Chapter Text
“Hey Will, how was school?” Joyce asked sweetly, looking over at Will with a smile as she was making dinner.
“It was good, thanks, Mom. I got another A+ on my history test.” Will said happily, putting his bag down on the floor.
“Did you do anything fun with Nikolai today?”
“Oh yeah, we did our Friday book swap, and he gave me The Brothers Karamazov by Fyodor Dostoevsky. I read the blurb, and it already looks so good; I might start reading it before bed.”
“That’s nice, sweetie. What’s it about?” Joyce asked, chopping up some tomatoes and lettuce.
“Well, it’s about this complicated family, the Karamazovs. There are three brothers: Dmitri, Ivan, and Alexei. They’re really different from each other, and their dad, Fyodor Pavlovich, is kind of a terrible guy, selfish, rude, and not really a good father.” Will said dreamily, as if he was on a cloud picturing himself reading it already.
Joyce nodded, curious.
“Okay… But what’s the main story?”
Will thought for a second.
“Basically, the book dives into their relationships and their struggles with faith, doubt, and morality. There’s a murder mystery, too; their dad ends up dead, and everyone’s trying to figure out who’s responsible. But it’s more than just who did it. It explores deep questions about God, free will, guilt, and forgiveness.”
Joyce looked impressed.
“Sounds heavy. Do you think you’ll be able to get through it?”
Will grinned.
“I think so. Niko said it’s hard but worth it, with lots of big ideas to think about. Plus, I like stories that make you question things.”
“Of course you do.” Joyce grinned back, proud of how smart and dedicated her son was. “What about you? What book did you give him?”
“Will opened the fridge and grabbed a bottle of water before answering, a little grin tugging at the corner of his mouth.
“I gave him As I Lay Dying by William Faulkner. I love it so much; I have it in my book log signed as read twelve times.”
Joyce raised an eyebrow, clearly impressed. “Oh, that one’s intense too. Isn’t it the one where the story’s told from, like, fifteen different perspectives? I think I studied that one when I was in school.”
“Yeah,” Will nodded, sitting at the table. “It’s about this poor Southern family trying to honor their mom’s wish to be buried in her hometown. Each chapter is a different character’s point of view, and they’re all... kind of unreliable in their own way. Some of the chapters are barely even coherent, like a stream of consciousness.”
Joyce paused her chopping. “And you thought Nikolai would enjoy that?”
Will laughed. “He loves weird, difficult stuff; the more confusing, the better. I figured he’d appreciate the chaos. His favorite writer is literally Fyodor Dostoevsky, but then again, it’s easier for him to pronounce names since he’s Russian himself.”
Joyce shook her head, smiling. “You two and your brainy book swaps. I swear, my best friend and I were reading X-Men and Spider-Man comics at your age.”
“That’s because we’re different,” Will grinned. “I personally don’t like having minimal writing and big pictures; I literally stopped reading those kinds of books not even a month after learning how to read properly.”
Joyce laughed softly as she poured dressing over the salad. “So what you’re saying is… you skipped your entire comic book phase?”
Will shrugged, still grinning. “Pretty much. I mean, I tried Batman again when I was like six, but I got bored. I just wanted more words, more story, stuff that actually happens in real life, not make-believe fantasy. I guess I always liked stories that made my brain hurt a little.”
“You know…speaking of challenging stuff.” Joyce began to say, walking over to another counter and picking up a large white envelope. “Do you remember when we applied to Claremont Academy around a month or so ago?”
“Yeah, I was disappointed when they didn't get back to me, but I'm not surprised. Basically all their students end up in the trio of Ivy League schools: Harvard, Yale, and Princeton. They’re all insanely smart.” Will said with a sigh, sitting himself down at the table.
“You are insanely smart, Will. Don’t ever doubt yourself.” Joyce said quietly, putting a hand on Will’s shoulder to reassure him.
“Hmm, maybe smart but not enough to get into Claremont. If I were that smart, I would have started there in September. It’s October now, but…uh—it’s fine, I’m doing well at Archipelago Academy. I have my friend there, so it's all good.” Will said, plastering a fake smile on his face as he looked down at his hands.
“What if I told you that you are good enough for Claremont?” Joyce said in a sing-song voice, holding up the large envelope.
Will’s heart stopped working. His eyes widened. There was no way she was saying what Will was thinking. It can’t be.
“No. No way.” Will said breathlessly, getting up from his seat from how excited he was.
Joyce smiled and jumped out of her chair too, pulling Will into a hug. “Yes, Will. Yes way. You got in.”
They both squealed and started jumping up and down, Will being the loudest and trying to grab the letter. “Let me see what it sayssss.”
“Here, look.” Joyce said with another squeal, her voice all giddy, unfolding the paper. “Dear Ms. Byers, we are happy to inform you that we have a vacancy at Claremont Academy starting immediately due to your son's excellent credentials and your enthusiastic pursuit of his enrollment. We’ll be happy to accept him once the first semester’s tuition has been received.”
Will’s eyes scanned the letter like it might vanish if he blinked. His hands trembled slightly as he took it from Joyce, reading the words again, slower this time, just to make sure he hadn’t imagined it.
“This is real?” he asked, barely above a whisper. “Like... I’m actually going?”
Joyce nodded, eyes a little watery. “It’s real, sweetheart. I fought for this, wrote letters, sent your test scores, and begged the admissions counselor to look again. And when the spot opened up… they saw what I’ve seen all along.”
Will covered his mouth with his hand, overwhelmed. “I thought… I thought I missed my shot. I was trying to be okay with it, but...”
Joyce pulled him into another hug, this time tighter. “You didn’t miss anything. You just needed someone to remind them how brilliant you are.”
Will felt himself burning with excitement. His fake smile was long gone, replaced with a genuine grin that spread from ear to ear. One that hurt his cheeks. “I can’t believe this. I’m going to Claremont.”
“You are,” Joyce said, brushing a bit of his hair back. “And you’re going to shine there.”
He let out a breathless laugh. “Nikolai is going to lose his shit when I tell him.”
“Hey hey, language, mister.” Joyce said with a laugh, but it was playful; she didn’t actually care if Will swore or not.
“Sorry, Mom, I'm just so excited.” Will said, bouncing up and down again. “Can I call him now, please?”
“Of course, but be quick; dinner is almost ready.”
Will took his flip phone out of his pocket, decorated with stickers and a few silver and yellow gems, and found Nikolai's name in his contacts.
He hesitated for a second, thumb hovering over the button.
Joyce noticed. “Are you okay?”
Will nodded, but his smile wavered a bit. “Yeah. Just... he's going to be excited, but also... I think it might suck for him.”
Joyce gave him a soft, understanding look. “Then tell him the truth. He’s your best friend. He’ll get it.”
Will took a breath and hit the call button.
The phone rang once. Twice. Then…
“Will?” Nikolai answered, a little confused. “Everything okay?”
Will was grinning to himself as he held the phone near his ear. “I got in.”
A pause.
“Wait—what? Are you talking about Claremont?”
Will couldn’t hold it in. “Yes! I just found out. They had a spot open and offered it to me. I start next week, Monday.”
Nikolai didn’t answer at first.
Will bit his lip. “I'm sorry… Are you... mad?”
“No!” Nikolai said quickly, though his voice sounded off, slightly disappointed. “Dude. No. I’m just... holy crap. That’s amazing. Like—you got into Claremont. That’s massive.”
“I really wanted to tell you first. But also... I feel kind of bad. You’re still at Archipelago, and now I’m leaving. And you’re... kind of my only friend there.”
There was a pause on the line. Then Nikolai said, “Yeah, well... you’re mine too.”
Will swallowed. “I don’t want this to mess things up.”
“It won’t,” Nikolai said, steadier now. “I mean, I’ll miss you like fucking crazy, obviously. But this is Claremont, Will. You earned it. You were always supposed to be there. I’m just glad they finally figured it out.”
Will smiled softly. “You really think I can do this?”
“I know you can,” Nikolai said. “You’re going to blow them all away. But, uh... text me when you can. Okay? Tell me everything. Every class, every stuck-up annoying rich kid, and I’m dying to see the uniform too. We can still take the same bus, right?”
“Definitely, I’ll give you every ounce of drama, and of course we’re still taking the bus together.”
“Amazing. I’ll call you soon, okay?” He said quietly, almost unheard.
“Yup, I’ll speak later; dinner’s ready. Byeee.”
Nikolai hesitated for just a second before replying.
“Bye, Will.”
Will stared at the phone after he hung up, the screen fading to black with a quiet click. There was a strange ache in his chest… like joy and guilt and nervous excitement had all collided at once.
He shut his phone closed and tucked it back into his pocket, sitting down at the table. Joyce slid a plate of pasta and salad in front of him and ruffled his hair as she passed.
“Everything okay?” she asked, sitting across from him.
Will nodded, smiling softly. “Yeah. He’s happy for me. Just… y’know. It’s weird… that I'm not going to see him every day.”
Joyce gave him a knowing look. “It’s hard, growing up. Sometimes it means stepping away from people you love. But the right ones always stick.”
“We’re still taking the bus together. That part’s staying the same.”
“That’s good then. You can also see each other on weekends if you’re not studying.”
“When am I not studying, though?” Will laughed.
Joyce laughed with him, shaking her head. “Fair point. But you’ll figure it out. You two are practically inseparable; a different school isn’t going to change that.”
After a moment, Joyce stood up from the table and walked toward the hallway. “Oh, by the way…” she called over her shoulder, her voice laced with that ‘I've done something you don't know about’ tone she used when she had a surprise.
Will glanced up. “By the way, what?”
Joyce returned a few seconds later holding a crisp, neatly folded bundle of navy blue, charcoal grey, and baby blue fabric pressed with care.
Will blinked. “Is that…?”
“The Claremont uniform,” Joyce said with a proud little smile. “Your size. I bought it a few days ago right after I got the letter. I wanted to wait until after dinner, but I couldn't.”
“I’m actually scared. What if I look like a Victorian train conductor?”
Joyce rolled her eyes sarcastically. “You won’t. It’s a blazer, slacks, a button-down shirt, and a tie—very prestigious and proper.”
Will groaned. “So, yes. Train conductor.”
She handed it to him anyway. “Try it on for me? Come on, Will, they’re nice colors, not like the ugly brown I wore when I was at school. I want to see how it fits so I can see if I need to tailor it.”
Will sighed, but a hint of a smile tugged at his lips. He grabbed the uniform and headed to his room. “If I come back looking like I stepped out of a Charles Dickens novel, I’m blaming you.”
Joyce called after him, “If you come back looking like that, I’ll be taking pictures and printing them for the family photo album.”
A few minutes later, Will emerged from the hallway, smoothing the front of the blazer with both hands. The uniform fit surprisingly well, tailored-looking even, with a sharp baby blue shirt tucked into the dark grey trousers, a striped tie hanging long and low, and the school’s embroidered crest stitched neatly above the blazer’s pocket.
Joyce’s eyes softened. “Oh, Will…”
“What?” he asked, tugging at the tie. “Too much?”
She shook her head, hands over her mouth as if she were in shock. “You look so smart and perfect… It suits you so well.”
“I feel like Harry Potter. This uniform shit is so weird; I don't get why we can't wear what we want.”
“Will, language.” Joyce sighed, putting her head in her palms. “It’s very common amongst private schools; it’s a way of making everyone look smart and professional as if they were working a proper job.”
Will rolled his eyes and flopped down onto the couch, tugging at the stiff collar and tie again. “Yeah, well… I look like I’m about to hand someone a spreadsheet and ask for a raise.”
Joyce let out a soft laugh, still watching him with that misty, proud expression. “You look like you belong, Will. Like you’ve always belonged somewhere that takes you seriously. This place is an amazing opportunity since you want to go to Yale; going to Claremont will look good on your transcript as well as your perfect grades.”
Will glanced down at the embroidered crest again, running his fingers along the stitching thoughtfully. “Yeah… I just suppose it’s hard starting all over again, especially now since it's senior year and everyone's made friends with each other in middle school, and I'm going to be sitting alone, which I don’t mind too much, but it would be nice to have at least one friend.”
Joyce smiled warmly. “Trust me, Will, you are a sweet, kind boy. Anyone who is mean to you or doesn't want to be friends with you is crazy because what is there about you that's not to like?”
“I guess,” he mumbled. “Still… people don’t always see that right away. Especially not at some posh private school where everyone probably owns a yacht and lives in a four-story mansion.”
Joyce let out a soft laugh and sat beside him, brushing his hair back gently. “You don’t need to own a yacht to be someone worth knowing, Will. And sure, it might take a little time for people to see you for who you are, but the right ones will. The ones that matter always do.”
He sighed. “What if no one talks to me? What if it’s just me… for the whole year?”
Joyce paused, then gave him a playful nudge. “Then you sit at lunch with a book and your Walkman, scare everyone with your smart brain, and make them regret not talking to you sooner. Eventually someone will get curious and talk to you. They always do.”
Will snorted, adjusting the blazer slipping off his shoulders.
Joyce grinned, nudging him again with a teasing sparkle in her eyes. “Who knows…maybe you’ll even find yourself a boyfriend at Claremont.”
Will nearly choked on his own breath. “Mom!”
She burst out laughing, clearly pleased with herself. “What? I’m just saying! It’s not impossible. You’re cute, you’re smart, you have great hair and nice arms—”
“Okay, stop,” Will said, burying his burning face in his hands. “Please don’t ever say ‘find yourself a boyfriend’ in that tone ever again.”
Joyce giggled and gave his knee a squeeze. “Fine, I’ll stop. But don’t act like it wouldn’t be nice.”
Will peeked at her through his fingers, still bright red. “I’m literally trying to survive my time there, not flirt with rich kids named Preston or Michael.”
She raised her eyebrows. “Ooh, Preston and Michael, already naming your imaginary Claremont boyfriends, huh?”
“Mom!!”
Joyce just laughed again and stood up, ruffling his hair again. “Alright, alright. I’ll leave you alone. For now.”
Will sat cross-legged in his room and stared at his empty backpack. What exactly would he need? He always said to himself it’s better to overpack than to underpack, so he might as well bring everything. He started with his planner, a little plain black book he was given in the post along with the letter in a separate box. All his classes for the week were at the front, plus suggestions for extracurriculars. The rest of it were blank lined pages with dates to write reminders for tests or homework.
Then there were folders, one for every class. He checked what colors were assigned to each subject and placed the ones he needed for Monday only, English, history, math, Italian, and chemistry. No one was going to accuse him of being disorganized, not in the first week, at least. Next were his books, firstly The Brothers Karamazov just for fun if he was going to read during his break and lunch, and Frankenstein by Mary Shelley because apparently that’s what the class was reading. Good thing Will had already read it.
Finally, just a few extra things like his pencil case, his Walkman, gum, and a small bottle of water.
He zipped the bag shut and let out a quiet breath. The room around him was still, the kind of still that only happened late at night, when Joyce was washing dishes or doing laundry, Jonathan was out smoking weed or doing a late shift, and El was experimenting with another dye in her hair.
El had changed a lot since freshman year. She used to be bullied a lot by the popular girls, Angela and Stacey, but the summer before sophomore year she decided she wanted to change. She started following all the new trends, changing her style and everything. She cut some of her hair off and dyed it black with blonde streaks; she calls it "skunk hair," but that sounds so stupid. Her entire wardrobe was wiped out, and she went on a shopping trip with all the money she got for her birthday. Low-rise jeans, chunky belts with jeans and all bedazzled shit, tiny tops of all bright colors, and a bunch of other crazy stuff Will didn’t know the names of.
Sadly she was staying in Archipelago; she didn't even bother trying to get a spot at Claremont, but then again it would be a waste of time since she was averaging a C in everything. Joyce was mad when she found out about that because El used to get As in almost everything and went to after-school netball pretty much every day, but now she had actually become friends with the popular kids and just bunked classes to go to the mall or smoke weed with half the football team.
Oh, Joyce went even more crazy the day El came back home from school one day with her belly, eyebrow, nose, and tongue pierced.
She nearly had a heart attack, practically yelling about skipping school and responsibility, but El just rolled her eyes and shrugged it off like it was no big deal. Will had tried to stay out of the way that afternoon, watching the storm unfold from the kitchen doorway. He understood both sides: El wanted to be her own person, and Joyce just wanted her to stay safe and not lose herself.
El was fully committed to her new persona, the ultimate Paris Hilton baddie 2.0, as she calls herself. She wore butterfly clips in her hair, usually neon or glittery ones that matched whatever tacky-but-cool accessory she was wearing that day. Her makeup game was on point too: frosted lip gloss, heavy liner, and sometimes sparkly eyeshadow in shades of blue or pink. She loved layering thin chain necklaces with chokers, and her fingers were always covered in a mess of colorful gel rings. She had dragged Will into Victoria's Secret one day, and he had almost had a heart attack himself when El was running around with thongs in her arms. She had whined that there was a sale and that they matched some outfits she had in mind. Will didn’t care; he just wanted to get out.
Did she buy them? Yes. Of course she did.
Did Joyce freak? Yes, again.
El had been given MULTIPLE dress code warnings written up almost every day because she was walking around school with her jeans as low as possible; every time she would bend over, her thong would show. Will had never felt so embarrassed for anyone that much in his life.
And her phone? A candy-colored flip phone with a picture of Madonna taped inside the case and a custom ringtone that blasted a Britney Spears song whenever it rang. She texted nonstop with abbreviations that gave Will a headache (OMG, LOL, TTYL) and was always up to date with all the gossip, with teen magazines scattered in her room, and she’s insanely obsessed with Ashton Kutcher and Justin Timberlake, kissing their posters on the lips, leaving her gloss stains on them.
Will was trying to fall asleep, stuffing his face into his pillow, but he couldn't get comfy. Not only was he freezing cold, but El was playing music even though Joyce had told her to turn it off about twenty times.
He groaned and threw the covers off. His socks were mismatched for some odd reason, and one of them had a hole in the toe, but he didn’t care right now. He padded down the hall and knocked once, then opened the door without waiting.
“El, for the love of God—”
El didn’t even flinch. She was sitting cross-legged on her bed, surrounded by a mess of pink and silver nail polish bottles, rhinestones, and some kind of weird mini UV light machine she probably wasn’t supposed to be using near her face. She had her flip phone clamped between her shoulder and ear, gum snapping between sentences.
“Okay, but if I wear the pink tube top, I can’t wear the butterfly jeans again; people notice that stuff—hold on.” She turned to Will and gave him a dirty look. “What?”
Will blinked. “It’s midnight. Your music is shaking my organs.”
She rolled her eyes and snapped her gum. “Okay, drama queen. I’ll turn it down.”
“No, like, off, El. Do you not know there’s a law that you can't be this loud past eleven?”
She sighed dramatically, reached for the remote, and clicked the speaker off. Instantly, the room was silent, aside from the faint murmuring from her phone.
“Happy?” She said, waving a nail file at him like a weapon or something.
Will stepped further in and looked around the room again. Her walls were still covered in posters of Justin Timberlake, Ashton Kutcher, and some movie called Mean Girls. Lip gloss tubes littered her desk like a fucking trash can. There was a mini Hello Kitty mirror propped up on a stack of CosmoGirl magazines.
“Are you seriously doing your nails at midnight?” he asked, rubbing his arms.
“It’s called self-care, loser,” El muttered, grabbing her UV lamp. “Big day for you on Monday, right? Fancy new school, and stuck-up private school kids.”
Will sat on the edge of her pink bed with a groan. “Don’t remind me.”
El glanced up, her tone softening for just a second. “You nervous?”
“A bit. I don’t know. I keep thinking I’m going to get there and be… totally out of place.”
She clicked her lamp off and blew gently on one of her nails, inspecting the shimmer, nodding at it. “You’ll be fine. You’re smart as fuck, Will. And you’ve got that main character syndrome, so basically you’re gonna get all the guys and girls on your ass the minute you step in. Oh my god, it’s gonna be like Cruel Intentions; you’ll defo get into a love triangle.”
Will gave her a look. “That might be the dumbest thing you’ve ever said.”
She grinned. “You’re welcome.”
He stood up and stretched. “Anyway, thanks for turning the music off.”
“Don’t get used to it,” she said, flopping back onto her bed. “And also don’t drink my Diet Coke or SlimFast shakes in the fridge; I just asked Mom to buy them today.”
Will gave a full-body shudder. “Ew. I wouldn’t drink that chemical sludge even if it was the last beverage on Earth.”
El sighed, throwing her phone onto her desk. “Duh, you're a guy; you won’t get what women have to go through to get an amazing body like mine.”
“Uhh, you don't have to eat like shit, though. I eat what I want and go to the gym. Do you even know what’s in this? Water, milk protein concentrate, canola oil, artificial flavoring, and a bunch of chemicals like sodium hexametaphosphate?”
“Nerd alertttt, I don’t care, oh my god. I’d rather die than go to the gym and sweat like a stinky man, ew…”
“Sweating is a natural part of it, El; that shows you're doing it right.” Will flexed his arm. “See? You see progress too after all the hard work.”
El looked up from her bed and raised one extremely thin brow. “Wow. Incredible. A visible bicep. What is this, Men’s Health magazine?”
Will laughed and pulled his sleeve back over it. ”Hard work pays off, jealousy much?”
“Okay, Hulk,” El muttered, rolling her eyes so hard they practically got stuck at the back of her head. “Meanwhile, I get results by drinking a shake, painting my nails, and not smelling like an armpit.”
Will sat back in her spinny chair, crossing his arms. “You really think you’re going to get abs from drinking strawberry chemicals, skipping lunch, and barfing?”
“I don’t want abs,” she said, pointing a bedazzled nail at him. “I want to look hot in a low-rise mini skirt and strut through school like I’m on an MTV reality show.”
“You mean a tragedy?”
“No, babe,” she smirked, fluffing her hair. “A cultural reset.”
Will opened his mouth to respond but paused. “…I’m actually afraid of how confidently you said that.”
“As you should be. Now get out of my room; you've been here too long for my liking. I can practically smell the sweat.”
Will gasped. “My hygiene is impeccable.”
“Mhm, sure, sure, keep talking.”
Will smiled as he walked out of her room, closing the door shut behind him.
Maybe El was right.
Monday could be a good day.