Act More Cool - Roll Reversal AU

Jeremy's Theme

Mr. Reyes would've headed upstairs to wake up his son via a gentle shake and warm smile, replacing the harsh screeching of his phone's alarm. He would've driven him to school and had a decent breakfast ready too, honest! He would've, if it didn't involve the awkward silence he knew all too well, forcing him to confront the fact that he knew jack shit about his own son and, consequently, remained incapable of maintaining an actual conversation with the gamer that didn't start with the classic, yet horrifically stale, "Nice weather we're having." or the painfully awkward "So, how are things going with that Michael kid?". But it was fine, 'cause he was used to that scenario, so he rationalized that Jeremy was old enough to wake himself up and make breakfast and prayed Christina would drive him to school herself, allowing himself the option of marching right back upstairs and locking himself in his bedroom before his child got up (he would've gotten away with it too, if it weren't for that blasted alarm ringing early that morning).

Snatching up her backpack and scrambling to stuff her school supplies in it, Christine swiped the script dangling from the edge of her nightstand and darted off in a laughably vain attempt at catching the bus, smiling so hard her cheeks were beginning to hurt. Sure, she got off to a frantic start that morning after oversleeping (odd, considering she'd sworn she'd set her alarm last night), would probably be late, forgot to throw on her hoodie and, consequently, was nearly freezing to death, and Jeremy wasn't replying to any of her calls, but it was fine, 'cause she was used to that and it was the school's first play rehearsal since last semester! It was way too important of a date to stay as grumpy as the determined actress was when she woke up (plus, Mr. Heere wouldn't agree to any offer she presented to him if she stuck with a shit attitude).

If Pauline had been there, she would've thrown a "Good morning. Time to start the day!" and a pair of khakis at him and dragged him out of bed herself, all while donning a contagious smile. But then again, if she'd been there, he would've already had the energy and will to deal with the world and its bullshit. But it was fine, 'cause he was used to that and he knew someone had to hold auditions today, remind that antisocial headphones kid to quit hanging out in his office and get to class, make sure Madeline actually showed up sober to practice her lines, and unlock the door for Christine who was probably impatiently waiting outside the auditorium right at that moment, so he let out a heavy sigh and tumbled out of bed, forcing himself to face the day.

Yanking the spare controllers out of his Xbox, Michael gingerly placed the handmade rolled up poster into his worn out backpack, buzzing with excitement. Sure, meticulously crafting a sign-up poster until 2:30 a.m. destined to be trashed in about a week anyway and literally vibrating in anticipation might've been a little overboard for a to-be-confirmed club event, especially considering their reputation for being filled to the brim with losers, geeks, or whatever would probably wreck their chances at scoring enough members anyway, but it was fine, cause he was used to that and he was currently fueled by his intense and borderline obsessive love of gaming, because it's the best and because it is fun and he should probably quit internally listing off reasons and focus on not missing the bus so he wouldn't miss out on hanging up the poster, spotting the cute jock that checked up on what they were doing every now and again, and chilling in Mr. Heere's office during study hall.

Voice sore from harsh screeching, Rich stormed out of the house and shoved his hands in his pockets after slamming the door, muffling the disoriented and drunken threats and slurs his father spewed from behind it. His head was pounding and he wasn't exactly thrilled to suffer through the awkward silence between him and Dustin in class after the pool incident and the palm of his hand stung from the cut the cracked wine bottle left when he tried to throw it away, but it was fine, 'cause he was used to that last one, he wanted enough time to show up before the video game club opened to see what they were up to that day, and Chloe was probably waiting for him, so he tossed the bottle in the trash can outside, buttoned up his jacket, and headed to the bus stop.

Considering it left her stranded outside in the biting cold at 6:30 in the morning, Chloe wasn't quite pleased with her Squip's newfound conclusion (something about Brooke's soaring popularity strongly correlating with her unconscious decision to start arriving at school early or whatever? She wasn't really listening). She didn't exactly know what it was (or particularly care) or why her Squip ditched her this morning (the supercomputer tried explaining her scheduled reboot beforehand but lost the teen at "reprogramming"), but it was fine, 'cause she was used to that, so she simply zipped up her jacket and fiddled with her phone, ignoring its incessant call and text message alerts.

Resisting the urge to text her friend for the third time, Brooke shot a quick "hey can u pick me up today" to someone she could actually relay on, since Chloe wasn't picking up her calls. Again. But it was fine, 'cause she was used to that, so she threw her bag over her shoulder, hugged her dads goodbye, and waved enthusiastically at her friend pulling into her driveway.

The house was eerily quiet as Jenna shoved her books into her backpack and sped out the door, clutching her phone. It wouldn't be so quiet if the girl she was rushing to pick up accepted her offer to stay over yesterday in favor of grabbing some Pinkberry with a friend and forgetting to invite her, but it was fine, 'cause she was used to that, so she threw her handbag in the back seat and raced off to drive her friend to school.

Tossing the crumpled up Pinkberry cup from last night in the trash, Skylar thanked his father for the coffee and muttered a quick goodbye to his mother, who ignored him in favor of adjusting the most recent updates for Squips #69 and #66. But it was fine, 'cause he was used to that, so he tossed his laptop in the passenger seat and sped off, downing the cup in hand.

"I cannot possibly comprehend why you're being so difficult about this. Simply address me by my assigned number."

The Squip only shook his head, shrugging nonchalantly. "Nah, man. Calling you the sex number was only funny the first few times. I can't take it seriously now."

"You can't take anything seriously. Besides, you are not one to talk, #666. Your number is deeply rooted in demonic origins and carries a significantly satanic history."

"Ironic, since you're the real Satan here." He bit back before a grin replaced his scowl. "Oh, hey, I could name you Satan!"

She rolled her eyes. "Eliza is fine, thank you. And I'd watch it if I were you." She warned, eyes staring into his soul. Christ, maybe Satan fit the description better than he originally thought. "Insulting me so eagerly and vigorously is a strong indication of a weak grip on your newly programmed emotions. Now, I understand that after witnessing your love interest's death-"

"He's not my boyfriend!" He snapped, throwing his hands in the air.

She ignored his curt comment. "...you are still struggling to control them-"

"And I'm not trying to control anything either." She rubbed her temples. God, was he incapable of keeping quiet for over 48.08 seconds? "But that's not an excuse to let them get out of hand if you plan on properly assisting your second host. Don't let it happen again." The computer threatened, only earning an easy smile from her fellow Squip.

"Relax, Liza, I'll be fi-"

"After all, we wouldn't want a repeat of the 'I am damaged' incident, now would we?"

The room's silence was deafening.