AN
I know a lot about horses. Sorry.

There are thirty-two safe places in Rose Mavericks Academy for Rose Mavericks.

In his private room, where he is boarded up away from the rest of the students on weekends- is at the top of his list of refuges he's been forced to find for himself in order to survive. Others that are close if not in his top ten: the boys' bathroom that had an out-of-order sign taped onto its creaky door; the space of the third floor's main-window's sill, where he hides behind the dusty, velvet curtains in attempt to ignore every student except two; the last table in the main dining room, where his back is to the window and the servers know better than to bend down or brush up against him; and, the bottom of the swimming pool.

Which is a new one.

He hadn't previously had any affairs with the swimming pool that basically wiped out every other school in North America. It was big, deep, apparently the size the Olympians use.

"Rose Von Maveri-" it had been the last, very interrupted, words he heard coming from the headmaster, whose other alias was 'father', 'dad', or when he wouldn't listen: 'daaaad'.

At the bottom of the pool, fully clothed, he knows he's going to have to welcome the inevitable with a very fake smile that makes his dad cringe. Rose doesn't do outings, or crowds, or celebrations.

His dad knows this. He knows this because he learned the hard way, when he forced him to go to Disney World and they went home four days early with a bawling, runny-nosed Rose who wouldn't stop crying because the world was just too big for a five year old.

Don't misunderstand Rose, he isn't a clinically depressed teenager who is pro-ann, or anything severe. But he does hate the world outside of Rose Mavericks Academy. Out there, where this place feels like an entire universe with secret pockets of galaxies, it is nothing but a thumb-tack of the internationally recognized boarding schools for geniuses. Which, yeah, is sort of a big deal, but when locals or visitors pass this place, they stare wide-eyed for a few seconds before they turn their heads away and go years without even thinking once about his sanctuary.

Out there, where his father is trying to tell him he'll be going, are freaking idiots.

Rose knows intelligence can be measured by different units, for instance- the art prodigy that neighbors his room is tutored for math and science, yet he's barely passing with a D. The kid that could absolutely leave you breathless with any instrument that happened to have strings is failing english. And the certifiable genius is horrible at tests, ask anyone- she hardly passes, but if she isn't put underneath any pressure, the high school papers are forced to be traded out for college lessons.

So, maybe Rose Mavericks Academy is synonymous for School of Quirks.

Maybe Rose Mavericks doesn't give a shit.

He's beneath the water for a minute and thirty-two seconds, he knows because he counts.

"Did you actually jump in the water to avoid me?" His father is standing at the edge of the pool, shiny leather oxford shoes side-stepping puddles of chlorine water.

Rose's father didn't look like Rose. His mother had been full blood native american, and his father was as white a they seemed to come. He was a ginger too, pale with freckles that hadn't translated onto Rose's tan skin.

"I did, yeah," Rose said. Rose Mavericks Academy forced- or as his dad likes to say- asked their student body to wear navy blue suits- for the girls, if they wished, skirts- in the winter months. The winter blazer Rose had buttoned up this morning felt like a heavy wet blanket, giving the seventeen year old the sickest feeling as he scrambled with wet khakis, shoes, and worst of all, socks.

His father, Daniel, would've helped, but he knew better than to reach out and touch his only son without a warning.

"You can try to ignore it, Rosey Posey-"

"Don't call me that, old man," Rose managed out through gritted teeth as he gripped on the marble stones that surrounded the pool and pulled himself up. A towel was dropped onto him at once, with two hands wrapped in a rag scrubbing at his mop of brown hair he had inherited from his late mother.

He would've yelped but his father's hands wrapped in a thick towel didn't seem to offend the curse that has so far, never really been lifted. Daniel rubbed at his son's dark hair before standing back up to fold his freckled hands in black slacks.

"You're going whether you feel up to it or not, Rose," Daniel tells his son, watching as the boy peels off his sopping wet blazer and hands it to his father without bothering to see if he'll actually catch it or not.

The younger Mavericks frowns, his fingers stretching out in skin he feels too small for. At the same time, he wants out of his clothes and into a warm shower to wash away all of the gross that has suddenly became his second layer of skin; he needs to stay though, to pretend he's listening to his father before begging for an afternoon spent in seclusion in the Mavericks's biology labs to watch the tadpoles he had saved from the gardens last Tuesday.

"Dad, please," Rose's eyes are big. They can't decide on what color to be, sometimes blue, or green, maybe brown; sometimes they're a gift, he could bat his pretty irises at anyone willing to give him the time of day and basically look like he's slipping out of duties, chores, and activities instead of slithering.

"You've quite literally only left the campus grounds seven times in the last four months," Daniel tells him. His eyebrows etch up in a way that says he might be worried but it keeps on getting lost in the way his voice keeps dialing down to his automatic talk-to-you-like-you-are-a-student-not-my-son.

Which is annoying.

Rose has been spoken to like he was just future alumni of Mavericks instead of his father's flesh and blood for years.

"I go to the stables sometimes, that's technically off grounds," Rose stares at his wet feet. They're sloshing in a puddle he's settled himself into, his toes not anywhere wrinkling as he stares at his feet like they're the next best thing. He was just trying to keep his attention off of his father and on anything else that wasn't him.

"The stables are on grounds," Daniel replies.

The stables were full of mares and few geldings. Some of the horses were students of the school, two of them were owned and the personal companions of the trainer, Professor Friar- who taught students how to ride and the biology AP classes- and the fourteen remaining, all of Rose's.

Or, more along the lines of, his father's. They were picked out by the then-young Rose himself, with his chubby fingers latching over fences in local farms, or by bidding for unhealthy horses that came through the auction house only to have his father buy them because his son wouldn't stop crying for the creature that needed to be nursed back to help.

They were borrowed by the students who didn't own or board a horse at the stables. They were all mismatched. Two Arabians, one red and another a ghostly white; a Quarter horse that had a little Thoroughbred in his blood; a Paso Fino that couldn't keep a rider on her back; and among many others, Rose's own favorite, the little Appaloosa named Clover.

And Rose visited often. Lead Clover from her stable to graze the thirty acres Rose Mavericks owned and taught her with a clicker in one hand and a sugar cube in the other. By warning of Professor Friar, Rose would lead his mate by her forelock to her stable, and be back on the main campus's ground by eight o'clock. It was almost like an unofficial curfew for the stables. Eight o'clock was like a blank space that kept on being written in pen and erased to faded letters.

"I go to the gardens, ask Marge, I'm with her every evening," Rose is still staring at his feet; his teeth worry his bottom lip as he waits for his father's voice to reply.

"Marge is going to July Valley's Founder's day," Daniel thrums, his own attention is swayed from his son to the gold band wrapped around his left ring finger. Even if his wife had been six feet under for nearly a decade, it has never left the top of his knuckles.

"So? She's going willingly, and she's twenty-three, and her boyfriend lives there. And her great grandfather founded the town, I actually think her presence is required," Rose says. His voice is almost shaking- his clothes are sticking to him in a sickly tight kind of way that makes his fingers itch.

"You can go with Marge, and Danni is coming along," his father replies in the voice of the headmaster that he is. It's the final word that Rose has tried not to adhere to, because he's not just his student but his son. "And get dried, Rosey Posey, you'll catch cold."

*

He's sitting in the corner of his bed, stripped down to his boxers and the old ACDC shirt that was once his dad's, when the only person- aside from his father- that ever came down to his dorm room, which was the last room on the second floor, knocked.

"I'm coming," Rose said as he walked to his door and unlocked it with fast hands, knowing that his friend on the other side would be impatient if Rose took his sweet time.

Danni, or less popularly known as Danielle, barged past the heavy mahogany door and turned back around to shut the door three times and lock it twice before leaving it be. It's because of her Obsessive Compulsive Disorder. She brings her own utensils to dinner and does everything in threes-twos-fours.

And she doesn't like touching.

Which is good for Rose, because he doesn't like it either. Actually, he's unofficially officially haphephobic.

"Tomorrow's goin' to be hell," Danni tells him, and she blinks at him with her wide owl dark eyes. Sometimes she'll tell him about how much she hates how dark she is, inherited from her father, who is an insanely handsome man. Sometimes Rose will tell her she's got perfect skin, the kind that's a matte color that reminds him of the expensive chocolate his dad used to buy for his mom.

"Took the words out of my mouth," he looks up to his friend, his only friend that happens to be beneath eighteen. Even if they are in the middle of the sea for freaks, they are definitely the strangest of them all. Danni has had a tongue for languages ever since she was four, and when she was nine, she was transferred to Rose Mavericks Academy after she was fluent in twenty.

She sucks at Biology, and she can be bossy- which, to most, means she must be a bitch. She is not, Rose knows this.

But she's gentle when she isn't counting the rhythm of her steps or brushing her teeth until her gums bleed- not because she wants to, but because she can't.

OCD can make people a little quirky, seem a bit off, but to Rose, she wasn't off. She was just Danni, who tutored him for french last semester and couldn't attend gym class because she'd have to take an hour long shower to scrub away all of the ew and the itch and the gross.

"Have you ever been to July Valley? It's a weird town," Danni tells him. She walks to the seat he keeps untouched for her, straightening out creases in the fabric that aren't there. "And I know weird, we're weird, like extremely weird. They're sociopathic I'm-going-to-stab-you-with-a-pitchfork weird."

"Thank you for that lovely figment you've given me," he grits out, trying not to smile- but he does anyways. Sometimes he smiles so much around Danni it actually makes his face hurt.

"I'm not kidding, I looked it up yesterday. Thirteen missing peoples cases, apparently three brutal murders, and a population that is kind of weirdly low," Danni tells him, her hands finally stop working at the creases of her chair and she sits down. She uncrosses her legs thrice, picks at her nails twice, and licks her lips four times like she always does after she sits.

"So my father is forcing his students to go to murder town," he rolls his hazel eyes as he sits down on his mattress to face the teenage girl. She'll be graduating this semester, the senior was a year ahead of Rose and he absolutely dreaded the thought of going through his final year at the academy without her.

"Correction, he first released a slip to parents via email, and they signed for permission, synonymous for our death certificates," she told him with a flash of a grin and a hitched up eyebrow that went rogue every time she ventured anywhere near sassy.

"July Valley... it's such a weird name," Rose confessed to Danni, who nodded her head in agreement.

"A weird name, with weird traditions. They had goose throws from the roofs of their stores before it was banned by PETA apparently," she shook her head and made a 'cluck-cluck' with her tongue thrice before tapping her foot twice and snapping her fingers four times before she was satisfied.

"Goose throws?" Rose laughed out. "What the hell is that?"

"They take geese, and throw them off of a building. Catcher gets the decision if the bird is a nice dinner or a new pet," she admits.

"That has got to be the stupidest thing I heard of."

"It went on for eighty two years, Rose, this is the tenth year it has been officially cancelled," his friend laughs as she stares at him with her big brown eyes. "And rumor has it, they still doooo it."

"Are you implying that you're going to search July Valley for a goose throw?" Rose wants to laugh but he can't find it, because she's being serious.

"What? You know I'm not going to get on those germ infested carnival rides, realistically, the vendors will probably be boring and overpriced- and everyone I meet will probably think I'm a prick," she shrugs her shoulder- and does it once more, and one more time, until she blinks almost like a glitch twice, and sniffs her nose four times.

"So basically we'll be going on a... a wild goose chase?" He wants to laugh at the stupid pun, but Danni beats him to it.

*

It's a Thursday, and the day could've been well spent if Rose would've been able to sleep in until nine for breakfast.

But it's eight thirty, and he's been wide awake for the better part of two hours staring at his closet.

It isn't a big collection. There's seven button-up pale blue shirts, three pairs of khakis, four navy blue slacks, two gold and yellow blazers that have the school's crest on the chest's pocket, a pair of Oxfords along with white ankle converses and a pair of weird hipster ankle boots Danni forced him to wear.

This is his school closet, the one he stares at five days a week.

So he turns to his dresser, it's a rickety thing compared to everything else in the room. But there is piles of tightly bundled t-shirts accumulated over ten years of residence in this particular dorm room.

He grabs the sweater that makes him feel small, but in a good way. It's knitted, he thinks- and it's from an expensive brand, via one of many presents from his father over Christmas. It wraps him to make him sated. Protected.

Even if he is six foot, he's as skinny as a reed and he can hardly find anything that doesn't outrun his lengthy limbs.

But this sweater does the job, wraps around his thumbs and lets his tug at it until the fabric hits the tops of his thighs. Rose grabs khakis, rolling them to his ankles and wears those weird leather ankle boots that Danni made him swear he'd wear.

He does, because he told her he would. And if he did anything to mess up her schedule, it could ruin her entire day.

Over the years, he had become apart of her daily routine. Every Tuesday and Thursday he wore slacks; every Monday, he wore his white converse; and, today he wore the weird boots. Because she requested it, and he didn't want Danni to spiral down from her high from the search of the goose throw.

*

They all meet in the main hall, named Clovenboy after the original Rose Mavericks's best friend, and file into blue buses with half-awake faces, but nonetheless, excited smiles that keep transferring from each student.

Even some of the teachers are giddy. Which is sort of annoying. Scratch that, is annoying.

Rose was in no state to be stacked into a bus for half an hour with people he hardly spoke to. Most of them either thought he was a weirdo for never talking to anyone save for the gardener and Danni, or that he was too stuck up for anyone because of his father was headmaster.

No one knew he had an insane fear of touching.

He waited until the halls were empty to lower the chance of him being accidentally slammed into and tried to stick to the walls when that was an option. Now, he was plastered to the side of a window with Danni in front of him, turned around in her seat to talk to him.

She was talking about the goose throw again, making him promise over and over again that he wouldn't quit after an hour of finding nothing. So he promised. Realistically, he had nothing better to do in July Valley, and spending it ignoring the rest of his classmates and his father while searching for a conspiracy made up by Danni sounded good enough for him.

They'd stay away from crowds, which meant no touching. There would be good food apparently, and a goose throw to make his best friend's day not be a total bust.

Yeah, it could have been a really good day.

AN

How'd I do? It's so hard to start a book, I just want to dive in the plot but it's like: nah woman, calm your tits for a while, I got this.

I love Danni, so much. Gosh, she's like my little baby. She has OCD, which I haven't really ever wrote about but I have read about it in a few interesting fics. So it may be a little off, but she's obsessed with number sequences, 3-2-4 being the one she can't get out of her brain.

Sorry, this is a boring chapter and it's just introducing my Rosey Posey, Daniel, Professor Friar, and Danni. Eventually, Marge and Cepheus and a couple others in the next chapter.