“Whoa, who pissed in your cornflakes?” Pidge, master of subtlety, says. Just seeing the popular pack has put him in a bad mood. Keith gives their group a wide berth and marches through the cafeteria doors. Actually, all the girls are wearing pink too. Lance looks like a king in skinny jeans and some salmon-colored monstrosity of a shirt. He’s perched on top of one of the picnic tables, Hunk sitting on the seat beside him. Lance throws his head back, laughing at something Hunk said. As a rule, Keith tries not to think too much about idiots or things that make his head hurt. Keith suspects it has something to do with his close connection to Hunk, but his theory remains unproven. Lance has sailed to the top of the social hierarchy without a sweat and, if the high school grapevine is to be believed, he’s lost his virginity. He should have been slapped with the ‘fag’ label and left for dead.
He’s a boy, he’s not white, and he does cheerleading. Thrown to the lowest rung of the social ladder, never to return. Experience dictates that Lance should be ridiculed. Lance McClain is the biggest enigma of Voltron High. Of course, the probable reason that he isn’t ogling boobs is because he’s deep in conversation with Voltron High’s very own pet male cheerleader. Hunk’s got a nice smile and Keith hasn’t witnessed him knocking lunch trays out of the hands of unsuspecting victims, so Keith reserves his opinion of Hunk. Keith doesn’t know his real name, and only knows the nickname through passing conversations in the hallway. The only one who probably isn’t guilty of that is the star quarterback, Hunk. The seniors on the varsity football team are all wearing their letterman jackets and making no effort at all to disguise the fact that they’re staring down the girl’s shirts.
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They’re also wearing skirts that won’t magically adhere to the dress code once school starts, no matter how much they tug them down. School hasn’t started yet, so the cheerleaders are flashing their shoulders in blatant defiance of dress code. They’re standing in their usual exclusive circle under the outside pavilion. And yet, somehow, every wide-eyed freshman and half-baked loser at the school wants to be them. The girls claw each other’s eyes out over the hottest boy of the month and the boys flunk out of algebra because they’re doing cocaine on the weekend instead of studying. The football players and cheerleaders are worshipped while they get themselves mixed up in incestuous dating drama. Voltron High, outside of having the world’s coolest high school name, is completely and utterly ordinary. And more than anything else, he doesn’t want to draw attention from the so-called popular crowd. He doesn’t want to buy pot from the dealer in the knit cap slouching against the brick wall of the athletic shed. He doesn’t want to stir up any trouble with the Pokemon players because he accidentally stared one of them down (he has an unfortunate habit of doing that). In practice, it means that every morning Keith slouches from the bike racks to the cafeteria, avoiding making eye contact with any of his fellow teens. But at the time he said it, Pidge had been laughing, which makes Keith think he’s being played. Pidge seems to think it means he’s a grandpa in a kid’s body and well, Pidge isn’t usually wrong. Shirogane says he’s an old soul, whatever that means. Or why the skateboarders can’t talk to the dance team. He doesn’t understand why wearing black and overapplying mascara makes you a goth. No, he has to put up with the social shithole that is high school and play along with the rules of cliques and popularity. It’s bad enough that he has to suffer through inane ‘honors’ classes instead of dual-enrolling fully or, hell, just graduating early and shipping himself off to the magical land of university until that disappointed him as well. And when the hordes of these ‘high schoolers’ descended upon themselves in a cannibalistic, sexually frustrated frenzy, the idiots in charge patted themselves on the back. Somewhere along the course of history, some wiseass decided it was a good idea to stuff a bunch of pubescent kids into confined spaces for seven hours, demand that they ‘learn,’ and observe what happened. High school is just one huge, stinking social experiment and Keith is a miserable cog in the inescapable grasp of the compulsory education machine.
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