This story was inspired by an article in a health-related pullout in my local newspaper in June 2007. A mother wrote in fretting about her six-year-old daughter's irrational phobia of the wind. It was so amusing I had to do something about it. Something . . . nice.
M/M slash and plain weirdness/lameness ahead.
Note to anyone with anemophobia: Many apologies for the parody. You may choose to ignore the rest of this fic.
Note to all other readers: Please do not take this fic too seriously. Suggestions for any improvement are very welcome, though.
Acknowledgements: Special thanks to min for sending me her huge collection of band music for reference.
- Wave 1 -
Laughter erupted all around the classroom.
"Hey, titch." Some baldy whose face I couldn't see stood by the windows, smirking like it could grow him some beautiful tresses. Even his singsong voice was out of tune. "I'm opening a second window . . ."
I yanked the hood of my jacket back onto my head, but it refused to go further than below my forehead, and I could already feel the beginnings of a draught seethe at my nose.
"I thought you had a bit of jaundice," Tate protested behind me, his hands raised in assumed innocence. "I was just trying to help."
"No thank you." I shrunk deeper into my chair as another window was opened — oh god, the wind that gushed through it. "Why don't you let me have that corner seat if you really wanted to help?" I snapped bitterly at Tate.
"Wouldn't it be worse if you took this seat?" he asked, knocking a knuckle against his desk. "The back door's usually left open."
"I don't care. I just don't like the windows more."
He stared at me with a grin. "Too bad, then," he said, leaning back into his chair. "I'm taller than you, so of course I take the back row seat. Maybe that hood really is impeding your growth somehow."
"Shut up," I snapped.
I stole another look at the windows. Two of them were still wide open, but thank goodness Baldy was back in his seat, and the wind hadn't come to me yet.
Then suddenly my hood was gone from my head again. "Are you coming for band practice later?" Tate asked, his face leaning innocently by my right ear.
"No!" I screamed again. I pulled my hood back in place and swore loudly at him — just in time for Mr Balleby to catch my beautiful vocabulary.
"I shall have to see you after class, Rubin," Mr Balleby said smoothly, as he came into the room and put his books down on the table up front. Everyone else snickered.
Everyone else — that was, except Tate. In fact, he guffawed.
"You too, Tate."
I grinned in the safety of my hood just as he stopped dead in his guffawing.
I initially developed this story as a one-shot, but eventually had to split it into several shorter chapters when I got too carried away. So . . . one step at a time. (: