[fic] School of Hard Knocks | 2
Title: School of Hard Knocks 2/?
Author: girl_starfish
Legion of super-betas: mikkeneko jamjar caithion pikakao minervasolo askerian -- massive hugs, guys. Thanks for putting up with me.
Rating/Warning: This is a porn generator inspired fic. So, while the first chapters are pretty safe, the later ones are kind of . . . interesting. Not NC-17 level, more a sort of Mature Audiences type vibe.
Notes: Huge huge thanks go to minervasolo for her beta of this chapter. Although I didn't make a lot of changes, the things you pointed out are really important, and I'll be keeping them in mind as I write the next part. So yay. Thanks a lot!
Lesson Five: Accentuate the Positive.
“ -- So, after much consideration, I decided to take a few of the locals into my confidence. They can help me scout out the terrain, so to speak, give me an insider’s opinion on the school --”
It was hard to judge Superman’s tone through the static -- Reception while flying was not always good. “I’m not sure involving other students is a good idea, Kon. There is the possibility of danger. Normal kids --”
“They’re not normal,” Kon muttered darkly. “Not at all.”
“What did you say?”
“You managed to get me rooming with the two freakiest teenagers I’ve ever met.” Kon complained. “Tim knows more about you than you want him to, and takes a twisted amount of pleasure in making sure you know this, and just how clever he is. And he has the freakiest way of looking at you like he knows just what you’re thinking. If everyone from Gotham is like him, I’m not surprised the city produced freaks like the Joker. And don’t get me started on Bart --”
“He’s from Gotham?”
“Yeah. Does that mean something?”
There was a pause before Superman answered. “No. Just don’t get too friendly with him. With either of them.”
Kon snorted. “Fat chance of that. Did I mention they were freaks?”
“Once or twice. Kon, listen to me. This is a serious matter -- extremely serious. We can’t afford for whoever’s behind this to know you’re here --”
“Don’t sweat it. I’ve got it covered,” Kon said. “Anyway, curfew. Got to go.”
“Kon-El --”
“Bye!”
Kon replaced the phone receiver on its rest and frowned at it a minute. He wasn’t sure how Tim had managed to get the common room clear so he could make the phonecall in private, but he was grateful. He’d have been more grateful if phoning Superman hadn’t been such a chore. It was all very well for him to fly about and say ‘you could have done a better job’ but it was Kon, not Superman, who’d been ambushed by his roommates, Kon who was faced with the unpleasant reality of getting out of bed before seven, Kon who was sharing a room with Pinky and the Brain . . .
“You’re done. Good,” Bart said, suddenly at his shoulder and Kon jumped. “Tim sent me to tell you it’s almost curfew. Time to be heading back.”
Kon followed Bart back down the hallway. The other boy was dressed for bed, wearing a faded red singlet with a yellow lightning bolt down the front and wrinkled pyjama bottoms. The baseball bat he carried across his shoulders was harder to account for.
“You, uh, into baseball?”
“It’s fun, but team-sports aren’t really my thing,” Bart explained with a shrug.
“Then why the bat?”
“Huh? Oh, this was Plan B.” Bart paused to knock at one of the doors. “Hey, Preston. Thanks for the bat.”
The blond boy who opened the door took it with a smile. “No problem. This the new student?”
Bart nodded. “Conner, this is Preston. He’s from Alabama. He’s in the computer club too.”
“Good times,” Preston said. “I’ve still got the videos --” He broke off as a bell rang. “Guess we’ll have to talk some other time. Night, Bart, Conner.”
“Goodnight,” Kon said, awkwardly. “Nice to meet you.”
“Preston’s pretty cool,” Bart said as they continued down the corridor. “He’s going to be a film director when he grows up. He’s always talking about shots and camera angles and stuff. He got the scholarship for creative excellence.”
“Good for him. What do you mean ‘Plan B?’”
“In case you didn’t admit to being you-know-what at first. Tim said if I hit you with a baseball bat and you weren’t hurt, then you had to be Superboy.”
Kon froze. “Bart! You can’t say that! Somebody might hear!” The fact that the corridor was currently deserted except for the two of them did nothing for his peace of mind.
“Oh, right. Sorry, Kon.”
“Conner.” Kon reminded himself that as the heir of the greatest hero in existence, he was above smacking a fellow student through a wall to prove a point. “But what if you were wrong, and I wasn’t -- you know -- and you hit me with a baseball bat?”
“Tim’s almost never wrong. But that’s why I had the cockroach.”
“The cockroach.”
Bart nodded. “I thought of that. In case you weren’t Superboy, I could say I was trying to hit the cockroach instead. I even found a real cockroach to use as evid --”
There was a loud crash from the room just up ahead. Their room, Kon noted with a feeling of impending doom.
“Bart!” This shout was punctuated by another crash.
“You know,” Bart said, sidling towards the bathroom door. “It just occurred to me that I didn’t spend nearly as much time brushing my teeth as I should have. You have to be really careful with your gums, you know. Lack of proper attention can lead to complications such as Gingivitis and Periodontitis, so if you’ll excuse me, I feel plaque building --” And before Kon could blink, the bathroom door clicked shut and he could hear a bolt slide closed.
This left Kon, alone, facing the door to their room. He took a deep breath, and summoned his courage. What would Superman do in a situation like this?”
Lesson Six: The Value of a Good Night’s Sleep.
Night was an aspect of school life Kon hadn’t considered at all. It was quickly becoming the most trying yet. He wasn’t used to such an early bedtime, and as he lay in bed, waiting for sleep, his acute sense of hearing, still sporadic and difficult to control, went into overtime. He could tolerate Tim’s breathing, even and smooth in the next bed, but by the time the two in the room next to theirs had finished discussing the latest Survivor episode, Kon was ready to knock their heads together.
Bart snuck back into the room sometime after midnight, and Tim hadn’t been kidding about him. He seemed to have difficulty staying still for longer than a minute, and his breathing was short and gaspy and just got under Kon’s skin. He made two bathroom trips before finally falling asleep around 2. Kon shut his eyes and willed himself to sleep.
It didn’t seem a minute later that an alarm was blaring through his skull. Kon groaned and buried himself under his pillow. “That’s not fair --”
He resisted initial attempts to get him out of bed, and managed to steal perhaps another fifteen minutes of precious time in bed, before the covers were removed, and Bart hustled him towards the shower.
“You can’t be late on your first day,” he said, turning the shower on for Kon. “You’re like, a super-hero.”
“Grfff.” Kon responded, unimpressed.
“Is Superman like this in the mornings too?” Bart wondered. “Okay, the water’s ready.”
“Hrnngh.” Hot water was good. Hot water was really good.
Bart studied him for a few moments. “You know,” he said thoughtfully. “I don’t want to sound critical or anything, and it is your first day at high school, but in future, you might want to take your clothes off before you get in the shower, Kon. I’m just saying.”
Kon looked at him.
“Right,” Bart said. “I’ll go find you a towel.”
Bart left the towel and fresh clothes outside the shower, leaving Kon to commune with the god of hot water in peace. Relative peace, at least, because Kon was rapidly coming to the conclusion that patience was not Bart’s strong point. Not that it mattered, as it happened. Ten minutes into Kon’s blissful reverie of steam and soap, the hot water cut out and he was splashed with freezing cold.
“I’m told it happens,” Bart shrugged, waiting outside the bathroom for Kon to finish getting dressed. “That’s one of the consequences of being last in the showers. The hot water runs out.”
“When do you shower then?” Kon asked, emerging from the bathroom, towel slung around his neck.
“Five,” Bart said brightly. “I never run out of hot water.”
“I bet you don’t,” Kon said darkly. “Now what?”
Bart took his hand and tugged him down the corridor. “Breakfast.”
The cafeteria was about three-quarters full by the time they got there, a busy mass of conversation and people coming and going. Kon carefully removed his hand from Bart’s and straightened his shirt, conscious of the stares he was getting. Well, he was new, it was to be expected --
“The bacon’s gone,” Bart said. “So’s the hash browns and the eggs, but there’s still fruit and cereal -- well, fruit anyway. And toast. I hope you don’t mind it cold.”
Kon eyed the spread dubiously as Bart helped himself to two apples and a grapefruit. This wasn’t his idea of breakfast. “Isn’t there --”
“Bart! Conner! Over here!” Tim waved, and Kon decided he could forgive him for being overly neat and alert at this time of the morning because next to him was a plate piled high with real food. “I didn’t think you’d make it in time to get breakfast,” he explained, pushing the plate towards Kon. “So I saved you some. Only because it’s your first day -- don’t expect me to make a habit of it.”
“Thank you,” Kon said fervently, digging into the food. “I owe you one.”
“You probably owe me several by now.”
Bart elbowed Tim. “Come on. You’re allowed to be friendly occasionally, you know.”
“I have a reputation to maintain,” Tim replied archly, shifting out of Bart’s reach.
“As an aloof and superior know-it-all?”
“You forgot ‘anti-social.’”
Kon was beginning to feel fifty-percent super-human again. “Any chance of coffee?”
“Caffeine stunts your growth,” Bart told him.
“We’re not technically allowed it,” Tim said. “But I know how to get my hands on some if you need it.”
“Please,” Kon said. “If every night’s going to be like last night --”
“Slept badly?”
“You have no idea,” Kon said fervently. “I have very good hearing. I could hear everything, even the guys talking in the room next to ours --”
“That . . . could be a problem,” Tim said and there was an odd note in his voice. Kon glanced up, but the other boy’s face was set. “Clearly you can’t operate without an adequate amount of sleep.”
Bart was also watching Tim, his face showing a strange mix of concern and wariness. Then it was gone, as he brightened, becoming his more usual cheerful self so quickly that Kon was forced to wonder if his imagination wasn’t working over time. “Easy! We can ask the Matron for some earplugs for you.”
“I’m not sure that’ll be enough, Bart,” Kon said. “I mean -- my hearing is super good, if you know what I’m saying.”
“I’ve got an idea,” Tim said. “We could try setting you up with headphones that played white noise -- do you think that would work? Bart could ask Mr West --”
Bart’s sunny expression turned sour instantly. “I’m not asking him anything.”
“It’s no big deal. Just --”
“If you want to talk to him, fine. Just leave me out of it,” Bart stood. “He likes you better anyway.”
“Bart,” Tim started, but ignoring them both, Bart stomped out of the room. “Geez. Overreaction, much?”
“What was that about?” Kon asked, not a little bewildered. “Mr. West a problem?”
“He’s actually okay, for a teacher,” Tim explained. “But Bart and Mr West don’t get on at all. You’ll see soon enough, I imagine.” He glanced at his watch. “Better finish up. We’ll need to get to class.”
Lesson 7: How to talk to Women.
The campus was a brisk ten minute walk away through landscaped grounds and athletic grounds. Kon whistled as they finally reached the school. “I knew this place was big. I didn’t realise it was this big.”
“Foremost highschool in the country,” Tim said. “And the Board’s prepared to pay big money to make sure it stays that way. They’re even willing to overlook the past of the new director. Keith Kenyon, the man with the golden touch.”
It was the first time he’d alluded to the reason Kon had come to their school since Kon’s identity had been revealed last night. “So you also think he’s behind this?”
“He’s certainly the most obvious,” Tim answered non-committedly. “But that doesn’t mean that someone else isn’t doing this deliberately knowing that Kenyon’s reputation will work against him.”
“Well, who else is there?” Kon demanded.
“That’s what you’re here to find out. Look out.”
Kon opened his mouth to say ‘I intend to,’ and was hit in the head by a volleyball. “Hey!”
“Sorry!” A girl came running up to them. She was wearing a blue tracksuit with the Kenyon High logo on it, blonde hair pulled back into a ponytail. As she caught up with them, Kon decided she was cute in a bouncy, athletic kind of way. Then she opened her mouth. “You okay? We were practicing, and the ball got away --”
“Wow,” Kon blurted. “You’ve got enough metal in there to start your own band.”
The girl glared, clamping a hand over her mouth. “Lots of people have braces, jerk! And I didn’t have a choice in this -- which is more than anyone can say about your hair!”
“Courtney,” Tim said, holding out the ball. “This is Conner. Excuse him, he’s new.”
The girl pouted. “Courtney Whitmore. Nice to meet you.”
“The same,” Kon said. “What did you mean, my hair --”
“Was that the warning bell? I have to get changed for class. See you guys later! Not --” The girl dashed off to join her friends, leaving Kon with Tim, who was now wearing a carefully blank expression. Kon suspected he was trying not to laugh.
“Not the best first impression.”
“Whatever.” What was wrong with his hair?
“At least you weren’t wearing your glasses when it happened,” Tim said as they resumed the walk towards the school buildings.
“Glasses?”
Tim pulled the despised glasses from his pocket. “You almost left these in our room. You’re just lucky I noticed them, shoved under your bed and covered by a pile of clothes.”
“Gee,” Kon took them reluctantly. “I don’t know how to thank you.”
“It’s no problem,” Tim said loftily, leading the way inside the school building. “You’re obviously new to this secret identity thing.”
Lesson Eight: Know Your Place.
Mr Dugan turned out to be a laid-back guy in a plaid shirt, who looked as though he’d be more at ease in jeans than the tie he was currently wearing, and gave off ‘friendly neighbour’ vibes like nothing else. He was the shop teacher, and his classroom was full of student’s projects, interesting bits of metal, and a radio tuned into the local rock station.
Mr Dugan turned the radio down to introduce Kon. “Good morning, class. As you can see we have a new student. Conner is from Metropolis. Transferring so late in the school year can’t be easy for him, so I want you all to do your best to make him feel at home.”
There was a chorus of hellos, and Mr Dugan nodded at him to take a seat. “We’ll go on to today’s notices. Firstly, Principal Sherman would like to remind you all that curfew is at seven during the week --”
Tim tapped the empty seat beside him and Kon slid into it gratefully. He wasn’t nervous or anything, but being the centre of attention of a group of his peers was distinctly unsettling. He felt rather like he was being judged on criteria he didn’t even know existed and it was a relief to sit down, out of the stares.
Tim nodded to him, but he was listening to the guy sitting on his other side, who was describing in an intent whisper a party he’d attended over the weekend. Kon took a deep breath, and let it out slowly. It was only high school. He could do this. Steeling himself, he looked around the room.
“-- which brings us to the unpleasant topic of littering --” Mr Dugan was reading an announcement, but very few students were paying attention. Kon’s enhanced hearing picked up a whisper here and there.
“-- can’t stand my Mom! As if extra archery lessons weren’t enough --”
“-- heard they’re going to make an After-life Avenger movie--”
“ -- social life wouldn’t kill you, Tim --
“-- guess so. But that haircut -- no.”
“And those glasses!”
Kon placed the last speakers as the pretty cluster of girls who sat in the front row. A couple of them wore cheerleading jerseys, and they were all uniformly pretty -- styled shiny hair, polished nails and skirts that had to be pushing the uniform code. They were definitely looking his way. At their centre was a brunette who met Kon’s stare with regal grace, as if it were only her due, and weighed him with a shrug.
“Whatever. We need to think about the next tryouts --”
Kon blinked. Had he just been dismissed?
“Cindy Sherman,” Tim said in a low whisper. “She’s the principal’s daughter.”
“Runs the school -- or likes to think she does.” Tim’s companion held out his hand. “Bernard Dowd. Tim tells me you’re his new roommate.”
“Yeah, that’s me,” Kon shook his hand.
“How are you finding it so far?”
“He seems very . . . tidy,” Kon said, cautiously glancing towards Tim.
Bernard nudged him. “Go on. You can say obsessive if you like. I roomed with him in first term, I should know.”
“Well, maybe a bit obsessive --”
“Only a bit?” Bernard raised an eyebrow at Tim. “You’re slipping.”
“You forget, I have competition now,” Tim jerked his head towards the back of the class where Bart and the blond boy Kon had met briefly the previous night were doing a marvelously poor job of looking attentive. “We’re also rooming with the human disaster zone there.”
“Bart Allen and Tim?” Bernard whistled. “I hope you’re made of steel, Kent. You’d have to be to put up with those two.”
He didn’t know, he couldn’t possibly know. “Uh, thanks, I guess.”
“Don’t sweat it. High school’s a dangerous place for the unwary.” Kon had thought he was cool but Bernard had a poise and style all of his own that made Kon’s natural self-confidence feel like so much bravado. “So, Kent. Conner. No, definitely Conner, I think. What’s your deal?”
“My what?”
“You know. In the over-hyped, over commercialised, pre-packaged-for-your-convenience environment that is the modern high-school, what is your label? Where do you fit amongst the subtle hierarchy of cliques and groups that serve to make our high school experience a living hell?”
Kon blinked. “I . . . don’t know?”
“He’s new to this,” Tim explained. “He was home schooled while his parents travelled.”
“That explains a lot,” Bernard said thoughtfully. “But not the travesty that is that haircut.”
If he wasn’t a clone of the greatest hero in existence, Kon might be starting to feel insecure. “I like my hair.”
“Individual, then. Which rules out being popular. And the freaks have more style.” Bernard continued his careful study of Kon. “You work out -- into sports?”
“Not really.”
“Didn’t think you were a jock. Which leaves stoner, skater, punk. What’s it going to be?”
Kon blinked. “Excuse me?”
Bernard tapped his fingers against the desk. “Without the benefit of a label, you’ll never find your way through the vast and frightening social strata that is recess.” Bernard gestured to their classmates. “Observe. The popular crowd is clustered around Cindy Sherman. Cheerleaders and jocks for the most part, but it takes more than that to get in. Then we have a nerd, namely Greta there -- very good at Trig -- and Cissie, who could be popular, but isn’t in Cindy’s crowd. One of those ridiculously athletic types. Behind them, we have Courtney and Mary who fall into the second strata of popular. They don’t fit the stereotypes -- Courtney’s too sarcastic for a cheerleader, Mary’s pretty, but too smart. And behind them Preston, who is most definitely a geek, and Bart who should be a geek but somehow manages to be well-known without being even remotely popular.” Bernard shrugs. “He’s our exception that proves the rule.”
“They’re stupid rules.”
“Ah, the inherent irony of it all,” Bernard smirked. “We all hate the rules, but we have to live by them all the same. Law of the jungle and all. So, Conner. What’s your label?”
“What’s yours?”
“Me? I defy labelling.”
Kon was getting a headache. “Fine. I’ll do that.”
Bernard wiggled a finger at him. “Not so fast. There can be only one, and I got there first. You’ll have to come up with something different.”
“What’s Tim then?” Kon was rapidly losing patience.
Tim opened his mouth to reply but didn’t get the chance.
“Our man Timothy here? A very good question, and one I’m still working on answering. At the moment I think I’ve got him pegged as a closet-freak. Nice and normal until you get to know him and then you realise he’s actually kind of scary. I think one of those is quite enough for any school.” Bernard nodded, having come to a decision. “I’ll put you down as a misfit, Conner.”
“Gee. Thanks a lot.”
Lesson Nine: Listen to the Teacher.
Tim walked him to science class. “Looks like the only classes you don’t have me or Bart in are Art and --” he raised an eyebrow. “Remedial math?”
“So I’m not perfect,” Kon scowled. “Sue me.”
He was rapidly starting to hate high school.
“Kon has science next as well?” Bart caught up to them, a flurry of textbooks and bag. “Let me see your schedule.”
“Sure. Here --”
“You have Mr Wilson for chemistry? Bummer. First lunch group though, that’s good --” Bart had Kon’s schedule already, reading it as he walked beside them. “Woah -- remedial math?”
“Give me that --” Kon made a snatch but Bart ducked ahead, turning round to face them while keeping out of grabbing distance.
“You’re taking remedial math? You?”
Bart was reading and talking to them and walking backwards. Kon couldn’t help but think that was a bad idea. “Yeah, Bart, we get the idea. Give me that back before you walk into --”
“Oof!”
“-- someone,” Kon finished. “Uh --”
“Allen.” The man was every bit as cold as his tone, with ice-white hair and beard and tombstone grey suit. The black eye-patch he wore only made his expression of distaste as he looked at Bart more apparent. “You’ve been warned about watching where you’re going --”
“Sorry, Mr Wilson.” Bart said. “It won’t happen again.”
Mr Wilson gave him a sour look. “That’s what you said last time. Maybe some time in detention might make you pay attention --”
“Excuse me, Mr Wilson,” Tim said. “Bart did have good reason to be distracted.” He motioned to Kon. “We’re showing the new student, Conner Kent, around the school.”
Mr Wilson looked at Kon, and it took all Kon’s super-hero resolve not to take a step backwards. “So you’re Conner Kent?” He took the schedule from Bart and examined it a moment before handing it back to Kon. “I see I have the pleasure of instructing you in chemistry,” he said. “I don’t tolerate impudence, laziness or lateness.” He nodded to them. “Go to your next class. And Allen? I’m watching you. One more incident like this--”
“Yes, sir.” Bart said glumly.
“Ouch,” said Kon once they were a safe distance away. “Is he always that sunny?”
“Pretty much,” Tim said, guiding him down another corridor and into a classroom. “He seems to have it in for Bart though.”
“What did he do?”
“Nothing,” Bart insisted.
“You’ll soon learn that Bart does not have the best track record for paying attention in class.”
“Yeah?” Kon tucked his schedule away. “How’d you land a scholarship here then?”
Bart shrugged. “Family issues,” he said vaguely.
“Most of the scholarships here are aimed at kids from disadvantaged situations,” Tim explained.
“I’m not disadvantaged. I have a family,” Bart protested. “They’re just not mine.”
As that made no sense whatsoever, Kon looked at Tim. “Families where one or more parents is dead, or unable to provide care for the child, in the case of metas, where the family is unavailable to cope with their child’s abilities, basically any home-situation that might negatively affect the applicant’s ability to succeed in life. Of course, there are exams as well, and physical tests --”
“And interviews,” Bart added. “We had two, one with a panel of board members, one with just Kenyon.”
“And you passed?”
Bart scowled. “I studied really hard. I can concentrate, you know, if I try hard.”
“You don’t seem to have studied once all year.”
Bart blinked. “I got in. Why would I need to?”
“You can see why he’s so popular with our teachers,” Tim said, with an amused air. “But in Wilson’s case, the dislike seems to have stemmed from Wilson’s daughter remarking on the fact that Bart is, apparently, ‘cute.’”
“Not my fault that everything’s so -- wait, Rose said what?”
Kon snickered. “No accounting for taste, I guess.”
“Tim! What did Rose say?”
“Whatever it was, it can wait.”
Kon gulped. He hadn’t even noticed this teacher. He was young, with bright red hair cut short and an open, engaging expression. If he hadn’t been a teacher, Kon would probably have liked him. At any rate, he was an improvement on Mr Wilson.
“Class is going to start soon,” he said, leaning against the teacher’s desk at the front of the class and rolling up his cuffs. “You can resume this fascinating conversation later.”
Bart scowled at him. “We still have 0.05 seconds,” he said, and the bell rang. “See?”
The teacher’s mouth twitched. “Bart,” he said. “Do you know how fast I can have a detention slip with your name on it?”
Bart opened his mouth.
“Rhetorical question. Don’t push it.” The teacher raised an eyebrow at Kon. “New student? You’d be Bart’s roommate then?”
“Conner Kent,” Kon said. “Yeah, this is my first day.”
“Welcome to Kenyon High,” the teacher replied. “I’m Mr West --”
“No relation.”
Kon blinked at Bart.
“No relation,” Mr West agreed, looking as though he could have happily strangled Bart. “Well, if you’ll take a seat, Conner, we’ll begin class. Do you have a notebook? Good. I’ll find you a textbook once I’ve got the class started on the first experiment.”
Science was all right. Kon found the textbook utterly confusing, but the practical part of it, separating chemicals via evaporation, he could handle. “This doesn’t seem so bad.”
“Mr West’s okay,” Tim said. “Just overly keen on punctuality.” He carefully measured out the exact amount of chemicals required. “But he has a sense of humour and he lets us have the radio on during class. Ready, Bart?”
Bart was sitting at the desk with the stop-watch, muttering something about cousins and the unfairness of it all. “Ready.”
“Okay,” Tim said. “Kon, light this thing.”
The yellow flame of the burner poked the vial. “How long is this going to take?”
“Mr West said about 152.3 seconds,” Tim said, making a note.
“Wow. He always that precise?” Kon drew himself up onto the bench and looked around the class room. The other students were gathered around their experiments. Some of them he recognised from homeroom, most were new to him but none of them looked even remotely suspicious. How on earth was he supposed to recognise a future criminal?
“Mr West does everything by the clock.” Tim hesitated then shifted closer to Kon. “I heard that last term a group of senior students messed with the clock, put it forward a few minutes. Before the end of the lesson, the clock was back at its proper time.”
“He fixed the clock?”
“He must have. Only no one saw him do it.” Tim shrugged. “Then there’s -- well, you’ll have to ask Bart.”
Kon glanced at Bart. “Is it just me or do they not get on?”
“You know what they say about family,” Tim said with a smirk. “They’re not brothers, but they should be. They annoy each other in all the right ways, but Bart takes it personally if anyone besides him complains about his cousin.”
“Cousins, then?” Kon looked from Bart to Mr. West, now at the other side of the classroom helping a cluster of students set up their experiment. “They don’t look much alike.”
“Other differences too. Bart couldn’t be subtle to save his life, Mr West has this really bad habit of creeping up on people--”
Bart coughed.
“Not in an acceptably stealthy manner,” Tim stressed. “He’s just there --”
There was a sudden hiss and their beaker spluttered. The chemical solution was boiling over, but before either of them could react, it was scooped clear, and Mr West was wiping the sides of the beaker clean.
“You’ll want to keep a better eye on your beaker,” Mr West told them, turning the heat off. “One of the properties of the chemicals involved is their flammability.” He replaced the beaker and handed the tongs and heat resistant gloves to Tim. “Bart --”
Bart was making notes on what Kon was prepared to swear had been an empty page of notebook a few seconds previous, with all apparent attention. “Yes, Mr West?”
Mr West hesitated. “Good work,” he said dubiously, moving on to the next work-bench.
---
Author: girl_starfish
Legion of super-betas: mikkeneko jamjar caithion pikakao minervasolo askerian -- massive hugs, guys. Thanks for putting up with me.
Rating/Warning: This is a porn generator inspired fic. So, while the first chapters are pretty safe, the later ones are kind of . . . interesting. Not NC-17 level, more a sort of Mature Audiences type vibe.
Notes: Huge huge thanks go to minervasolo for her beta of this chapter. Although I didn't make a lot of changes, the things you pointed out are really important, and I'll be keeping them in mind as I write the next part. So yay. Thanks a lot!
Lesson Five: Accentuate the Positive.
“ -- So, after much consideration, I decided to take a few of the locals into my confidence. They can help me scout out the terrain, so to speak, give me an insider’s opinion on the school --”
It was hard to judge Superman’s tone through the static -- Reception while flying was not always good. “I’m not sure involving other students is a good idea, Kon. There is the possibility of danger. Normal kids --”
“They’re not normal,” Kon muttered darkly. “Not at all.”
“What did you say?”
“You managed to get me rooming with the two freakiest teenagers I’ve ever met.” Kon complained. “Tim knows more about you than you want him to, and takes a twisted amount of pleasure in making sure you know this, and just how clever he is. And he has the freakiest way of looking at you like he knows just what you’re thinking. If everyone from Gotham is like him, I’m not surprised the city produced freaks like the Joker. And don’t get me started on Bart --”
“He’s from Gotham?”
“Yeah. Does that mean something?”
There was a pause before Superman answered. “No. Just don’t get too friendly with him. With either of them.”
Kon snorted. “Fat chance of that. Did I mention they were freaks?”
“Once or twice. Kon, listen to me. This is a serious matter -- extremely serious. We can’t afford for whoever’s behind this to know you’re here --”
“Don’t sweat it. I’ve got it covered,” Kon said. “Anyway, curfew. Got to go.”
“Kon-El --”
“Bye!”
Kon replaced the phone receiver on its rest and frowned at it a minute. He wasn’t sure how Tim had managed to get the common room clear so he could make the phonecall in private, but he was grateful. He’d have been more grateful if phoning Superman hadn’t been such a chore. It was all very well for him to fly about and say ‘you could have done a better job’ but it was Kon, not Superman, who’d been ambushed by his roommates, Kon who was faced with the unpleasant reality of getting out of bed before seven, Kon who was sharing a room with Pinky and the Brain . . .
“You’re done. Good,” Bart said, suddenly at his shoulder and Kon jumped. “Tim sent me to tell you it’s almost curfew. Time to be heading back.”
Kon followed Bart back down the hallway. The other boy was dressed for bed, wearing a faded red singlet with a yellow lightning bolt down the front and wrinkled pyjama bottoms. The baseball bat he carried across his shoulders was harder to account for.
“You, uh, into baseball?”
“It’s fun, but team-sports aren’t really my thing,” Bart explained with a shrug.
“Then why the bat?”
“Huh? Oh, this was Plan B.” Bart paused to knock at one of the doors. “Hey, Preston. Thanks for the bat.”
The blond boy who opened the door took it with a smile. “No problem. This the new student?”
Bart nodded. “Conner, this is Preston. He’s from Alabama. He’s in the computer club too.”
“Good times,” Preston said. “I’ve still got the videos --” He broke off as a bell rang. “Guess we’ll have to talk some other time. Night, Bart, Conner.”
“Goodnight,” Kon said, awkwardly. “Nice to meet you.”
“Preston’s pretty cool,” Bart said as they continued down the corridor. “He’s going to be a film director when he grows up. He’s always talking about shots and camera angles and stuff. He got the scholarship for creative excellence.”
“Good for him. What do you mean ‘Plan B?’”
“In case you didn’t admit to being you-know-what at first. Tim said if I hit you with a baseball bat and you weren’t hurt, then you had to be Superboy.”
Kon froze. “Bart! You can’t say that! Somebody might hear!” The fact that the corridor was currently deserted except for the two of them did nothing for his peace of mind.
“Oh, right. Sorry, Kon.”
“Conner.” Kon reminded himself that as the heir of the greatest hero in existence, he was above smacking a fellow student through a wall to prove a point. “But what if you were wrong, and I wasn’t -- you know -- and you hit me with a baseball bat?”
“Tim’s almost never wrong. But that’s why I had the cockroach.”
“The cockroach.”
Bart nodded. “I thought of that. In case you weren’t Superboy, I could say I was trying to hit the cockroach instead. I even found a real cockroach to use as evid --”
There was a loud crash from the room just up ahead. Their room, Kon noted with a feeling of impending doom.
“Bart!” This shout was punctuated by another crash.
“You know,” Bart said, sidling towards the bathroom door. “It just occurred to me that I didn’t spend nearly as much time brushing my teeth as I should have. You have to be really careful with your gums, you know. Lack of proper attention can lead to complications such as Gingivitis and Periodontitis, so if you’ll excuse me, I feel plaque building --” And before Kon could blink, the bathroom door clicked shut and he could hear a bolt slide closed.
This left Kon, alone, facing the door to their room. He took a deep breath, and summoned his courage. What would Superman do in a situation like this?”
Lesson Six: The Value of a Good Night’s Sleep.
Night was an aspect of school life Kon hadn’t considered at all. It was quickly becoming the most trying yet. He wasn’t used to such an early bedtime, and as he lay in bed, waiting for sleep, his acute sense of hearing, still sporadic and difficult to control, went into overtime. He could tolerate Tim’s breathing, even and smooth in the next bed, but by the time the two in the room next to theirs had finished discussing the latest Survivor episode, Kon was ready to knock their heads together.
Bart snuck back into the room sometime after midnight, and Tim hadn’t been kidding about him. He seemed to have difficulty staying still for longer than a minute, and his breathing was short and gaspy and just got under Kon’s skin. He made two bathroom trips before finally falling asleep around 2. Kon shut his eyes and willed himself to sleep.
It didn’t seem a minute later that an alarm was blaring through his skull. Kon groaned and buried himself under his pillow. “That’s not fair --”
He resisted initial attempts to get him out of bed, and managed to steal perhaps another fifteen minutes of precious time in bed, before the covers were removed, and Bart hustled him towards the shower.
“You can’t be late on your first day,” he said, turning the shower on for Kon. “You’re like, a super-hero.”
“Grfff.” Kon responded, unimpressed.
“Is Superman like this in the mornings too?” Bart wondered. “Okay, the water’s ready.”
“Hrnngh.” Hot water was good. Hot water was really good.
Bart studied him for a few moments. “You know,” he said thoughtfully. “I don’t want to sound critical or anything, and it is your first day at high school, but in future, you might want to take your clothes off before you get in the shower, Kon. I’m just saying.”
Kon looked at him.
“Right,” Bart said. “I’ll go find you a towel.”
Bart left the towel and fresh clothes outside the shower, leaving Kon to commune with the god of hot water in peace. Relative peace, at least, because Kon was rapidly coming to the conclusion that patience was not Bart’s strong point. Not that it mattered, as it happened. Ten minutes into Kon’s blissful reverie of steam and soap, the hot water cut out and he was splashed with freezing cold.
“I’m told it happens,” Bart shrugged, waiting outside the bathroom for Kon to finish getting dressed. “That’s one of the consequences of being last in the showers. The hot water runs out.”
“When do you shower then?” Kon asked, emerging from the bathroom, towel slung around his neck.
“Five,” Bart said brightly. “I never run out of hot water.”
“I bet you don’t,” Kon said darkly. “Now what?”
Bart took his hand and tugged him down the corridor. “Breakfast.”
The cafeteria was about three-quarters full by the time they got there, a busy mass of conversation and people coming and going. Kon carefully removed his hand from Bart’s and straightened his shirt, conscious of the stares he was getting. Well, he was new, it was to be expected --
“The bacon’s gone,” Bart said. “So’s the hash browns and the eggs, but there’s still fruit and cereal -- well, fruit anyway. And toast. I hope you don’t mind it cold.”
Kon eyed the spread dubiously as Bart helped himself to two apples and a grapefruit. This wasn’t his idea of breakfast. “Isn’t there --”
“Bart! Conner! Over here!” Tim waved, and Kon decided he could forgive him for being overly neat and alert at this time of the morning because next to him was a plate piled high with real food. “I didn’t think you’d make it in time to get breakfast,” he explained, pushing the plate towards Kon. “So I saved you some. Only because it’s your first day -- don’t expect me to make a habit of it.”
“Thank you,” Kon said fervently, digging into the food. “I owe you one.”
“You probably owe me several by now.”
Bart elbowed Tim. “Come on. You’re allowed to be friendly occasionally, you know.”
“I have a reputation to maintain,” Tim replied archly, shifting out of Bart’s reach.
“As an aloof and superior know-it-all?”
“You forgot ‘anti-social.’”
Kon was beginning to feel fifty-percent super-human again. “Any chance of coffee?”
“Caffeine stunts your growth,” Bart told him.
“We’re not technically allowed it,” Tim said. “But I know how to get my hands on some if you need it.”
“Please,” Kon said. “If every night’s going to be like last night --”
“Slept badly?”
“You have no idea,” Kon said fervently. “I have very good hearing. I could hear everything, even the guys talking in the room next to ours --”
“That . . . could be a problem,” Tim said and there was an odd note in his voice. Kon glanced up, but the other boy’s face was set. “Clearly you can’t operate without an adequate amount of sleep.”
Bart was also watching Tim, his face showing a strange mix of concern and wariness. Then it was gone, as he brightened, becoming his more usual cheerful self so quickly that Kon was forced to wonder if his imagination wasn’t working over time. “Easy! We can ask the Matron for some earplugs for you.”
“I’m not sure that’ll be enough, Bart,” Kon said. “I mean -- my hearing is super good, if you know what I’m saying.”
“I’ve got an idea,” Tim said. “We could try setting you up with headphones that played white noise -- do you think that would work? Bart could ask Mr West --”
Bart’s sunny expression turned sour instantly. “I’m not asking him anything.”
“It’s no big deal. Just --”
“If you want to talk to him, fine. Just leave me out of it,” Bart stood. “He likes you better anyway.”
“Bart,” Tim started, but ignoring them both, Bart stomped out of the room. “Geez. Overreaction, much?”
“What was that about?” Kon asked, not a little bewildered. “Mr. West a problem?”
“He’s actually okay, for a teacher,” Tim explained. “But Bart and Mr West don’t get on at all. You’ll see soon enough, I imagine.” He glanced at his watch. “Better finish up. We’ll need to get to class.”
Lesson 7: How to talk to Women.
The campus was a brisk ten minute walk away through landscaped grounds and athletic grounds. Kon whistled as they finally reached the school. “I knew this place was big. I didn’t realise it was this big.”
“Foremost highschool in the country,” Tim said. “And the Board’s prepared to pay big money to make sure it stays that way. They’re even willing to overlook the past of the new director. Keith Kenyon, the man with the golden touch.”
It was the first time he’d alluded to the reason Kon had come to their school since Kon’s identity had been revealed last night. “So you also think he’s behind this?”
“He’s certainly the most obvious,” Tim answered non-committedly. “But that doesn’t mean that someone else isn’t doing this deliberately knowing that Kenyon’s reputation will work against him.”
“Well, who else is there?” Kon demanded.
“That’s what you’re here to find out. Look out.”
Kon opened his mouth to say ‘I intend to,’ and was hit in the head by a volleyball. “Hey!”
“Sorry!” A girl came running up to them. She was wearing a blue tracksuit with the Kenyon High logo on it, blonde hair pulled back into a ponytail. As she caught up with them, Kon decided she was cute in a bouncy, athletic kind of way. Then she opened her mouth. “You okay? We were practicing, and the ball got away --”
“Wow,” Kon blurted. “You’ve got enough metal in there to start your own band.”
The girl glared, clamping a hand over her mouth. “Lots of people have braces, jerk! And I didn’t have a choice in this -- which is more than anyone can say about your hair!”
“Courtney,” Tim said, holding out the ball. “This is Conner. Excuse him, he’s new.”
The girl pouted. “Courtney Whitmore. Nice to meet you.”
“The same,” Kon said. “What did you mean, my hair --”
“Was that the warning bell? I have to get changed for class. See you guys later! Not --” The girl dashed off to join her friends, leaving Kon with Tim, who was now wearing a carefully blank expression. Kon suspected he was trying not to laugh.
“Not the best first impression.”
“Whatever.” What was wrong with his hair?
“At least you weren’t wearing your glasses when it happened,” Tim said as they resumed the walk towards the school buildings.
“Glasses?”
Tim pulled the despised glasses from his pocket. “You almost left these in our room. You’re just lucky I noticed them, shoved under your bed and covered by a pile of clothes.”
“Gee,” Kon took them reluctantly. “I don’t know how to thank you.”
“It’s no problem,” Tim said loftily, leading the way inside the school building. “You’re obviously new to this secret identity thing.”
Lesson Eight: Know Your Place.
Mr Dugan turned out to be a laid-back guy in a plaid shirt, who looked as though he’d be more at ease in jeans than the tie he was currently wearing, and gave off ‘friendly neighbour’ vibes like nothing else. He was the shop teacher, and his classroom was full of student’s projects, interesting bits of metal, and a radio tuned into the local rock station.
Mr Dugan turned the radio down to introduce Kon. “Good morning, class. As you can see we have a new student. Conner is from Metropolis. Transferring so late in the school year can’t be easy for him, so I want you all to do your best to make him feel at home.”
There was a chorus of hellos, and Mr Dugan nodded at him to take a seat. “We’ll go on to today’s notices. Firstly, Principal Sherman would like to remind you all that curfew is at seven during the week --”
Tim tapped the empty seat beside him and Kon slid into it gratefully. He wasn’t nervous or anything, but being the centre of attention of a group of his peers was distinctly unsettling. He felt rather like he was being judged on criteria he didn’t even know existed and it was a relief to sit down, out of the stares.
Tim nodded to him, but he was listening to the guy sitting on his other side, who was describing in an intent whisper a party he’d attended over the weekend. Kon took a deep breath, and let it out slowly. It was only high school. He could do this. Steeling himself, he looked around the room.
“-- which brings us to the unpleasant topic of littering --” Mr Dugan was reading an announcement, but very few students were paying attention. Kon’s enhanced hearing picked up a whisper here and there.
“-- can’t stand my Mom! As if extra archery lessons weren’t enough --”
“-- heard they’re going to make an After-life Avenger movie--”
“ -- social life wouldn’t kill you, Tim --
“-- guess so. But that haircut -- no.”
“And those glasses!”
Kon placed the last speakers as the pretty cluster of girls who sat in the front row. A couple of them wore cheerleading jerseys, and they were all uniformly pretty -- styled shiny hair, polished nails and skirts that had to be pushing the uniform code. They were definitely looking his way. At their centre was a brunette who met Kon’s stare with regal grace, as if it were only her due, and weighed him with a shrug.
“Whatever. We need to think about the next tryouts --”
Kon blinked. Had he just been dismissed?
“Cindy Sherman,” Tim said in a low whisper. “She’s the principal’s daughter.”
“Runs the school -- or likes to think she does.” Tim’s companion held out his hand. “Bernard Dowd. Tim tells me you’re his new roommate.”
“Yeah, that’s me,” Kon shook his hand.
“How are you finding it so far?”
“He seems very . . . tidy,” Kon said, cautiously glancing towards Tim.
Bernard nudged him. “Go on. You can say obsessive if you like. I roomed with him in first term, I should know.”
“Well, maybe a bit obsessive --”
“Only a bit?” Bernard raised an eyebrow at Tim. “You’re slipping.”
“You forget, I have competition now,” Tim jerked his head towards the back of the class where Bart and the blond boy Kon had met briefly the previous night were doing a marvelously poor job of looking attentive. “We’re also rooming with the human disaster zone there.”
“Bart Allen and Tim?” Bernard whistled. “I hope you’re made of steel, Kent. You’d have to be to put up with those two.”
He didn’t know, he couldn’t possibly know. “Uh, thanks, I guess.”
“Don’t sweat it. High school’s a dangerous place for the unwary.” Kon had thought he was cool but Bernard had a poise and style all of his own that made Kon’s natural self-confidence feel like so much bravado. “So, Kent. Conner. No, definitely Conner, I think. What’s your deal?”
“My what?”
“You know. In the over-hyped, over commercialised, pre-packaged-for-your-convenience environment that is the modern high-school, what is your label? Where do you fit amongst the subtle hierarchy of cliques and groups that serve to make our high school experience a living hell?”
Kon blinked. “I . . . don’t know?”
“He’s new to this,” Tim explained. “He was home schooled while his parents travelled.”
“That explains a lot,” Bernard said thoughtfully. “But not the travesty that is that haircut.”
If he wasn’t a clone of the greatest hero in existence, Kon might be starting to feel insecure. “I like my hair.”
“Individual, then. Which rules out being popular. And the freaks have more style.” Bernard continued his careful study of Kon. “You work out -- into sports?”
“Not really.”
“Didn’t think you were a jock. Which leaves stoner, skater, punk. What’s it going to be?”
Kon blinked. “Excuse me?”
Bernard tapped his fingers against the desk. “Without the benefit of a label, you’ll never find your way through the vast and frightening social strata that is recess.” Bernard gestured to their classmates. “Observe. The popular crowd is clustered around Cindy Sherman. Cheerleaders and jocks for the most part, but it takes more than that to get in. Then we have a nerd, namely Greta there -- very good at Trig -- and Cissie, who could be popular, but isn’t in Cindy’s crowd. One of those ridiculously athletic types. Behind them, we have Courtney and Mary who fall into the second strata of popular. They don’t fit the stereotypes -- Courtney’s too sarcastic for a cheerleader, Mary’s pretty, but too smart. And behind them Preston, who is most definitely a geek, and Bart who should be a geek but somehow manages to be well-known without being even remotely popular.” Bernard shrugs. “He’s our exception that proves the rule.”
“They’re stupid rules.”
“Ah, the inherent irony of it all,” Bernard smirked. “We all hate the rules, but we have to live by them all the same. Law of the jungle and all. So, Conner. What’s your label?”
“What’s yours?”
“Me? I defy labelling.”
Kon was getting a headache. “Fine. I’ll do that.”
Bernard wiggled a finger at him. “Not so fast. There can be only one, and I got there first. You’ll have to come up with something different.”
“What’s Tim then?” Kon was rapidly losing patience.
Tim opened his mouth to reply but didn’t get the chance.
“Our man Timothy here? A very good question, and one I’m still working on answering. At the moment I think I’ve got him pegged as a closet-freak. Nice and normal until you get to know him and then you realise he’s actually kind of scary. I think one of those is quite enough for any school.” Bernard nodded, having come to a decision. “I’ll put you down as a misfit, Conner.”
“Gee. Thanks a lot.”
Lesson Nine: Listen to the Teacher.
Tim walked him to science class. “Looks like the only classes you don’t have me or Bart in are Art and --” he raised an eyebrow. “Remedial math?”
“So I’m not perfect,” Kon scowled. “Sue me.”
He was rapidly starting to hate high school.
“Kon has science next as well?” Bart caught up to them, a flurry of textbooks and bag. “Let me see your schedule.”
“Sure. Here --”
“You have Mr Wilson for chemistry? Bummer. First lunch group though, that’s good --” Bart had Kon’s schedule already, reading it as he walked beside them. “Woah -- remedial math?”
“Give me that --” Kon made a snatch but Bart ducked ahead, turning round to face them while keeping out of grabbing distance.
“You’re taking remedial math? You?”
Bart was reading and talking to them and walking backwards. Kon couldn’t help but think that was a bad idea. “Yeah, Bart, we get the idea. Give me that back before you walk into --”
“Oof!”
“-- someone,” Kon finished. “Uh --”
“Allen.” The man was every bit as cold as his tone, with ice-white hair and beard and tombstone grey suit. The black eye-patch he wore only made his expression of distaste as he looked at Bart more apparent. “You’ve been warned about watching where you’re going --”
“Sorry, Mr Wilson.” Bart said. “It won’t happen again.”
Mr Wilson gave him a sour look. “That’s what you said last time. Maybe some time in detention might make you pay attention --”
“Excuse me, Mr Wilson,” Tim said. “Bart did have good reason to be distracted.” He motioned to Kon. “We’re showing the new student, Conner Kent, around the school.”
Mr Wilson looked at Kon, and it took all Kon’s super-hero resolve not to take a step backwards. “So you’re Conner Kent?” He took the schedule from Bart and examined it a moment before handing it back to Kon. “I see I have the pleasure of instructing you in chemistry,” he said. “I don’t tolerate impudence, laziness or lateness.” He nodded to them. “Go to your next class. And Allen? I’m watching you. One more incident like this--”
“Yes, sir.” Bart said glumly.
“Ouch,” said Kon once they were a safe distance away. “Is he always that sunny?”
“Pretty much,” Tim said, guiding him down another corridor and into a classroom. “He seems to have it in for Bart though.”
“What did he do?”
“Nothing,” Bart insisted.
“You’ll soon learn that Bart does not have the best track record for paying attention in class.”
“Yeah?” Kon tucked his schedule away. “How’d you land a scholarship here then?”
Bart shrugged. “Family issues,” he said vaguely.
“Most of the scholarships here are aimed at kids from disadvantaged situations,” Tim explained.
“I’m not disadvantaged. I have a family,” Bart protested. “They’re just not mine.”
As that made no sense whatsoever, Kon looked at Tim. “Families where one or more parents is dead, or unable to provide care for the child, in the case of metas, where the family is unavailable to cope with their child’s abilities, basically any home-situation that might negatively affect the applicant’s ability to succeed in life. Of course, there are exams as well, and physical tests --”
“And interviews,” Bart added. “We had two, one with a panel of board members, one with just Kenyon.”
“And you passed?”
Bart scowled. “I studied really hard. I can concentrate, you know, if I try hard.”
“You don’t seem to have studied once all year.”
Bart blinked. “I got in. Why would I need to?”
“You can see why he’s so popular with our teachers,” Tim said, with an amused air. “But in Wilson’s case, the dislike seems to have stemmed from Wilson’s daughter remarking on the fact that Bart is, apparently, ‘cute.’”
“Not my fault that everything’s so -- wait, Rose said what?”
Kon snickered. “No accounting for taste, I guess.”
“Tim! What did Rose say?”
“Whatever it was, it can wait.”
Kon gulped. He hadn’t even noticed this teacher. He was young, with bright red hair cut short and an open, engaging expression. If he hadn’t been a teacher, Kon would probably have liked him. At any rate, he was an improvement on Mr Wilson.
“Class is going to start soon,” he said, leaning against the teacher’s desk at the front of the class and rolling up his cuffs. “You can resume this fascinating conversation later.”
Bart scowled at him. “We still have 0.05 seconds,” he said, and the bell rang. “See?”
The teacher’s mouth twitched. “Bart,” he said. “Do you know how fast I can have a detention slip with your name on it?”
Bart opened his mouth.
“Rhetorical question. Don’t push it.” The teacher raised an eyebrow at Kon. “New student? You’d be Bart’s roommate then?”
“Conner Kent,” Kon said. “Yeah, this is my first day.”
“Welcome to Kenyon High,” the teacher replied. “I’m Mr West --”
“No relation.”
Kon blinked at Bart.
“No relation,” Mr West agreed, looking as though he could have happily strangled Bart. “Well, if you’ll take a seat, Conner, we’ll begin class. Do you have a notebook? Good. I’ll find you a textbook once I’ve got the class started on the first experiment.”
Science was all right. Kon found the textbook utterly confusing, but the practical part of it, separating chemicals via evaporation, he could handle. “This doesn’t seem so bad.”
“Mr West’s okay,” Tim said. “Just overly keen on punctuality.” He carefully measured out the exact amount of chemicals required. “But he has a sense of humour and he lets us have the radio on during class. Ready, Bart?”
Bart was sitting at the desk with the stop-watch, muttering something about cousins and the unfairness of it all. “Ready.”
“Okay,” Tim said. “Kon, light this thing.”
The yellow flame of the burner poked the vial. “How long is this going to take?”
“Mr West said about 152.3 seconds,” Tim said, making a note.
“Wow. He always that precise?” Kon drew himself up onto the bench and looked around the class room. The other students were gathered around their experiments. Some of them he recognised from homeroom, most were new to him but none of them looked even remotely suspicious. How on earth was he supposed to recognise a future criminal?
“Mr West does everything by the clock.” Tim hesitated then shifted closer to Kon. “I heard that last term a group of senior students messed with the clock, put it forward a few minutes. Before the end of the lesson, the clock was back at its proper time.”
“He fixed the clock?”
“He must have. Only no one saw him do it.” Tim shrugged. “Then there’s -- well, you’ll have to ask Bart.”
Kon glanced at Bart. “Is it just me or do they not get on?”
“You know what they say about family,” Tim said with a smirk. “They’re not brothers, but they should be. They annoy each other in all the right ways, but Bart takes it personally if anyone besides him complains about his cousin.”
“Cousins, then?” Kon looked from Bart to Mr. West, now at the other side of the classroom helping a cluster of students set up their experiment. “They don’t look much alike.”
“Other differences too. Bart couldn’t be subtle to save his life, Mr West has this really bad habit of creeping up on people--”
Bart coughed.
“Not in an acceptably stealthy manner,” Tim stressed. “He’s just there --”
There was a sudden hiss and their beaker spluttered. The chemical solution was boiling over, but before either of them could react, it was scooped clear, and Mr West was wiping the sides of the beaker clean.
“You’ll want to keep a better eye on your beaker,” Mr West told them, turning the heat off. “One of the properties of the chemicals involved is their flammability.” He replaced the beaker and handed the tongs and heat resistant gloves to Tim. “Bart --”
Bart was making notes on what Kon was prepared to swear had been an empty page of notebook a few seconds previous, with all apparent attention. “Yes, Mr West?”
Mr West hesitated. “Good work,” he said dubiously, moving on to the next work-bench.
---