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The corridor was familiar at first; usually crowded classrooms now empty, basking in the evening glow, colourful leaflets announcing exam time timetables and social events and club activities at odds with the stillness of the hallway, empty wrappers and scraps of paper scattered on either sides of a straight path.
Chase walks past all this, walks, and walks, and walks. He keeps on walking, and- what, he must have hit a thousand steps by now. What kind of school needs such a long corridor. How could this possibly be useful??
As he walks, his surroundings slowly begin to shift, the rooms morphing into slightly different, slightly unsettling shades of the classrooms he’s used to. Nothing outright creepy, exactly, just off. The air smells static, and Chase gets the impression that no one has been here for quite a few years. Which is impossible, because he can see writing on the whiteboards inside the classrooms, and reports dated from last week plastered across the walls.
The end of the corridor appears abruptly in his line of vision, like it rendered into existence just a few seconds too late, rising up over the white floors. Instead of a wall, there’s a door- a door that looks more intimidating than inviting, if Chase is honest to himself.
The door is old; algae-green paint peeling in large, unflattering flakes. The handle isn’t quite rusting, not yet, but it has a strange dark hue, that is most likely ink, but looks an awfully lot like blood in the treacle light of the darkening corridor.
Chase grabs the handle before he can think too much about its colour. It’s cold to the touch. The door isn’t locked, but it takes an uncomfortably co-ordinated push with his shoulder to wrestle open. Stained handle, stiff door… clearly this room was being used. All the time.
…It was probably a sign. A sign that there was nothing of value hidden within this stupid storage room, that any search would be nothing but wasted time, and that Chase would be better of turning back down the corridor and heading home.
He stares out into the darkness beyond the door. The lack of windows is telling. The abyss stares back, mocking. A wisp of dust stretches over the doorway to coil around his feet, and alongside it diffuses the stale ink-blackness of the inside. It feels a little like a threat. He gulps.
“Well, get on with it.” A bored voice mutters to his right. Chase glances over and is met by the unimpressed blue-eyed stare of the student council treasurer who’s been trailing behind him silently this entire time.
“Wow, he speaks!” Chase crosses his arms. “If you’re in such a rush to find your special old anchovy books, you could have just come here earlier and done it yourself.”
Buddy narrows his eyes, pushing himself off the wall he’s leaning on. “You mean archive? Anchovies are the fish.”
“Right. Of course you’d know the difference, seeing as you’re Italian and all.”
The boy- and his very “traditional Italian name, my family is from-”- sniffs haughtily. “Well, anyway. You’re here to do the grunt work so I don’t have to ruin my clothes.”
Chase, reaching blindly around the wall for the light switch- no way is he entering that room before the lights turn on-, rolls his eyes. “Yeah, there’d be a national day of mourning if you were ever forced to change out of your signature goth outfits.” He considers asking if Buddy owns any items of clothing that aren’t purple, grey, or black. Chase can imagine the type of responses:
“Colour is for people who are trying to compensate for something they don’t have.”
“My eyes already hurt enough when I look at what you wear- you look like a paintball homicide crime scene.”
“You don’t know where I left my phone, do you?” Chase looks up, distracted from his thoughts. Buddy is squinting at him, head slightly angled to the side.
“Why would I know where your phone is?”
“Well, you seem to be glued to your own one, so I figured you’d have a radar sense or something.”
Chase retrieves his own phone from his pocket, spiderwebs of cracks held together by colourful stickers. “I’m not glued to it, I’m just dedicated to making my online career happen.”
“Well, maybe put some of that dedication into paying attention in class. Did you actually take in a single word of what we did in literature today?”
“Blah, blah, fairy-tale something. Same old, same old. Save that for your library club.” Chase’s fingers finally brush over the switch. Eurgh. Cobwebs. “When are we going to do an actually exciting story, like that one with the vampires- that would be cool.”
“If you can’t even get through Grimms’ Fairy Tales, good luck with reading Dracula. Actually, I’m continually impressed by your ability to survive day-to-day life with such a dim-witted head, so I suppose anything is possible.”
Chase briefly debates volunteering to go find Buddy’s phone so he doesn’t have to deal with the constant stream of insults anymore. With a sigh, he flicks the light switch, and watches in dismay as it stutteringly illuminates the room within with a certain ragged reluctance. Buddy peers over his shoulder.
The sight that greets them is not… optimistic. A long room, with five rows of tall, intimidating shelves that stretch all the way to the wall at the back. Each is piled to the brim with what can only be described as stuff, all colours, shapes, and sizes spilling across the surfaces, suffocating the space in between. No rhyme, no reason, and, clearly, no recent sorting. The thick carpet of dust gives everything a slightly grey tinge.
“Looks like we’ve got our work cut out for us.” Chase sighs, pulling his sleeves up.
He takes a deep breath to prepare himself, and steps in. As he scans the floor, his eyes stop at a shape on the floor. He picks it up, brandishing it at Buddy. “Ha! Finders, keepers!”
Buddy, following Chase into the room, stares at him, looking slightly bewildered- a strange expression on his face. “Are you planning on baking a cake?”
Chase slides the chicken-shaped oven mitt onto his left hand. He wiggles his hand and thumb to imitate the bird squawking. “So I pick things up and not get dusty.”
Buddy mutters something that sounds suspiciously like “good luck with that” under his breath, before turning to face the organised chaos awaiting them. He crouches down in front of a carboard box that appears to be filled with old textbooks. “Keep an eye out for old-looking books, please.” He pushes his bangs out his face, and busies himself looking at the titles. “And I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to know what you were looking for either.”
“Oh! Yes. Um.” Chase’s brain screeches to a halt, unsure what to make of this sudden act of what was seemingly… kindness? From Buddy? “Costumes. I’m looking for costumes, for the upcoming school play. Ms Silver’s put me in charge of costume design, and I wanted to check if we had anything promising in storage.”
“You in charge of costumes- remind me to bring sunglasses when I go to watch it, so I can protect my eyes from what’s clearly going to be a visually-assaulting performance.” Chase glares at Buddy, who’s immediately gone back to being Buddy-like. The other boy raises his eyebrows pointedly at Chase- at Chase’s clothes? What is that meant to mean? - before continuing. “Okay, costumes… so any clothing item?”
“Yeah, anything that isn’t a school uniform, basically.” Saying that, Buddy would probably think a school uniform was better than any costume that Chase could ever come up with.
Chase stretches his arms while scanning the middle aisle of shelves, leaving Buddy at the front of the room to investigate his box of books. He considers the contents of the shelves around him: Baseball bats, baseball gloves, baseball uniforms… hmmm, maybe he should make the costumes baseball themed.
A fluffy scarf poofily spills out of from high spot on the shelf, reminding Chase of an indoor plant hanging from a planter, and he grabs its end to pull it down. It unfurls into his hands, revealing itself to be much longer than he expected, and he draws it around his shoulder with a flourish. He spins, suddenly feeling very fancy.
Dust scatters through the air from the movement, falling softly, suffocatingly. He winces; while he has an infinitely more tiring autoimmune disease to live with, he at least isn’t allergic to dust.
Chase’s gaze falls to the large space the scarf left behind on the shelf. Or rather, the box in the shelf underneath that it revealed. He lets the scarf drift to the floor behind him. “Hey, Buddy?” He calls out loud. “I found some books, if you want to check them out.”
Chase squints into the open carboard box. The books looked like they hadn’t seen the light of day for years, which was probably true- any light, natural or artificial, had probably been blocked out the thick curtain of scarf flowing in front.
Buddy, a few books under one arm, walks over, gaze finding the box. His eyes widen.
Chase moves to pick the box up from the shelf so they can get a better look, but Buddy sharply puts his hand in front. “No, I don’t want your grubby little hands getting on those books. They might disintegrate purely from all those ugly colours you’re wearing.”
Chase scowls at Buddy, but allows him to pick up the box. Let him have his special moment, I guess. As the other boy sets it on the ground, Chase glimpses a few titles, embossed into worn leather covers. ‘Snow White’, ‘Cinderella’, ‘Rapunzel’.
“Are the special archive books that you’re looking for fairy tales?” Chase raises his eyebrows incredulously at Buddy.
Buddy narrows his eyes. “No, of course not. But they’re old books. Someone like you would never understand the value of reading, much less reading books that were printed over fifty years ago.”
Chase puts his hands up in bock defeat, spinning around on his heel. “I’ll leave you to it then.”
He continues his walk down the aisle. Hopefully, Buddy won’t make them carry back all those books back. As he moves down the room, his eye is drawn to a shape at the back wall. It’s a rack. A rack burdened with so many clothes that its metal rain is bending from the strain.
Chase can’t believe his eyes. In front of him, lined up neatly, are costumes, proper costumes- costumes he would have never dreamed could even exist, much less find in the back of a school storage room. He sifts through the densely gathered hangers, his eyes widening with every next one: a ballgown, a princely suit, a medieval soldier’s outfit. Sure, they would probably only be useful for a performance set in the Middle Ages, but they look amazing. Despite the thick dust that has settled like a second skin over each outfit, they sparkle with potential, rainbow fractals scattering through the flickering fluorescent overhead lighting. Maybe that’s just his excitement coming through too strong.
A particularly shimmery blue feathered hat grabs his attention, and he delicately places it on his head. It’s light, hugging around his hair comfortably. His mouth rises into a subconscious grin, already imagining the potential.
There’s a brush of cool air on the back of his neck, and goosebumps prickle down his spine. Chase shivers, suddenly feeling cold. Suddenly, a high-pitched whistling sound fills the room, a choir whose whispers crescendo within the space of a second into a cacophony of yells. He spins around in alarm, looking for the source of sound. “What is-”
BANG!
The foundations of the room shake from the impact, objects rattling on the shelves around him. Air slams past his face into his eardrums, tangible soundwaves assaulting his senses.
Everything falls quiet, and Chase looks around, heart beating fast and erratic, bewildered.
“What- what the hell was that?” He winces, taking a few steps across to look down the aisle towards the sound. Buddy is standing where Chase left him, hairs standing up like a cat, staring in the other direction. Chase follows his gaze.
It leads to- ah.
The door.
“Who would’ve known a piece of furniture could make such a loud noise”, Chase mutters, while walking over to the front. “So dramatic and unnecessary, door. You hear me?”
The closed door silently stares at him. Chase stares back. And turns the handle.
And turns the handle again.
“Wait-”
“Let me try, idiot.” Buddy reaches past him.
Chase puts his hands up in mock surrender. “Okay, if you think you’re so good at opening doors, go ahead.”
Buddy grabs the handle. It turns easily. They both fall silent, the room still in suspense. But when Buddy pushes, arms straining against the door, there is no further movement.
“Wait, come help push.”
Chase obediently joins him at the door, pressing his entire bodyweight into the door. It doesn’t move an inch.
Chase closes his eyes in defeat, hands still on the door, but no longer pushing. “Uh oh.”
“God, of all the times to have a broken door. How does a door even break that badly?” Buddy kicks the wooden rectangle in question. It vibrates under Chase’s hands but doesn’t show any signs of giving way. Buddy hisses, face souring in pain before he quickly smooths it over. He puts his hand in his pocket. “Ah. Shit. No phone.”
“Ooooh!” Chase digs into his rucksack, retrieving his phone and brandishing it dramatically. “Have no fear, for Chase Hollow has gotto.”
Buddy’s face tells (very subtly) him that he’s not impressed whatsoever. Now might not be the right time for his amazing puns. Chase sighs and unlocks his phone. “You totally owe me a favour for this, Bud.”
“I never want to hear the word ‘Bud’ come out of your mouth again.” When Buddy says it, it sounds like an unforgivable insult. To be fair, Buddy has the ability to make anything he says sound insulting.
Chase scrolls through his phone, looking Deacon’s contact. He should still be at school, right? He sees the familiar freckled face in the contact photo (of course, Chase had been sure to use the most flattering photo he had. Definitely not one he’d taken while Deacon was asleep on the couch, drooling onto one of his fantasy romance books), and hits the call button.
Riiiiiing. Riiiiiing. Riiiiiing.
“The number you have called is currently unavailable. Please leave a message after the tone.” A long beeping sound follows.
Chase stares at the phone in his hands, his image reflected on the shining surface gazing back, before raising it to his ear. “Uhh, hey Deacon, how’s it going. I was just wondering whether you’re still at school- don’t you have your horse club thing on Tuesdays? I- well, me and Buddy- are in the school storage room, it’s a really dusty, old room on the other side of the school. I was, like, looking for costumes for the musical, and Buddy’s looking for books to add the library, I guess? Anyway, the door banged shut, and now it won’t, like, open. I think it's broken, but now we can’t get out. So. Could you come open the door from the other side, maybe? Or get someone to find us?”
In the corner of his eye, Buddy rolls his eyes, while still twisting the door handle in an effort to try to get the door open. “Does the word concise mean anything to you?”
Chase sticks out his tongue. “Yeah, so, as you can see, Buddy here is getting pretty antsy, and I don’t want to be stuck in this room with him for any longer. Help, please. S O S.”
He pulls the phone away from his ear and goes to end the voicemail. He taps lightly on the black screen to wake the screen, and again, more firmly- but nothing happens. “Huh?”
A familiar symbol flashes into existence over the dark background, and his heart drops about six ribs down in his chest. “Oh. No.”
Buddy redirects his efforts from the door to look at Chase’s phone. His mouth falls open. “You’re actually kidding me. Did your phone seriously run out of charge in the thirty seconds it took you to record that?”
Chase stares miserably at the ‘charge’ symbol illuminating the bottom of the screen. “Yep.”
“Urghhh.” Buddy puts both hands to his forehead in frustration. “We’ll have to hope at least a part of it sent through. Which, I’ll add, might not even be useful, because you spent most of the time waffling on about completely irrelevant information!”
Genuine apology and annoyance at Buddy both swirl around Chase’s gut. “Sorry for trying to be polite, dude? And for all we know, it might have gone dead before I even started talking.”
“Well, if you’d-”
“Buddy, just shut it. There’s nothing we can do now. We’re stuck in this room, until someone comes along and tries to open it from the outside.”
They both pause, thinking about the room they’re in. Windowless. Unvisited. At the end of the longest corridor in the history of architecture.
“Oh, we are fucked.”
“Hey, don’t say that! Ms Silver knows I’m here. At least, I told her I’d be coming here.” Chase tries, “…sometime this week?”
“Yeah, we are so fucked.”
“They’ll send the police after we’re missing for twenty-four hours. Surely.”
Buddy sighs, sitting down with his back to the door. “Even the police would struggle finding this room.”
Chase takes a seat opposite him, in between the aisles, pushing some dusty bowling pins to the side (why would the school need bowling pins? Maybe they can practice bowling while they’re waiting for help). “Well. Looks like it’s just you and me, Buddy. At least the room is big, and we’re not stuck in a tiny closet.”
Buddy grimaces. “Why did you have to say that”, he mutters, before smoothing his features over and closing his eyes.
“What do you mean, I’m just saying we’re better off than we could have been- unless you’d rather be stuck in a closet?”
Buddy exhales deeply. “Yeah, can’t think of anything worse than being stuck in a closet with you.” He looks at the floor, fingers tapping erratically on the wood before curling into tight fists, the words lacking the bite they’re usually delivered with.
Chase looks at him, biting his lip in concern at the pale face and clenched fists. “Hey, this sucks. I’m really sorry about my phone. Like, really sorry. But all we can do now is wait.”
Unsure what to do, he resorts to opening the small rucksack he’s been tugging around. He rifles inside, searching for something, anything that could be useful. “Aha!”
He dramatically withdraws his hand, holding two identical snacks. “What better way is there to distract yourself from inevitable doom than chocolate?”
Chase swears Buddy’s entire demeanour shifts in the blink of an eye, eyes widening and mouth parting slightly. Chase has to hide a tiny smile. Who gets that excited by chocolate?
“If this was a survival movie, we would probably have to ration these in case no one actually came to find us, but whatever.” Chase shrugs, waving the hand holding the chocolate bars emphatically. He watches as Buddy’s eyes track the movement. The smile threatens to return. Instead, he holds one out, slightly tentatively- like one would give food to injured wild animal in a forest.
Buddy blinks. “Are you sure?”
Chase nods firmly, pressing it into Buddy’s hand. “It would be no fun if you starved to death while I survived. Would be a bit awkward to explain to the police. And I think Ms Violet would have a fit if no one could run the library anymore.”
“There’d be no one competent enough to replace me.”
“Mmm hmmm”, Chase says, allowing a real smile to settle onto his face. He meets Buddy’s eyes, and there’s an awkward pause in the conversation, a moment of silence where Chase becomes extremely aware that there’s no movement in this room apart from the- now slighter slowed and calmer- rise and fall of their chests.
Buddy is the first to break eye contact, looking away and coughing lightly. “Uh, what on earth are you wearing?”
Chase is bewildered at the turn of conversation. “Is ‘insulting Chase’s outfits’ your go-to topic when you run out of things to talk about?”
Buddy rolls his eyes. “You’re not that important. And how could I not notice… that.” He points unenthusiastically at Chase’s head. His head… Chase raises a hand up, before coming into contact with something that is decidedly not hair.
“Oh! I forgot I put this on!” He removes the blue hat from before, holding in in his hands. It’s rather light, but he’s surprised he was able to forget he was wearing it completely. Not to mention, it didn’t fall off throughout all of that. Rather impressive. Perfect for performances.
It catches the light, sparkling as he turns it over. “This was for ‘Prince Charming, Snow White, according to really old-looking label.”
Buddy snorts, before quickly covering his mouth with a hand and small cough. “Prince Charming wore that? No wonder he had to kiss someone that was unconscious. If he tried approaching someone who wasn’t in a coma, they’d probably run in the opposite direction screaming for a restraining order against the glitter.”
Chase sighs exasperatedly, placing the hat back on his head. “You need dramatic costumes when you’re in this kind of role. How else are you going to pretend to be a prince from seven hundred years ago? Can’t exactly method act your way into the role. Ooooh, unless you could stay in a medieval castle for a few weeks- that’s such a cool idea, I should suggest that to Ms Silver…”
He trails off in though, before mentally refocusing himself. “Anyway, yeah, costumes kind of give you an opportunity to reinvent who you are, I guess. A new appearance can trick your brain into thinking you’ve actually changed on the inside. Like, when I put this hat on, I’m not Chase Hollow, locked in an old storage room- I’m Charlie Charming, out to… kiss all the unconscious princesses in the land.”
“How admirable of you.” Buddy carefully peels open and nibbles at his bar of chocolate, looking extremely satisfied. Images of black cats cutely eating treats suddenly bombard Chase’s unwilling mind, before he quickly shakes them away. Buddy continues; “It would be nice if you put half the effort you have for acting the fairy tale into actually reading it in class.”
Chase twirls a feather in his hat around his finger, contemplating for a moment. “When you act, you have to put yourself in the character’s mindset, and really think about their perspective of the world. I feel like when you read a book, a lot of it is just told to you, so you’re not actually engaging with the character’s inner, implied experience and views. I guess that’s just the way I see things, and I’m sure it’s different for you. but for me, acting makes the characters real, rather than just two-dimensional sketches on a page.”
“Mmm, I suppose that would help understand the character better.”
“You should try it sometime. Doesn’t have to be serious, or anything. Just pretend to be a character from a book.”
“I think I’m fine with just reading the book, thanks.”
Chase continues, ignoring Buddy completely. “Actually, what a better time than now! We’ve got a few hours, and a bunch of costumes.”
Buddy opens his mouth, but before he can protest, Chase stands up abruptly.
“Wait here!” Chase instructs, pointing at Buddy menacingly, while lightly jogging backwards. He turns around, making a beeline for the back of the room where he found the clothes. He scans the selection, running his hands through the clothes. “Aha!”
Chase returns, arms laden with the bounty of his mission. Buddy’s eye twitches. “That looks like the remains of a dead animal.”
Chase pulls a face, holding up the (albeit shrivelled) black jacket. “Damn. Well, this was the only one that somewhat fit your colour scheme.”
He holds the shoulders of the jacket and allows it to unfold into its full wrinkled glory. As he does, something falls out, clanging to the floor with a few energetic bounces. It glints silver in the light- almost like a wink, beckoning come and get me- before rolling away under a shelf.
“Did you see that?” Buddy peers at the place under the shelf where it disappeared.
Chase bends a hand around to see if he can retrieve it. His hands blindly grasp nothing but a thick layer of dust, and he winces, reluctantly continuing. He hopes there’s not any rats down here.
Finally, his fingers skim on an object- cool to the touch, smooth, thin. He pulls it out quickly before his shoulders completely cramp up.
Chase gasps. “Buddy, look!”
Clutched in his sweaty palm, condensation collecting around where he’s touching it, is a tiara. Not one made of plastic, but a silver metal one- one that feels heavy in his hands, scattered with opaque light blue gems that subtly glimmer in the light. “It’s so pretty…”
“It is”, Buddy concedes. They both stare at it for several silent moments.
“I’ve always wondered what it would feel like to wear a tiara”, Chase says, cautiously raising it onto his head.
As he does, however, he’s stopped by a material that is clearly not his hair. Oh. He forgot he was wearing the hat. Again.
“Oh no…” Chase bemoans. “I can’t let go of my hat after all this time- I’ve become attached to it; it’s like my prince persona.”
“All the princely persona you could have gained from the hat is offset by the fact that you’re five foot tall and the hat is about half your height.”
Chase glares at Buddy. “Princely. Persona.”
He considers the tiara in his hand, and then his options. Looks around for a moment. He leans forward and, without waiting for an agreement, sets it on Buddy’s head.
“Woah, woah- what?” Buddy scrambles back, hands reaching up to his head. Chase grabs both of his wrists and pushes them away onto the wall behind before he can displace his new accessory. The tiara falls slightly lopsidedly between Buddy’s soft locks, the jet black of his hair emphasising the elegant brightness of jewels.
“It suits you. Woah- the gems are, like, the same colour as your eyes”, Chase leans closer to get a better look, his gaze flicking from the tiara to Buddy’s eyes. They really are the same; the lightest shade of blue, like a shade of forget-me-not blended into a soft clouded sky.
Their colour is mesmerising. Like those pale pastel blue sherbert candies; the ones that seem so plain and innocent until you eat them, and they start to fizzle in your mouth, creating mini thunderstorms on the tip of your tongue. Buddy’s eyes, full of colour, look so much better when they’re wide open, like this- not hidden in their usual glare.
Buddy’s eyes are wide open. Why are they wide open.
It’s only then that Chase realises how flushed Buddy’s cheeks are, splotchy against his skin, and how their faces are only a flutter of an eyelash across from one another.
Chase suddenly feels his cheeks burning. He retreats hastily, letting go of Buddy’s wrists and averting his eyes. Move on from whatever the fuck that was! screams his brain. “Um, besides, if you wear the tiara, it means I get to look at it. You can be like a display mannequin for all the cool accessories.”
Buddy briefly presses his palms on his cheeks, taking a deep breath before responding. “You say ‘cool accessories’ like you’re planning to make me wear more. Which, for your information, I won’t be doing.”
“Booo, spoilsport.” Privately, Chase is shocked that Buddy is tolerating even the one accessory. Good on him. Is this what’s called character development?
Speaking of characters...
Chase purses his lips consideringly, staring at Buddy. “Well, if I’m going to be the hero, you can’t be the heroine, obviously. That means we’ve got a bit of troubleshooting to do.”
“I don’t exactly see a problem to troubleshoot.”
“What are other major roles… I can’t see you being anything but the villain- although, because you’re wearing a tiara, you could be the villainess too, I guess.”
Buddy doesn’t sound impressed. “Wow, my lifelong dream of wearing a tiara and role-playing a villainess has finally been achieved.”
Chase shrugs. “It’s okay, man. There are more embarrassing dreams out there. Anyway, let’s not get distracted. So, you can be the villainess, and-”
“Wait, why do I need a role?” Buddy asks, sounding genuinely confused.
Chase looks at him like he’s stupid (because he is). “I’m typecasting you for the upcoming play, obviously? We need more people to participate, and you can be our club’s figurehead to encourage enrolment.”
“Is the lack of fresh air making your brain not work anymore? I think it is. I’m not trained in CPR, so I won’t be able to help you if you’re having an aneurysm.” Buddy narrows his eyes. “Do you seriously think I’m going to join the play just because I got to wear this- albeit very nice- tiara?”
“Uh, yes?” Chase shrugs. “That’s how they got me. Showed me one cool pair of shoes, and I joined despite not having ever done acting and plays generally not involving any dancing or singing, which are things I can actually do.”
“And now you’re the club captain.”
“Yeah! I’m glad you’re realising that you are capable of anything once you put your mind to it!”
“That really wasn’t what I was trying to say, but whatever.”
Chase gestures wildly, about to go on a speech about the importance of trying new things and committing yourself, when his hand slams into a box. “Ow!”
He looks at the culprit- it’s Buddy’s fairy tale books from before. Dust, disturbed by the impact, settles back down slowly on top.
Suddenly, Chase’s face lights up.
He vaguely hears Buddy’s muttered “oh no, what did you just think of”.
“A. Brilliant. Idea.” He says excitedly. “I’m a genius.”
Chase grabs a random book from the box, ignoring Buddy’s anguished cry- undoubtedly from not sanitising his hands beforehand and wearing full-body protective gear (not to protect him, but the books, obviously).
Chase grins, tapping the thick, leather-bound cover with a finger. “We can read this story, and practice acting the roles as we go.”
“I’ve never seen you more excited to read a book.”
“Well, get excited with me. C’mon, what better way to kill time than pretend you’re a different person in a different world?” It’s a copy of Snow White- the pages curling, old and yellowed.
“The only thing this will kill is my will to live.”
“Stop being so pessimistic please. Right- who’s the hero in this story?”
“Do you not even know that?”
“Dude, I don’t read.”
“Even if you don’t read, surely-”
Chase flicks through the novel, scanning the pages for an iteration of ‘Prince Charming’. “Does the prince character just not show up until the very end of the story?” Chase asks, shaking out the novel like the prince is hiding between the pages and he can get him to fall out.
Buddy snatches the book away before he can do any more damage to the old, damaged spine. “Wow, so you literally have no idea what the plot is. I’m almost impressed by the fact you’ve managed to live so many years and somehow not acquire this information.” Buddy sets the book down between them. “In Snow White, the prince basically only plays a major role during the final scenes. That’s great, because that minimises the time that I’ll have to suffer through your terrible attempts at acting.”
“What, that’s so lame. Guess I’ll just be Snow White in the meantime. She would definitely wear this gaudy headpiece.”
“Does that mean I get to poison you?” Buddy sounds way too eager for Chase’s comfort. “You did say we needed to embrace our roles, and explore the characters, after all. Poisoning you in real life would really allow me to understand the Evil Queen’s mind.”
“I don’t think you need much more help understanding her.” Chase presses his lips together. “But if you were to join the acting club, I suppose I could ask about getting some slightly more realistic props… like using an actual apple instead of that fake pineapple replica every time we have a scene with fruit. Surely we can get the funding for that...”
As Chase is considering the budget proposal he’ll need to make to the elusive school president, an odd object nestled amongst the clutter catches his eye- it’s smothered in dust, like all the rest, but for some reason, he can’t look away. It seems to faintly shine, an almost invisible radioactive glow.
He draws it out, and gasps. It’s a glass heel. A proper, glass heel. A shoe that wouldn’t look out of place in a fairy tale.
He brushes the dust off, resting its delicate frame on his palm reverently. It’s almost completely transparent, but if Chase focuses closely, he can make out the faint shimmers of blue and pink refracting within the material.
“Well, it looks like the princess has found her slipper!” He poses, holding the heeled shoe in front of the sneaker he’s currently wearing.
Buddy’s face- inquisitive eyes, slightly parted lips - betrays his intrigue. His words don’t, however. “Wrong story. And that wouldn’t even fit on your foot.”
“What, like you’d know my shoe size. Kind of freaky, dude.” The shoe is, clearly, far too small for Chase’s foot. Maybe he should try putting it on the other foot. Or hold it closer to his face so it looks bigger in perspective.
“Why does this school even have such high-quality costume parts? That’s glass right, not plastic?” Buddy, ever the pragmatic, leaning over to get a better look.
Chase shrugs. “Don’t question benevolent gifts from the costume gods.”
“It’s not a costume god, it’s the theatre department- urghh, whatever, never mind.” Buddy presses a hand to his forehead. Chase is rather shocked that he doesn’t have a permanent mark there from how much he does it. It seems to be Buddy’s default pose (what he does when he’s annoyed/fed up with someone, which is effectively all the time).
Chase continues, undeterred. “It’s clearly a sign that we were meant to be doing this. It’s like a reward for our great acting skills.”
“Hey- why do you get it if it’s a reward for both of us?”
“Finders, keepers-” Chase begins, and isn’t prepared for when Buddy lunges at him.
He definitely. Does not. Shriek.
Before sprinting down the aisle in the opposite direction as fast as he physically can. “Get away from me! This is mine!”
“Oh yeah? We’ll see about that!” Buddy’s voice, breathless, from behind him.
Unfortunately for Chase, the room is only about fifteen metres long, and he’s faced with his most difficult decision yet: to turn around and fight, or keep on running down the next aisle.
Buddy makes the decision for him by grabbing his shirt before he can make his escape. Chase almost falls to the floor from the sudden yank of his clothes, the air knocked out of his lungs. A hand sneaks around his side in an attempt to take the slipper, but Chase spins around in the opposite direction to avoid it, turning to face the other boy.
Buddy is already leaning forward, so Chase takes the opportunity to push him over. It’s a cruel world, and difficult (and not-so-difficult) decisions have to be made. He makes a run for it back down the aisle.
Before he gets more than two steps, however, there’s a tug on his ankle. He blinks, and suddenly he’s flat on his face on the floor. Upright to horizontal in less than a second. His elbows and knees take most of the force of contact with the floor, but he lies there, dazed for several moments. He groans. “That was foul play.”
A shuffling sound reminds him that the fight isn’t over. He rolls onto his back, just as Buddy, still on the floor, reaches over his body in an attempt to grab the shoe from his hand. Chase quickly stretches his hand out as far away as possible.
“What- stop doing that.” Buddy complains, pushing himself up with one hand and reaching further.
“Is that really the best you can do? You’re kind of a really sloppy villain.” Chase teases.
Buddy glares at him, and boy oh boy, that is a terrifying stare. The weight of his eyes is so intense that he doesn’t realise what’s happening next until Buddy’s already pressed his knees into Chase’s chest.
Chase splutters at Buddy reaches across him to- “urgh, finally”- grab the heel. Chase lets go of it with little resistance; he’s currently otherwise occupied with getting the literal person off him before he breaks one of Chase’s ribs.
“Get- off – stupid”, he pants, pushing with his arms against Buddy’s legs.
Buddy smirks down at him, waving the heel at him, and bringing his face down to meet Chase in the eyes. “I don’t think so. I’ve got my shoe and I’ve vanquished the hero. What more could I want?”
Chase stares back at him, pinned to the ground both literally and metaphorically. Directly under Buddy’s knees, his heart hammers. From the running, obviously. His struggle slows, and he can feel blood rushing to his cheeks.
Buddy shifts on top of him, easing the weight on his chest slightly. “Chase-”
Knock-knock.
Buddy freezes, and Chase continues to stare up at Buddy for a few moments before he his mind eventually processes the quiet sound.
“Was that… the door?” He breathes out, hardly daring to believe.
“Hello, is anyone in here?”
Someone’s finally come to let them out.
Buddy pushes himself of Chase’s chest, and while Chase would normally complain about the fact he’s definitely going to have bruises there for the next week, he’s too distracted by the prospect of their saviour at the door. He hastily props himself up from the floor, brushing dust off his dishevelled clothes while following Buddy to the door.
Buddy is saying something. “We can’t open the door, and we’ve been locked in for the last few hours”.
The handle jiggles from someone moving it on the other side, and the door rattles futilely. Chase’s hopes- already raised and dashed so many times today- are suffering. “I knew it. We’re going to be stuck here forever.” He bemoans.
“Hold on, let me just try kicking it”, says the voice from the other side.
BANG!
The door swings open with a resounding whoosh. Buddy pushes Chase out of its impact radius, their hair flying back from the sudden gust of air. They eagerly look out of the finally-open doorway.
Standing there- their hero- is…
The school janitor?
The janitor looks slightly confused but on the whole, awfully unbothered, a toothpick in his mouth, and a trolley full of cleaning materials in the background. They stare at one other for a moment, across the doorway, before Chase’s brain kicks into gear.
“Thank you, so much! If you hadn’t come here, our skeletons would have stayed stuck in this room until the end of time.”
He- Bronze, says his nametag- raises a tired hand in an awkward motion that looks like an attempt to run it through his hair, before realising it’s up in a plait. “Uh, no problem.” He scratches his chin. “And you wouldn’t have been stuck here. This room is on our cleaning schedule, and we have to clean it once every three days.”
There’s a pause. A notable pause, as Chase and Buddy consider this. Three… days?
They look back into the room behind them. The footprints left in the dust on the floor. The carpet-like dust settling across every surface. The dust floating in the air. Dust. Lots of dust.
“More like once every three years”, Buddy mutters.
“Sorry, what was that?” Bronze enquires.
Chase laughs awkwardly, elbowing Buddy in the ribs. “Er, nothing, don’t worry.”
Bronze stares at them before his eyes shift to beyond their faces. He sighs, a sound that encapsulates weariness and the lack of motivation to do anything remotely productive. “Urghhh, look at the mess you’ve made, there’s stuff scattered all over the floor. All my hard cleaning work, gone to waste.”
“S-sorry about that”, Chase apologises, unsure. “Maybe it’s time for a deep clean.” He adds, weakly.
Bronze doesn’t look convinced, continuing to chew the toothpick in his mouth. Eventually, he shrugs.
Chase doesn’t know if that means he’s going to clean the room or not. “Okay, well thank you so much for letting us out. Uh, let us grab our things, and we’ll get out of your way.”
Chase scrambles back into the room, with Buddy following, hoping there won’t be another freak gust of wind down the corridor to shut the door behind them. He gathers everything he ended up finding today. The other items can wait until a next time. That next time, with someone else in his place- maybe he’ll send an unsuspecting younger student on an errand.
He rejoins Buddy, who’s waiting outside, arms full with books for the library archive, inspecting the cleaning products in Bronze’s trolley. Chase does note that all the products see remarkably new. So new they may as well be unopened. Well, they’re certainly clean. How much cleaning they’re actually doing, though, is another question.
“Ooooh, what’s that you’ve got there?” Chase turns his head at Bronze’s question. The janitor is looking at his hands. Or rather, what his hands are holding.
“Er… which one? The shoe? The hat?”
Bronze shakes his head. He points. “Is that an oven mitt?”
The expression of delight on Bronze’s face when Chase gives him the mitt seems out of place considering his laid-back attitude up to this point, but Chase supposes that happiness comes in many different forms.
As they say their final thank-yous and walk off, they wave to Bronze, who’s still admiring the oven mitt like one would a newborn baby.
“Well, that was certainly exciting.” Chase says, walking quickly to match his pace with Buddy’s longer strides.
“I hope that I never get stuck in a room with you again”, Buddy declares.
“Awww, me too.” Chase skips ahead, turning around to face the other boy. “Okay, but think about it. You could have been stuck with someone who’s actually annoying.”
“You’re actually annoying. The fact that you think that you’re not, is incredible.”
“I am an incredible person, thank you.” Chase takes a mock bow.
“Incredibly annoying.”
“But also incredibly good at making getting locked in a room fun.”
Buddy pinches the bridge of his nose. “That’s a ridiculous idea. It was tolerable at most.”
“Well, tolerable is better than terrible! If you enjoyed our time together so much, why didn’t you say?” Chase grins, before remembering something. “But honestly, you should swing by to a theatre rehearsal. I bet you’d be really good at getting in a role once you start taking it seriously. It doesn’t have to be a big commitment- I know you’re busy.”
If Chase looked carefully enough, he would see the faintest pink tinge across Buddy’s cheeks. “Okay. Don’t get your hopes up though, idiot. Maybe if you actually contribute to literature class I’ll consider it.”
“Pinky promise.”
“I am not doing a pinky promise with you.”
“Yes, you are.”
Who would have known that accidentally locking yourself in a school storage room could be so fun. Well, maybe not fun (depending on who you asked). But hey, they didn’t die. You can’t not call that a happy ending, right?