Good Enough (From the Shadows)
#6 of Good Enough Side Stories
First Quote: Lord Byron
Second Quote: Lao Tzu
And this is only part one of the side story involving James and Warren's burgeoning relationship.
Good Enough--Side Story--From the Shadows
The young otter couldn't believe he was doing this again.
He looked over the small scrap of notebook paper he'd torn from his own spiral notebook, having scrawled in his usual tidy handwriting yet another plagiarized quote about love. And here he was again, just seconds away from sneaking this note into this mouse's locker.
More than once, James Noels found himself questioning why he'd do something this pathetically wimpy. His sister would laugh if she saw him now, but fortunately, she was too busy with her own boyfriend to even begin to question his own taste. And now, just inches away from them mouse's locker, James felt his heart begin to race.
He stopped to peer up and down the hallway, his usual precaution against being noticed. No, nobody was in the hallway right now. Yet he continued to stall, double-checking the note to ensure that it was just as he hoped it to be.
Love will find a way where wolves fear to prey
Corny, yes. Cutesy, definitely. Sad, of course. Perfectly suited to someone as shy and reluctant as James Noels. After all, how else could a nerdy little otter like himself possibly bring himself to talk to such a handsome stud like--
He swallowed thickly and eased the note into one of the locker vents before rushing back towards the lunchroom.
"Fuck my life," grumbled Warren Makarov as he returned to his locker at the end of the day. Of course his grades were in the fucking pits. He hardly had time to study and homework? What kind of sadist invents something as evil as homework?
Warren huffed in agitation as he opened his locker, retrieving his textbooks from inside. Then, as his new habit had compelled him to do, he checked the bottom. As usual, there was another note there, in the pretty script that almost looked too curly, too adorable to be made by mortal fingers. He smiled as he read the quote aloud, soothing his own dyslexia as he did so.
"'Love will find a way through paths where wolves fear to prey'," he murmured slowly. He smiled; yet another letter from this secret admirer of his. The notes had been coming consistently now and had changed over the past few months. From small little bits of encouragement, to compliments. Now this person is talking about love.
"Got another one?" asked a voice. Julie Tennyson had joined him, smiling as she approached.
"Yep," he replied, handing it to her. "Been getting one every other day. Sometimes every day. Just wonder who it's from."
"Probably some cute little thing that wants your attention," Julie said dismissively. "Kind of makes me jealous. Nobody ever notices me..."
"Maybe if you didn't dress like a dude," Warren chortled. "Show off the goods." He teasingly reached forward as if to grab her breast but she slapped his paw away. "You know I'm joking."
"Yeah, I know, and you know that I don't like you that much," she said. "So, got any ideas who this secret admirer is?"
"She's probably someone kind of weird. Probably really shy. Know anyone like that?"
"Could name off enough to fill the school. Narrow it down."
"Shit, I don't know, it could be--This ain't a show, creeper," Warren snarled suddenly, glaring up at that same strange otter. The otter's name had long since escaped him, but he recognized that lanky figure, those thick glasses and that ugly sense of style--he dressed like a preppy Ivy Leaguer.
"S-sorry," the otter remarked. "I was just passing... through." And he hurried off.
"Who is that otter?"
"Don't know but he freaks me the fuck out," Warren remarked. "I swear that creep's been following me around." He shook his head. "We still heading to your place for a jam session?"
"You know it, mousy."
Of course he thought it was a female. What else would he think?
James sighed heavily as he walked home, clutching his backpack's straps tightly to try to keep himself calm. There was a pang of hurt, but he was used to that. After all, who looks twice at some as sad as he was?
"I'm home," he called as he stepped inside the meager house.
"Bout time, Jim," his sister yelled from the kitchen. "Need you to finish mowing the lawn."
"Why can't Eric do it?"
"Eric's busy." Emerging from the kitchen, his sister, Diane, glared at him. She had clearly just been washing the dishes and still wore those ugly rubber gloves. "He's actually got a job."
"I can't work and go to school, Diane," James replied meekly. "I need the extra time to study."
"I go to school too and keep a job," Diane countered.
"Your school is online. It's different."
"Not that different... What's up with you? You seem pretty miffed."
"Yeah. Just some stuff at school. I'll finish the lawn when I'm done with my homework." He walked back to his bedroom, sure that Diane had said something else but that he hadn't listened to. He found himself questioning the purpose of even writing these notes when he knew they'd never mean anything. His beloved--and he was fairly certain that term was probably a bit too strong--would never recognize another male as his secret admirer.
He peered into his room, at the drum kit that took up the vast majority of the space in the center, pushing his bed and desk into tight corners. He hadn't touched it in months. He didn't feel like it now.
Being deeply loved by someone gives you strength, while loving someone deeply gives you courage.
Warren grinned. The notes had always put a smile on his face and this one was no exception. Even as he read it aloud, he couldn't help but wonder who exactly was writing these notes... but as long as they kept coming, did it matter? More than once, Julie had said he should try to figure it out. He often ignored her, preferring to feel special. After all, knowing who this person was meant that they wouldn't be a secret admirer anymore.
He neatly folded the small paper into his pocket, carrying it with him throughout the rest of the day. Yet now, his eyes were more focused than ever. Was there anybody in particular who was watching him? Anyone who had a keen enough interest to slip him notes so secretly? Yet almost consistently, the answer was the same: that damn otter.
Not than he particularly disliked the otter, quite the contrary. He had never thought much of him, never enough than to think of how socially awkward the little, bespectacled otter was, so shy and quiet. Until recently, he had never much even noticed the otter's presence until Julie had noticed him first.
The long school day was drawing to a close, but the work day was only about to begin. Just before leaving, as his new custom had dictated, Warren dashed to his locker to check for another new note. Though he didn't expect to receive two in one day, he felt disheartened nonetheless to find his locker empty. He said a rather hasty goodbye to Julie at his locker before hopping on his bike to head down to the small music shop a few blocks down. He had barely gotten in before an irritated voice called out from across the store, deep and guttural, as though the voice's owner was constantly gargling water--or liquor, more likely.
"You're late again, Warren!" Mr. Baker yelled. A pudgy, irritable old fox with graying fur and a nasty temper, Mr. Baker was the very kind of being that Warren would've loved to avoid.
"I'm sorry, sir," Warren said automatically.
"Well, man the front counter for now," Mr. Baker ordered, just barely visible over the clutter that filled the store.
Haphazardly organized and barely navigable, the store was little more than a hastily thrown together assortment of musical instruments--guitars here and there, while the drum kits were in the back where only those experienced in exploring the store could reach them. Yet, much to Warren's amazement, the store was profitable and he had come to be familiar with many of the usual customers: local musicians and acts who needed equipment in a hurry at a competitive price.
The day passed as usual, with no new faces to speak of. A few customers here and there and a few browsers to check what the store had to offer. It had always intrigued Warren to watch as a businessman like Mr. Baker could transform into a people person when there's money to be made and an asshat when the money's been paid.
Then,he came in.
At first, it was only the gentle chime of the doorbell that alerted Warren to a new customer, but he had become so accustomed to the sound that he ignored it completely. Then, someone spoke, right in front of the counter where Warren was beginning to doze off.
"E-excuse me...?"
Warren looked over. "Welcome to..." He trailed off. It was that otter again. "Don't I know you from somewhere?"
"H-hi," the otter murmured shyly. "We have chemistry together... Third period."
"Right... You're that stalker otter," Warren said playfully. "What's a nerd like you doing here?"
"I needed..."
"Yes?"
"..."
"Well?"
"Just some... stuff," the otter managed. "Drumsticks."
"What kind? Any particular brand?"
Once more, the otter fell silent. Warren watched him closely, surprised at how much different he looked up close--not quite so weird-looking as he thought. Still skinny, though not as scrawny as he had appeared from a distance. Up close, Warren could see that it was mainly his baggy clothes that made him look so unhealthily small. Even his fur seemed different, with a kind of sparkling sheen.
But it was his eyes that drew Warren's attention even more; those eyes of a pure, untarnished green, like shining emeralds.
The otter spoke but Warren took a moment to register that anything had been said. "What?"
"Can I see your kits?"
"Oh, yeah sure," Warren answered. He stepped around the counter towards the back. "Watch your step. This place needs a bit of a cleaning."
"I don't mind," the otter replied meekly.
Once in the back, the otter peered at the drum kits in stock, particularly the brand with that same demonic-looking insignia that everyone seemed to love: Poisoned. Warren would sing the brand's praises as well, but it didn't appear that he needed to. The otter looked excited, with a kind of exuberance that Warren had never seen in any previous customer.
"I didn't think you'd have a Poisoned kit," the otter noted.
"Yeah, it's our only one and the most expensive one in the joint," Warren noted. "You looking to buy it?"
"...Not right now," the otter replied, "although I'd love to. But I gotta wait until my parents get back."
"Oh? Where are they?"
"A business trip in Asia," the otter said. "But they'll be back soon. And they do owe me a birthday present."
"...Do you want it?"
"Definitely," the otter said happily.
"I can reserve it for you for up to a week, if that's enough time," Warren explained. "Just need your name, a phone number and a down payment."
The otter hesitated. "How much of a down payment?"
"Ten bucks and I'll even throw in a pair of sticks."
"TWENTY!" called Mr. Baker from his office.
"Twenty bucks and I'll throw in a pair of sticks," Warren corrected.
The otter hesitated. "I suppose... But my parents won't be back until the end of the month at least."
"Do you want it or not?"
"I want it!"
"Then we'll hold it for you," Warren said. He leaned in close. "As long as money's magically appearing in the register, the old fox won't care where it comes from. I'll just tell a little lie here and there and he'll be satisfied."
"... Is that legal?" the otter whispered back.
"Nope."
"Then shouldn't you--?"
"Do you want the kit?"
"Yes."
"Then don't question my methods. Go wait by the counter."
The otter walked off and Warren joined him a few minutes later after a few words with Mr. Baker with a paper. He waved it in front of the otter's wandering gaze and captured the otter's attention just enough to get him to focus on the paper.
"Just write your name here, here, and here with a phone number," Warren said. "And an e-mail, in case you miss our call."
The otter noted and Warren watched him write. He was left-handed... his writing neat and his name was James Noels... and handwriting...
His handwriting... James Noels
So precise and eerily loopy, almost as if done by a computer. Even as he wrote his phone number, the careful stroke of the pen was reminiscent of something Warren had in his back pocket... And those suspicions seemed to be confirmed when Warren saw him write the e-mail address. Perfectly loopy and precise.
"Is this okay...?" the ot--James--asked.
"Your handwriting," Warren murmured. "Are you the one leaving me notes in my locker?"
The air seemed to grow heavier and James's countenance shifted dramatically. The pen fell to the floor as he started to back away. Then, without another word, he turned and dashed out and Warren chased after. He had meant to grab the otter's shoulder, but he had grasped at James's shirt and he heard the fabric rip. As if the sound was a cue, James stopped, turning to look at Warren through those shining eyes and ugly glasses.
"I didn't mean any harm," James managed to say. "I was just--"
"Was it you?"
James looked as though he would run again, but seemed to think against it. "Are you going to beat me up for it?"
"Should I?"
"..."
"Gonna admit that I hoped you weren't a guy but--"
"WARREN! GET YOUR TAIL BACK IN HERE!" Mr. Baker shouted from behind him.
Warren sighed. "I got to get back to work. Meet me at my locker first thing in the morning and we'll talk, okay?"
"...Okay?"
"Don't be so scared. I'm not going to kill you."
Perhaps that was a wrong thing to say because another shadow of fear played across James's face. Yet before Warren could say anything to calm him down, he heard Mr. Baker call him once more.
"GET BACK HERE OR YOU'RE FIRED!"
"Sorry, sir!" Warren yelled back.
But when he turned to face James again, the tiny otter was already out of reach.
"You waiting on somebody?" Julie asked as she approached him the next morning.
Warren looked up from his phone, having checked the time impulsively for the fourth time. He smiled halfheartedly at Julie, who immediately scowled. She knew him too well.
"What's bothering you?"
"It's nothing."
"Bull. Now spill."
"It's just... something... about the notes..."
"Your secret admirer?" At once, Julie's eyes lit with excitement. "Did you find out who it was? What's she like? Is she cute? I bet she's frumpy-looking with big nerdy glasses, isn't she?"
"That's not nice," Warren remarked with a frown.
Stung by the harshness in his tone, she quickly amended what she had said. "I'm sorry... Didn't think you'd be so upset. Who is she? Do I know her?"
"Probably not personally," Warren answered, frowning as he checked the time on his phone once more. "But they'll probably not show."
"Were you going to meet her?"
"I already met him," Warren stated, "but I didn't really get the chance to--"
"'Him'?" she echoed in confusion.
Never before had the school bell been Warren's saving grace. With agility he didn't know he had, Warren took off down the hallway at the sound.
"I'll tell you later!" he called.
"MAKAROV, YOU GET BACK HERE!" she shouted, but he wasn't stopping.
James had known this was a mistake, to just leave another note, but here he found himself again, spending his lunch period writing another note to leave in Warren's locker. Why? He didn't know. Warren knew he had been leaving the notes and, had he been more careful at that store, he would've tried to find another way to get out of writing down anything on that paper. But that's just it... He hadn't been thinking. Simply too excited about that drum kit to think of even attempting to disguise his handwriting--but who the hell thinks of something like that anyway?
With his little note completed, he stood up from his now-vacant table and made his way out into the hall, towards Warren Makarov's locker. He knew for a fact that Warren wasn't going to see him now--the mouse had to have class right now; he had never once seen him wandering around during the same lunch period...
And yet, there he was, leaning against his locker, checking his phone as though waiting for someone. The sight of the mouse, with his pure, untarnished white fur, made James pause and he considered backing away. Leave the note some other time... Or simply not at all! A flurry of ideas and scenarios flooded through James's mind and he--
"You're late," Warren said suddenly and he was looking right at him, eyes narrowed in that bad boy way that was somehow unique to this mouse. "I told you, before school."
"I'm sorry, I just... I couldn't..."
"I just wanna talk," Warren remarked. "Not going to yell, not going to punch you, none of that. You gonna run away again?"
"...No..." But James was already trying to think of a way out. His ordinarily keen mind seemed to be too stunned to think, instead commanding him not to move, even as Warren pushed away from his locker and started towards him. "Shouldn't you be in... class?"
"Nope," Warren answered. "Study hall. They don't give half a fuck."
"...Language, Mr. Makarov," James replied meekly.
"Look, I swear," Warren stated, "and if you're going to hang with me, you'll need to learn how to swear too."
"To... hang... with you?"
"Sure, why not? Look, I'm not saying I know what you're feeling but... I liked those notes," Warren explained. "I held onto them. Gotta admit, I figured you wouldn't be a guy. Thought you'd have some boobs or something."
"I'm sorry."
"Not your fault, but..." Warren shrugged. "Look, kid, what's your name?"
"... James."
"James..." Warren prompted.
"James Noels."
"Nice to meet you. I'm Warren Makarov."
"I know."
"I know that, otter," Warren stated, "but here's what I'm suggesting. You and I start hanging out a bit. Be friends. You look like you could use some."
"Are you calling me lonely?" James scoffed, suddenly offended.
"Am I wrong?"
"I have friends!"
"Like who?"
"..." James's anger abated as quickly as it had risen. "I prefer to keep to myself. I'm not good with people."
"And I'm no social butterfly myself," Warren confessed, "but I know how to have a conversation. Something I could teach you."
"... Why do you care?"
"Are you always so suspicious?"
"Why are you being so nice to me? I thought you'd be angry to find out I was male," James stated.
"Honestly, I don't know what to think, dude," Warren remarked. "Thinking's something I don't do. I leave that to my buddy, Jules. But we're getting off topic. Let's start by me asking this: do you want to be my friend."
He stressed the word and James found himself looking over Warren's face, his body language, for any sign of deception or uncertainty. And yes, he could see apprehension. He could tell that Warren wasn't entirely comfortable with this suggestion either.
"I get it," Warren remarked when James failed to say anything. "Look, if you wanna chat or anything, you know where to find me." He started to walk away but stopped, pulling out a folded piece of paper from his back pocket. "But just so you know, I like your little quotes."
And he walked away...
Warren wasn't sure why he was so disappointed. Even as he entered the store and got his usual rough greeting from Mr. Baker, he wasn't sure why he felt so upset. He didn't like the otter. Hell, he didn't even know the otter. But that was the point, wasn't it? To get to know him. More than once, his eyes drifted to the drum kit the otter had reserved for himself. A part of him wanted to see James play the kit, just for the spectacle of the nerd on drums.
A chime alerted him to a customer's presence and he looked over.
"Hey," James said meekly, looking downward.
"Hey back," Warren answered.
A pause...
"You need something?" Warren questioned.
"An application," James muttered, so quietly that Warren couldn't hear him.
"What?"
"An application," James repeated louder.
"For...?"
"A job," Warren managed. "I'd like to work here."
"...Okay... Now I'm gonna ask why."
"Well, I could use the extra money and I know a lot about music," James said. "I know how to play the drums and xylophone and I'm really knowledgeable and"--he looked up at Warren and his voice weakened--"and..."
"Spit it out."
"I wanted to... take you up on your offer," James confessed. "I wanted to be your friend and hang out with you."
"So you don't care about the job, you just want a friend," Warren surmised. James looked down once more, a habit that Warren was beginning to notice. The otter never looked anyone in the eye when he didn't have to. "First, we're not hiring. Check back during the holidays when we'll need the extra help, but for now, sorry. No can do."
"Oh..."
"But we can still be friends," Warren continued. "Tell you what--tomorrow's Saturday. I'm heading over to my friend's house to hang out a bit. You're invited."
"Can you invite me to someone else's house?"
"You got better things to do?"
Warren shook his head.
"Then don't question it. You got a kit?"
"A drum kit?"
"Work with me, otter. Yes or no?"
"Yes."
"Can you bring it with you?"
"I don't drive."
"Got someone who does?"
"My sister, but she'll--"
"Ask her and if not, I'll get you a ride," Warren said. He pulled out a drawer and withdrew a paper and pen. He scribbled down some numbers hastily and handed it James. "My number. Don't lose it. I won't give it to you twice."
"Yes, sir."
"And don't call me sir, otter. It's Warren."
"And my name's James, not 'otter'."
Warren looked at him in amazement. A small bold moment that passed just as quickly as it had come. But James looked up and gave a weak grin--he had a small gap in his teeth that he quickly covered with his paw. Warren smiled.
"Okay,James. Jim. Jimmy," Warren said playfully. "You in?"
"I'm in."