus-tainted urine.
"Hey, soldier." She called in a chipper voice, rolling down the passenger side window. "Want a ride?"
Makepeace glared for a moment before opening the door of the station wagon and tossing his rucksack in the back seat. He could hear the laughter behind him, and his only real comfort came from the fact that he'd never have to see any of these punks ever again. He climbed into the passenger seat with a bit of a snarl creasing his lips, and said, "They couldn't find a Pinto or an AMC Gremlin for you to pick me up in?"
"Believe it or not, this is actually my car, Makepeace." Corky returned placidly. "I'll thank you to speak nicely about her. She's my first car. I bought her used, and she's got almost a million miles on her. I call her Cammie. Get comfortable, it's going to be a long trip."
"You're not going to, I don't know, apparate us to Salem?" He asked anxiously. Most times, that was the deal. Someone official-looking, usually Llewellan, picked him up in a cab at the home, got him far enough away from muggle eyes that they could apparate, and then transported him to the Museum in Salem. The last thing he wanted to do was spend eight hours cooped up in a car with the school counselor.
"Oh, I could, but where would the adventure be in that? This way, we'll have all this time to just talk!" Whereas Makepeace was waxing sullen, Corky was enjoying the moment with a sort of gaiety that he found to be extremely irritating. Especially in the uncomfortable warmth of the still-summer sun. When they stopped at the light at the freeway on-ramp, she reached up to her car's sun visor and pulled out a small picture, handing it to Makepeace. "I want you to take a look at this."
Makepeace took the picture and looked. It was a young girl with dirty blonde or brown hair, wearing a baseball cap and sports tee. "Tatum O'Neal in the Bad News Bears?"
"Ha Ha. But you're wrong. No, that's Lex. She's one of our new students."
"Peachy. Why are you showing me?" He asked, handing back the picture. This couldn't be going anywhere good.
"Because, ideally, I'd like for you to look out for her. It's going to be her first year at Salem, and she's a lot like you were when you were her age. Coming to the school from foster care, she's had a rough life, and it might help her to know that somebody cares."
"That's just it, though, I don't care." Makepeace said, looking at Corky in much the same way as he'd look at someone who wanted him to spray a can of Cheez Whiz into his left ear. "Why should I? Hard life? Guess what? So's everyone else's. Cry me a river."
"Come on. I know, you, right? I know you're not like that. You're a good kid-"
"-does it say that in my official records-"
"-you're kind to others, respectful-"
"-Did I tell you that I got a blow job from one of the girls at the home yesterday?"
"Relatively respectful..." Corky amended, grinding the gears of her car loudly as Makepeace's revelation, true or not, derailed her train of thought.
"Abandonment issues." Makepeace said smugly, knowing that he'd managed to gain the upper hand for a moment. "Girls with daddy complexes, I tell you..." He added, folding his arms behind his head. "She's going to make a damn fine stripper some day." This last was a personal shot, a low blow to let her know how little he appreciated this unwarranted intrusion.
"Oh, Makepeace, you're such a bad-ass." Corky retorted mockingly in the vapid tones of a fawning teenage girl. "You're so cool with your single name and tragic past and world-weary, don't-give-a-horsefeathers-about-anyone-else attitude." Her face hardened, and her voice took on a hard steel edge, but the real indicator of how angry she was came in the subtle but perceptible increase in speed as Corky began bearing down on the accelerator. "You don't want to do it, that's fine. This girl's had it tougher than most, kiddo, and you know what? You have the chance to help her. You think your life's been hard, maybe you deserve to be coddled and carried until you make it to legal age? Fine. You'll probably end up telling your sob story to girls in bars for a pity horsefeathers, and that's all it will ever mean to you."
The cabin of the car was taut with tension and barely-restrained hostility between the two, and the school's counselor was plunging her old clunker through late morning D.C. traffic like someone intent on vehicular suicide, a fact that had Makepeace grabbing onto the dashboard and the window frame of the passenger-side door for dear life. From his first year onward, Corky Rogerian had been at least a monthly thorn in Makepeace's side, there to offer him unsolicited counseling to help him cope with things that he didn't think he needed help coping with in the first place, and poking her prodigious nose into places where it had no business being. In five years of therapy, she'd never lost her patience with Makepeace, but she had lost it big-time today. And driving angry, like she was doing now, was one of the more gripping fears that Makepeace had developed in the wake of his parents' deaths.
"Slow down." He demanded, trying to keep the near-panic out of his voice and wondering if there was any spell in his repertoire that could actually slow the car down. The impediment jinx perhaps, but he'd rather not bring the car to a jarring stop only to be plowed into by the car behind them.
Thankfully, Corky caught on, and with a quick "Oh. Sorry," slowed the car down to a more reasonable 70 miles per hour. It was a few minutes before she spoke again. "Look, I'm sorry. I forgot." Forgot that his parents died in a car accident? Makepeace doubted it. "Look," She said again as he let his grip on the dash and door frame slacken to the point that blood could flow back into his fingers. "I don't expect you to hold her hand and wipe away her tears. You got through five years of school without anyone doing that. I just was hoping you could give her a little guidance and encouragement from time to time. Maybe help her sidestep some of the stuff that might have tripped you up when you were her age."
"Alright." Said Makepeace thoughtfully. "But if I do this for you... will you sponsor me for legal emancipation?"
"Oh, for God's sake, Makepeace, I'm not going to bribe you!" Corky returned in exasperation. "You turn seventeen in June, for crying out loud! You only have to go back to the group home for a few weeks."
"It's not about that. Well, ok, it's partly about that. I want to get my life back, Corky-"
"-Don't call me Corky-"
"Don't think of it as a bribe or incentive. I'll do as you ask... I can't guarantee she's not going to see me coming a mile away and shut me out, or think I'm some perv who likes little girls; and I'm not going to blow happiness and sunshine up... Yeah, you know." Somehow, it seemed inappropriate to bring that statement to its logical conclusion after some of the earlier subject matter brought up in the conversation. "I know you're probably asking me to do this because it'll build character and moral fiber and stuff like that, I just don't know if having me as a "big brother" is going to help this girl. I mean, sure, we're both foster kids, but the homes are like social Darwinism in action. The one you picked me up at, their motto is, "We give children the tools they need to succeed." Never mind that it's about the least creative motto ever -- Yeah, I see you shaking your head, but you know it's true -- they didn't give me anything that the state wasn't paying for. Price Club Mac and Cheese with every meal isn't what a child needs to succeed."
"It's more than some kids have to look forward to, Makepeace."
He could tell by her tone that Corky was tired of trying to blow sunshine up his ass, so he reached down and pulled one of the levers on the side of his seat, leaning back rather abruptly as the backrest flew backwards until it was resting on the seat behind him. "I know. I just... What if I f... What if I mess up, and this girl ends up more screwed up than the kids that come out of Throckwattle after a couple weeks? I can accept that I'm pretty screwed up. I'm good with that. But that's just me." he shook his head, unsure of whether Corky was taking the hint. "I'm going to take a nap. Wake me up when we get to a state with White Castle." He said with a sigh.
