Gundam Wing Fan Fiction ❯ I Got Game! ❯ I'm With Stupid ( Chapter 3 )

Alternate Universe, Sci-Fi, Sporty, Some Events Based On Authoress's own experiences....(wee! Basketball!)

Standard Disclaimers Apply: Don't own Gundam Wing, but I own every original character that emerges...Don't own the songs listed with the chapters, either...

>*<>*<>*<>*<>*<= means scene change

Pairings: For now, 3+4, 1+2, 5xM & various others...

Chapt. Three~

"I'm With Stupid"-Static-X

The next morning, fussing with his blazer on his way to class, Quatre was sure those vying for a position on the team were surely upping their cruel antics when he passed by a group of kids. The only reason why his attention shifted to them was that one of them stuck their foot out, catching his feet and causing him to trip. His notebook and an extra paper-text flew from his hands and he landed with a surprised grunt on the hard floor. He looked up at the kids that were staring at him, neither of them admitting the action, and he quickly gathered his things and stood, hurrying away. He sighed in frustration, but made it to his morning class without any trouble.

"'ey, whitey!" Felicia greeted him cheerfully. That sickened expression still hadn't left her face. Quatre wondered what was wrong with her as he sat, inputting his code into the computer to activate it. "What's been going on? You score yet?"

"What?" he asked in surprise, staring at her as he adjusted his chair.

"Y'know...with that Barton character. Oh," she sat up in her chair, and withdrew a piece of paper, waving it about. "If you see him, tell him thanks. I got an 'A' in Art II."

"You didn't..."

"Actually, he did. Thank god for small favors, I'da never passed," she sighed.

Quatre reviewed the incident on the roof two weeks ago. "And...Algebra?"

"That Jamie girl is a wonder in math. I'll have to use her more often."

"You're friends with her?" he asked.

Felicia laughed, and not in a kind way. She leaned back in her seat, propping her feet up on the monitor. She rubbed her knuckles thoughtfully. "It's amazing what intimidation does to people."

"YOU DIDN'T!!"

"I did and I don't regret it. Seriously, I'd fail. I can't afford to fail."

"You're...You're mean!"

"Ah, don't I know it. 'Ey, where's Drake? The butt-fuck never came in, yet. Probably smokin' somewhere. Seriously, he's going to die one day and I'm just gonna laugh at him. Ha! HA! I toldja not to go there, I TOLDJA not to go THERE!"

Quatre wondered if she was always like this and turned away from her. She began to snap neon yellow gum. Wiggling her feet, she reached over and punched his shoulder. The action sent him leaning to one side, gasping with pain. "Oops. Sorry. Love tap. Anyway, I was wonderin' how things were progressin'. Did you guys go out yet?"

Quatre rubbed his shoulder painfully. It felt like it had gone temporarily numb. "What are you talking about?"

She blew an annoyed bubble, playing with the ends of her hair. "C'mon, don't lie. I know there's some interest there. C'mon, how can you resist Barton? He's hot. He has a nice ass. I hear he's really good at rimming. Not from personal experience per se, but from other sources that are confident in my research."

Quatre's face turned red and he sputtered incoherent words in her direction. She grinned at him, leaning back in her seat. "See? He makes you all incoherent. Lose all thought. Drives you out of your mind! Makes ya furiously lucky yer gay, ennit?"

"I'M NOT GAY!"

He felt his ears turn a brilliant red as everyone ceased conversation and stared back at them. Felicia waved at them cheerfully, and they returned to their previous project. Quatre hid his face behind his hands in humiliation.

"Sure you ain't. And I'm the Pope. Ha! Can ya imagine? If there still was a God, could ya imagine me all decked out in Christian shit? Or...is it Catholic? Shit, I don't know. Guess I should pay attention to some things...but quit changin' the subject! Are you and Tro-Tro an item, or what? He's seriously sweatin' your ass, man. You should see him whenever you're in his vicinity. He be sproutin' love sonnets and pictures of you posed in various positions, like, Venus and shit. It's hilarious." She straightened in his seat, laughing as she hit him again. Quatre was sure something broke in that effort. He held his arm with a acerbic moan, trying to blink back tears of pain. "I was sure he made some kind of move when I was gone...oh, shit, this is like, his first time likin' someone since that Ralph Curt character-dude. Man, before Ralph transferred, those two were like, Prom King and...er, King. They seriously were an item. It was funny back then, cuz then they were both jocks, dude, and then Ralph goes and fucks around with some idiot from Duncan Jones, which is a military academy-filled with absolute hotties if you wanted to know and I could understand why he cheated because military-guy was hot but then again this isn't the point-and then Tro-Tro kicks his ass and turns goth."

She took a deep breath. "Anyway, he's pretty cool. I hear he gives good head."

Quatre nearly fell out of his seat in shock.

"Yeah, I know, you don't get that many around here."

"Will you SHUT UP!?"

"Pay me ten dollars, and I might think about it. So what do you say? At least go out with him once, okay? You could try him out for size like." Felicia stared at him. "Unless you're racist."

"What are you talking about?!"

"Racist homophobe homosexual. I cannot believe you are one of those people!!"

"I AM NOT!!"

"C'mon, just one date. One lunch date. Like that one day! C'mon, please?!"

"I am not agreeing to anything, leave me alone!"

"Well, fine then. But seriously, do you think you would go for him if you were gay?" she pressed.

"No!"

"Why not?!"

"BECAUSE."

"That's not a definite answer. Here, I'll set you up, okay?"

"I DO NOT WANT TO BE-!!"

"I'll tell him you want to meet him here, and you do it, all right?"

"Felicia!!!"

"That's great! And wear that black shirt you have, all right? And I'll make him promise not to wear anything with skulls or Die Whitey shirts, okay?"

"I AM NOT-!"

"Aw, you lie, you like it. Hey, I'll go see him right now so you can talk during Auto," she said, jumping from her seat and racing toward the teacher at breakneck speed, shouting about sprouting a leak.

Quatre stared at her in mortification as she ran out from the room, cackling madly. Then he buried his face into his hands and hoped Trowa called in sick today. His head spinning with the breathless way she'd spoken, he leaned back in his chair and tried to clear his mind, to think coherent thoughts. His thoughts shifted to that of basketball, and he relaxed slightly as he ran a play by play of one of his last games in Laramie. Just as he was getting to the best part of the game, Felicia hurried back into glass, grinning. She jumped onto her seat, arranging so that she was sitting in it backwards.

"Okay, here's the deal. He has to skip Auto to leave campus to have his braces tightened-"

"'Braces'?" Quatre repeated. "I've never seen him-"

"They're clear. Kind of like Avisaline, or whatever. He's had them on for awhile now. BUT he's getting them tightened and he should be back by last period. Wassut, study hall? Fuckin' groovin', ya'll got the same class together. He was really happy, man. He actually lifted both eyebrows and showed a bit of his teeth." She pretended to fire a gun of him, clicking the roof of her mouth. "Ya know ya got love when that guy starts showin' his teeth."

"I don't see him that way!" Quatre hissed at her, glaring. She waved a hand in his face, and he batted her hand from him with an irritated growl.

"Cut that out, I think you just scared the lizard on my underwear away. Want to see them? They're really cute." She rose from the chair, pulling down her pants. Quatre threw his arms over his face in mortification.

"I DON'T WANT TO SEE YOUR UNDERWEAR!"

The class fell silent, and attention was once again brought their way. Amid all the catcalls and howls, Quatre buried his face behind his hands once more, sure he was going to explode. Felicia laughed as she resumed her seat. "He's gay, folks, seriously..."

"I am not gay," he repeated weakly from behind his arms.

"He's gay. So? Last period! He promises to change before then, he's wearing one of those ties again. Didja see them? With the chicks? Him and Drake wear those all the time. Nothin' could be done about it, free speech an' all." Felicia rolled her eyes. "As if anybody hadn't see a female body, anyway. Fuck..."

Quatre couldn't find his voice so he removed his hands from his face. "Let's get this subject off me. Let's talk about you."

"Nothin' to talk about..." She gasped suddenly and leaned forward. "Oh my gosh, I just now remembered. Did you hear about Lenny from your third period? He---Oh, which fuckin' reminds me..."

She slapped her forehead, and rummaged through her pockets. She withdrew a slip of paper, and read off the names she'd asked him from yesterday. "What's the deal with them?" she finished, tapping it against her chin.

Quatre realized that he hadn't done a thing the entire period as she spoke. While this registered, her question faintly made it's presence known within his line of thought. He dumbly touched his keypad, trying to conjure up the lesson that was currently being explained. "What?"

"What'd they do to you?"

He shrugged. He wasn't sure if he wanted to divulge in such information, not wanting to let the others know what he felt about his ransacked room. "Nothing. They're intimidated by me."

She laughed so hard that she fell from her seat.

"Miss Passage!" the teacher finally screamed from the front, face mottled with fury. "Please leave the classroom! You're to be seen in the principal's office!!!!"

Felicia picked herself up from the floor, and slapped Quatre's back with one hand, grabbing her bag with the other. "You're so fuckin' funny, man," she gasped, staggering out of class.

"And you, Mr. Winner, pray tell you will not indulge in her company for the length of this semester," the teacher added. "You're doing so well. Don't let their influence mess up your grades. I wouldn't want your father to know whose company you're keeping and why your grades are falling..."

"Sir," Quatre muttered as his face turned red from the unexpected attention once more. He slid low in his seat, trying to avoid the faces that stared back at him. Once he resumed the lesson, the teacher slid back into pleasant mode and Quatre was left to think about what he was going to see last period of the day.

>*<>*<>*<>*<>*<

The day passed by without much more event. As Study Hall neared, he found himself growing nervous. He wasn't sure what to think about Trowa Barton, but he was certain about some things. He knew that basketball was going to take up his entire life-he knew he didn't have time for such things as relationships and feelings. This was the period in his life when he forgoes everything else in favor of his first love. His friends back in Laramie often complained that he was a 'psychotic, obsessive-compulsive psycho' whenever basketball came up. They saw less and less of him outside of the gym during the season and pretty much during tournament season.

He didn't see what the big deal was. They just didn't understand, and he had a feeling no one would here as well. Sighing, fidgeting with his blazer, he figured he would just let Trowa Barton know right off that he wasn't going to see anybody, nor was he looking for a relationship. He hoped that the artsy-goth would understand.

Amid all that, he knew that he wasn't ready for a relationship anyway. Back in Laramie, he and Jamie did nothing but hang out together, and it was only because rumors began to spread that he realized what was actually happening between them. Thinking of Jamie was only going to pull him down-he didn't want to think about that. He shook his head to clear his thoughts and thought about how he was going to get a new pair of basketball shoes before try-outs. Try-outs began Thursday morning and proceeded until Saturday, and results would be posted Monday morning in the cafeteria. Sophia Darken was a six-day school, and try-outs began at five-thirty in the morning. He wondered how well he'd perform early in the morning.

As he made his way through his afternoon classes, Study Hall coming closer and closer, he found himself growing even more nervous despite his resolved attitude. He figured it was just because he hated letting anyone down. He was flattered (he thought) by the other boy's attention, but due to bad experience and that basketball was coming, he just wasn't feeling it.

When Study Hall came, he made his way to the library, clutching his bag nervously. He wasn't sure how he was going to approach Trowa, and so made up a couple of scenarios in an effort to calm down. One involved a Sailor Moon-style let down, complete with huge eyes dripping with tears and heartfelt shouts, and another involved Ranma-style slaps and manly roars (Bitch, I ain't going out with you!). though neither was realistic, they both served a purpose and boosted his confidence just slightly.

But upon entering, he didn't see Trowa. Frowning, he searched the library and the extra tables, and made his way over to Go. Go greeted him warmly and resumed his work as Quatre sat down opposite him. Still staring, Quatre wondered if Trowa was even going to make it back. He looked at his Nike watch (complete with timer, heart-rate monitor, body fat measurer, date, and, oh yes, the time) and figured Trowa was just running late.

"You're troubled today," Go said, looking up from his notebook.

Quatre shrugged. He had trouble talking to someone that was...well, for the lack of a better word, simple.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing."

"Does it have anything to do with your room?"

Quatre slowly pulled out his notebook and inserted a text. "What did you hear about that?"

"Not much. Hautta mentioned that some people went through your room. But the situation was dealt with. Did you have very much?"

"Not really. I don't really care. They're just jerks trying to intimidate me. I'm not bothered. Everything could be replaced."

"Yes, but...don't you feel...odd? Someone broke into your room and disturbed your things. I would feel...not good." Go frowned, fiddling with one of the white-blond strands that hung in his puppy dog eyes. Quatre wondered what it would be like to be so carefree and guileless.

"Well, yes, but...there really isn't anything I can do about it. I mean, obviously if they can break in, what can I do to stop them?"

"Do you know who they were?"

Quatre shrugged one shoulder idly. "Not really. I have an idea, but...really, it could have been anybody, now that I think about it. It doesn't bother me."

Go made a consenting sound, then lowered his head to focus on his notebook once more. Quatre leaned back in his chair, and waited for Trowa to come. Then he realized what Go had just said. "Wait, what do you mean, the 'situation was dealt with'?"

Go looked back up, frowning. He stared at Quatre for a few moments, then shrugged again. "I don't know what I was talking about. Sorry."

Quatre waited for more, but Go was apparently done with the conversation. With a sigh, Quatre began drumming his fingers on the table, leaning his chin into his palm. He stared at the door and waited, going through more scenarios and trying to make it easier for him to explain to Trowa his rejection. When it was apparent that Trowa was not going to show, Quatre began working on his homework, figuring he may as well as go running later on, and shoot some hoops on one of the outside rims outside the gym.

>*<>*<>*<>*<>*<

"He didn't show," Quatre replied with some surprise to Hautta's inquiry the next day. Why would the homicidal psycho care? Quatre wondered. And he thought Hautta didn't want to associate with homosexuals, from the way he gave an expression of disgust upon seeing similar couples in the hallway. Quatre found Hautta James to be all right, and even found a peaceable ground to communicate with him. He supposed that he'd passed a few tests in the other students' approval area, which allowed Hautta to converse easily with him. Quatre noticed with some sort of pleased happiness that Hautta didn't allow this much contact with anyone other than Felicia or Castok. Even Drake. Hautta seemed to hate everybody except for those four. So it just surprised him that Hautta came out and asked how the meeting between him and Barton had turned out.

They were in the gym, shooting some hoops while they waited for teams to form. William had let Quatre borrow an extra pair of his shoes and Quatre was dressed in what spare workout clothing he had.

Hautta retrieved the ball, ignoring Travis as he joined their group. Shooting a perfect three from the outside, Hautta let Quatre catch the ball and hurl it his way. He shot another three from a different angle.

"What? What's going on?" Travis asked as he waited near the hoop for Hautta to miss. While he waited for the Asian to shoot, he bounced on his toes, jumping up to touch the hoop. Quatre absently stretched his arms over and behind his head, staring at the kids that were sitting around the gym, waiting for a game.

"Nothing."

"None of your business."

"C'mon...hey, ya'll hear about Marty and Jason? They were fuckin' ripped last night," Travis said as he made a rebound. He made his shots on the opposite side of the pair.

While Hautta grunted in disinterest, Quatre turned Travis' way. "What do you mean?" he asked.

"I mean," Travis missed his last shot, Hautta lazily making his way to the bouncing ball, "Jason and Marty got fucked up. Someone kicked their ass last night. Too embarrassed to say anything, but I guess it had something to do with fucking around with someone's room? Anyway, admin's all, fuck it. They don't want to talk, that other person don't want to talk, we'll just let it slide."

"Someone beat them up?" Quatre repeated. "But...why? How?"

"They didn't come to school today. They were all shamed out. They stayed in their rooms. Hey, we playing or what?"

"We're waiting for Hiiro and Duo," Hautta growled.

"Geez. Chill."

Quatre stared at Hautta in curiosity, recalling Felicia's inquiries about Jason and Marty. Then he recalled the way she rubbed her knuckles while talking about third-period Jamie from Algebra class. Travis grew bored with the two silent boys, so he walked off to bother the other four gathered down the court. "I think I missed something," Quatre said as he walked over to the mats just behind the basketball hoop. He set his foot at an angle against the wall so that his heel stayed in contact with the floor and the flat of his toes were pressed against the wall. He stretched his calf muscle as he stared over his shoulder at Hautta, who continued to shoot lazy threes.

Realizing that he wasn't going to get anything out from the Asian, Quatre sighed and stretched his other leg. After twenty minutes, the boys decided on a game of their own, and had separated into teams. Fifteen minutes into their game, Hiiro hurried in, glaring at everyone. He wasn't dressed to play, but sat on the floor benches near the girls. One of them, Relena Peacecraft, scooted her way to him and began talking. It was clear that Hiiro was severely annoyed over something or other, so Relena retreated a few minutes later.

After their game, Quatre jogged over to the water fountain and took a drink. He straightened from the water fountain, wiping his forehead. He nearly had a heart attack when he saw Hiiro standing just inches from him, glaring at him.

"Er..."

"What did Duo do to you?" Hiiro growled, backing him against the wall.

"What?"

"What did he do to you?"

"I-I don't...I don't understand."

"Somebody fucked him over tonight. And it was because of you."

Quatre stared at him, wondering what he was talking about. Hiiro looked furious enough to kill him. As it were, the Japanese youth had him pressed against the wall with no way to edge out without physically coming into contact with him. He shook his head slightly, really not understanding what was going on. Hiiro's fist landed near his head, and he jerked to a standstill, staring into the cobalt blue eyes with uncertainty.

"I honestly don't know what happened to him, all right? I don't even know what you're talking about," he protested.

"He told me it was because of you. He did something to you, but he won't say what. You're a rich daddy's boy...what did it take for you to hire someone to do your dirty work?"

"I don't know what you're talking about!"

"Don't fuck around with me, damn it! You hired someone to fuck him over!"

Quatre didn't know how to explain that he didn't have a clue what had happened, but he was stunned to hear what happened to Duo. His mind had a suspicious inkling, but he didn't have helpful facts or clues on how to go about it. He was going to open his mouth to further his protests, but Hiiro looked ready to hit him instead, so Quatre was deeply relieved when Hautta shoved his way between them, knocking Hiiro back a few steps.

"This isn't your fight, Hautta," Hiiro growled as he stood up to the Asian. Hautta looked at him with indifference, then took a calm drink from the water fountain. When he straightened, he stared at Hiiro with a murderous expression. Quatre quickly inched away from the wall as Hiiro stood up to Hautta, both of them toe-to-toe.

"Duo your best friend, Hiiro?" Hautta asked, his nose inches away from Hiiro's. Hiiro didn't reply, but his expression darkened. Hautta gave a small smirk. "You love him, Hiiro?"

"Stay the fuck out of this."

"Just asking. If Duo did something to him, what does it matter what Quatre does back in retaliation?"

"He should fight his own fights, not have someone do it for him," Hiiro shot back, giving them pointed looks.

Hautta shrugged, and turned his back to him, resuming his indifference. Quatre looked at Hiiro, unsure of how to proceed. Hiiro, though, seemed to have lost some of his wind. He glared at Quatre, then pointed at him as he walked around him, heading toward the door. "Next time no one will come to your aid, whitey," he growled, disappearing through the doors.

Quatre stared at him, tongue in cheek. That encounter was just too bizarre, and much too coincidental. Then he shook his head, hurrying out the doors after him. Hiiro was long gone, though, so Quatre figured he may as well as look for someone who knew what was going on. He raced across the lawn to the dormitory, ignoring the piercing cold of the night. He swept through the front doors, looking through the bodies that moved about, listening for familiar voices. Lowell looked up briefly from his holo-set, but didn't say anything as Quatre raced up the stairway.

He couldn't remember which room Felicia was in, and he didn't know how to find her. With frustration, he searched through the sophomore hall, looking for a familiar face. When he came face to face with Jason, though, he reacted with shock. The youth's face was an array of swollen eyes and lips, bruises on his face. When he saw Quatre, he quickly shied away and practically launched himself into an nearby open doorway. Quatre reacted with shock, unsure of what to do or say. He turned and ran out the stairway, heart racing with confusion.

Once he reached the first level, he heard Drake's maniacal laughter and followed the sound to the entertainment room. The Seminole was shooting pool with some seniors, but Felicia was no where in sight. He wondered if Drake would know what was going on, and considered asking him. But then someone moved at his left, and he looked in surprise to see Wufei gesturing at him from the other side of the room. Quatre carefully made his way over, seeing that Meiran was no where in sight.

Wufei was sitting at a small booth, notebooks and extra text programs surrounding him. Quatre took a seat opposite him, confused as hell. "I heard about what happened," Wufei said, raising an elegant eyebrow. "Did you really have to go that far in retaliation?"

"I honestly don't know what's going on, Wufei," Quatre gasped, hands in his sweaty hair. "Suddenly people are threatening me and they're saying I hired someone to beat up some guys! I didn't! I was going to let the entire thing go! But I want to know what's happening!"

Wufei calmly rearranged his notebook and text programs around him into a tidy pile. "Word is, those guys that ransacked your room, have been dealt with in very physical matters. Admin wants to investigate, but no one's talking. They want to talk to you."

"I don't know what's happening, I don't know how to stress that enough..."

Wufei studied him for a few moments, then shrugged, crossing his arms over his chest. "Well, if that's the case, what's going to happen when those guys retaliate against you for this?"

Quatre shrugged. "I didn't even do anything to them..."

"Their parents will be especially concerned once they hear their babies had their asses kicked by someone..."

"I don't even know who would do such a thing!"

Wufei snorted, running a hand through his queue. "Why don't you ask your friend, Barton?"

Quatre was automatically ready to reply that he wasn't gay, but the way Wufei spoke made him hesitate. "What?"

Wufei began packing his things into a felt bag. "You wouldn't know it by looking at him, but he has his connections. People use him for various things they can't get here. Legally or not. He might know what the situation was. Plus, it helps that I overheard him talking to Mr. James about hiring someone to rough up the five that were bothering you."

Quatre stared at him in open-mouthed shock. "Are you kidding me?" he asked in a reedy voice.

"I am not the kidding type, Mr. Winner. Though, in your position, consider yourself lucky to have these connections." Wufei bid him goodnight, then left. Quatre wasn't sure what to think as he stared after Wufei in surprise, wondering if this was actually happening to him.

>*<>*<>*<>*<>*<

In World History the next morning, a day before try-outs began, Quatre made a bee-line to Felicia. She was staring at her fingernails, sitting in her regular seat in the back. When she saw him, she grinned.

"What's going on?" Quatre blurted out as he dropped his back, hearing his expensive electronic devices crash against the floor. She blinked.

"What?"

"People are saying that I hired people to...hurt people," he explained in a quiet rush, sitting down and making sure no one was listening to him. "Hiiro threatened me yesterday because Duo was beaten up!"

Felicia snorted, waving a hand at him. "Don't even worry about it, man. Fugeddabowdit. This is high school. Everyone likes to talk about something, even if it's all made up."

"But the people I talked to-"

"Seriously, young Winner-dude, don't even worry about it. You excited about try-outs tomorrow? Hey, how are you going to play if you don't have the proper equipment?"

"I plan on leaving campus tonight to go-wait a minute, don't change the subject!"

Felicia's eyebrows rose. "You want to leave campus?! Dude, let me go with you, all right? I haven't been out there since...well, fuck, since Sunday, I suppose. Er, anyway, I could go with you."

"Well, I don't know where everything is, and-" Quatre shook his head, slapping his hands down in frustration. "NO! No, listen to me! I want to know what's going on here! Who beat up those guys?!"

Felicia sighed, shrugging. "Who knows? They probably got it coming to them..."

"Why were you questioning me about them the other night?" Quatre asked in suspicion, staring at her.

"Rumor mill was turning, and I didn't want to forget so I asked you about them. Look, the story is, this guy named Steven on the fifth floor told this girl Nandy, whose in Hautta's third period class, that someone was hacking into your room. They were identified, and no one really thought much about it until someone remembered seeing a couple of those guys carrying out basketball shoes and shit like that from your room. So Hautta hears about it, asks me about it, but I just got home so I don't know anything about it, an' then...well, there you go. I guess someone likes you enough to go and hire someone to jack them up in retaliation for what they did to your room, so maybe you should be lucky, eh?"

"That is not being lucky! Now people are looking at me differently!"

"They're gonna be because you affiliate yourself with minorities, you stupid dick!" Felicia said with a snort. "And this sort of thing goes on all the time!"

Quatre stared at her for a few minutes, nervously running through some things. Then he blinked. "What about that exchange?"

"What exchange?"

"Between you and Hautta that night you came home? He was giving you two money credits..."

"He owed me."

"But-"

"No buts, Mister Winner..."

"Mr. Winner, Miss Passage, are you through?"

They both turned away from each other and faced their monitors, the teacher staring at them.

"Onward ho to learning, sir!" Felicia shouted enthusiastically.

"Get out of here. Go to the principal's office. I can't stand this bullshit day after day with you."

"I didn't even do anything yet!"

"And it's because of not doing anything yet that your grades are atrocious. Go!"

Felicia muttered a few things under her breath, standing and stomping off. Quatre stared at her in silence, then found the teacher's attention on him.

"We'll rearrange the seating chart to have you both separated," the teacher said, frowning amid all the groans that reverberated throughout the room. "You all may thank Mr. Winner for this decision."

Quatre ducked rolled up pieces of paper and angry shouts. As he straightened, he sighed heavily, angrily inputting his code into the computer, starting it. Today wasn't going to be one of the best of days, he realized. He had too many questions that were proving difficult to answer.

>*<>*<>*<>*<>*<

Study Hall finally came. Quatre recalled not seeing Trowa anywhere on campus after that one day, and wondered about his sudden disappearance. Maybe today he'll be in Study Hall and Quatre could get this entire situation straightened out. When he walked through the doors of the library, he saw Trowa sitting at an empty table, writing something on a piece of paper. Quatre felt a bump of nervousness in his chest as he began making his way over, sorting through suddenly jumbled thoughts. He set his bag on the table, greeting Trowa with an easy "Hey." Trowa looked up from his paper, and gave a slight smile, then resumed writing. Quatre couldn't see what it was as he sat down opposite him, nervously glancing around at the other students. Go was no where in sight, and he recalled Castok mentioning that the student had left the planet for a couple of days for a visit with his family.

Cautiously, Quatre took out his things, staring at Trowa's lowered head with an expression of uncertainty. That fall of auburn hair covered the other's face effectively, hiding whatever expression he had as he wrote and blocking Quatre's view of his features. Unsure of how to proceed now that he was actually facing him, Quatre fiddled with the rubber edges of his notebook.

"I haven't seen you around lately," he said, clearing his throat when it hitched slightly.

Trowa shrugged. "I've been pretty busy."

"You hear about what's happening?"

Trowa shrugged again, sneaking a peek in his direction. Quatre felt a slight reaction upon seeing an emerald eye peering at him, and he pulled the notebook into his hands, nervously playing with it.

"I'm sure those guys got what they deserved," Trowa then answered, resuming writing.

"But...I didn't even do anything...I didn't tell anyone that they broke into my room. I thought security prevented that sort of thing..."

"There's always going to be someone who knows how to do something to override an obstacle, Quatre. You think everyone's happy for the security here? If you ask a certain person, you can have wonders done for you."

Quatre swallowed, gripping his notebook tightly within both hands. "I saw you talking to Hautta that day. You gave him two money credits."

"I owed him."

"He gave Felicia two money credits."

"He owed her."

"But....it's just...there's something that's just not adding up, here. I know one of you guys did something to those guys."

Trowa looked up from his writing, leaning a chin into one palm. Now that he was facing Trowa's indifferent face, Quatre felt himself grow weak. He had to admit that Trowa was actually very handsome and there was something that unnerved you in the way that he stared with that aristocratic face. He swallowed and tried to appear as indifferent as the student across from him, but he was much too nervous. He broke eye contact by fiddling with the text programs that had dropped from the depths of his bag.

"Why would we have anything to do with those guys?" Trowa asked quietly. "I don't like them, granted, but what would I have to do with them? They obviously got back what they deserved, Quatre. Don't even worry about it."

"Hiiro threatened me after Duo was...after Duo was beaten up."

Trowa tapped his pen on the table, his chin still in his palm. He studied Quatre with a somber stare. "Hiiro threatens everyone. He doesn't like you because you could take his spot. I've seen you play a few times. You're really good."

Quatre shrugged.

"How long have you been playing?"

"Since as long as I could remember. Don't change the subject, please. I'm trying to find out what happened here."

Trowa sighed, straightening from the table. He drummed his pen along the table edge and glanced around him. The other students were busy with their various projects and weren't paying attention to them. He leaned back in his seat to pull something out of his pants pocket, then tossed it onto the table. Quatre remembered Felicia having the same slip of paper, full of names. He blinked, shifting his attention from the names to the paper Trowa was writing. The handwriting was identical. When he realized what his answer was, his face paled and he looked at Trowa.

Trowa watched him carefully, lips pulled into a slight smirk. "Fine, I confess. Steven's girlfriend mentioned to Hautta that someone ransacked your room. Hautta told me because I'd overheard a couple of people talking about it. So then I talked to Hautta about hiring someone to retaliate on your behalf. He mentioned a couple of names, so I asked that he contact them. It was really easy. They got what they deserve, Quatre. How are you going to play tomorrow when you don't have the proper shoes?"

Quatre stared at him in stunned silence, eyes widened to abnormal size. He caught his breath. "You can-you can do that sort of thing?! That's not right!"

Trowa shrugged. "If you let them, they'll bully you constantly. Better to put your foot down now than let it drag out. This is a big city, Quatre. Anybody can get away with anything. With the right amount, people are paid to let things slide. You'll be ruined before you could even show these people what you can do on the court. Trust me, once people see you play and once you start winning awards on the school's behalf, attitudes will change. I just wanted to remove any obstacles from your path just in case."

Quatre couldn't think of anything to say, staring at Trowa with shock written all over his features.

Trowa smiled slightly, and Quatre vaguely recalled never seeing his teeth. In an effort to pry his stunned self out of its shocked state, he made a weak gesture at his own mouth.

"I didn't know you had braces," he said in a thin voice, his mind trying to process the previous information at the same time.

Trowa shrugged again, lips tightening. He resumed writing.

Quatre continued to stare at him, running things over in his mind. He looked away, staring at the others as he processed the information. Now he knew why Hiiro was pissed at him, and why Jason performed an action hero move just to get out of his sight. That sort of behavior wasn't going to get Quatre anywhere. He couldn't believe such dealings actually existed here in Sophia Darken. He'd heard from those in Laramie that bigger schools had bigger problems, but these ones were similar to Mafia-style transactions! Trowa paid someone to beat up those guys? Wouldn't they reveal who it was?!

It couldn't be that secretive, could it? Someone would say something among those effects to reveal the thug's name. He wasn't so certain about security as well. Shouldn't they have caught the action of the thug beating up on those hapless students?

And all on his behalf. He didn't ask for that. He was willing to let the incident slide! He was going to let those students have their points in ransacking his room. He wasn't going to tell anybody what had happened! And Trowa...Trowa did it on his behalf? But Quatre didn't have anything to do with the retaliation! Now tensions were going to be even more higher than usual, and he wondered if he were going to be able to deal with such things while performing tomorrow. He was going to make the team, he knew of that from Ramos, but he wanted to prove to the others what he could do and what he was capable of doing. And sharing equal amount of effort during the try-out period.

Quatre groaned, hiding his face within his hands. If his future teammates were to cooperate with him later in the future, on the court, would that totally destroy the team in some way?

While he stressed over this, Trowa stared at him through the fall of his hair with a slight smile on his face. The object of his affection was so...perfect. Perfect from the careless style of his shocking white hair that brushed against aquamarine eyes, both of which were fringed with light gold eyelashes. Trowa loved the way his nose, straight and somewhat pert, was layered with a light sprinkling of freckles that dashed over thin cheeks. He loved the way Quatre worked his lips with his thoughts, pursing them one moment then relaxing them, then thinning them as he went over whatever his mind brought up. He loved the shape of his love's jaw, the way it squared away from perfect whorls of ears, the way it worked as he clipped his teeth together and the way that it moved as he concentrated on the basketball court.

Everything about his current obsession was just perfect and Trowa could do nothing but worship him through his art. His object of affection didn't seem the type to care about relationships and love interests, and while that proved frustrating because Trowa would love to be the one at his side, Trowa figured he could handle it. As long as Quatre was around, he should be happy enough.

He loved to experiment with colors and shading on the sketches he'd made of Quatre, trying to find that right color of his eyes, the right mixture of white and gold for his hair. The student before him was a work of art and Trowa obsessed over the athlete constantly. He had some inkling of awareness that stalking the student wasn't completely acceptable, but he couldn't help it. He felt that staying out of sight and out of Quatre's way would be the best times upon seeing what his love was capable of doing on his own. His own imperfections and somewhat indifferent nature made it difficult to approach and converse with Quatre on friendly terms. He was afraid to run him off. He knew that by hiring the thug that wrecked those other five was a risk, but it was a smart risk to take. Word was, the four wouldn't bother Quatre again. Duo Maxwell, though, was going to be a harder task to accomplish because the guy was much too stubborn to be cowed by intimidation. Trowa would work on that later. For now, he was sure Duo got the point because he'd gotten his hired thug to make the five agree on replacing everything that had been destroyed or taken in the incident. He was sure that they were working on it now, as his angel across from him stressed about the situation in Study Hall.

Trowa was very confident that Quatre would be pleased when he returned to his room after school. As much as he wanted to see the expression on his face, Trowa knew that he couldn't be there to witness it. He had other things to do that involved his obsession, and he had to work on it to make sure it worked. Quatre Winner didn't know about it, but he had his own obsessed guardian angel working the angles for him in the background.

>*<>*<>*<>*<>*<

When the bell rang, Quatre was startled from his thoughts. He watched as Trowa gathered his things together, stuffing them all into a raggedy backpack, then walk off. It was then that Quatre realized he hadn't told the other student what he felt about a relationship and groaned again. He put his things away, then walked out from the library. Walking toward the dormitory to change into what spare clothes he had left, he wondered whether or not it would be a good idea to make his way into the city. He stared at it now, slightly intimidated by the various skyscrapers and rigid, crammed buildings that seemed to choke a person just by looking at it. Everything seemed crammed together and forced to fit, resulting in a suffocating picture. Even flying over it made his heart race with panic.

Looking away from the view of New Park, he made his way into the dorm building and began the slow trek up the five flights of stairs, surrounded by students that were moving to change out of their uniforms as well. Amid all the hustle and bustle, Quatre made his way to his room and input his code into the keypad near the door. He walked in, unshouldering his bag, and stilled. Layering the bed and parts of the floor were various athletic store bags, filled with what looked to be boxes and clothing. Blinking in mute surprise, Quatre glanced about, to see if someone was nearby. The halls were filled with students wanting to hit their rooms, and no one looked familiar. He walked in, shutting his door behind him. He stared down at the various bags with an expression of stunned shock, wondering what the trick was to this situation.

He crouched next to a bag that was obviously hiding a shoe box, and shook it out. He opened the box to reveal his last pair of sneakers in brand new, mint condition. It was the exact type and color, right down to the black shoelaces. He picked up the shoe, studying it with an air of stunned wonder. It was his size. Everything was. He dropped the shoe and began digging around in the other bags, finding that it was a majority of what had been taken, from the Nike Dri-fit muscle tees to the basketball shorts that he preferred. In one bag, three Spurs jerseys were still hanging from their hangars, in mint condition and in his size.

Sinking to the floor in a state of shock, Quatre stared at the bags, unsure of what to think. He was monstrously happy that he'd be able to play without constantly borrowing from the others, but...but it was WRONG. Someone had gone through a great deal of trouble to have his things replaced (never mind in the first place that fists were used to gain control over the bullies) and he knew it wasn't out of the goodness of their hearts. But despite the fact, his things had been replaced and he could play. He didn't have to go into the city, but he wasn't sure whether to accept all this.

He put his face into his hands, then wiped it with shaking fingers. He could not believe this was happening to him. Should he be happy? Or angry? He never expected this sort of thing to befell him. He never even conceived of it! What should he be feeling right now?

Someone knocked at his door, so he rose from the floor and answered it. Castok was there, looking worried. He was about to say something, but then he caught sight of the various bags that littered the room.

"You already went shopping?" he asked incredulously. Quatre invited him in, the giant ducking to enter. Quatre shut the door behind him, and shook his head.

"This was all here when I got here," he replied, gesturing. "Someone broke into my room and left it."

"Well, I did hear your room was broken into and things were destroyed. Maybe they had a change of heart?" Castok crouched his powerful frame at the open box of shoes, holding one up. "Wow, these are expensive. Brand new Ginobuli's?"

"Er...I had a pair before. They were the ones I used before they were stolen...but I didn't do this. Someone else did."

"Well, maybe you should consider yourself lucky, then. Whoever went through all this trouble went through it in a good way. Your things were replaced."

"Well...I don't know. I don't know what I should be feeling. I feel...sick that someone did this in the first place. I mean, breaking in here and destroying everything and whatnot, but...I don't know what I'm supposed to do now, you know?" Quatre reached up to toy with his hair, running a hand through it as he bent, picking up a bag with two more sets of shoe boxes inside. He sat at the edge of his bed and pulled them out, revealing one by one two pairs of shoes that had been stolen earlier. He tossed them aside as Castok replaced the shoe he'd admired into its respective box.

"Well, I don't think you should take it too wrong," he said, standing, flicking his ponytail over one massive shoulder. "This is a good thing. All your things were returned in good condition. Well, replaced, actually, but still. Don't worry about it. They obviously thought differently and want to repay you. I came up to see if you wanted someone to go with you to town, but it looks like you aren't going."

Quatre looked up from the various bags lying about. "I thought Felicia was going to go with me."

"Family came and picked her up. She's going to be gone for a few days. She asked me to go with you."

"Oh. Um...I guess I'm not. I guess I'll just take this as is, then." He shrugged. "Nothing more to do."

Castok nodded his head, shifting his glasses. He made his way to the door, opening it. After he left, Quatre sighed heavily, staring at the mess on his floor and bed. He wasn't sure what to make of it, but in a way, he was grateful that his things had been replaced. Maybe it wasn't such a bad thing? He thought.

He slowly began unpacking, putting things away, filled with guilt and confusion. After that was done, he changed into casual clothing, and hurried out from his room. He wanted to make amends before try-outs, and it was going to be an early night tonight, to prepare him for tomorrow's early morning splendors.

He hurried through five flights of stairs, searching the faces of those around him. After he'd dashed outside, he caught sight of a familiar figure, his braid dancing as he walked. He started in that direction, calling Duo's name.

Duo paused in mid-step, then turned to regard Quatre with a furious glare. Quatre paused in mid-pace once catching sight of a battered and bruised face, one eye closed shut the other just barely open. He stared at Duo in shock, unsure of what to say. Duo whirled about and charged up to him, stopping just inches away.

"You think you're all good, don't you?" he snarled. "Hiring somebody to fight for you?! You little fucking prick! What the fuck do you want now?! Not happy with the shit we had to replace for you? What the fuck do you want NOW?!"

"I just-I just wanted to say I had nothing to do with what happened to you," Quatre gasped, taking in the multiple bruises that lined one jaw. "Oh, God, who did this to you?"

"Don't act the innocent you little shit. You did this. You and your fuckin' money got you this. You fucking little prick, you'll get yours soon enough," Duo snarled, turning and walking off.

Quatre wasn't sure what to reply to that, staring after Duo with a mixture of horror and confusion. He didn't bother to follow, frowning as he relaxed. Then, with a suspicious glance around him, to see who had watched the confrontation, he hurried off toward the main school building. Things were just too confusing for him to deal with right now.

After he'd located the student phones in the main school building, near the administration offices, he sat at one booth and picked up the phone, dialing his father's cell phone number. No one answered, so he left a quick message, saying he'd call back later. Then he dialed his uncle's home number. Lana, Rashid's wife, answered with a brisk greeting.

Quatre talked to her for a few minutes, greeting her cheerfully then inquiring how they were doing. Lana, after recognizing his voice, was just as cheerful in her answers, asking questions of her own as to what he was doing, how he was coping with big city life, if he'd made the team yet.

After a half hour of speaking to the kind hearted woman, he hung up the phone and tried his father's number once more. After getting his voice mail once more, Quatre hung up the phone and made his way back to the dormitory. It was then he noticed Trowa hurrying away from the side entrance of the building, making his way toward the parking lot nearby. Quatre watched him, pausing in place, wondering what he was doing now. Already suspicious thanks to his part in hiring people to beat up the five boys, Quatre followed him, wondering what he was going to do. Quietly and carefully, he watched as Trowa approached a car full of teenagers, all of whom were laughing and carousing loudly amid a loud beat of rap music. Credits and unseen items were passed, all of the teenagers whooping with vulgar shouts and laughter, Trowa shaking the hand of the passenger.

Amid squealing tires and shouts of gang affiliations, the car spun out of the parking lot, nearly mowing down a security guard on his rounds. Trowa then hurried away from the parking lot and made his way toward the cafeteria. Quatre didn't know what was going on, but he followed anyway. He watched as Trowa made his way through the crowded area, filled with students wanting to eat an early dinner, and watched him sit at a table full of seniors. Words were exchanged, as well as credits, then Trowa stood and left the cafeteria.

Feeling tired from all this spying, Quatre followed at a distance as Trowa walked briskly toward the gym. There, he stopped a student that was just leaving the entrance doors, and watched as the student pointed inside, Trowa nodding and hurrying inside. With a sigh, Quatre hurried after him. He found the goth teen conversing quickly with William, who in turn turned and pointed up the bleachers at a couple of students that were sitting at the very top, looking entirely bored. Trowa made his way up, and the three huddled together, Quatre unable to see what was being said or being exchanged. Something from the corner of his eye caught his attention, and with quick catlike reflexes, he caught the basketball that William hurled at him.

"Quick game?" the Australian asked, gesturing.

"No. I'm...going to rest for tomorrow."

"C'mon, pansy, let's go."

Quatre shook his head, tossing the ball back at him. William shrugged, turning away to shoot lazy hoops while Quatre looked away from him, in time to see Trowa descending the bleachers. Trowa looked at him and smiled with closed lips. He approached him slowly, tucking something into his back pocket. He hadn't yet changed out of his school uniform, but had taken off the tie.

"I thought you were going into the city?" he asked companionably as they moved out from the gym.

"I...didn't need to."

"Oh? I thought you needed shoes and whatnot."

"No. What are you doing?"

Trowa looked at him blankly, blinking in curiosity. Quatre scowled at him, keeping easy pace with him. He gestured with his hands. "This, what are you doing? You're never in the gym."

"I'm here all the time, Quatre. You just don't see me," Trowa replied easily, moving down the stairway to the entrance doors. "What's up?"

Quatre decided to confess. "I'm just wondering. I've been following you, you know. I can't help it, especially when you confessed that you hired someone to-"

"Oh, this is nothing. Those guys in the parking lot want to sell drugs. I told them for a fee I'd help them."

Quatre stared at them in shock, eyes widening in disbelief. "What?!"

"It's nothing, really. It's extra money. Don't worry, I got rid of it really quickly. I get to keep forty percent of the money that I made. It's no big deal."

"You're selling----?!"

"Not so loud, idiot."

Quatre stared at him. Trowa, with a bemused expression, smiled slightly. "What?"

"I-I-"

"It's really nothing, Quatre. Don't trip over it. Everyone does it from time to time. And it is extra money. Plus, it's great that this is a rich kid school, so you know you're making top bucks. I just made at least seven thousand dollars."

"SEVEN-?!"

"Trust me, that's pocket change from what I usually do. What are you doing here, anyway?" Trowa asked him curiously. "I thought you were going to rest up for tomorrow's try-outs?"

"I..." Quatre blinked to restore his brain activity. Fearful that he would be caught conversing with a drug dealer, he suddenly didn't know what to say or do. Trowa sensed this, reaching out to knock the back of his hand against Quatre's arm.

"Listen, don't even worry about it. You won't get in any sort of trouble if they find out. You didn't know. You don't, right? Don't worry about it. If it makes you feel any better, I won't do it again."

"How's that supposed to make me feel any better?"

"We're friends, right?"

"Um...I barely know you."

"Then let's remedy that. C'mon, we'll go eat. I'm starving. I'll pay."

"I'm not-"

"Shut up, yes you are. Let's go eat." After that, Trowa walked away, gesturing at Quatre to follow him. With obvious reluctance and trepidation, Quatre followed with a sigh.

>*<>*<>*<>*<>*<

After choosing his meal, Trowa grumbling that he'd preferred to eat off-campus, they chose a table near the back of the cafeteria. Quatre watched as Trowa doctored his food with plenty of salt and ketchup, opening a cold can of Pepsi. Quatre turned to his meal, sneaking suspicious glances in Trowa's direction every so often. Finally, after Trowa felt a little satisfied, he pushed his plate away and finished his Pepsi. Quatre finished chewing his mouthful of steamed vegetables and picked at the piece of limp, grilled chicken. Trowa gestured at his food.

"Tasty?"

"No."

"That's what health food does to ya. Destroys your need to love food. You should eat more."

"I'm fine." Quatre pushed his plate away and eyed Trowa with a stare. Trowa found this amusing, but didn't complain. His object of obsession was staring at him, granting him full viewing access of a perfect, beautifully created face. "I need to talk to you..."

"About what?" Trowa busied himself with folding his napkin up into a small ball.

"I...You don't know me. Um, back in Laramie, I played basketball all the time. Um, I was friendly with-with a bunch of Native Americans, and I always played on their teams. Basketball is practically a yearlong event if you know the right people. I traveled from state to state playing in various tournaments with them. Also, with the high school and All-Star teams...um...basketball is everything to me. I focus on it constantly. Uh...there isn't time for me to pursue...um...relationships. I had a really bad experience over there, and I-well, it's basketball season here, and I want to make the team, and when I do, I spend all my time in the gym, and-"

"So you're breaking up with me?"

"No! I mean, no, we're not even going together, and-"

"That's what this sounds like, Quatre," Trowa said, lifting an eyebrow, pinning him with a solid stare.

Quatre felt his face flush as he nervously tore a napkin to bits. "I'm just saying...I'm...uh, flattered by your attention, really, but I don't have time for a relationship...um, I'm really obsessed with basketball during the season and I never get out----it would be wrong to, uh, string you along. I-"

"I won't be in your way, Quatre."

"I'm just saying...I can't....I can't go out with you. It would be wrong."

"We can still be friends, right?"

"Well, yes, but-"

"Then let us be friends."

"I won't have time for you, I-"

"There are twenty-four useable hours in each day, Quatre. I will find a way to spend time with you," Trowa said, putting his trash on top of his tray and getting ready to leave. "Even if that means I have to sleep with you at night."

"No! No, you're not-! No, I mean, what I want to say is, I can't do this because-!"

"I understand. There's no need to explain. But trust me, Quatre, even if you throw yourself full force in your basketball activities, there will always be time for me to visit with you. We have a couple of classes together-there's always the times in between practice."

"Trowa..."

"I'll see you later, all right?"

Trowa picked up his tray and left, depositing the trash into the receptacle near the door. Quatre sighed heavily, and shook his head. Trowa didn't get it at all.