Diplomat High

Chapter 20 - Meeting up with Vladimir

To your dismay, someone throws a shoe at him, and he dodges it, turning a shade of rouge. And it's not easy for him to restrain his anger. "Who threw that?"

"Me."

Gasps rise in the audience as you see your counselor, George H.W. Bush march towards the other Bush, the George W. Bush. What a mouthful. But also, George H.W. Bush threw a shoe at his son! What was this? An imaginary fanfiction?

The younger Bush blinks. "What do you mean? Why would you do that?"

"Because I'm sick of being in your shadow! I told you not to come here." the older Bush shouts.

"This is my school, I graduated, and I'm allowed to come when I want!"

"You wouldn't be here without me!"

Even more shocking, the younger Bush lunges at his father, and things just go downhill from there. Students start racing out of the stands, and the noise becomes deafening. You think maybe it's a bit ill timed to snap a picture or two. But it's more important that you get out of there.

You try to make your way to the side entrance where there's less clamor, but students manage to infest that area. How did it escalate like this? Definitely Bush's fault. It didn't matter which one. But what wasn't their fault?

You peer through the mess and locate an entrance into the locker room area. Technically, you weren't allowed there, but you could make up some kind of excuse. Then again, you could end up getting in trouble, but it was better than being stuck in this.

Pushing your way through the sidelines, you make it to the other side that leads into the locker rooms. You're about to head inside, but you hear a creak just above you. And you barely have time to gasp before a large, eccentrically red, white, and blue Homecoming sign falls from the seating railing and towards you.

"Watch out!"

Your eyes widen as strong hands push you out of the way and down the ramp. The sign falls just where you had been standing. You wondered how much that would have costed if it had killed you. Maybe it would be better to be buried raw.

It's not the time to worry about that, however, because you realize someone just saved you from an interminable death. You look up and see Vladimir off to the side, rising to his feet, and dusting his hands against his uniform. "Are you okay?" he asks you.

Your heart is beating a mile a minute. "Um, yeah. Oh my god, thanks. My life just flashed before my eyes, and I was imagining getting stuck with Linc-- with a very expensive funeral bill."

He gives a small laugh. "You're very lucky then."

"Somehow. I'm pretty sure I can count the times I've narrowly escaped death on my fingers." Fact checker agrees. 

"Can't we all?" he adds. Actually, you're thinking it's a phenomenon just reserved for you. Huh, it was a whole thing. Maybe there was some kind of being controlling your every action and preventing you from getting detrimentally injured by essentially writing your every movement and motion throughout your artificial existence. But even that sounds unrealistic.

He sticks his hand out, and you take it. His hands are warm and rough as he pulls you up. Your face heats up. "So, I guess this isn't the most ideal way to encounter you again?"

"I would think not." He furrows his brow. "Where were you headed?"

"I tried to escape through the locker room, but that was much apparently unsuccessful." You put your hands up. "And I know, I know, I'm not supposed to be there. I was just going to sit down and close my eyes until the area cleared, and I could head inside."

 "I had the same plan." He shrugs. "It was hard to get away. But you can come with me."

You join him down the ramp towards the locker rooms. "Does this happen often?" you ask.

He rubs his chin. "What? The Bush feud? The chaos? Giant signs almost crushing people?"

"Uh, okay, maybe I am a little more way in over my ahead than I thought."  And you thought you were the only weird thing about this school. 

"It happens." He shrugs.

"Strangely enough." You tap your fingers against your camera. "So, big game today, right?"

"Eh, it should be nothing that daunting. Palmer Springs is 8th in the district."

"And we're first? Thanks to you of course."

He laughs. "I'll absolve myself from full responsibility. But yes, we are first."

"I don't have much of an interest in throwing balls around, but maybe I'll check it out for your sake."

"Oh." He cleared his throat.

You raise your eyebrows. "What?"

"It's just... I've never really had anyone come to watch just me."

"Oh well, I've basically got all the time in the world, so if you want, I can come by."

"That would, er, if you'd like."

"I don't mind." You shrug. As long as it wasn't as haptic as today.

You make it down to the locker room, and you realize how weird it is just for the two of you to be down there. But it's only weird if you make it weird. So don't.

Just think about something else besides the fact that the two of you are alone in a very secluded locker room where pretty much no one can find you. Isn't that a true crime story?

Get it together! You chew on the inside of your cheek. "So, anything else you do besides football?"

"Yeah," he answers, "I enjoy swimming."

"Swimming? Can't say I know how to do that. Next time a sign falls on me while I'm drowning, I hope you'll be there."

He laughs. "Maybe just for you."

"I'm sure there's tons of hapless people who would be in need of your saving."

"Not all of them so... appreciative." He steps a little closer to you, and you wonder how close is too close. And also, why is your heart beating so fast? Maybe just the adrenaline wearing out.

You give a nervous laugh. "Well, I try. But I'm amazed by so little."

"I'm amazed by you," he blurts.

"Oh." You think that might have been the most blunt compliment you've ever gotten.

He lets out a breath. "Sorry if that was forward. It's just... it's rare I get to speak to people like this. It's like they always avoid me."

You give him a small smile. "Well, then they've probably made a huge mistake."

He nods and his gaze falls down to his feet. "You don't have to come to my game, but..." He straightens. "I want you to come to Homecoming with me if you want."

All you can do is gape and sputter. "Oh, t-that's, um--"

"I don't need an answer now, just... let me know."

"Yeah, of course."

He shifts in his feet for a bit before gesturing at the door. "I'll, uh, be going."

"Yeah, see you."

You watch him disappear and resist the urge to bang your forehead against a locker.