They slipped and skidded on the dew-covered grass down the hill from South Main Street to the main faculty and visitor parking lot. Matt nearly had his feet come out from under him more than once while Topher managed to keep a death-grip on his travel mug. He stumbled at the bottom, the open edges of his jacket flapping, and hooked an arm around a lamp post to stay upright.
It was smoother sailing crossing the street to the Student Center, and managed to arrive outside the Haderlin Room with no awkward wet spots or grass stains. They joined the line to pick up their orientation weekend training binder.
"Name?" the girl behind the table asked him.
"Matthew Winchester." He accepted the lanyard - his full name and graduation year on the card behind the plastic covering - and then the binder. He moved to the right and waited for Topher so they could find someplace to sit together.
"Stanton," Topher said, rubbing his free hand up and down his face.
To say Topher Stanton wasn't a morning person was an understatement.
She looked between him and the name on the tag. "Barnaby?"
"Yeah. That's me." He took his binder and followed Matt to a mostly empty table.
Matt slipped his lanyard over his head while Topher perused the binder materials. He ran his thumb over the bright yellow button with the number five on it.
"Hey, Topher?"
Topher handed over his own lanyard without looking up from the blue paper in front of him. His button said seven. Matt tossed the name tag back, content to watch the rest of the orientation mentors - students from sophomores to seniors - filter in.
"Matt Winchester?"
He turned and looked up slightly, first noticing the sheer amount of flaming red hair around her shoulders. He'd gone searching on Facebook when he'd found out who his orientation mentor partner was and honestly, he really only remembered the hair volume. "Katie?"
"Nice to meet you," she said, holding her hand out.
"Nice to meet you, too." He nudged Topher with his elbow. "This is my roommate, Topher."
Topher looked up with a smile, reaching across Matt to shake Katie's hand. They both looked when someone approached Topher's other side. Matt leaned forward to see better.
"Daniel?"
"Danny." The somewhat stocky young man cocked his head to the side. "Barnaby?"
"Topher."
Danny mirrored Katie and sat down next to his OM partner. Topher slid his lanyard over his head, and from the look on his face, Matt knew he'd be doctoring it later so the 'Barnaby' wouldn't be legible.
He flipped his binder to the first page as the Orientation Coordinators stepped up to the podium at the front of the room. Five minutes later, Matt spared a thought for the travel mug he'd left on the kitchen counter and decided he'd need a whole damn pot a day for the rest of the week.
The only thing keeping Topher going was roughly six cups of coffee a day and an endless amount of smartass commentary from Danny Anderson. They had to keep sixteen firsties on the straight and narrow for the first three days of their college career.
Thank Christ he wasn't responsible for them after that.
If he was any more bored out of his skull he'd be tempted to pop his migraine meds for the equivalent of sedating himself. Except he'd tried that once before - only once - and he'd puked his guts up before the affects had worn up, and spent the next few hours in agony.
Matt had even offered to drive him to the hospital he'd looked so bad.
Not one of Topher's better moments, if he had to admit it.
He slouched further in his seat and pointed his little clicker at the screen. Res Ed was having them all do an interactive Q and A about dealing with parents, and first weekend student issues. As Orientation Mentors, they were supposed to choose the best option to handle the situation.
Evidently, when it came to finding vodka in a water bottle, the resounding consensus was to confiscate it and not inform a soul.
Danny hid a chuckle behind a cough; Topher grinned.
"Res Ed scares the shit out of me sometimes," Danny said, his Canadian accent evident on his vowels.
"I hear that," he agreed, discreetly checking his phone.
[Matty]
Confiscate? You'd sit down and there'd be shots all around.
There was absolutely no point in denying that.
Topher didn't bother to so much as twitch in the direction of Team 5's table.
Teams were awarded points for, essentially, good behavior. They were instructed to sit together for information sessions and meals, and there was a board where points were kept track of.
Team 7 was the bottom.
Team 7 - Topher, Danny, and six Holcrest women - took it in stride and made it their unofficial mission to the worst, because, well, somebody had to and they were already practically there.
"Is it lunch yet?" Maggie whispered.
"Sadly no." Topher sat up a little straighter. "I could use a cup of coffee."
"You've had five already." Danny placed his clicker in the bin going around.
"And?"
"How the hell has Winchester put up with you for so long?" Maggie's eyebrows rose.
"Matty's used to me at this point." He shrugged. He passed the bucket of clickers. "I could use a nap, too." Giving Danny a preemptive shove, he added, "And yes, I'm clearly channeling my inner five-year-old today."
Danny laughed, and the entire table looked anywhere but the podium and the boys. There was some badly hidden chuckling from the right, and Topher sent Matt a discreet middle finger.
His pocket vibrated. Topher waited about five minutes before checking his new messages.
[Matty]
You would try the patience of a saint.
He'd sure tried the patience of many a nun at his one Catholic school, that was for damn sure, and hadn't managed to grow completely out of it.
A few hours later they broke for lunch. He slipped his doctored name tag on and moved in the steady line downstairs to where their buffet was set up. Honestly, he'd rather eat reheated Cam's pizza, but he wasn't about to look sideways at free food. No college student would.
"What do we have this afternoon?" Katie asked, though she, like Topher, passed on the meatballs.
"Flash mob dance practice," Danny said with a little shimmy.
Topher's eyebrows crawled for his hairline.
"Great," Matt said. "I always wanted to let everyone know I had no rhythm."
"At least it's not interpretive dance," Topher muttered. "I never did it, I only had to play the music for it. My cousin did interpretive dance as a final project in middle school. She was the water cycle for her science class," he added, as the only one who hadn't looked at him sideways was Matt.
They moved outside where it was less crowded, the August sun warm in the cool breeze instead of overbearing.
"What school was this?" Katie asked.
Topher glanced at Matt, whose grip around his compostable fork had tightened to white-knuckle. Once Matt had learned bits and pieces of Topher's fractured childhood, he'd gotten a little overprotective. He let that little nugget of reality warm him from the inside out.
He pushed steamed vegetables around his plate. "Somewhere in Maine, I think. I was in fifth grade, and Caroline was in sixth." He shrugged, subtly winked at Matt, and deftly changed the subject. "Are we dancing to music this afternoon or just more counts?"
By the time Sunday night rolled around, Topher was wadded in the armchair with Fidget and disinclined to even move. Matt lay facedown on the couch with Monster along his spine.
"Shit...I have thermo tomorrow at nine." Matt shifted enough to lean out around the arm of the couch. "What time did you sign up for intro?"
Topher looked at the ceiling. "Ten-something. I was going to with the eleven one, but that wouldn't give me enough time for lunch before my afternoon poly sci class. Who do you have for acting?"
They'd made a deal - an extremely stupid deal - that they would take a class out of their comfort zone. Topher would take a lab science, while Matt suffered through a performance class.
"Hastings." Matt pushed himself up on his elbows. "It says my class is in the Barn. Do they mean the one by Leary's Pond?"
"How many barns do you think we have on campus?" Topher snorted.
"Shut up."
He rubbed his fingers between Fidget's ears and, with forced casualness, said, "Football home opener is next weekend. We goin'?"
"...I'll know by Wednesday."