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Liz ([info]ow_mybrain) wrote,
@ 2008-05-30 04:07:00


Previous Entry  Add to memories!  Tell a Friend!  Next Entry
Current location:still my bedroom, it's only been 5 minutes
Current mood:cheerful
Current music:"Shadowplay," The Killers
Entry tags:fic

Teenage!Scott and Teenage!Miller: Detention
Who: Miller Hemingway and Scott Fitzgerald
Where: Tolstoy's classroom
When: After school one day, many moons ago

Scott's never been good at detentions. He lacks the innate ability to shut his mouth for more than five seconds at a time. Still, Scott does his best, drumming on the desk with his fingertips and tapping his foot on the ground. It's just so damned quiet in here. Finally, when the teacher gets up for a minute to talk to another student who'd come by, Scott bursts out with, "Well it's not like I planned for us to end up here, Miller, it's not my fault! French is a deceptively beautiful language! I didn't know what I was saying!"

"You're full of shit!" Miller hisses, scratching out a mistake on his geometry worksheet. He turns his head to scowl at Scott. "Remember that day we went in the library and translated all those dirty words into French? Remember that, Scott? Yeah. And then you had to go and show off your newly extended vocabulary to Tolstoy. Asshole." He shoots a pointed glare at him and mutters, "Deceptively beautiful, my ass."

"I am in love with the language!" Scott hisses back, mildly insulted. "I'm just trying to further my education, Miller! I'm telling you, it's communism to keep a man locked up for wanting to learn! Communism!"

"I'm in love with the language, too!" Miller says, rolling his eyes at Scott's histrionics. "It doesn't mean I want to spend my afternoon stuck doing lines in that beautiful language because of your filthy mouth. Now I'm going to be late for lifting, goddamnit."

"Oh right, keeping you away from your precious lifting," Scott says, rolling his eyes right back. "Seems a little homoerotic to stand around a room with a bunch of sweaty guys in the name of manhood. Just saying, Miller." Of course, Scott probably couldn't lift anything if he tried.

"Yeah, well, you're the one who decided wearing a pink polo shirt to school today was a good idea, so don't even start with me, homo," Miller retorts, pulling the sheet of lines back over his math homework and scratching down another repetition in his slightly illegible script.

Scott scowls and adjusts the collar on his truly vibrant shirt. "Real men wear pink, Miller. You just lack the right coloring. Of course, we can't all pull off flannel and football jerseys."

"I'm not in the mood for this today, Scott," Miller grumbles, not looking up from his paper. He could easily drop-kick Scott out the window, and right now he's tempted to. "I know you like to hear yourself talk, but if I have to hear your bitching and whining for one more second, I'm going to punch you so hard your mother's going to feel it."

"Hey, leave my mother out of this." Since she so often left Scott out anyway. "I said I was sorry! C'mon, I'm sorry. Detention was not part of the plan. You have to admit Tolstoy's face was hilarious when he heard me. God's honest truth."

Miller is silent for a moment before he allows a very small smile to curl his lips. "Yeah, I guess. I've never seen him turn that color before, anyway," he adds, scratching a hand through his messy brown hair.

Scott grins, vindicated. "Well I aim to please, Miller. Did you see the way Stein looked at me? I think she wants me." Scott shut his eyes and shrugged in a little 'what can you do' gesture.

"Not to be rude," Miller says, a bit cautiously, looking up at Scott, "but I'm pretty sure Stein's a dyke. I mean, have you seen the way she looks at Maggie Mitchell?" He pulls a bit of a face. "I mean, I don't have a problem with it, you know, whatever. I just mean, you know, poor Maggie. She doesn't have a clue."

Scott considers this for a moment. "That'd be hot. Nice girl, Maggie. No way Stein's a dyke, though. I'm serious, Miller. All these smoldering looks in class. It's almost saad, really." And by smoldering Scott means blank. Whatever.

"Okay," Miller says, widening his eyes a little at Scott. "You just go on thinking that. The Lowood Gay doesn't just affect the guys, though." If Miller were less comfortable with his sexuality, he would probably hide in one of the shower stalls every time he had to change for gym class. The Lowood Gay is everywhere.

Scott gives a compulsive little shudder. "Ugh. I'm never catching it. Ever." The idea of it alone makes Scott nauseous.

"I'm just saying, Scott. I think Trudy's a lost cause." He shrugs a shoulder. And the sad part is that Trudy is such a charmingly cute name. "I don't think we have anything to worry about. You especially. Jesus." He shakes his head. Ever since they almost got arrested at that party--which Miller's not quite sure he's completely forgiven Scott for--the girls have been on Scott like white on rice.

"I know right," Scott agreess with an arrogant grin. He stretches a bit. "Which means we've gotta find you a girl soon. I keep telling you, Miller, I know some nice girls." God he loves girls.

"Sharon Anderson is not a nice girl," Miller says, rolling his eyes at Scott. "Neither is Kay Boyle. Please. I don't need your help. I can find a nice girl on my own. I'm not entirely helpless, you know."

"No," Scott disagrees. "I think Sharon's a very nice girl." He nods a bit to himself, lost in a memory of the backseat of her car, or perhaps a dark movie theater. "Anyway. Fine, if you can find a nice girl on your own, go for it. We're about to be seniors, Miller." And that really makes all the difference.

"I know," Miller says lamely, erasing some doodles from the corner of his paper. "Jesus, it feels like it's too soon to be senior year, doesn't it?"

"College soon," Scott agrees with a nod. "Then a job. Holy shit, Miller, we're about grown already. Kind of scary, if you think about it." He looks down at his own French lines in thought.

"I don't want to think about it," Miller says, shaking his head. He hears Tolstoy laughing in the hallway, drifting closer to the door. "Shit, Tolstoy's coming back," he whispers.

Scott immediately snaps back into his contrite and penitent mode, writing his French lines dutifully. Just in time, too. Tolstoy comes back in a moment later, glancing suspiciously at them. Scott gives him his best blankly innocent face.

Miller snickers a bit to himself. He's seen that face more than enough times to get used to it, but it still cracks him up every time. He sobers up, though, when Tolstoy frowns at him, and looks back down at his paper. Somehow Scott seems to make everything better, even when it's his fault.



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[info]derkins
2008-05-31 09:41 pm UTC (link)
Get metaphorically married and have lots of cute funny metaphorical babies. D: PLS.

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