Chapter Text
"..nd you are to take good care of the new transfer— Alex. Alex!"
The balding headmaster receives a boyish sigh as a reply to his two-minute-long speech about the new transfer student, Nigel Colbie.
Alex, however, doesn't seem to show much interest in the topic, because for him, the view outside is certainly more entertaining than his tomato-red father's bootlicking for that Colbie kid's parents. And besides, just who the fuck changes schools in their senior year?
Alex looks at his father, his green eyes dull. "Need me to suck him off too, oh father dearest?"
"ALEX FORBES!! LANGUAGE, PLEASE!" his father stands up, face redder than the stupid education certificates pasted on the walls of his office. He clicks his tongue, sitting back down as Alex lunges his legs up on his father's spotless clean study table, resting them like he owns the place. At this point, his father has given up attempting to amend his son's nasty way of living.
He clutches his ageing hands together, as if he were pleading to some god, "Dear Alex-" "Oh please." His father glares at him and continues whilst handing Alex a thick yellow folder—
"The Colbies are a very distinguished family, and it is an honour to have them with us this year." Alex scoffs.
"Sooo you're telling me that this horribly distinguished family jerked out their lovely little son from a bougie private school, to here? The wildest public school in our district? And that too in his senior year?"
His father coughs awkwardly, "Open and read the files I gave you". Alex groans. He should be in his Inorganic Chemistry class right now— after all, he does have a test today.
"If this meeting of ours fucks up my GPA, I'm breaking my homeroom's windows." He mutters with an annoyed smile plastered on his face.
Jacob sighs loudly, gulping down his giant cup of coffee. "Yes, yes, I'll make sure to let Mr. Gupta know. I have another meeting right now— so please, for the love of god— talk to me after school hours, and familiarise yourself with the Colbies."
Alex rolls his eyes, getting his legs up from the table while smudging the top with his dirty sneakers as he walks out with his bag and the sickly yellow coloured folder his dad gave him. The door shuts loudly, and he can hear his dad cuss from the inside. Alex laughs softly, and looks at his wristwatch;
10:45 am
He scoffs to himself, 'Might as well skip the last five minutes of class before lunchbreak starts'
His shoes squeak as he turns to the left, sauntering to the football field. He takes out his sandwich— two slices of crispy white bread with three different kinds of cheese smothered in between. One perk of making his own breakfast, it seems, is that he gets to eat whatever he wants, and grilled cheese is a staple item. He leans in for a bite, but some of the molten cheese drops on his white polo t-shirt— Nothing to worry about, if that stain's gonna make his father mad.
He wipes the yellow fluid with his finger, closing his eyes as he licks it.
'Mmmh, nothing better than having cheddar cheese after getting yelled at by the old man' he chuckles, before being tackled down mercilessly by a silhouette resembling a rotund potato.
"Good morning, little fuckboy Forbes!" Josh yells, nearly making Alex fall down. The redhead clutches the nearby locker, glaring at the unbothered brunette as the yellow folder in his hands slips. "Jesus Christ, Josh!" he snaps, shoving him off, "You trying to kill me?"
Josh grins, face mildly flushed because of the harsh morning sunlight, and hair like it has personally offended the existence of a comb. Alex's isn't in any better state either— it's his hair's short length and weirdly cut layers that somehow make his messiness look somewhat put-together.
"Wouldn't dream of it. Your dad would eat me alive," Josh replies curtly, sitting down on the lowest step beside the football field. "Oh, aren't you supposed to be in class right now?" he adds, adjusting his bag.
Alex crouches down to pick up the folder, slinging his bag aside "I'm skipping, smartass".
"Lunch's in five minutes though"
"Congrats, you can count"
Josh's eyes drop to the folder tucked beneath Alex's arm, "What's that?"
"My father gave me some files 'bout the Colbie kid" he sighs, biting into his sandwich.
"The rich one?"
"Yup."
"The one who got kicked out of a fancy private school"
"Yup."
Alex gets up, stretching his legs "He's not even here, and the teachers are treating him like some delicate prince".
Josh opens his phone and shows Alex a much too neat spreadsheet. "Tell me about it; All the clubs' presidents and members have been instructed to stay 'as amiable as possible'. His family must be worth a lot to the school". Alex rolls his eyes, but the corner of his mouth twitches "Good luck with that" he says as Josh's 'Physics Club President' badge glistens in the heat.
Josh laughs in return "Good luck to you, student body prez. Your dada sure made it hard for Colbie after setting him up with your stinky personality" he chuckles, getting a disgusted face as a reply.
Alex hates it when people associate his own achievements with some delusional nepotism as logic. After all, no one cares enough to see and compare his study records with those of his peers. The moment his last name is announced, this annoying tag of favouritism is just stuck onto his whole being. His eyebrows furrow together as he looks at Josh— the classic definition of a brown-noser. He wonders why he still hangs out with him, which doesn't take long to answer— 'Right, I'm the headmaster's son, so of course'
He tosses his bag down, and finally opens the folder in hopes of getting distracted. Josh gets up too. The school bell rings behind them, signalling the start of their twenty-five minutes long lunch-break.
The first few pages are birth certificates and other formal shit— nothing that Alex's interested in. He flips open a few pages nonchalantly, and then stops.
A picture.
It was clipped onto a page.
Alex was expecting an ordinary photograph. Instead, he found himself staring at a boy who looked strangely out of place— as though the camera had caught him somewhere he wasn't supposed to be.
Nigel Colbie
said the letters below, along with his date of birth.
The picture was probably recent, but Nigel had an oddly timeless quality to him. His hair was dark, falling untidily across his forehead, with a few strands almost reaching his eyes. His face was narrow and pale, not sickly, but possessing that peculiar stillness that made Alex wonder whether the boy ever looked genuinely surprised by anything.
His eyes, however, were greyish blue, though the poor quality of the photograph made them difficult to distinguish properly— a contrast to how neat he looked. There was nothing obviously unusual about them. Yet they seemed unnervingly attentive. Nigel wasn't smiling for the camera. He wasn't scowling either. He was simply looking, with a stare so deep that it made Alex question things.
'Just who is this prat?'
He looked closer. There was something almost beautiful about him, but it wasn't the polished, magazine-cover kind of beauty. It was quieter than that. Almost severe; the kind that made you look twice before you understood why you'd looked at all.
Breathing softly, he read on— and his eyes rose.
Nigel Colbie's grades were perfect.
"What a show-off," remarked Josh.
But Alex's didn't listen; rather, he couldn't listen as he kept on reading— reading about a person on the same level as him. It felt strangely surreal; he felt both comfort and discomfort at the same damn time, knowing that there lies another person— another like mind (SEE WHAT I DID THERE HEHEHEHEH).
There were several commendations from his previous school. Academic competitions. Model debates. Classical literature. Something about music— possibly cello or violin, by the looks of the photograph of him playing it. He turned the page, only to see it filled with even more lists of his merits; sports, volunteering, intellect blah blah blah.
He was too invested in this boy's business.
Then came the disciplinary section. It was blank— until Alex flipped the last page.
"Aha" he smirked,
"Our little prince nearly punched a girl to death."
Josh's eyes widened, "W-What?!" he tried snatching the folder from Alex's hands to see for himself. "A girl? What happened?" he exasperated. Alex pulled the folder back playfully before clearing his throat, and adopting the solemn voice of someone reading a court verdict:
"Disciplinary incident: Susan Mueller
Date: 22/02/26.
Student reports indicate that Nigel Colbie struck Susan Mueller three times following an alleged verbal exchange."
His mouth drops, making Alex laugh.
"According to witness statements, the incident occurred immediately after Mueller asked Colbie to accompany her to the spring formal."
Josh blinks, staring at the folder as though it has personally betrayed him. "So... He hit her for... asking him out?". Alex shrugs, chuckling, "There's more,"
"No prior altercation between the students has been documented. Mueller stated that she had approached Colbie after lunch and asked whether he would attend the formal with her. Colbie allegedly responded-" Alex pauses.
"Huh."
His eyes move across the page, scanning each and every word out of sheer disbelief.
"Mueller reportedly laughed and asked whether he was being serious. Colbie then struck her. The altercation was witnessed by four students. All four provided substantially identical accounts. Mueller had made no physical threat toward Colbie. No provocation beyond the aforementioned invitation has been established."
Alex looks at Josh, "That's it".
There are all some short statements, all contradicting one another in tiny part, but agreeing on the important details.
Nigel had hit her, three times, and for an inexplicable reason. Alex's gaze lingers on the final sentence— "The student showed no remorse when questioned by the faculty."
"What a prick.." Josh mutters behind him.
Alex doesn't answer. There was just something too eerie about this; It seemed empty.
'If Nigel's such a moody bastard with anger issues, there's bound to be more cases like this with him involved— but him being in just one, and that too such a silly incident seems.. almost made-up' he thinks to himself.
There should have been something- a prior argument, silent grudges, or maybe some stupid teenage story that would make sense after you've heard it. But there was nothing disclosed.
He flips back some pages, hoping to strike something new. And there it is— his junior year health report. He continues flipping pages, but a tad bit violently this time, as there are only a few minutes left before the break ends. He stops, and his amusement vanishes.
February 2026
During the weeks preceding the Mueller incident, Colbie's physical and academic condition was reported to have deteriorated considerably. Faculty noted persistent fatigue, withdrawal from extracurricular activities, and several unexplained absences. The nature of the student's condition was not disclosed by his father. Requests for medical clarification were declined.
The bell rings loudly.
Josh leaves curtly.
'Fuckin' nerd'
Alex mutters to himself. He opens the first few pages of the folder while picking his bag up— He can't stop staring at his photograph. Just what could have provoked this oh-so-perfect dude to thrash a random girl?
Throughout his classes, he couldn't stop thinking about him— about Nigel Colbie. He wished for some word that'd mean this feeling of both fear and awe, because that's what he feels.
The rest of the day passed in a blur.
He copied the notes written on the board, answered whenever a teacher picked him to do so, and stared at his open books the rest of the time.
Nigel Colbie.
The name kept returning— It was irritatingly persistent.
"Oi, Forbes."
He looked up, arms clung to the back of his chair.
Two boys from the senior frat club were standing in front of him, grinning.
"Party at Kieran's tonight. You coming?" one of them said.
"Sure", Alex replied absent-mindedly.
The boys exchanged a victorious look. "That's what I like to hear", the blonde one laughed, smacking Alex's back lightly as he got up from his seat. He barely acknowledged them as he left, looking at the giant clock in the corridor. School was almost over.
He knocked amusingly on his father's slightly ajar door; tap-taptap-tap.
Jacob sighs from inside, "Why must you knock whenever there's obviously nobody with me?" Alex grins gleefully, drinking some juice from his father's cup. "Out of habit, I suppose," he sips.
He drops into the cushioned chair opposite to his father's desk. His father sighs again, removing his glasses. "I assume you read the file", he starts.
"Most of it"
"And...?"
"He's a weirdo"
His father gives him a tired look, pursing his lips, "Well, you should understand that the Colbies have had a rather unfortunate history". Alex flips through the school's brochure lying on his father's table, staring meaninglessly. It was better than talking with him, duh.
"Uh-huh" he hums.
"Nigel's mother was Irish-Russian. Beautiful woman. Very intelligent. She died when he was quite young."
"Uh-huh"
His father began counting quietly on his fingers.
"Two aunts. Both deceased. His maternal grandparents passed years ago. There aren't any siblings."
"Uh-huh" Alex mutters, "Just like us."
His father sighs for the third time, reaching for his cup of coffee.
"His father is an extremely private man. Protective, too. Whatever Nigel has been dealing with, he doesn't discuss it."
Alex looks down at the folder.
Suddenly, the pages feel heavier.
"So why transfer him here?"
"I don't know."
"You don't know?" the reply comes snapping in an instant.
His father shakes his head.
"Not entirely."
That answer bothered Alex more than it should have.
His father stood and began gathering some papers.
"Anyway, you should be civil to him. He's had a difficult few years."
Alex nods vaguely. "His pops must be paying you well for having Nigel here, no?" he taunts.
His father pauses nervously. In his near eighteen years of living with this bratty little redhead, he has learnt but one thing— and that is to stay silent at times like these.
"I forgot to tell you.." he starts slowly, looking at his demanding son who's staring at him from his chair, his green eyes brimming with boredom and annoyance.
"We're having them over for dinner tonight."
Alex drops his bag, getting up.
"You've got to be fucking kidding me."