"You think you can best me, boy?" you answered in return to Jacob's bold statement. Your fellow actor removed his top hat, tossing it aside with an exaggerated flick.
"Certainly, m'lady. I've been at it for years." With a smirk, he proceeded to throw mock punches towards you, eliciting a giggling fit from you as you pretended to fight back. He had hit you once or twice in the span of your short-lived battle, but they weren't going to leave injuries. After all, you were only playing.
This scene wasn't even implemented in your school play, yet none of you had broken character since the bell rang for lunch. Drama class with Maxwell Roth had that effect. It wasn't long after the bell had sounded for break, but neither of you wished to eat over acting. Except Ezio, who had excluded himself to puff cold air at his steaming mince pie. The door clicked open not a moment later and expecting another friend of yours to arrive in your usual congregating place, you took a mere glance before resuming your scrap with Jacob.
"Miss Frye, what do you think you are doing?" came a voice, none other than Assistant Principal, Miss Lucy Thorne, who — strangely enough — was more concerned with Evie's doings. Evie: the angel child, who had never done anything wrong in her life, ever.
"Reading?" Evie responded, more puzzled than certain of her hobby. They had a distaste for one another, although you could never discern as to why. Once satisfied with the random interrogation, Evie plummeted back into the wormhole of her book and Miss Thorne had moved onto scrutinising someone else.
"Mister Frye," she went on to say, venom on her tongue, as if the whole Frye family had some kind of repelling odour radiating from them. Evie's more metaphorical than her brother's. "Do I need to send you to the principal's office, or can you settle yourself down?" She sounded like a posh old lady who made it her civic duty to leech the life and joy from everyone she passed by. In which Jacob wasn't pleased one bit and shot a dirty glare in her general direction, leaving him open for attack. An opportunity you took immediately, tossing an all-too-eager fist at Jacob's shoulder, hitting him dead-on. Your friend recoiled, producing a sound of pain. Was your hit that aggressive? Thorne rounded on you.
"Miss (____), you do know how the school treats those who come into physical conflict with other students?" She spoke to you, but her eyes were trained on Altaïr and Ezio, whose gazes were averted, intentionally and unintentionally. Apparently no one ever forgot their brash approaches to opposition.
"Yes, Miss," you droned, complying with the instruction given to Jacob by lowering your defence and plonking yourself down onto the carpet.
"Yes, Miss," Jacob parrotted, mimicking you in the highest pitch he could muster. Wrinkling your nose, you whacked Jacob's hairy ankle and his eyes flicked to you, with a face saying: hey, what's that for? Even still, he backed off and sat behind you, giving you enough leeway to lean back into his chest, put out by the woman who doused your energy.
Killing everyone's fun was Miss Thorne's evident goal and, more than happy with the results, she did a one-eighty turn and exited the room.
"Bitch," you cursed, exasperated at the unnecessary amount of nitpicking the said staff member had committed to. You had hardly done anything and she advanced to attack you. Sure, kids had a lot of disrespect for their elders, but she did a great job of being the bigger person. Evie nodded along, agreeing with you.
"Miss Lucy Thorne is the vampire sucking the life out of everyone, and somehow manages to give all the blood 'donations' to Mister Starrick. She isn't a female dog, she's an evil, blood-sucking, demonic entity and —"
"Evie?"
"Yeah?" She reacted a little panicked, as if none of you were meant to hear her oddly adorable conspiracy theory. Her delicate fingers fiddled with the next page of her book, afraid someone might drag her away and she'd never be seen again. She was wrong.
"You read too much."
"I do not —" she paused, thinking it over before amending, "all right, I do." And she flipped the page, leaving the real world behind. You detected Jacob shifting, stretching his legs out to encase your lower half. His nose nuzzled into the crook of your neck. After being scolded, Jacob became melancholic and affectionate. A comforting change from his usually energetic, pest-like demeanour.
"Sorry I got you into trouble, love," he purred, pressing a tender kiss to your neck, evoking a protective grunt from Altaïr somewhere in the background. His arms were woven around your waist, rings clinking between his fingers. You leaned further back, comforted in his company.
"Sorry I punched you so hard, doofus."
"You're mean to me," he complained, a whiny tone hitting his voice.
"Only 'cuz I love you."
You sighed, feeling the air pass through your windpipe and your lips, alleviating the emotions induced by Thorne. Silence reigned supreme for a beat or so, then a symphony of taps emitted from Jacob's swollen digits. Releasing a stream of air instead of any sound of humour, you had to ask him,
"Do you want some?"
"Do I what?"
"Want some rings, you idiot. You haven't taken them off since I went to go wash my hands," you noted, drumming your nails over the ring he still wore to stop him from expressing his musical prowess.
"I'm just... I'm not done looking after them just yet." Jacob sounded a little too convinced it was indeed what he was doing. A vicious lie that didn't escape your attention. To divert you from the detail that he didn't answer the question, he pecked your scalp, almost being met with a mouthful of hair. "Your hair's greasy," he insulted you a second later.
"And you smell terrible. Don't see me complaining, do you?"
"Oi —"
"Answer my question, Rook Boy." Your threat was a lighthearted bluff, there wasn't going to be a second time where you potentially injured Jacob. Even though it was his fault for allowing himself to be vulnerable.
"Fine, right, maybe I would —" He was halted by the squeak of the door swinging open once more. This time, it wasn't Miss Thorne, or any staff member of the likes. It was a lanky frame shrouded by a cobalt blue hoodie.
Upon entering the room, the figure stopped dead in their tracks. The only movement they made was their raspy, heaving breaths. The remainder of the group hushed, with a collective thought in mind: who were they? You weren't left without a conclusion for long, as a more deductive companion pieced it together before anyone else.
"Arno?" Connor asked, as apprehensive as one could get. It blew you away how he could identify his friend, deprived of all defining features.
"Bonjour," Arno mumbled, replying to the very person who acknowledged his existence. His hood was over his head, drawstrings pulled down as far as humanly possible to conceal his complexion. Arno was infamous for moping about everyday life, but today was excessive. Like he woke up and his brain switched the Sad Dial™ up to the maximum.
"Going for a 'creature of the night' look today, are we?" Jacob made the first remark at Arno's fashion statement. Arno's head snapped towards Jacob and you could only imagine the scowl carving his lips.
"Going for a 'climbed out of the sewers' look today, are we?" Arno snipped in return, in no mood to be tested by his mates.
"Where were you?" you inquired, the words as genuine as you felt.
"Maths. Mister Lee kept me after class because I forgot about the homework. Then I waited for you at the canteen, but yet again you didn't bother to show up. So, I just got you a biscuit because you didn't answer your phone when I texted. Or when I called. Nine times. Then, when I was on my way here, Lucrezia called me a walking dumpling. Now, I arrive here, only to be bullied by Rat Boy," Arno detailed, his tones downtrodden. Again, he made you feel distraught over failing to remember meeting up with him.
"Ow, I'm so wounded, Arnie! How could you do this —?"
"Shut up, Jacob."
"Hey! What's under the hood, amico mio (my friend)?" Ezio piped up, mouth stuffed with mushed up pie. Charming.
"My face," Arno shot back in an instant, making Ezio sound like the village idiot when Arno was the one who appeared like he was about to rob a bank unprepared.
"He means, what is it you have to hide?" Connor clarified, hoping he helped out. He didn't.
"My face," Arno repeated, like he was a human broken record. Connor's eyes narrowed, but left the subject, occupying himself with consuming his sandwich. Connor had this silent understanding about him at all times. He knew if anyone had asked him the same, he'd want to be left alone. Ezio, on the other hand, did not.
"Come on, let us see! Whatever it is, it can't be that bad! Please?"
"Yeah, go on, Arno. It'll be fine, I swear we won't judge," you reassured, giving him your best pleading look. Arno grizzled in disapproval, so he could see you at the least.
"Take it off, or I'll make you~" Jacob teased, using the innuendo to his advantage.
"Did I ask you to talk, peasant? Sewer rats don't get opinions up here." Arno was really dishing it out, and you have never in your life heard him so sassy before.
"That's a violation of my Rat Rights," Arno's current victim whinged, contorting his face into various abhorrent expressions. "But still. We want to 'see your beautiful face,'" he went on to quote Mister Roth, dusting off the old memories of lockdown during the pandemic. Jacob had an annoying habit of referencing anything from Roth's drama class. Over and over.
"Fine. But you have to promise not to laugh at me."
"Consider it done, honey," you smiled, because you, too, wanted to see what Arno was hiding under his helm of blue fabric.
In a painstaking slow fashion, Arno uncovered his ghastly secret. The hood came off to reveal a face warped by little hours of deep sleep; that was to be expected. But the next thing you saw was breathtaking, to a degree.
"Dio mio (My God)," Ezio gasped, holding a hand to his mouth to tie down any more insults yet to come.
"So that's where the monster under my bed went," Desmond pitched in, taking his glossy brown eyes off his phone screen for one moment, however brief. Arno, whose face had now been exposed, wasn't impressed with Desmond one bit. The lines on his forehead deepened and, matching someone making an accusation in a hardcore game of Cluedo, the scarred child cried,
"You! You did this to me! Introducing me to a life-changing amount of caffeine and now look what's happened. I look like a gargoyle." He flapped his hands at his cheeks, making the angry, red pimples more noticeable on purpose. They almost blinked like miniature beacons, crying the words, 'Notice me! Look, I'm here!'
"Huh? I didn't do anything," Desmond denied, closing his phone and eyeing Arno, quizzical.
"'Didn't do anything?' Nuh-uh, you liar. Feel free to explain this." Arno proceeded to unload the contents of his backpack, dropping can after drained can, bottle after empty bottle. Desmond's eyes expanded double their original size, babbling,
"Woah... what the hell?"
"How many energy drinks have you had?" you pressed, gaping at the mound of aluminium and glass lying on the floor.
"Enough to make me stop thinking about Élise," Arno stated, giving you a gauge of just how stimulated he could get on those sugar-loaded beverages. "Now, if it's all the same to you, I think I'll sit in a corner and die." Which, for the most part, Arno did. Deserting his litter, Arno slipped away into the corner of the room, plugging in his earphones and falling back into the cavern of his hood. From your seat in Jacob's company, you felt the buzz of a phone notification.
"Perfect timing," Jacob chirped, unclear on whether he was being sarcastic or not. "Those bloody Blighters are challenging my Rooks to a game of football. Sorry, got to head off. Look after the stone demon for me." He begged without mercy for a final silly smooch before weaving himself out of your comfort, picking up his tatty, old backpack, and with infinite swagger, he departed.
In the absence of your clingy friend, you crawled over to Arno, propping yourself up next to him. Altaïr projected a questioning expression at you, letting you know he was surveying your actions from afar. You swore to yourself: you did not forget about him.
Altaïr's talent was disappearing and sometimes he didn't show up during lunchtime, so you never sent a query into his withdrawals. He was a private guy, you respected that, but often his presence wasn't there and it became a sense of normality around the group. You replied with a wordless apology to him, internally cringing at not knowing how to react. Time felt endless, until Arno detected your energy beside him, taking out a single earphone to say,
"What?"
"You didn't give me my biscuit, babe."
"Here." Arno resorted to handing out one word answers, dropping the treat into your lap, plastic wrapping protesting against the contact. You tore it open to get to the cookie inside, breaking the delicacy into uneven halves. Pressing the larger half into Arno's spindly fingers, you let it be the compensation for your more than inadequate memory.
"Hey, well, if it helps, I don't think you're a gargoyle."
"Thanks." His murmur was barely heard over Ezio, taking over Jacob's position as 'most irritating'.
"Eh, eh, Desmond!" The one being called upon turned at the beckoning. "I wonder when the traffic lights are going to change, uh?" Desmond spent his precious time in the act of deciphering Ezio's poor joke, before letting a piteous snicker out his nose. Altaïr rolled his eyes so far back that you doubted they would ever return to their natural state. Exhaling in the most sonorous form possible, the eldest member ditched the remainder of the group and left. You supposed he was sick of their antics and having to father them day in and day out, telling them what's acceptable and what isn't. With that, you let him be. It was plausible he was off to search for Malik, which wasn't the worst choice of people to desert the crowd for, after their recent reconciliation.
Altaïr's abandonment of the group changed nothing, Ezio kept himself busy by rubbing salt in the wound of Arno's misfortune. Arno refused to respond, earphones delved far into his ear canals to care for the outside world. Ezio made some wild gesticulation and Arno's response was on point, flipping the bird with a devilish smirk. The Italian gasped in offence, shocked how his friend retaliated to his teasing. Said friend removed the devices hindering his ability to hear, furthering the power shift.
"Bippity, boppity, boo, I put a curse on you." Arno couldn't help himself and chuckled at his own childish jest, pointing at Ezio with the digit he upturned. Thereafter, Ezio was laughing, hurling himself in every direction. Over the empty threat or the fairytale film reference, you weren't certain. Perhaps it was both. You could never really tell with Ezio. Even silence humours him, so you flagged it. No need to decipher Ezio's commonly strange behaviours. Desmond joined in, whichever part of Arno's sentence got them going was infectious. Soon, you were laughing at their laughter, and the room was filled with the sounds of madness. Even Arno was finding light in the chaos. Evie wasn't entertained so much, she had an iron focus on the pages in front of her, in spite of her wrinkled nose. Arno made the proposition to curse Ezio and it zipped right over her head. Oh well. It mattered not whether she witnessed it.
Because eventually everyone did.
***
New day, same time, Ezio stormed into your normal hangout spot, hands balled into fists. His lush cream coloured hoodie gathered at the front of his face, with naught but a nose poking through. Nothing you'd seen that day looked more comical. Ezio could be comedic, yes, though on this particular day he'd reached a new extreme. He liked to express his humour by using his words and theatrical gesticulations. Through and through, Ezio was a drama kid, no doubt about it. You stared at him a while longer to notice a familiarity. Desmond beat you to the punchline before you could pronounce a word.
"Woah, déjà vu."
"Arno." Despite the name cascading gloriously off Ezio's tongue, it held a burning fury, a malice that couldn't be placed. Desmond's remark was ignored and instead of resorting back to his phone, he waited to see why recent history had repeated.
"Yup?" Arno replied curiously, in an all-too-perky tone. He had yet another — full, this time — energy drink can in hand, so apparently his lesson wasn't clear enough to motivate him to rectify it. Ezio made his advance with heavy footsteps. And Altaïr sensed a threat. You'd never seen him get up so fast to intervene. He served as a blockade between Arno and a murderous Ezio.
"Ezio," Altaïr regarded Ezio using a pacifying voice, staring directly where Ezio's eyes would have been, were they not covered. "Easy. What issue do you have with Arno?"
"He — Arno —" then Ezio made a series of incomprehensible noises. You genuinely thought he'd gone feral, before he spewed the words: "He cursed me!" A few exclamations of puzzlement like 'huh?' and 'what?' cycled through the group, who were all fully paying attention now. Altaïr took charge of the situation, calmly instructing Ezio through his little outburst.
"Breathe for a moment." Ezio's frantic breaths slowed. "All right. Now, tell us what you have against Arno here."
"I told you: 'he cursed me.' Look!" Ezio unravelled his hood, throwing it off his head, jabbing his forefinger at a lump protruding from his chin.
"What sorcery is this?" Altaïr quizzed, still uncertain of the context. Arno peeked past Altaïr to catch the result of his 'curse', and in a split second he was rolling on the floor, near tears, roaring with amusement.
"Holy shit —" Desmond gasped in disbelief.
"It worked!" Arno celebrated.
"You muppets," Evie interjected, thoroughly eyeballing the current scene. "Ezio isn't cursed. If Arno did inflict damage to him, it was a jinx, not a curse. A jinx causes temporary bad luck, a mild inconvenience. A curse won't easily wear off and could hang over Ezio's head for a lifetime, exacting direct harm to him." No one appeared to care about Evie's correction, but she was proud enough to quiet down. Jacob followed up with,
"Eh, it's still early days. You never know, he might transform into a pustule monster that flays us alive and feasts on our young, eternally searching for a cure for... pimples." Which was quite an escalation from Evie's blunt amendment. Sometimes the Frye twins weren't vastly different people. They had a knack for dramatic, vivid imagery, for one.
"You guys should write novels," you mused, out of nowhere in particular. If the twins ever considered a career in writing, they likely could produce many eccentric, horror fantasy books. Though, knowing those two, they'd separate over creative differences. You received a couple 'what's from somewhere in the room.
"Never mind." You withdrew, not even attempting a reasoning.
"Well, I think I'm cursed!' Ezio blustered. "I'll never be able to show my face in public again! Because of him." Arno beamed at Ezio's bold claim, clearly basking in having the upper hand.
"What are you going to do, wear a paper bag over your head?" Evie suggested lightheartedly.
"Sì (yes)! That's brilliant! Anybody got one? Connor~?" Ezio outstretched a hand towards Connor, who was mostly minding his own business up until the interruption. Sighing and dishing a deserving eye roll, Connor passed his empty lunch bag to Ezio, who took it eagerly, punching three holes: two for seeing and another for breathing. When he was happy with his work, Ezio popped it over his head.
"Problem solved." Altaïr stated, though he didn't sound too confident in his conviction. Probably due to Ezio's unevenness of his viewing apparatus. Desmond — after taking photographic evidence of Ezio in his new fashion accessory — took the opportunity to crack a joke.
"Let's see what's behind paper bag number one!" he announced, waving his arms like a model on a game show. As soon as Desmond went to reveal Ezio's face, Ezio yanked his mask back down, tearing an edge of the bag.
"Desmond," Ezio scolded, folding his arms over his chest. He was such a sulker.
"Oops." Desmond slithered off back to his seat in shame. Something in your brain sparked, and you felt compelled to ask,
"Wait, why're you doing this? Can't you just go back to wearing your hoodie in class?"
"No," Ezio responded, with the air of someone about to make a senseless justification. "Because apparently a hoodie is a 'hat' and is 'disrespectful to wear indoors' or something. This isn't against regulation because there is no regulation for 'paper bag facial coverings'! They'll never expect it! Plus, I've already been laughed at three times today... Anyway, I'm a genius and I found a loophole."
"And I found a muppet." Evie quipped.
"Which Muppet would he be, though?" Connor questioned, almost in honest wonder, of which fictional puppet Ezio should be allocated to.
"A 'Papertore,'" Altaïr answered, his expression dead set. Desmond chuckled,
"That sounds like a Pokémon."
"Gotta catch 'em all!" Jacob added, tossing his tennis ball at Ezio as his effort to 'catch' him. Ezio took the brunt of the attack and reacted with exaggeration.
"Come on, guys," you warned. "Leave Ezio be. He's trying his best."
"Yeah, like he was 'trying his best' to piss me off yesterday. It's karma." Said Arno.
"Aww, hey. Come 'ere, Ezio." You left your spot to blanket Ezio in a hug, trying to shield him from further verbal attacks. He reciprocated, sticking his tongue out at his adversaries from over your shoulder, wetting his new face covering in the process. He then went on to degrade the others,
"Losers." Earning him a rough clap on the back.
"If anyone needs a hug, it's me. Desmond curses me, I curse Ezio... it's been a long two days." Arno made his excuse and weaved into the embrace.
"Jinxed, Arno. Jinxed." Evie repeated herself once more to stress her point.
"Hey! I didn't curse you. Technically, you cursed yourself." Desmond defended his actions. "My feelings are hurt, I need a hug more than you guys." He found his way into contact with you too. Three boys had you surrounded in their warmth and affection. As sweet as it was, your chest tightened, some oxygen would be nice.
"Fuck it. Y'know what?" You lifted your head to gulp in stale air. "Bring it in, everyone."
The totality of the group — except Aveline, who was allegedly off working on some project — swarmed in a little huddle. Each adding their own comfort level to the table. Altaïr, with his single-handed reassurance; Connor, whose effort was standing in close proximity; Evie, who was mostly bumping Jacob to fit in the crowd. The team of you were like penguins conserving heat. Cute, cuddly, warm but incredibly hard to breathe. Through it, you managed the words,
"You all are bullies."
"What?"
"Oi!"
"Come on!"