Dawson is- most people who don't know him would say- as straight as they come. And senior year away from home promises to be a big year for him: no parents in sight, a whole new set of friends, he just seems to have it all. Not to mention that all t...
unedited + wrote this at the beach sooooo pls forgive any typos
shoutout to @thesaddestsmile for the comment spam! <3
*
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
"DAWSON, CAN I TALK to you for a second?"
Dawson brakes and turns on his heel. Thornbury's frantically running the eraser over the blackboard and has his back still turned on Dawson.
"Hope I didn't make you uncomfortable earlier," he smiles fatherly at him, "we have a policy here at Wharton High that encourages appraisal in class when a student excels like you just did."
"I liked the theme," Dawson downplays, shrugging his shoulders.
"You know, you remind me of someone," he continues. "I'm sure you had the pleasure to get acquainted with Holden Caufield, too."
Dawson nods lightly, unsure what to say back to that. He never really compared himself to a fictional character before.
What is with English Literature professors and their kink for comparing everything in life to books?
"Your world view reminds me of his," he concludes, as if he's feeling pressured to cut it short. "I'm looking forward to reading more of your essays."
"Thanks, Mr. Thornbury," Dawson says in a whisper, following the teacher with his eyes as he sits at his desk.
Thornbury dismisses him with a slight head nod as his hand reaches for a book that's lying right next to a pencil sharpener. It's the Catcher in the Rye by J.D. Salinger.
Dawson's lips twitch into a smirk. Eventually, he starts heading towards the door, but he's once again stopped by the teacher's voice. "And, Dawson?"
Thornbury's eyes are glued to the pages of the book he's reading. "Behave."
*
Mrs. Wang has been purposefully ignoring Dawson's attempts at showing off his tattoo for over five days now and he's desperate to get the first strike out of three that'll get him out of Wharton High.
What happened to her maniacal attachment to school rules? And what about the dress code?
Dawson grunts, rolling face-up on his bed. Milo is out mingling, or networking, or whatever people do in elite schools.
Needless to say, he would rather stab himself in the eye than talk about the weather with some stranger with a pocket full of business cards.
