Gundam Wing Fan Fiction ❯ Head of the Class ❯ Chapter 1

Disclaimers: I don't own Gundam Wing or high school graduations.

Warnings: AU, Wufei's POV, language, shonen ai, het, sarcasm

Pairings: mentions of 1+4, 2+3, 5+S, and past unrequited R+1

Beta: Gunnmsangel

Dedication: This is a late graduation gift to my very loved Harmonie Des Anges. Congrats imoto!

Head of the Class
by Solanum Dulcamara

I looked out over the sea of familiar faces: adolescents turning adults, that with me, journeyed through four years of alleged coming of age. I suppose I should be feeling some sense of pride as I take in the random patterns of red, black, and white graduation gowns. I don't. It's not that I feel particularly empty, just rather everyday. From my very first day of kindergarten, I found no challenge in academics. As cliché as it sounds, school just came naturally. Before I even walked onto campus at Rockview High School, I knew I would be on the principal's honor roll every quarter, I would earn extra credit without trying, and I would graduate with honors. It wasn't parental pressure or personal drive, just a given.

I self-consciously adjust my white honor grad robe, picking a few dark pieces of lint from the pristine satin. The faces of the families and friends seated in the double level bleachers around the expansive auditorium formed an anonymous wall of the outside world surrounding the limited perspective of our graduating class.

The principal was finishing up her speech. It was something about us being molded for the future, very cliché, very boring.

My attention strays to the poster size photos of the senior superlatives posted around the room. I muse over the ridiculousness of such a tradition. Seriously, who really cares about such inane topics as "best dressed," "most talented," or "most likely to succeed?" I don't. Hate myself as I do, I have to scrutinize that poster. There I stand with Relena Peacecraft. She's wearing her "public smile." It's the one she reserves for the masses: big, bright, and full of encouragement. I on the other hand, am not smiling in the least. I suppose I look serious or scholarly or like a grouchy asshole. I remember the conversation that Relena and I had at the photo shoot. I was complaining about how I didn't know why we had to take these stupid pictures, we wouldn't remember each other anyway... our lives were just meaningless grains in the hour glass of life... I can get preachy... it's horrible. Anyway, Relena looked at me with that look she's been giving me since freshman year when we first ran for student council together, that says I'm obviously missing something. Then she said, "People come and go. They'll be part of your life for a reason, a season, or a lifetime. And your life will mean as much as you want it to and as much as they'll let it." Just as simple as that. I honestly believe she's an oracle in her off time or something.

The principal just finished up; appropriate applause... which means... God help us. Next is a performance by the men's ensemble. They're not bad, really, it's just that the choir director is a fossil with horrible taste in music. Oh? So we do have an alma mater. Good to know. I search through the crowd and easily find my long time best friend, he's the only one with his cap skewed at a completely improbable angle. Duo is currently alternating between going through the motions of vomiting and feigning passing out. I have to bite my lip to keep from laughing. He catches my eye, grins, and flashes a victory sign. Him and his goofy anime. I return his smile. He'd better keep in touch... not that I'm getting sappy or anything... he's just my best friend, and I leave for Yale this summer while he's going off to "experience life" or so he says. I can't help shaking my head as Duo turns to Mueller several seats down and blows him a kiss. Mueller, a meat-head jock, is insanely homophobic and looks like he's about to freak out. Heh.

I scan the front few rows until I find another of my close friends, Trowa Barton. Trowa's... well, he's the 21st century incarnation of a beatnik... with crazy hair. I can even see the neck of his dark turtle neck sticking out above his red graduation gown. Trowa, the person, is just as cryptic as Trowa's writing. Trying to figure him out is about as effective as diving into a Rorschash test (1) and taking a swim in the ink. He and Duo should have won for best hair, with his geometric, one eye covering, crazy fall of bang and Duo's yard long, braided bit of chestnut glory. I don't even want to imagine the amount of hair products they collectively go through in a year. A football player with bottle blond hair, named Alex, won. He's an idiot, he's best friends with Mueller, and for whatever reason, girls like him. Perhaps this school is particularly full of females wishing to be candidates for date rape. But what do I know? I'm just Valedictorian. I mean that, what the hell do I know? I don't understand the hierarchy system of graduating. Relena, who's been in every club and organization since the beginning of time, is salutatorian because her GPA was .01 lower than mine, and is therefore, less than me. Bullshit. I look over at her and she gives me her real smile: closed mouth (no teeth), just a slight upward tilt of the corners of her lips and a miniscule creasing at the outer corners of her eyes. She's prettiest when she smiles like that... and she's definitely better than me.

And what about Quatre and Heero and the other honor grads speckling the graduating class with their white robes? Their GPA's were high as well. What about people with passion and vision like Duo and Trowa. Their intelligence lies in creativity and they could give a rat's ass about GPA's. Why are they sitting down there while Relena and I sit up here? I know Relena's watching him... Heero, I mean. She used to have a crush on him, but they quickly developed a brother/ sister relationship. She worries over him enough to give herself an ulcer, and he's so overprotective of her that I'm pretty sure he'll pop a vein one of these days. I can see Yuy right now, way in the back, paying attention to the pomp and splendor of this ceremony with the same determination he gives to all aspects of his life. It's absolute, unfaltering and kinda scary sometimes, even to me, and I've got my own set of standards and issues.

At the other end of the same row, Quatre Winner manages to feign complete interest in the ceremony, while actually watching his boyfriend. I guess all of that political grooming did something for him, although he was practically disowned when he told his father that he plans on pursuing a career in music. His dad's an idiot. Quatre's a genius. I don't know if he composed his first symphony at three, but I believe he could give Mozart a run for his money.

The real problem arose for Quatre when he was accepted to Julliard and later found out that Heero had a full ride to MIT. While Michigan and New York aren't exactly on opposite sides of the world, the distance isn't necessarily conducive to a relationship. Quatre doesn't know it yet, but Heero turned MIT down. He starts at NYU this fall. He's going to tell Quatre tonight and Duo's going to get a picture of the look on his face and give us each a copy. It's actually pretty hard to separate Duo from his camera. It's his one true love... next to Trowa, of course.

So, Heero and Quatre, the overachieving geniuses that they are (not that I have room to talk), are headed up north, where they'll probably get an apartment in the village and become the poster couple for homosexualis domesticus. (2) I'm sure it'll be sickeningly cute. Don't let Yuy's abrasive manner fool you. He's a closet sap.

Meanwhile, Duo and Trowa are heading out to the great unknown. With Duo's loud expressiveness and Trowa's quiet wit, they compliment each other perfectly. They'll be artsy and insightful and I'll buy all of Trowa's books. Duo better keep in touch, damn it... yes, now I am getting sappy.

And where does this leave me? Well, I'm on my way to Yale, chasing my dream, and I'm not talking about a PHD. Her name is Sally and she's majoring in medicine. She graduated two years ago. I met her on the debate team, where she argued me into the ground more times than I can count. I have never been so thoroughly put in my place. I was too "chicken shit," as Duo says, to say anything to her at the time, but now I've got a second chance...

Speech time? Already? Where did the ceremony go? I walk to the podium with practiced ease; I can do "public speaking" in my sleep, another one of those "givens." I have no written script or note cards. I'm just here to speak to my peers.

"Congratulations, class of 2005. You survived four years of attempted brainwashing. You've been told how to measure success, what happiness is, who to associate with, and how to label people. You've come out on the other side fairly unscathed. I want to tell you this because I believe it. You are the only one who can measure your own success. You will determine what happiness is for yourself. You should associate with anyone you want. And labels are for soup cans, not people. High school is over. Coddling is over. Being force fed instruction is over. We stand at a precipice, and it's a long way down. But it only holds opportunity. When you walk out of these doors, you will be empowered by choice and by chance. Make your choices and take your chances and live by your own rules."

I step down from the podium and meet Relena's gaze. She smiles her simple smile and I know I've done well. For my friends and my classmates, I have one wish; that they live. I know I'm going to.


(1) AKA an ink blot test

(2) This is my copywritten scientific term for the modern domestic gay couple.