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Stanley hated having to move a lot. His dad’s job meant they were never in one place for long, so it almost made it impossible for Stanley to properly settle down, let alone make any close friends. At this point, he stopped caring. He would maybe say hi to a few people, but they’d get bored and leave him pretty quickly. In a few schools, he’d even been labelled as the ‘weird autistic kid’ right off the bat. Those were the schools he never missed.
The only upside was that he started these schools as ‘Stanley’. Not as… that name, not as Miss Rider, not as a girl, as Stanley. And no one knew. Most schools let him get changed in the boys’ changing room (but he usually just got changed in the bathrooms for P.E anyway), and the few that didn’t let him, he just skipped P.E instead.
So when they had to move again, Stanley didn’t think much of it. He’d not hated the last school, but not loved it either, and apparently, this new school was some posher fancy-ish place, not in a private school way; it was just nicer than most of them.
It was in a boring part of London. Suburban, middle-class, just people getting along with life whos only care was being nosy about neighbours’ gardens. At this point, Stanley had been to schools all over the UK in all different towns and cities and settings. All of them were a bit grey and miserable, but had some hope… that was equally as grey as his previous schools. This new school would probably be the same, and he was right.
It was in an old brick building, large and imposing and very bleak. It had three stories, and bars over the windows — either to stop footballs breaking the glass or to stop students trying to climb out of windows, Stanley couldn’t tell which — that had peeling yellow paint that was maybe meant to make the place a little more colourful. Or to fit the uniforms.
Oh yeah. The uniforms.
They consisted of: one (1) itchy white shirt, one (1) uncomfortable grey V-neck jumper, one (1) warm black blazer with the school logo on the chest and yellow trimmings, one (1) scratchy pair of plain black trousers and black shoes, and to top it all off, a yellow tie. A very yellow tie. It was like they were trying to summon the sun through the grey London skys.
Most of the schools Stanley had been to didn’t care too much about uniforms, but this one did. So much so that you could get sent home for wearing it wrong?! What a strange place.
It was also one of those schools that had so much false hope, with an enthusiastic head teacher with no backbone and teachers who cared more about incorrect uniform than the bullying rates. Such a… lovey school.
— — — — —
Stanley stood at the bus stop, trying not to look up at the sky in fear that it would prompt it to start throwing it down. They were to wear a blazer but not a coat? Strange.
He really hoped this was the right bus stop. His biggest fear was getting on the wrong bus, falling asleep, then waking up in some unknown place and having to find his way back, alone. Well, it maybe wasn’t his biggest fear, but it was one that was eating at him right now.
There were other people in the shelter with him, some girl with the same uniform as him, some lady with an umbrella, some guy with a briefcase, the same sort of people who were usually waiting for the bus. It was funny that wherever he was, there were always the same sorts of people in the bus stop. Comforting in a way.
The bus finally arrived, and Stanley got on, showing his card to the bus driver, then walking in to find a seat. Lucky for him, there were plenty that were empty, so he wouldn’t have to deal with the fear of sitting next to someone he didn’t know and maybe having to make small talk.
He sat down and stared out the window at the houses and shops sliding past. It wasn’t that busy, surprisingly, usually bustling with morning commuters, but maybe it was just not the right part of town for that…
The bus stopped every so often, the number of empty seats lowering as it steadily got busier. And louder. Stanley made a mental note to actually charge his headphones first before leaving next time. Someone was now sitting next to him. A boy, maybe his age and wearing the same uniform, with big glasses, blond hair… and a briefcase.
Well.
Fair enough, Stanley supposed.
He was reading, or not really… he was flicking through a book full of bookmarks and sticky notes, and on every page were scribbled notes and highlighted words, and muttering under his breath, eyes flicking around.
He closed the book with a snap and opened his briefcase to put it back in, just as the bus came to an abrupt halt and his briefcase slid down the bus and spilt the contents everywhere. Some other students — judging by the fact that they too were wearing the horrible uniforms — laughed as the boy went bright red and rushed to pick up the contents and the bag.
He returned to his seat, scowling at the laughing peers and muttering under his breath still. One of them tapped him on his head, but he didn’t turn around. Seemed like he was used to it, really.
Poor guy.
They eventually reached the school, and the boy was the first to hurry off the bus, clutching his briefcase to his chest. Stanley debated going after him to ask if he was ok, but there wasn’t much point. He’d never find him in this sea of students.
Stanley’s first class was English.
English was probably the only class he was actually just able to be ok in. Not good. Just fine. It was pretty easy — as long as they didn’t touch on spelling — and Stanley even liked reading sometimes. And people seemed to overly hate essays, in his opinion.
Now here was the worst part. Actually finding his classes.
As soon as Stanley picked up his timetable, he set off in the hope that he wouldn’t be too late. This school felt like a sprawling labyrinth, with pale yellow walls and beige carpets. Everything looked the same. But, to his surprise, it was easy to find. A rare occurrence most of the time.
He stood outside the classroom until the bell rang, not wanting to be too early, and letting the line form behind him. Well, line was the wrong word. More like multiple small clumps of people, and a few people stood alone in a vaguely line-like shape beside the wall, which was more accurate.
As soon as the bell rang, Stanley went in and made a beeline for the teacher’s desk. He hated taking someone else’s seat and hoped that there was some kind of seating plan, so he could just get told where to go.
“Ah, and your Stanley!” The English teacher, a friendly-looking lady with glasses and tightly curled hair, beamed at him. “You're new, yes?”
“Yeah… I am.” Stanley tried to smile back, failed, and resorted to looking at the floor and picking at the skin on his thumb.
“Do you want to introduce yourself—” There was no way in hell he was introducing himself to the class. What was he meant to say, ‘Hey, I’m Stanley, I move around a lot, so don’t grow attached!’
“No, um… I just wanted to know where to sit.”
“Fair enough… I’ll pop you next to Narrator, he’ll be able to catch you up on what we’re doing.”
Stanley blinked. Surely he’d heard that wrong. “Who sorry?”
“He’s over there, he won’t mind.”
Stanley looked around and saw a surprisingly familiar face. It was the boy from the bus, the one with the briefcase. He was sitting in the front row, staring off into space.
Stanley walked over and pulled the chair next to him out, dumping his bag on the floor. The blond boy suddenly snapped his head round and stared at Stanley, narrowing his eyes, then he relaxed, then frowned.
“Who are you?”
The boy’s voice took Stanley aback. It was posh and clipped, but somehow still a bit naisily and almost like he was trying to make it a bit deeper and velvety. Stanley could also see the boy had weirdly big front teeth and braces, as well as those really awkward-looking bands like a cat’s cradle.
“I’m Stanley.”
“You're new.”
“Yeah.”
Stanley sat down as the boy looked him up and down, paused, then smiled, all teeth, and held out a pudgy hand like he was a businessman signing off on a deal and not a 16-year-old meeting a new classmate.
“I’m Narrator. Nice to meet you, Stanley.”
Stanley blinked again. Then once more. His hearing must not be working. The boy — Narrator, Stanley supposed — sighed and rolled his eyes, hand still hovering and waiting for Stanley to shake it.
“Old family name, don’t know where it came from, don’t love it don’t hate it, if you’d prefer just call me ‘Narry’… actually, never do, but you can imagine it, I suppose.”
Stanley blinked, then nodded, and shook Narrator’s hand.
“Cool name.”
Narrator grinned again, “I know. People always get hung up on the fact that it’s a title, not a name, but never when people’s surnames are colours. No one’s ever said, ‘that’s not a surname, that’s a shade of green!’ before, have they?”
“I… guess not.”
“Exactly.”
Narrator opened his briefcase and took out his English book, and started flicking through it. “So, you moved here?”
“Yeah.”
“Where from?”
“Uh…” Stanley thought for a moment… where had he moved from? There were so many places, it was hard to keep track… “Somewhere in Birmingham? I think?”
It was Narrator turn to blink at him. “You think?”
“I move about a lot so…”
“Ah, I see.” Narrator turned his attention back to his book.
Now that Stanley was not just side-eyeing him on a bus, he could actually properly look at him.
He was a head shorter than Stanley, chubby, with a round face and bright brown eyes. His glasses were very thick and square, and his nose was a bit crooked, like it had been broken. His hair was blond and ever so slightly wavy, but short and half-heartedly neat. He wore the same uniform, obviously, but he had various pins on his blazer lapels: chess captain, debate captain, class vice, and one with a yellow cartoonish smiley face. He looked neat, clever, and perfect. The opposite of Stanley.
It was odd. He seemed approachable, maybe a little pompous and vain, but overall friendly, yet on the bus those people had laughed and poked at him, and he just acted like it was a regular thing for him…
“Hello? Stanley? Have you died?” He snapped his fingers in Stanley’s face, his eyebrows raised, and the toothy grin back on his face. “I asked you a question?”
“Oh… sorry, I wasn’t listening.”
“Hmm! Not listening to your Narrator, how ironic.”
Stanley pointedly ignored how the boy had called himself ‘your’ like they were a long-term couple. He was overanalysing.
“I asked if you came to two doors, would you choose the one on the left or the right?” Narrator cocked an eyebrow. “Purely off gut instinct, what’s behind them doesn’t matter.”
“Uhm…”
“It’s a Psychology question… I think.”
Out of all the people he’d met from all the other schools he’d been to… this boy was the strangest. Despite that, he felt oddly drawn to him. Maybe he felt bad for him, for what happened on the bus. Even now, he noticed people glancing at him and making odd faces or giggling. Maybe it was because he was one of the few people who didn’t just overlook him.
“The right, probably.”
Narrator hummed thoughtfully and turned to the front, where the teacher had stood up and started speaking.
“I think I’d choose left.”