There Is Nothing Wrong With Me

Wisteria Can't Hold Us

John POV: Boarding school. It was a nice word, a nice image, a nice idea right? Throw some kids into a uniform, make them sit straight and use their manners and teach them with only the most select professors. They get good educations, good food, good friends, and a very promising future, I mean, what could go wrong? That's not necessarily how John saw it, actually in John's eyes, there was nothing remotely pleasant about boarding school at all. He saw it as a factory, a machine where you put young, impressionable boys in like a lump of unmolded clay, and slowly yet surely, over the course of seven ghastly years, each year costing a bit more than the price of your organs on the black market, all boys slowly become the exact same shape. And finally they all got molded into an intelligent, clean cut boy who knows how to tie a tie and gets his shoes shined in the underground station while munching on a kale salad on his way to be a professor or a stock broker or an equally boring, soul wrenching yet well-paying job. And the parents are rid of the children and the stresses they put on them for a whole school year, free to do their equally miserable jobs, and all the money they make there gets pumped right to the boarding school's bank account like a feeding tube, paying their heart a soul to try to make sure that their sons get the best education they could possible provide. How John's parents even had the money for such a place, he had no idea. John knew that his father had a good job, and that they had some sort of inheritance stowed away under the mattress for a rainy day, and yet he would probably much rather sit in public school and use all that money for a new car, or a plane ticket to Aruba. He didn't want to sit in these stuffy classrooms in a straight backed wooden chair, sharpening his pencil to a perfect point while his professor droned on and on about something geography oriented. It was dangerous to not pay attention in this class, especially since Mr. Fletcher is a firm supporter of pop quizzes. It was how he kept his kids in check, so to say, and yet obviously he was doing nothing of the sort to try to inforce his rules upon the class while he was teaching, because he usually just stood facing the map, jabbing at different colored countries and moaning on and on about their culture and what not. John was becoming increasingly focused on the sharpness of his pencil, closing one eye and twisting the pencil slowly so that the sunlight shining in from the freshly washed window gleamed on the graphite. John had to wonder just how dangerous a sharp pencil could be, probably not physically damaging, after they changed them from led to graphite all the fun got taken out of being stabbed with a pencil, however the intellect that could be passed from this sharpened tip to a piece of blank paper had the capability to destroy nations. And yet John wasn't supposed to be destroying nations with his pencil, he was supposed to be recording facts about them, so of course, he simply waved the pencil around in the air in satisfaction. John glanced to his left, finding that, two rows down and one seat ahead, Greg Lestrade was equally entertained with his own contraption of knowledge. He had constructed a small catapult out of his protractor and a rubber band he had presumably picked up from the teacher's desk, fitting his pencil into the rubber band and bending it back so that, if he let go, it would shoot a pencil top eraser with catastrophic power. John only stifled his laugh, knowing that if Mr. Fletcher turned around and saw Greg's little creation he would most certainly get the ruler for it. Greg was a very knowledgeable kid, he knew everything that the teachers asked him and yet it seemed like his head was always in the clouds, or, in this instance, in a catapult. He was one of the top students in their seventh and final year in boarding school, and yet all he seemed to be able to do was entertain himself with the most boring of all school supplies. It seemed as though the molding process has not been completed on either John or Greg, maybe because they roomed together and insisted on breaking out of the machine once and a while, breaking their mold to get a quick cigarette or spend an evening with an attractive girl from the public school just down the road. Lauriston Public School, the haven for all kids whose parents weren't rich enough to ship them off to the large brick structure just miles down the road. John admired that school more than anything, and he always imagined himself there when he was getting most miserable while trapped in this castle. He could be sitting in a nice ceramic chair, with an attached desk and all, listening to a dorky old man crone on and on about something or another, he could slouch in his chair, chew gum and stick it under the desk, he could miss his homework and slack off on studying for one night! Oh how public school appealed to him, and yet it seems that he was too privileged to have privileges like that. The boarding school that John attended was called Wisteria Boarding School, an exclusive all boy's school with an entry level test, and it promised to ship them away as men ready to enter right into the business world. John knew that it was practical, and that it would pay off in the long run, however he was becoming increasingly miserable with every day wasted away in this prison. Sure Greg was great, and the food was decent, and the rugby team he played for had won their league three times in a row (partially because of him, if we're going to be humble about it) however John longed for something new, a change, per say. Something that would make him stand out of the crowd just a little bit, something that would make him noticed, here where all boys wore the same thing. The bell rang shrilly and everyone shuffled to their feet, grabbing their books in a neat little stack and walking with superb posture out of the door, grabbing their homework from a seemingly indifferent Mr. Fletcher. John walked over to Greg first, who was now dismantling his little contraption with a little smile on his face, evidently very proud of the architectural masterpiece he was able to create in such short time.
"Very riveting lesson today, don't you think?" John teased as they walked out the door, homework in hand to add to their ever growing pile. It was the last class of the day, thank God, and it seemed that they would be spending all evening stooped over their text books, trying desperately to cram all the information that they could into their brains before the next morning.
"Yes I suppose. I never knew so much about India." Greg agreed with a shrug.
"We weren't talking about India." John debated with a sort of frown, pushing past a group of second years without yielding. Greg just laughed, as if he were proud of his own ignorance, and shook his head carelessly.
"Well that would make sense then. I was wondering why he was going on about Eskimos." Greg laughed. John just rolled his eyes, rather astounded that Greg could be so incompetent yet so ingenious all at the same time. They pushed through the crowds, all bearing the Wisteria uniform, the black sweater and red tie, until finally they got to their shared dormitory. John unlocked the door with the key in his pocket, pushing open the door and walking into the very uninteresting room. They weren't allowed posters of any sort, so the tan walls were bare. The only sign that the room was even occupied at all was the two desks, set up along the walls, which were covered in papers and books of all sorts. The beds, pushed to either side of the walls, were very neatly made, the curtains pulled up so that the sunlight could illuminate the room perfectly without any use of the lights. John dropped his books unceremoniously onto his bed, walking thoughtlessly to the window and gazing out to the sloping lawns and the small pond that occupied the grounds, a good three stories from where he miserably stood. The rugby field was out of his sight, and yet he knew that in a week or so, when season was starting, at this time he would have to be getting dressed and changed. However it was very close to the start of term, it's only been about two weeks since they all got shipped off to their prison like dormitories, and the professors like to insist on education coming before sports, so they leave a couple of weeks in between the start of term and the start of the season just so that the boys could become accustomed to their classes before they start training. John thought that was complete rubbish, since he saw no reason why rugby training could do any harm towards his education, however he didn't make the rules, and so he sat dormant for a couple of weeks after term, yearning and aching to get on the field and throw some guys around. Greg sighed heavily, flopping onto his bed so that the springs all shrieked in irritation, having to suddenly hold all of his weight plus the crushing weight placed upon Greg to do well and succeed. Altogether, John pities that poor bed.
"You know that it's been a good three weeks since I've seen a girl my age? I've counted." Greg said with a groan, letting his hands fall off of the bed and dangle into nothingness for a moment. Eventually he decided that he would rather lie without the fear of being strangled, so he pulled his tie rather roughly off of his collar and threw it carelessly to the old wooden floor.
"Three weeks ago? When did you see a girl then?" John wondered, organizing his books upon his bed and trying to prioritize his homework for the night. Greg seemed to care nothing about his homework, for he still lay motionless, obviously wishing to even smell the faintest hint of flowery perfume after so long.
"Oh she didn't talk to me or anything, she just, you know, walked by. It was in town, when I was getting pencils and stuff for school. She was pretty." Greg admitted with a tone of complete carelessness. At this point John was convinced he was just talking to talk, and yet he didn't bother stopping him. Greg's ramblings were one of the finer things this school had to offer, they were one of the only brainless, stupid forms of entertainment that degrade your mind just a little whenever you listen to them. John enjoyed Greg talking just because he finally felt like he was doing something that wouldn't all together impact his future for the better.
"Did she go to Lauriston?" John wondered carelessly, picking up his calculous book hatefully and flipping through the pages to the one that had the homework problems on them. There were only twenty questions, not bad until you realize that they are twenty of the most irritating, difficult problems on the face of the planet. John groaned, but pulled a clean piece of paper from his notebook and got his calculator out and ready for action.
"How am I supposed to know if she went to Lauriston? They don't have any definable features, they don't have any uniforms!" Greg insisted with a groan, obviously wallowing in misery at the moment.
"Well I'd say if she's our age and she's wandering around here, she probably goes to Lauriston." John guessed. Greg frowned, rolling over onto his back rather moodily and staring up at the ceiling with dissatisfaction.
"Yes, I suppose you're right. You know how much fun this place would be if we could just have girls? If it was co-ed?" he wondered dreamily.
"Sounds chaotic to me. I'm sure you'd never concentrate at school again." John guessed with a smile, pausing to scrawl down the first problem and staring at it hopelessly. That was one thing about getting the best education out there, it was totally impossible to actually understand it.
"Quite the contrary. I never concentrate anyway." Greg defended, as if that somehow helped his argument. John just shook his head with a laugh, leaning back on the wall and dropping his pencil for a moment.
"There's a dance coming up." John said with a smile. Greg finally looked at him, his head turning so fast that John was scared his neck might have snapped unexpectedly. This was the most concentrated John may have ever seen him.
"A what? Where? With who?" he asked, spitting out questions rapid fire. John just laughed, setting his homework aside and shrugging innocently, toying around a bit with Greg's desperate state.
"Oh you know Greg, a dance. Where girls get all dressed up in Lauriston School, where they wear stuff that is way too short and play all the latest music, and they find desperate boys like yourself to dance with and they try their best to break your heart before the night is through." John said teasingly. Greg's eyes lit up in excitement.
"Wonderful." He breathed. "When is it?"
"Tomorrow night, last I heard." John said with a shrug. It was Thursday, and Lauriston always held their dances on Friday nights so that they had the weekend to recover. Unlike Wisteria the professors scarcely give homework over the weekend, they claim that their students needed to relax a little bit, as if their school work was anywhere near as stressful as at Wisteria. In boarding school they think it's wonderful that their students are basically in captivity, and they insist on loading up their arms with as much homework as was humanly possible for the weekends. And yet John, Greg, and a lot of other boys find time in their schedules to slip out of their windows at night and sneak over to Lauriston when they had their ridiculous dances. All the public school girls found the Wisteria boys to be very attractive, and of course, since they hadn't seen a girl in about three weeks, the Wisteria boys were just as keen. It was always a fun filled rebellious night, and seeing as though it was tomorrow night, John doubted any homework would be done until well into Saturday, when they had recovered from their spiked punch hangovers.
"Well then I think, John, that it wouldn't be a party without our presence, would it?" Greg wondered happily. John just shrugged, a smile on his face that basically told Greg that he was most certainly game for whatever mischief Greg might want to get himself into on Friday night.
"I think it would be a wasted opportunity to let all of those poor Lauriston girls dance alone." John agreed with a smile. Greg nodded his agreement; obviously he was ever so happy to break the rules a little bit, on the account of giving another beautiful Lauriston girl a dancing partner for the evening. The night was spent in homework, the two of the boys completely engulfed in their studies and unable to let their minds stray to such a place as Lauriston school for the time being. Calculus, English, geography, and chemistry was the workload for tonight, and John sat awake until about eleven o'clock, bent over his periodic table by the light of a flashlight, Greg occasionally rolling over and hissing at him to shut the light off and go to bed. In the end Greg's pestering was difficult to ignore, and finally, after John had completed his final orbital diagram, he shut off the flashlight and shoved his books onto his night stand. John snuggled under the blankets, sighing in relief as he stared into the darkness, finally letting his brain rest. He thought of the dance, and of what opportunities might present themselves there. John had had a girlfriend before, however brief the encounter it was a wonderful one, so he wasn't completely ignorant when it came to the opposite gender. However he was afraid of making a fool of himself, he was most certainly out of practice when it came to flirting, how was he supposed to approach a girl if he didn't know what to say? It wouldn't be an issue, certainly they found him just as intriguing, maybe they would be the ones to approach him. And Greg, certainly, was an excellent wing man and he wouldn't hesitate to hook John up with a beautiful girl for the night. Those dances were always so much fun, so John couldn't help but imagine all the potential this one held, looming so close. He wondered what type of people he would meet, what he would do, who he would dance with, who he might kiss... It was a night of opportunities, certainly, and it seemed as though these nights only came once or twelve a year. Might as well take advantage of them while you can.