All the Stars on Your Ceiling

The day the Fuentes brothers came to Clairemont High was a dark one. The rain was so established by the time the morning came it felt as if it had been falling forever, soaking deep into the cracked pavements and forcing the trees to bow to its constant attack.

Kellin Quinn was miserable from the moment he opened his eyes. He shut off his alarm perhaps more forcefully than entirely necessary, before flopping straight back down the moment his bedroom was plunged back into delightful silence. The sun was usually shining unavoidably through his navy blue curtains by this time, but judging by the steady rainfall clattering against the double-glazing the sun was shrouded in clouds. Rainy days were always miserable; there was no motivation to be found in grey skies, no happiness in the bitter cold, and Kellin found himself debating the notion of feigning illness. However, if his mother believed he was ill she would certainly make him suffer through one of the family's ancient “home remedies” - some awful dish made of terrible, expensive ingredients or a Victorian-sounding method of healing. He would gladly suffer through school if it meant he could avoid that fate.

He threw his covers back untidily and slithered out from under their warm embrace, feet falling upon the soft carpet and narrowly avoiding each obstacle left in his path - a half-read David Almond novel, pencils spilling from an open pencil case, his PE kit - until he reached the large wardrobe built in across the wall opposite his bed. The central door rumbled deeply as he rolled it open, revealing his selection of neatly hung and folded casual clothes - such as jeans and tee shirts. Rifling through the mass of fabric, he eventually grabbed a random jumper (it was way too cold for a tee-shirt) and a pair of dark grey skinny jeans; he couldn't be bothered to coordinate an actual outfit, and besides - he knew how it worked. As long as his clothes were designer, it didn't matter if they matched. Kellin changed quickly to avoid the chill and drew the door closed again to evaluate his random choice in the floor-length mirror on the door. The jumper was burgundy and fairly old, something he’d bought for himself and worn far too often a couple years ago, and it's tiredness was fairly obvious in the fraying cuffs and faded colour. Luckily, it was worn in such a way it looked like a fashion statement if anything - not that anyone would question him on anything he wore. He pulled on a pair of random socks and black Vans from the other side of his wardrobe, then crossed the room again to collect his keys, wallet, and phone. His bag was yanked up from its place on the floor and thrown onto one shoulder, then he was walking leisurely down the stairs when he should have been running. He was already fairly late, and would likely miss home room, but it wasn't like he would miss anything important. By the time he got to school, he'd just have to rush to English.

His mother was in the kitchen when he got downstairs, but rushed into the hallway to see him off when she heard him come downstairs. Hurriedly, a dry kiss was pressed to his temple and his mother began beckoning him out the door. “You're already late, mister!” she scolded affectionately, “You’d better get a move on, or so help you when you get back home.”
Kellin smiled at her, pecking her on her warm cheek before turning and jogging half-heartedly down the drive to his car.

It was a nice car, black and expensive, and had been a gift after passing his test provided he would take the greatest care of it and get a job good enough to someday pay his parents back for it. Kellin knew they never actually expected the money from him, it was just motivation for him to get a good job (“good”, in his parents’ sense, meaning “well-payed”). Pulling the door open and clambering inside, Kellin dumped his bag on the passenger’s seat and plugged his phone into the radio. His music was, as always, set to shuffle, so he let whatever random selection his phone provided him with be the soundtrack to his drive to school.

The drive wasn't all that long, and by the time Kellin pulled into the student car park he had just enough time to get to English class in A block. He hoped he didn't run into any of his friends on the walk there, far too tired to be the rich asshole they wanted him to be, but knew he would probably be harassed by Oli the second he got to class. At least Oli wasn't the worst of them, he was generally okay when he was alone - just a bit of a dick when he was surrounded by people he wanted to impress.

A block came into view, and Kellin walked briskly through the emptying hallways and up a staircase until he reached the correct room. The door was open, thankfully, meaning he wasn't late, and judging by the noise from inside the teacher was not present. Pretty much everyone else was already there, a few sat down with others wandering the classroom or sat on desks to talk to their friends. They all moved out of the way to allow Kellin to reach his seat in the back corner of the room, surrounded by an empty seat in each direction.

Students were allowed to choose their seats in Ms Whinston’s class, and at the start of the year Kellin had sat next to Oli. However, after many a disruption from the two, Oli was moved two rows forward to sit next to Austin, who Ms Whinston claimed would “keep him in check”. So far, Austin hadn't done a very good job. The second Kellin sat down, a crumpled piece of notebook paper hit him in the temple and landed conveniently on the desk in front of him. He rolled his eyes and straightened out the paper carefully to avoid ripping it, slowly revealing a note in Oli’s curling handwriting.

“You're lucky Whinston just left, she’d have your bloody head if she found you late again.”
The sentence was punctuated by a gory doodle of Kellin’s severed head (complete with exaggerated emo fringe, as if Oli could talk) in the clutches of a circular pig-like creature he could only assume was Ms Whinston.
Kellin took out a pen and began to write underneath Oli’s drawing, which had been kept smaller than usual. Kellin could only assume he was running out of pages in his notebook.

“Can't tell if you mean ‘bloody’ in the sense of blood-covered or the weird British speech filler.” A crude drawing of Elizabeth II. Kellin threw it back expertly, then caught it with the same experience moments later.

“Both are applicable. Anyway, you missed Whinston’s dramatic announcement - some brand new loser’s joining this merry band of thieves! Fuckin party, right?”
Kellin rolled his eyes.

“Is that where she’s gone now? She say anything about the new student?”
He threw it back over the desk to Oli.

“Yeah. She didn't really say anything except it's a dude, and he's moved from a pretty long way away. Said he’s shy too, so everyone's gotta be nice like that's gonna fucking happen.”
Kellin felt sorry for the kid for a moment. He knew Oli wouldn’t do anything, he’d never actually bully anyone - he just liked being a public disturbance and irritating authority. It was everyone else Kellin was worried about; if the guy was shy and had moved into a completely new environment, the students would rip him to shreds in a week. It was kind of sad.
Pausing in his writing, Kellin noticed approaching footsteps coming down the hall. He pulled the note onto his lap to hide it, and looked up as Ms Whinston entered the classroom. She didn’t notice his sudden appearance, thankfully, and instead walked to her desk and cleared her throat to draw the attention of the class. The students irritatedly returned to their seats.
“Right, as I said, Clairemont High is pleased to greet a new student today! He’ll be in this class for English, and hopefully many of you will notice him in your other lessons and be nice, okay?” she smiled sweetly at the blank-faced teenagers staring at her. Oblivious, she turned her attention to the door and the class followed her gaze.

“Vic, sweetie?” she called, “You wanna come in?”
There was a moment of silence, before the door creaked open and the new student - Vic, apparently - entered the class. He was short, Kellin noticed immediately, probably even shorter than Kellin himself, and wearing the most ridiculous hoodie the boy had ever seen. It was positively ancient, and god knows how many sizes too big on the guy, the Thrasher logo emblazoned proudly across the chest against the bright, tie-dyed fabric of the rest of the hoodie. Vic had the hood pulled down over his face and the sleeves clutched tightly over his hands, as if he wanted to make himself disappear. It was hard to tell much about him whilst he was swallowed in tie-dye fabric, but he was wearing black skinny jeans and burgundy Vans, so he seemed alright. Ms Whinston smiled nervously at him.

“Okay, hon, how about you go sit in the back next to Kellin Quinn, then you can take your hood down - they’re not allowed up in class.” Ms Whinston was likely expecting an enthusiastic “yes, miss!” and immediate obedience, and thus was visibly put off when Vic simply shuffled past her and made his way carelessly to the back of the class. He didn’t hit anyone’s desk on the way, but it was clear in the way he walked that he was willing to. Reaching the desk next to Kellin’s, and obviously still under the scrutiny of the entire class, Vic dropped his bag on the floor and sat down quickly, keeping his gaze set on the desk in front of him and sending a clear message that entering the class would be all the entertainment he would be providing this lesson. Interest in him was quickly lost, and he let out a breath of relief.

Ms Whinston returned the attention of the class to her as she began to introduce them once again to the concept of learning, but Vic kept his gaze tracing the crude pen markings on the wooden desk in front of him. Kellin doubted he was listening at all after the show he'd put on with his entrance. He seemed the rebellious, careless type, but as Kellin glanced carefully at him out of the corner of his eye that persona didn't seem at all fitting. Sitting, eyes downcast and shoulders hunched under the worn fabric of his oversized hoodie, Vic seemed somehow fragile-looking, like he was a glass sculpture pulled together clumsily with the duct tape of an abrasive personality.

Nervously, Kellin leant towards him. The usual hum of classroom chatter had risen around them, so their actions were no longer under such scrutiny.
“Hey,” Kellin said quietly, smiling when Vic’s eyes flashed up to meet his own, “I’m Kellin.”
There was a pause in Vic’s actions, but he nodded hesitantly. “Hey.”
The silence hung, suddenly heavy, and Kellin realised that the boy was not going to keep the conversation going. “You're..Vic, right?”
Looking inconvenienced by the extended interaction, Vic nodded again.
“Well, it's nice to meet you. Hope we can be friends,” Kellin smiled, unsure as to how to go about interacting with a stranger who had no interest in conversing with him. An unreadable expression crossed Vic’s face, still partly obscured by his hood, and he seemed to momentarily waver between a smile and a glower. He settled on the more irritated end of neutrality and simply hummed his vague affirmation, eyes still drowned in shadow once again returning to stare aimlessly at his desk.

Kellin recoiled and turned away from the boy, staring aimlessly at the Midsummer Night’s Dream display next to the teacher’s desk and trying to stop his vision from continuously trailing back to Vic. The boy had, in ten minutes, piqued Kellin’s curiosity. He seemed somehow out-of-place in his own body, like he didn't quite understand himself or was trying to withhold as much as he could. Somehow, though, he still seemed more genuine in his attitude than anyone else. This seemed like an unreasonably acute observation of a stranger, especially since Kellin was about as observant as a pebble, but Vic was different. Kellin didn't know how.

He was brought out of his thoughts by another piece of crumpled paper skidding across his desk. Kellin suddenly remembered the conversation with Oli he’d abandoned, and guiltily straightened out the new note.
“You never replied to me and I'm running out of paper, asshole! D’you have any idea how many notebooks I've wasted on you? Probably a whole fuckin forest’s worth!!
Anyway, what's the new guy like? I saw you trying to talk to him”
Kellin felt somewhat guilty talking about Vic behind his back, even though he didn't plan on saying anything bad. He picked up his pen again.
“Sorry!! Whinston was looking!
His name’s Vic, and I don't really get him. He seems like nice enough but he also seems like a total asshole, I think he just doesn't really know how to talk to people. Like he's nervous so he's being a dick because he doesn't know how else to deal with everything??? Does that even make sense?”
He waited until Ms Whinston’s attention was elsewhere, then threw the note back to Oli. Before looking at the note, Oli turned to him and glared. Kellin grinned back innocently, catching sight of Austin’s disapproving eyes set on the both of them. Oli turned too and laughed, dodging away and absorbing himself in the note before he could be given an earful.

Kellin was surprised Austin didn't try to intercept the note as it was thrown back, and decided the boy had given up on his valiant quest to ‘straighten Oli out’. He unfolded the note.
“That's basically what I did after I moved from England, so yeah I get how he feels. The only advice I can give you is keep trying no matter how much of an asshole he is, he’s lonely.”
Kellin paused, appreciating for a moment how comfortable his conversations with Oli were. Then smiled softly at the next sentence.
“Wanna skip next lesson with me?”

Kellin’s next reply was only two words.
“Fuck yes.”