*au based in the universe of john knowles' "a separate peace"*
Eugene, still jumbled from the events of last term, enters his senior year at The Devon School weary of his new roommate. Phineas comes to Devon looking for a fresh start. Brinier's not...
I try to write about my first feelings of the new school year but nothing seems to come out. Ever since last spring, I've been in a rut. No amount of shutting the world out seemed to do the trick to kick my writer's brain into existence this summer. It'd been quite the popular topic between my friends and I, with Chet offering assistance in any ways that he could (although, he communicated better in dance than he did in writing), and Leper and Brin giving what they could: absolutely nothing.
Although this summer was a bust in terms of my writing career, I can't say I'm moved to write by the change of scenery that is Devon. I've attended since seventh grade, and, other than the integration of the girls from St. Anne's in freshman year, there's not much to pull from here.
Except for last term. There would always be last term.
But that's too painful to think about, let alone write. To have to encounter those months again in writing.. To have to look over them, to edit them. No. I wouldn't.
So I don't.
As I'm coming up the driveway of school, my mindset begins to slowly shift back into Devon mode. Memories of Leper, Chet, Brin and I sneaking off at the late hours of the night, only to go to the lake not even a mile away from the school property, Plutos shows and writing sessions (that while not actually a part of the band, I find delightful), and of course, the hours upon hours of writing in the school's library, sometimes staying until I'm the last one in there.
These memories prompt me to send a text to my friends about roommates- I honestly had forgotten we'd had them until just now. I was with Chet last year, which made our formerly mentioned last night strolls ever so easy, so I'm hoping I'll get him or one of the other two this year. At the end of last year, the four of us tried to request to have two rooms side-by-side, with two of us in each for our senior year, but the head of Residence Life, as well as the Dean of School, weren't having it. I believe "it would be a caution to our school and the rest of our student body population" were Headmaster Martin's direct words, and, after the pigeon prank from freshman year, I can't really say I blame him.
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I'd missed this, I'll have to admit. As stupid as it made us sound to others, it was this banter that picked me up when I was down, and it's not quite the same when all of us are scattered across Eurasia and the States for the summer holidays.
I mean to respond, but am pulled away by the driver's sudden "we're here". Of course, the "we" he speaks of really just means me, as my mother and I had said our goodbyes that morning, and my father, a metaphorical long while ago, so I had made the journey to school alone that day. Walking through orientation steps seemed like any other year, with a few more books and a few less classes on my schedule. I make it a point to visit the English department, and more specifically, the newspaper room, the minute after I check into my room.
