User blog:MichaelDiaz101/An Invitation

An invitation from Derby was never because he had the best intentions. Derby himself was never the kind to be inclusive, or even open. It always broke Malcolm's heart to see new, refined blood join their little group, only to mess up and be kicked to the curb and forgotten. Once you were out, you were officially out. Derby never made it a clear rule but everyone knew that speak their names was to bring ruination on ones self.

Malcolm didn't agree with Derby's little power play, hell he even resented the big man for it. He knew acting against Derby would be one long tumble after another, and soon you'd just end up forgotten, and alone like all those nobodies that found themselves thrown out onto the front lawn along with everything they owned. When Brandon first arrived Malcolm wasn't sure about how he'd be received. He was a quirky kid, one that seemed underqualified for the role of being among the most prestigious in this school.

Malcolm was cautious to befriend the new guy. Just aligning yourself with someone that could soon be removed without any qualms from Derby was a deathwish in itself. Derby didn't take kindly to unbridled cooperation between those that were unfit to stand by his side and when Brandon first joined Malcolm couldn't find it in his heart to hate the kid.

On this clear afternoon Malcolm was surprised to see that Derby had sent for him. The letter, covered in brilliant cursive writing, was sent to him directly in his room. In most cases this was the end, you overstepped your boundaries and you were toast. He jumped to his feet and went about showering, and dressing. When Derby sent for you it meant you had to hurry, but also you had to look the part. It was like a fucking job interview, except of course you were already hired, and this was mostly to see if you've royally screwed up.

Once he'd gone about getting his cleanest aquaberry sweater, with his freshly washed tan slacks on he was out the door and heading up to Derby's office. The whole way he was curious about what this was about. He found himself hurrying up the steps to the third floor of Harrington House. The figures in the painting scowled at him and he did his best to avoid looking at any of the pictures on the walls. It felt like each painting was watching his every move with absolute judgement.

Once outside Derby's office Malcolm paused for a minute. The nerves were beginning to hit him, and he was hopeful that Derby was in a good mood. Even if he was that mood could change very quickly. Finally he pushed the door open.

"Ahh, yes there you are." Derby was in the middle of writing something and didn't even look up to acknowledge that it was Malcolm. Nobody disturbed Derby unless authorized to. "Take a seat."

Malcolm stepped forward, carefully grabbing the brown, oak chair and sat down. Everything needed to be proper, even certain movements. One lackluster movement and he'd soon have Derby's gaze fixed on him.

"So, I see you've taken a liking the new kid." Derby's eyes looked up for a moment as he folded the parchment up, put it into a letter and sealed it shut. "And how is he."

"He's fine." Malcolm sat back.

"From what I've come to understand he is having issues conforming to the standards we have here." Derby's words pierced into Malcolm like a serrated edge. He didn't show himself weakening but he trembled a little bit.

"Not that I've noticed." Malcolm returned, careful to not refute Derby in any way.

"So I see, you like the boy." Derby was testing him. He sat forward, digging his elbows into the desk and bore his eyes into Malcolm, prodding for any weaknesses that he could exploit. Malcolm tried to remain calm but he knew he was walking a really, really, thin line here and he needed to choose his next words carefully.

Malcolm sat forward, neatly pushing his shoulders back. "He's got promise. He's smart, easy to get along with, and he follows orders."

"Yes, but I feel he lacks conviction." This time Derby was already on his feet as he stepped around Malcolm and traced his fingers along Malcolm's shoulders. "He lacks warrant, and he could cause issues with our more established members."

Malcolm stiffened up a bit but wasn't going to show Derby the weakness he was aiming for. "Yeah, but we all come from somewhere, and I'm sure there's something that he can learn from us."

Derby grinned, taking his seat. "Very well, teach him."

"What?" Malcolm perked up. "What do you mean?"

"I mean I want you to show him how things are done around here." Derby shrugged. "You've been one of ours since your arrival and I'm certain you'd be the most apt one to teach him."

Malcolm was weighing his options here, in fact there weren't any to weigh as it was but one choice, and that was compliance. To say no was to royally fuck yourself and Malcolm wasn't prepared to say no in this instance. It all rested on what he said here. "Yes, of course."

A week passed, an exhausting week at that. Teaching the ropes to someone like Brandon was really hard. He wanted to do things that were simply not allowed if he were to remain in the clique. Couldn't wear your hair down, always had to fold up the cuffs on your long sleeved shirt, Aquaberry sweater must always be in top shape. If there was any sign of dirt then that is already a violation.

"I'm not sure how I feel about this." Brandon said, letting out a long sigh.

"Look, if you want to stay in the clique it must be done this way." Malcolm informed him. "We don't dress like the lesser common people in this place. We have specific guidelines that we must always follow."

"I understand." He nodded.

Malcolm knew that this was all so overwhelming. There weren't any words he could use to make all those overwhelming thoughts drift away. "It gets easier." He promised. This was a lie though, there were always standards they had to meet and just one mistake could see you facing restitution.

As the day continued, and Brandon went about learning more and more that would help him fit in Malcolm scanned his eyes to see him grow more and more disheartened with each new lesson. By their final lesson he could tell that the kid was ready to give up. He threw his arms up, sat back and let out an exasperated sigh.

"I just can't do it!" Brandon slumped down. He'd always failed to find a group of people that would open up to him and consider him as one of their own.

"Yes you can." Malcolm sat down next to him. "I understand how you feel, and it doesn't really get easier. Honestly things get a whole lot harder. Sooner or later you begin to think about what it would be like to get out. Honestly I wish I could just be with myself, no clique, no group. Just me."

"Why don't you?" Brandon inquired.

"I don't know." Malcolm shrugged. "These people are the closest thing to friends that I've ever had. I've always wanted to be involved with someone so it was easier to rise up to their expectations than fail on my own. Besides I'm a better person now because they've always held me in such high regard."

Brandon's eyes dialed back as he thought about it for a moment, then he looked to Malcolm. "I get you. I've always been kind of alone too so if it means pleasing people that are trying to give me the time of day then I'll give it another go."

"Good." Malcolm smiled. Malcolm was proud that he could teach someone to fit in, and held such high amounts of pride for the kid. "Oh, and tuck in your shirt."