Studying.
Keye is evidence for the theory that it is much more complex and difficult than it seems. It is much more than a simple matter of re-reading material and notes and going through review sheets. It involves continual frustration, and although no one has lost an eye yet, it oftentimes does all end in tears.
So there he is, limbs long enough to move past impressions of gangliness and right into impressions of actually having too many. He sprawls as unobtrusively as possible by a wall, looking not as if he is lounging, but as if he had been hurled there by cosmic forces, did not want to incur wrath, and so just stayed there with his books for a while. Concentration escapes him, and his one eye continually drifts from the page and fixes in bewilderment on the people with looks of focus that he can't achieve.

And there is Jeremy.

Who leans against the wall, two and a half to three feet away, and says "Keye."

He remembers that he shouldn't startle Keye. Isn't he good?

He is dressed simply - black trousers and dark blue shirt and really, he looks the same as always. His hair isn't long enough for comment and his backpack is lost somewhere in the stacks. He's been studying for hours, and he truly will go mad if he continues for more than another minute. He needs a break.

Keye jumps, but in a significantly less urgent way than he does if you've frightened him.
"Huh? Oh, hey Jeremy. Siddown."
Company, thank goodness. Keye's been going quite insane with no one to talk to. He is a people person.

Jeremy thinks about the invitation before accepting it - a nice change from him around Enrique, because Enrique tends to provoke instant obedience without thought, as do most of the other people Jeremy hangs out with on a regular basis.

Keye is definitely good for him.

He sits against the wall, wrapping his arms around his knees and meshing his fingers loosely.

"How've ya been?"

He isn't looking at Keye. It's comfortable to not look at the person he's talking to, comfortable to keep an eye on their surroundings. There's no one else in earshot, another comfort - he doesn't want to deal with eavesdroppers.

Jeremy is not a people-person. He plays one professionally.

He is, however, a Keye-person.

"Mm, fine."
That is entirely untrue, but it is what you say when someone asks how you've been.
He looks at Jeremy. He likes to use whoever he's talking to as a point of reference, an anchor so to speak.
"How 'bout you?"

"Things've settled down."

He watches a girl write, meditatively.

"Gives me time to, y'know, not fail."

He hopes.

Skipping a week of classes does get awkward. He has to catch up with all of them, and he's having more trouble with that than he thought he would.

His parents are going to kill him. Or pat him on the head (metaphorically) and say it's only natural, not to worry about it, they'll take care of it.

He isn't sure which he'd hate worse.

"That's good." he nods, his mop of hair bobbing just a fraction of a moment's delay after. Then he sighs heavily and places his hand over the open book in front of him, his outspread fingers reaching to the ends of the pages and effectively covering the entire text. "I never have enough time for that." Not failing, that is.

"Life's kinda crazy, huh."

Ant gets that. Since getting involved in this city and this social circle life has been... kinda crazy.

He is twiddling his thumbs, and wondering why he never tried it before. It's strangely fun.

"Always." Keye, on the other hand, lifts his thumbs and presses them into his eyelids (well, one eyelid and an eyepatch). "I can't figure out which I like better, New York crazy or Bayfield crazy. It's more that I'm gonna fail anyway, though."

"Anything I can help with?"

Because you don't have enough to do, Jeremy? You're currently failing half your classes unless you pull off a miracle and the others if you slip an inch. So why are you suddenly saying you can commit time to helping someone else?

Right. You're crazy. It's so easy to not forget.

"Nah." Keye has very fixed notions of his own hopelessness, and he wouldn't waste someone else's time, except maybe Alexander. "'S just I read real slow, and I don't comprehend all that great, and...that kinda kills me in a test." He sighs heavily. "I shouldn't even be here."

"What kind of classes are you taking?"

Jeremy could certainly understand having trouble with english with that problem, but Keye said he liked math, right? Math wouldn't be difficult that way, would it?

Jeremy's just going to creatively ignore the assertion that he couldn't possibly help. Keye's being silly.

"I'm taking German, history, one literature class--that was dumb of me, calc two, and sociology."
Sociology makes him uncomfortable. And there's altogether too much reading!
He winds his fingers into his hair and tugs slightly, frowning. He's actually doing all right in his classes; he has a bit of a fatalistic view on testing.

"Five? Geeze."

Jeremy's having trouble with four. He has altogether too active a social life.

"I've got... philosophy, philosophy, philosophy and philosophy. And a thesis."

Yay, writing a thesis. Not. And, more accurately, yay not writing a thesis.

It's an odd fact that he's graduating in the spring, as long as he doesn't flunk too badly this semester. (Which he probably will. He's likely to have to stay an extra semester because of the mess he's made of this one.)

"I'm still a freshman, I haven't really gotten into my major yet." He could; he's entirely competent in his chosen area. But there are other requirements.
"I have all this other crap I have to do, it sucks. If I could just do math all the time, I'd be set."

"If I could get away with half-assing my papers, I'd be set."

But, no, he has to actually work at them or he really will fail.

Agh, truthfully.

"Mm, yeah." he opens his eye and gives Jeremy a sympathetic look and a crooked half-smile, showing one or two chipped teeth. "Is that what you're up to now?"

"Papers? Yeah. I kinda... skipped a week... so I'm kinda screwed."

He shrugs. It happened, it was inevitable, these things do come up.

"A whole week?" Wide-eyed, as if this particular boy didn't very nearly flunk out of high school. "Wow. That's a lot. Why'd you do that?"
Aside from the crazy.

"Enrique and I had a fight. Then I had my first date with Jetta. Then Enrique and I had another fight."

Jeremy's hands tighten on each other. He doesn't like thinking about that.

His knuckles are white.

"That week sucked," he says emphatically.

Shaky fingers press lightly down on Jeremy's clenched hands; Keye has rolled over from his original strange position in order to reach better.
"That sucks. Is everything okay now?"

Jeremy frees one hand to fiddle with the chain of his necklace. The other hand is comfortable covered in Keye's.

Fiddle fiddle fiddle.

"...yeah. It's fine now."

He's engaged to Jetta and Enrique gave him a necklace. It's fine now.

Jeremy's lovelife really sucks, somehow.

"Good." and if he doesn't sound ecstatic about that, he's at least happy that Jeremy seems to be doing a little better; it's Enrique and Jetta that he doesn't like.
"Is that new?" he inquires with a nod to the necklace.

He nods jerkily.

"From Enrique."

He lowers his hand abruptly. Enough emotion, Jeremy, it doesn't suit you, goes his train of thought.

He smiles an incredibly fake little smile. "But who wants to hear about my lovelife, huh?"

Rhetorical. No one.

"I don't mind." Keye folds himself into a sitting position (somehow he always manages to give the impression of an elaborate toy involving linking pieces and rotations). He's smiling a little sorrowfully, tapping his knee with one hand.
"I think it's pretty."

Jeremy's hand decides of its own accord to fiddle with the necklace chain some more.

"Yeah, well."

He shrugs, though he doesn't let go of the necklace.

"I'm more worried about finals anyway."

Finals are simple worries, not like people. People are complicated.

"Yeah, me too." He flops over again. He transitions from too-many-jointed to boneless. "I'm scared they're gonna kick me out." He didn't get in on his own merit, after all. He really doesn't belong here. He's struggling.

"How badly're you doing?"

Jeremy has few morals about prying into the affairs of others, and even fewer if he cares.

"I'm doing just okay, except I'm acing calc, and almost flunking literature and sociology." He makes a small moaning noise and covers his face. "My dad got me in. He's dead, so they got no reason to keep me."

"Hey, doesn't work that way, right? They can't kick you out without good reason. Good 'n pressing, even."

So there.

"If I fail finals, that might be a good reason."
He's frightened. It shows.
He's not used to even wanting a future, let alone having a chance, and he doesn't want to lose it.

"So you aren't going to fail."

Easy.

This is his family's version of a pep talk - defining the future and daring it to change on them. It isn't the best, but it tends to work for them.

It seems simple to Jeremy.

"I don't know that!" it didn't reassure him, it further frightened him. "I read so slow, I almost never finish tests all the way."

"D'you know your teachers?"

Jeremy believes in being proactive about these things.

After all, it doesn't hurt to ask for more time, does it? Some teachers're cool about that stuff.

"Kinda, yeah." He's already talked to them about typing and e-mailing in-class writing assignments, due to the tremor in his hands. He laces his fingers together, pressing his lips together.

"So can you ask 'em to sit extra time for exams?"

They don't want you to fail, remember?

Oh, there's an idea!
"I...d'you think they would?" he's only mentioned his writing troubles, not the reading ones; he's embarassed. "I could try, I guess. I guess I will." he nods slowly, his nostrils flaring slightly as he takes a deep breath, steeling himself in advance. He'll go tomorrow.

"Totally. Some teachers'll even give extra time for the whole class, to be fair."

Which is always fun. It makes your classmates like you, also a good thing.

"Okay. I'll try that."
Some of the tension disappears from his face, but he's still an utter ball of nerves, as evidenced by continual fidgeting and shifting of position.
"How come your sister calls you 'ant'?"
It's weird.

Oh, he is so fiddling with his necklace again.

If he's not careful, that's going to become habitual.

"I...."

He has nothing to say to that. Nothing at all.

Except, that is, the truth.

"That's my name."

He doesn't sound happy about it, though.