Cal automatically smiles back, if you can call that brief and insincere curve of his mouth a smile. He has long since mastered the uniquely adolescent skill of fulfilling social expectations without being polite in the least, and will never be as good at it as he is during this period of his life.
His glance flicks down to the guy's book, as if that's what he really meant to be looking at and his gaze just happened to be wandering. He's seen - it must be thousands of people by now do that, and not once has it been at all convincing. He doesn't even pretend that his effort is any different. He doesn't really care, either, not right now at least.
Cal tilts his head a bit to read the lettering. He has no idea who Albert Camus is in the general scheme of things, but he vaguely remembers not reading The Stranger when it was assigned a couple months ago.
Normally, that would pretty much be the end of that. It almost is anyway - they are so obviously not suited for each other's company that it's funny.
But this isn't normal, it's Milliways, and Cal's talked to all kinds of people here he wouldn't have looked at twice back home, and it tends to work out okay. So he says,
He does schoolwork in Milliways. Now there's a shock.
"How can you concentrate in here?"
Cal's seen plenty of people working busily away in here. He's never tried it himself - why would he? - but he knows he wouldn't be able to focus if he did. There's too much going on here. Too much that's way more interesting than some boring book.
"Oh." Cal hadn't thought of it from that angle. He considers it for a moment.
"It's easier for me to ignore people I know." He pauses. "Or - not quite how that sounded. At home, I mean."
The people he knows here are much more interesting, and he doesn't care much about offending people at home. Though of course he wouldn't put it quite like that.
"Yeah, I guess." Cal thinks. "Well. Maybe it depends on what you mean by 'home.' No one there is as interesting as anyone here," he says, speaking from the vast experience of his seventeen years.
After a pause, Dominic opts to amend his former statement.
"It is a question of familiarity, perhaps. Home is familiar, home isn't - new. This place is. So we equate one as being more interesting than the other."
Cal is bored just looking at this guy. He's exactly the type Mother wants him
(to be)
to make friends with, and just no. Definitely not.
Cal is staring anyway, slumped in a chair and drinking a Coke. Guys like that never look up from their books, anyway.
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But no wave, no greeting otherwise.
If he keeps staring, maybe.
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His glance flicks down to the guy's book, as if that's what he really meant to be looking at and his gaze just happened to be wandering. He's seen - it must be thousands of people by now do that, and not once has it been at all convincing. He doesn't even pretend that his effort is any different. He doesn't really care, either, not right now at least.
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Cal's attitude is striking a bit of a bad chord with the other teenager, but hell if he won't try to be polite.
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Normally, that would pretty much be the end of that. It almost is anyway - they are so obviously not suited for each other's company that it's funny.
But this isn't normal, it's Milliways, and Cal's talked to all kinds of people here he wouldn't have looked at twice back home, and it tends to work out okay. So he says,
"Any good?"
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"For term work, yes."
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"How can you concentrate in here?"
Cal's seen plenty of people working busily away in here. He's never tried it himself - why would he? - but he knows he wouldn't be able to focus if he did. There's too much going on here. Too much that's way more interesting than some boring book.
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"No - good answer."
Correction: No answers that are not totally condescending.
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(His body language relaxes a little. Not being condescended to when he expects it - and is used to it - can go a long way.)
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He shrugs, with another quick smile. (It's easier to act nice when manners are reciprocated.)
"It's - a little easier than concentrating at the academy. I don't recognize the voices."
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"It's easier for me to ignore people I know." He pauses. "Or - not quite how that sounded. At home, I mean."
The people he knows here are much more interesting, and he doesn't care much about offending people at home. Though of course he wouldn't put it quite like that.
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"I can understand that," he says, after a brief moment.
"I guess, if you know which voices to tune out?"
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He shifts in his chair, sitting up straighter. Less of the apathetic teenage boy slouch.
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"It is a question of familiarity, perhaps. Home is familiar, home isn't - new. This place is. So we equate one as being more interesting than the other."
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