Mean Boys, Chapter 1
Title: Mean Boys [A MeanGirls!BTR AU]
Author: Ellie (lyricsandhearts)
Disclaimer: I don't own Big Time Rush or Mean Girls. I'm not that awesome.
Rating: PG-13
Pairings: Nothing but weirdly hinted-at Kelly/Gustavo in this chapter, but James/Carlos, eventual Jo/Camille, and probably eventual Kendall/Logan but honestly I'm not entirely sure at this point.
Warnings: None in this chapter. But just be warned that the language is a-comin'.
Summary: Logan Mitchell, homeschooled in Africa until the age of sixteen, is suddenly thrust into the jungle that is public high school. And when he tries to find his place, he realizes that fitting in is a little harder than he thought. Okay, fine, a lot harder.
Chapter: One
Author's Notes: So. This... Exists. XD I honestly don't know. Yeah. Enjoy? ♥
Logan's mom is crying.
Hysterically.
Like, straight out bawling.
"I-it's okay, Mom," Logan says, fidgeting, trying to escape her motherly grasp. "I'm going to high school, not out to war."
She pulls back-- her fingernails are pretty much wedged in his neck and the only thing he can think is ow, ow, ow, ow-- and sniffs.
"Oh, sweetie," she sighs. "You're right, you're right, don't mind me..." She lets go of him and Logan's hand immediately shoots up to his neck, surveying for blood and other damage. "it's just that I never went to public school either, and since your father isn't here to help..." She trails off, pressing her lips together tightly and shaking her head. "Well, it's just that I have no idea what to do."
She gives Logan a sort of pitiful half-smile and he feels a million things at once surge through his brain: anxiety, joy, guilt, grief, and that weird feeling you get when all you know is you want to throw up. You're not sick or anything, and it can't be defined as happy or sad or nervous, it just... Is.
Logan's dad had died about six months ago (he was a missionary doctor in Africa and his family had been there for the past twelve years) and that June, after moving back to North America to live with Mrs. Mitchell's parents for a month or so, she had decided she just couldn't homeschool Logan anymore. They got their own home, she got a relatively high-paying job as a nurse at a local hospital, and now Logan is off to school for the first time.
At sixteen.
He doesn't quite know how to feel about that.
She hugs him one last time and takes about six photographs ("Oh, no, honey, you're blinking in this one..."; "Here, just one more, for posterity's sake!") before they go.
Logan takes one last look at their little house and sighs before he gets in the car.
Well, here goes the rest of his life.
*
His mom drops him off at the school with his lunch and a kiss on the forehead.
Everyone stares, and he doesn't exactly understand why, but maybe it's just normal in the US for people to stare at new students until they feel like they might explode from embarrassment.
Maybe?
"Bye, Logan," she says, "Have fun! Good luck!"
He nods and grins at her as if he's confident he'll have the best day ever.
"Will do, Mom," he says, and then walks right into the path of a moving schoolbus.
He jolts backwards and curses loudly just in time to not get crushed into a Logan-y pulp all over the street, his mom screams, and some people around start snickering.
"I-- I'm okay," he calls to his mother, "I'm good. I'm fine."
And he keeps on walking.
Shake it off, Logan, he tells himself, shake it off.
*
The hallways are the very first and most fascinating thing Logan notices that first day.
They're full of people everywhere, people who are yelling and running and hitting each other and one of them even has a couple matches in his hand, running and grinning like an idiot (Logan has read the student handbook, and he's pretty sure none of that is allowed, as well as the fact that Match Guy combines "Don't play with matches" and "Don't run with scissors" perfectly), people with their hair dyed bright colors, with lip rings and revealing clothes and way too much makeup.
People who don't seem to notice any of that and are just carrying on as if all this is normal.
It reminds him a lot of the jungle.
Well, he thinks, at least I'm not homesick.
He asks at least ten people how to get to his first class ("Excuse me, but could you please oh okay nevermind, I guess he couldn't hear me.") but eventually finds his way there on his own: classroom 2J in the West hall.
He takes one last deep breath and makes his way in.
The first thing he notices are the desks. What's with those? Do they actually have to... Sit at them? The whole class period? When he was homeschooled, he just... Sat wherever. But there are a lot more people here than just him and his parents, so he guesses it's just for precautionary measures based on population size.
The second thing he notices is the fact that a blonde girl in a leather jacket is staring at him from the second row of desks with obvious interest. Her hair is tied back sloppily and her clothes are mostly way too big (and they're all black). Behind her is a sort of muscle-y guy, also blonde, also gawking at him.
Logan is very uncomfortable with this.
He walks quickly over to the first desk he sees (first row, beside a blonde girl who looks like she owns the place) and tries to sit down, but hears Goth Blonde say, "You don't wanna sit there, buddy. Mercedes Griffin's boyfriend of the week is gonna sit there."
He looks up, alarmed, and sees her smirking at him. He takes a few steps away, and sure enough, along comes a short, skinny kid with glasses who sits down and immediately begins to kiss Mercedes.
Passionately.
Logan is pretty much mortified by this point, so he hurries over to the desk on the left of the guy who was staring at him earlier.
"Not there either," the girl sighs, obviously having a little too much fun with this. "The guy in front of that seat farts a lot."
The guy behind Goth Blonde nods and grimaces.
At this point, Logan is absolutely desperate, so he walks back around, back to the front of the class, hoping he can see an empty desk from there, and--
"Hello every-- oh!"
Logan bumps into something-- someone-- and turns around to find a pretty, moderately-young woman who just so happens to have coffee spilled all down the front of her shirt.
"Oh my gosh," Logan says, and he knows his face is terribly, terribly red by now, because he just spilled coffee on his teacher, who does that, "I'm so sorry are you okay I didn't mean to knock you over--"
He kneels over to pick some of the woman's things up, but she blocks him with her arm.
"No, no," she sighs, gathering up her things and trying to wipe some of the coffee off her clothes, "It wasn't you. Just my bad luck."
But everyone else in the room is still laughing and Logan honestly can't believe how bad his luck is.
The teacher-- he still doesn't even know her name-- places her things on her desk, shrugs, and, turning to face away from the class, strips off down to her bra.
Most of the guys instantly sit straight up in their seats, but when Logan turns around to shield his eyes-- not that he's really afraid of seeing anything he finds, well, a little too interesting, to be honest, it's just common courtesy (although he'd also thought that it was common courtesy not to take your clothes off in front of your students, but apparently that isn't all that true)-- the Goth Girl's guy friend is slumped over in his seat, chewing gum and looking completely bored.
Logan makes a note of that.
"Ms. Wainwright?" says a shocked voice suddenly from behind Logan. He turns to find a rather large and imposing man staring at the teacher (Ms. Wainwright apparently).
There's a short silence, and then Ms. Wainwright says, "I've got my tank top pulled up with my sweater, don't I?"
"Uh, yeah," Logan mutters, yanking her shirt down for her and then turning back around as fast as he can.
Almost every boy in the class is staring at him in reverence.
"Fantastic," mumbles Ms. Wainwright exasperatedly, then, "Hello, Mr. Roque."
"Is-- is everything okay here?" asks Mr. Roque loudly.
"Oh, yeah!" says Ms. Wainwright, falsely cheerful.
Mr. Roque seems to think she's being serious, because he smiles widely and says, "Oh, all right then!" Stepping closer with his hands behind his back, he says, "So, Kelly. How was your summer?"
"Great. I, uh, got divorced."
Ms. Wainwright is searching for something in her desk, but Mr. Roque is obviously not very good at taking a hint, because he says, "Oh. Um... I had to sell my piano?"
"I-- I'm sorry, Gustavo, that's terrible, but..." she turns and crosses her arms. "I win," she says through clenched teeth.
"You always do," Mr. Roque laughs nervously, then turns to face the class, clearing his throat. "I just wanted to tell you all that we have a new student here. He's joining us all the way from Africa."
Ms. Wainwright looks up from wiping furiously at her shirt with a napkin from her pocket and smiles towards where Mr. Roque is gesturing.
"Oh, welcome!" she says warmly and genuinely to a black kid near where Logan is standing, and Logan has to give it to her for staying sweet in the face of adversity, except for the part where she's... Not talking to him.
The guy looks around for a moment, confused, then stares at Ms. Wainwright incredulously.
"I'm from Chicago," he says slowly.
"Oh." Ms. Wainwright blanches. "Well, what a coincidence. So am I!" She tries to smile.
"His name is Logan," Mr. Roque yells. "Logan Mitchell. You here, Logan?"
Logan meekly raises his hand.
"That, uh, that's me," he says, and whispers break out all over the room. Goth Blonde and her friend just stare at him, as if expecting him to do something else completely stupid.
"Well, that's that then," Mr. Roque says, frowning at, well, everyone.
"Welcome, Logan!" Ms. Wainwright says, making sure to look straight at Logan this time. "Nice to meet you."
Logan nods politely, smiling.
"Thank you, Mr. Roque," Ms. Wainwright says pointedly.
"Oh, thank you!" he replies, going right back into quiet-mode. Logan can't help but wish that was his default. "And, uh, listen, if you ever need, you know. Things. Talking."
Ms. Wainwright nods, looking as if she's trying very hard not to punch him.
"Right, of course, Gustavo. Maybe sometime when my shirt isn't see-through."
He glances downward quickly, then back up, and says, "Uh, okay. Okay! Good day, everybody."
And he leaves.
Ms. Wainwright shakes her head and teaches the entire class in her see-through undershirt.
*
Logan feels like an idiot the rest of the day.
He gets in trouble for the weirdest things (what does a bathroom pass even do?), gets laughed at more than he ever has in his life, and gets so overwhelmed by all the people that he has to do deep breathing excercises. Twice.
Lunch is pretty much the worst part of the entire day.
He walks around the cafeteria, looking for somewhere to sit, but every single seat seems to be taken. He also notices that every table of people seems to look the same. Same clothes, same hair, same attitude-- all the same. So he looks for someone that looks like him.
Funny thing is, there's no one that does.
So he ends up eating lunch alone in a bathroom stall.
And when he gets home after school and his mom asks him how his day was, he can't even bring himself to say, "Fine."
He hopes tomorrow will be better.
Author: Ellie (lyricsandhearts)
Disclaimer: I don't own Big Time Rush or Mean Girls. I'm not that awesome.
Rating: PG-13
Pairings: Nothing but weirdly hinted-at Kelly/Gustavo in this chapter, but James/Carlos, eventual Jo/Camille, and probably eventual Kendall/Logan but honestly I'm not entirely sure at this point.
Warnings: None in this chapter. But just be warned that the language is a-comin'.
Summary: Logan Mitchell, homeschooled in Africa until the age of sixteen, is suddenly thrust into the jungle that is public high school. And when he tries to find his place, he realizes that fitting in is a little harder than he thought. Okay, fine, a lot harder.
Chapter: One
Author's Notes: So. This... Exists. XD I honestly don't know. Yeah. Enjoy? ♥
Logan's mom is crying.
Hysterically.
Like, straight out bawling.
"I-it's okay, Mom," Logan says, fidgeting, trying to escape her motherly grasp. "I'm going to high school, not out to war."
She pulls back-- her fingernails are pretty much wedged in his neck and the only thing he can think is ow, ow, ow, ow-- and sniffs.
"Oh, sweetie," she sighs. "You're right, you're right, don't mind me..." She lets go of him and Logan's hand immediately shoots up to his neck, surveying for blood and other damage. "it's just that I never went to public school either, and since your father isn't here to help..." She trails off, pressing her lips together tightly and shaking her head. "Well, it's just that I have no idea what to do."
She gives Logan a sort of pitiful half-smile and he feels a million things at once surge through his brain: anxiety, joy, guilt, grief, and that weird feeling you get when all you know is you want to throw up. You're not sick or anything, and it can't be defined as happy or sad or nervous, it just... Is.
Logan's dad had died about six months ago (he was a missionary doctor in Africa and his family had been there for the past twelve years) and that June, after moving back to North America to live with Mrs. Mitchell's parents for a month or so, she had decided she just couldn't homeschool Logan anymore. They got their own home, she got a relatively high-paying job as a nurse at a local hospital, and now Logan is off to school for the first time.
At sixteen.
He doesn't quite know how to feel about that.
She hugs him one last time and takes about six photographs ("Oh, no, honey, you're blinking in this one..."; "Here, just one more, for posterity's sake!") before they go.
Logan takes one last look at their little house and sighs before he gets in the car.
Well, here goes the rest of his life.
*
His mom drops him off at the school with his lunch and a kiss on the forehead.
Everyone stares, and he doesn't exactly understand why, but maybe it's just normal in the US for people to stare at new students until they feel like they might explode from embarrassment.
Maybe?
"Bye, Logan," she says, "Have fun! Good luck!"
He nods and grins at her as if he's confident he'll have the best day ever.
"Will do, Mom," he says, and then walks right into the path of a moving schoolbus.
He jolts backwards and curses loudly just in time to not get crushed into a Logan-y pulp all over the street, his mom screams, and some people around start snickering.
"I-- I'm okay," he calls to his mother, "I'm good. I'm fine."
And he keeps on walking.
Shake it off, Logan, he tells himself, shake it off.
*
The hallways are the very first and most fascinating thing Logan notices that first day.
They're full of people everywhere, people who are yelling and running and hitting each other and one of them even has a couple matches in his hand, running and grinning like an idiot (Logan has read the student handbook, and he's pretty sure none of that is allowed, as well as the fact that Match Guy combines "Don't play with matches" and "Don't run with scissors" perfectly), people with their hair dyed bright colors, with lip rings and revealing clothes and way too much makeup.
People who don't seem to notice any of that and are just carrying on as if all this is normal.
It reminds him a lot of the jungle.
Well, he thinks, at least I'm not homesick.
He asks at least ten people how to get to his first class ("Excuse me, but could you please oh okay nevermind, I guess he couldn't hear me.") but eventually finds his way there on his own: classroom 2J in the West hall.
He takes one last deep breath and makes his way in.
The first thing he notices are the desks. What's with those? Do they actually have to... Sit at them? The whole class period? When he was homeschooled, he just... Sat wherever. But there are a lot more people here than just him and his parents, so he guesses it's just for precautionary measures based on population size.
The second thing he notices is the fact that a blonde girl in a leather jacket is staring at him from the second row of desks with obvious interest. Her hair is tied back sloppily and her clothes are mostly way too big (and they're all black). Behind her is a sort of muscle-y guy, also blonde, also gawking at him.
Logan is very uncomfortable with this.
He walks quickly over to the first desk he sees (first row, beside a blonde girl who looks like she owns the place) and tries to sit down, but hears Goth Blonde say, "You don't wanna sit there, buddy. Mercedes Griffin's boyfriend of the week is gonna sit there."
He looks up, alarmed, and sees her smirking at him. He takes a few steps away, and sure enough, along comes a short, skinny kid with glasses who sits down and immediately begins to kiss Mercedes.
Passionately.
Logan is pretty much mortified by this point, so he hurries over to the desk on the left of the guy who was staring at him earlier.
"Not there either," the girl sighs, obviously having a little too much fun with this. "The guy in front of that seat farts a lot."
The guy behind Goth Blonde nods and grimaces.
At this point, Logan is absolutely desperate, so he walks back around, back to the front of the class, hoping he can see an empty desk from there, and--
"Hello every-- oh!"
Logan bumps into something-- someone-- and turns around to find a pretty, moderately-young woman who just so happens to have coffee spilled all down the front of her shirt.
"Oh my gosh," Logan says, and he knows his face is terribly, terribly red by now, because he just spilled coffee on his teacher, who does that, "I'm so sorry are you okay I didn't mean to knock you over--"
He kneels over to pick some of the woman's things up, but she blocks him with her arm.
"No, no," she sighs, gathering up her things and trying to wipe some of the coffee off her clothes, "It wasn't you. Just my bad luck."
But everyone else in the room is still laughing and Logan honestly can't believe how bad his luck is.
The teacher-- he still doesn't even know her name-- places her things on her desk, shrugs, and, turning to face away from the class, strips off down to her bra.
Most of the guys instantly sit straight up in their seats, but when Logan turns around to shield his eyes-- not that he's really afraid of seeing anything he finds, well, a little too interesting, to be honest, it's just common courtesy (although he'd also thought that it was common courtesy not to take your clothes off in front of your students, but apparently that isn't all that true)-- the Goth Girl's guy friend is slumped over in his seat, chewing gum and looking completely bored.
Logan makes a note of that.
"Ms. Wainwright?" says a shocked voice suddenly from behind Logan. He turns to find a rather large and imposing man staring at the teacher (Ms. Wainwright apparently).
There's a short silence, and then Ms. Wainwright says, "I've got my tank top pulled up with my sweater, don't I?"
"Uh, yeah," Logan mutters, yanking her shirt down for her and then turning back around as fast as he can.
Almost every boy in the class is staring at him in reverence.
"Fantastic," mumbles Ms. Wainwright exasperatedly, then, "Hello, Mr. Roque."
"Is-- is everything okay here?" asks Mr. Roque loudly.
"Oh, yeah!" says Ms. Wainwright, falsely cheerful.
Mr. Roque seems to think she's being serious, because he smiles widely and says, "Oh, all right then!" Stepping closer with his hands behind his back, he says, "So, Kelly. How was your summer?"
"Great. I, uh, got divorced."
Ms. Wainwright is searching for something in her desk, but Mr. Roque is obviously not very good at taking a hint, because he says, "Oh. Um... I had to sell my piano?"
"I-- I'm sorry, Gustavo, that's terrible, but..." she turns and crosses her arms. "I win," she says through clenched teeth.
"You always do," Mr. Roque laughs nervously, then turns to face the class, clearing his throat. "I just wanted to tell you all that we have a new student here. He's joining us all the way from Africa."
Ms. Wainwright looks up from wiping furiously at her shirt with a napkin from her pocket and smiles towards where Mr. Roque is gesturing.
"Oh, welcome!" she says warmly and genuinely to a black kid near where Logan is standing, and Logan has to give it to her for staying sweet in the face of adversity, except for the part where she's... Not talking to him.
The guy looks around for a moment, confused, then stares at Ms. Wainwright incredulously.
"I'm from Chicago," he says slowly.
"Oh." Ms. Wainwright blanches. "Well, what a coincidence. So am I!" She tries to smile.
"His name is Logan," Mr. Roque yells. "Logan Mitchell. You here, Logan?"
Logan meekly raises his hand.
"That, uh, that's me," he says, and whispers break out all over the room. Goth Blonde and her friend just stare at him, as if expecting him to do something else completely stupid.
"Well, that's that then," Mr. Roque says, frowning at, well, everyone.
"Welcome, Logan!" Ms. Wainwright says, making sure to look straight at Logan this time. "Nice to meet you."
Logan nods politely, smiling.
"Thank you, Mr. Roque," Ms. Wainwright says pointedly.
"Oh, thank you!" he replies, going right back into quiet-mode. Logan can't help but wish that was his default. "And, uh, listen, if you ever need, you know. Things. Talking."
Ms. Wainwright nods, looking as if she's trying very hard not to punch him.
"Right, of course, Gustavo. Maybe sometime when my shirt isn't see-through."
He glances downward quickly, then back up, and says, "Uh, okay. Okay! Good day, everybody."
And he leaves.
Ms. Wainwright shakes her head and teaches the entire class in her see-through undershirt.
*
Logan feels like an idiot the rest of the day.
He gets in trouble for the weirdest things (what does a bathroom pass even do?), gets laughed at more than he ever has in his life, and gets so overwhelmed by all the people that he has to do deep breathing excercises. Twice.
Lunch is pretty much the worst part of the entire day.
He walks around the cafeteria, looking for somewhere to sit, but every single seat seems to be taken. He also notices that every table of people seems to look the same. Same clothes, same hair, same attitude-- all the same. So he looks for someone that looks like him.
Funny thing is, there's no one that does.
So he ends up eating lunch alone in a bathroom stall.
And when he gets home after school and his mom asks him how his day was, he can't even bring himself to say, "Fine."
He hopes tomorrow will be better.