bujeet-week - Tumblr blog

bujeet-week · 10 years

Text

Five things no one knows about Buford, and one thing everyone knows about Baljeet (except Buford)

whaaaaat I wrote something ?

this is for the prompt “six” and it. its not what this prompt was calling for at all

sorry in advance for, whatever this is. it got away from me tbh and its pretty rushed

~right about here would be a good place for a read more but there isnt that option on the submit thing and yeah~

1. Buford is a terrible bully.

Ask any kid but Baljeet, and they’ll tell you all about Buford the bully. They’ll talk about the times they’ve made him mad and he’s picked them up by the front of their shirt and yelled at them, pushed them up against the wall, or held up his fist and laughed when their eyes snapped shut; they’ll talk about his fear tactics and threats and wedgies and all of their close calls with him. Buford’s the neighborhood bully and everyone knows it.

But Baljeet still remembers meeting Buford for the first time.

Baljeet sat underneath his favorite tree in a little neighborhood park, waist-deep in algebra problems, a routine he had developed in the prior week. From where he sat, the sunlight came through the leaves and hit his math book at the perfect angle. That is, until it was blocked out by an unfamiliar boy. Baljeet was prepared with a polite greeting and chipper introduction —his parents told him that was how you made new friends— but it died in his throat when he looked up at the boy. He towered over him at a hulking four feet tall. He wore a stained black t-shirt with a skull on the front, a scowl on his brow and a smirk around his snaggletooth; he reeked of neighborhood bully. Baljeet was slowly creeping with fear; he had never dealt with bullies in India, but his parents had warned him about them. If you are ever bullied, tell us immediately. Do not be afraid; we will handle the problem.

"What’r’ya doin’?" The boy asked, his voice angry and taunting. "Is that math?! You some kinda nerd or somethin’?”

Baljeet had no time to answer before the boy snatched his math book out of his hands. “Hey! Give that back to me!”

He closed Baljeet’s math book with a thud and tossed it over his shoulder, and into a patch of dirt. “You want it, go get it!”

Baljeet hurried around him, but the bigger boy grabbed him by the back of his belt before he made it past.

"Name’s Buford."

Buford grabbed the waistband of Baljeet’s underwear. Baljeet sensed what was happening; he had heard of this, it was called a “wedgie” and he knew it wasn’t something to look forward to, to say the least. He winced, preparing for pain and humiliation and whatever else followed.

"Neighborhood bully, in case ya missed it."

Buford’s arm jerked upward viciously, lifting Baljeet off the ground by his underwear. Baljeet made a noise of pain, which was more from shock than pain; but it must’ve been convincing, because Buford didn’t lift him higher (by Baljeet’s calculations, the effectiveness of a wedgie will increase by the height the victim is held, as the angle of the underpants, the Y axis, and victim, the X axis, approaches 180 degrees, or surpasses it). Baljeet was expecting pain, but he instead felt— mild discomfort? Slight awkwardness? At best, it was trivial annoyance.

"And don’t forget it.”

Buford dropped Baljeet heavily and walked away, making a point to stomp on and shatter Baljeet’s calculator. Baljeet collected himself, wiggling around until his underwear was back where it should be. With a sour look he shuffled over to his discarded math book, expecting it to be torn, battered, and needing replacing; but upon inspection, it appeared to only be slightly dirty. The book landed face up, the isosceles triangle on the cover still pristine; only the back cover and the edges of the last one hundred pages even showed proof of what had happened. In fact, Baljeet’s answer sheet was stuck securely in the book where it had been; he hadn’t even lost his page.

Baljeet decided not to let Buford get to him; he set out to return to the park early the day afterward. As he stepped out his front door, newly clean math book under his arm and a pencil in his hand, he saw Buford poke his head out of a door a few houses down, look from left to right, and hurry down the street; in the same direction Baljeet was heading. He thought nothing of it, until after strolling along a while, he encountered Buford coming the opposite way.

Buford stopped in his tracks and glared at Baljeet, mumbled something that might’ve had the words “usually later” in it, and rushed past Baljeet —bumping rudely into his arm— before he can ask him to repeat himself.

Baljeet continued to the park, content to know Buford was heading home at that moment, and made a beeline for his favorite tree. In the exact spot where the grass was crushed after being sat on by him for so long, waited a calculator —not the same mark or make as the one that was crushed, but still useful for the type of problems he was doing. When he found it, Baljeet decided that if Buford was the only bully this place had to offer, then he’d be just fine.

2. Buford is not what one would think of as an ideal friend. He’s better.

Everyone knows not to mess with Buford’s tiny group of friends. Comments about Ferb’s quiet demeanor are quickly combated with snarky insults and inventive threats; anyone (besides Buford) who questions Phineas’s ability to defy the laws of physics starts to sweat when Buford walks in. There are still videos circulating of Buford having a chat with the first, and last, boy to break Isabella’s heart.

Everyone thinks Buford is just territorial, in a “don’t mess with the bully’s stuff” kind of way. Baljeet’s the only one who’s stopped to realize it’s because he loves them too much.

The first time Baljeet realized it, they were in middle school. Buford’s build was stretching upward and bulking fast, clunky metal braces attempted to wrangle in his snaggletooth, and his freckles were lost under his blemishes; he broke out faster than any of his friends, but none of them even noticed. Baljeet noticed, though, the squeak his voice developed, and teased him about it any time he dared to— "Given up on the raspy voice, have you? And how much closet-time did it take to develop that cute little squeak, Buford?" Baljeet himself had growing pains constantly in his legs and was stuck in an awkward fashion phase, torn between popular Indian garb and the many exciting directions American clothing could take. His outfit of the day featured a hoodie with a lot of fur, over something from India that nobody knew the name of, and couldn’t pronounce when Baljeet told them.

They were on the walk to school; the same walk they’d taken together everyday since their first conversation, or at least the first time they spoke without Buford giving Baljeet a wedgie; something he hadn’t done to anyone in a long time. Baljeet prattled on about some science nonsense and Buford nodded in the appropriate places and asked questions with absolutely no relevance, just as it always was.

Until a voice behind the boys said, “Oh my god, Buford, how can you stand this kid?”

Both Buford and Baljeet turned around slowly. Behind them loomed a boy Baljeet didn’t know the name of, but recognized. He was on the high school football team; Baljeet knew because Buford was on the middle school team, and the high school team often trained with them and mentored them after football season ended. Chess Club meetings were held on the same day as practice and let out just a short time before, and Baljeet always waited for Buford so they could walk home together.

“What’d’ya mean?” Buford asked.

“I mean, if I had to listen to this, I woulda punched this kid’s face in by now.”

Baljeet turned back around, his face heating up from embarrassment.

“What’s’a matter, kid?” He brought a hand down heavily onto Baljeet’s shoulder. “Don’t tell me you don’t know how annoying you are. I find that hard to believe, if ya hang around this guy.”

“Hey, Lance, lay off him, alright?” Buford spoke up, lifting Lance’s arm off of Baljeet.

“Oh, c’mon Buford, don’t tell me you don’t just wanna take this guy’s techno-nonsense science-whatever and shove it-”

“Lance!”

“Buford.” Lance mocked, putting his hand back on Baljeet’s shoulder.

Baljeet froze. He knew the power the high school football team had over the middle school team; not only did they have the authority to make them work twice as hard at practice, but the opinions of the current members —even graduating seniors— were important to who made the high school team. The entire system was completely unfair, as a perfect athlete could be turned away based merely on rumors and false accusations made by a teammate who disliked him. Not to mention, being friends with the team was a significant status boost, much more than hanging out with an awkward nerdy Baljeet. He didn’t expect this guy to leave it at a mild insult and a hand on his shoulder, and he didn’t expect Buford to try any harder at defending him, knowing how important maintaining Lance’s favor could be. Lance could get the whole team to hate him, could ruin his chances to get on the high school team, or he could guarantee he made the team. It was okay; he understood. He just needed to survive the walk to school, and then-

“Buford, please. This guy’s a huge nerd. If you hanging out with him isn’t part of some elaborate prank-”

“Lance.”

“Like, you gonna drop pig’s blood on him at the dance or somethin’?”

“Lance!”

“Jesus, what?”

“Shut up.”

Lance scoffed. “Don’t tell me the middle school bully cares about Chicken Legs over here.” he said, referring to Baljeet by jolting him.

Buford removed Lance’s hand from Baljeet again, using it to push the bigger boy back a few steps. “Do you wanna leave me and ‘Jeet alone now? Because I think you do.”

Lance took this as an insult; he erupted with vile language directed at Buford. Buford remained calm, until Lance’s attacked turned toward Baljeet. Baljeet cringed to hear so many insults thrown in his direction so easily; so far in his life, the worst thing he had been called was “nerd.”

“Do not talk to Baljeet that way!” Buford demanded, stepping in front of Baljeet, shielding him. He then let loose with words that Baljeet cringed to hear; they would’ve made a sailor blush.

Lance retaliated, but after going back and forth with insults and threats and warnings for a while, he eventually decided this wasn’t worth his time, threw up his hands and walked away. The whole ordeal hadn’t even lasted ten minutes.

Buford turned to Baljeet, who had a look of absolute astonishment on his face, and didn’t appear to be blinking. “Uh.. Are you okay?”

“Buford..” Baljeet began. “Are you.. Are you an idiot?”

“‘Scuse me?”

“I cannot believe you would jeopardize your chances to be on the high school football team! You told me yourself that the opinions of the team members mean everything! Having that boy as a friend would have increased your chances by approximately-”

Buford scoffed. “Who wants that guy as a friend? Didn’t you hear the way he talked to you?”

“But why should you care more about-”

“‘Sides,” Buford said, putting an arm around Baljeet’s shoulders, “I got enough friends.” He looked down on him, smirking.

Baljeet smiled up at him. “Buford! Do I detect true sentiment in your voice?” he teased.

Buford took his arm away and rolled his eyes. “Tell anybody, and I’ll kick your ass.” he said, but he was still smiling.

Baljeet told the gang the story at lunch, including Buford’s kind words. Buford didn’t kick his ass.

Buford made the team sophomore year.

3. Buford has a secret passion.

Baljeet was reasonably surprised the first time his best friend spouted eloquent French, however brutish it was. He was reasonably surprised when he caught on that Buford could learn to play any instrument, at all, in no time. There were a lot of surprises when it came to Buford.

He shouldn’t really be surprised by Buford anymore, after so many years, but he couldn’t help it when he caught a glimpse of what was under Buford’s bed.

He was searching for his phone; he had tripped, and it had tumbled under Buford’s bed, and he was just looking for it, really. It wasn’t his fault there were books, piles of books, some of which were poetry or in French or about French poetry, that he had to move; it could’ve gotten stuck between any of them. And he had to go through Buford’s huge box marked “cosplay”; his phone could’ve easily fallen inside. He tried to explain this to Buford when he caught him, but he didn’t quite see it that way.

He didn’t understand why Buford was so embarrassed.

"I gotta reputation, nerd. You wouldn’t get it."

"Well if you do not want people to know you read things like this, you should probably stop randomly quoting it. Voltaire, Buford? Really?”

Buford blushed. “I don’t quote it that often. Just around you, and the guys.” Buford looked under the bed, and then let out a sigh of relief. “Looks like you didn’t even get to the good stuff.”

"Good stuff? What more could you be hiding under here?" Baljeet dove back under the bed.

"Oh no you don’t." Buford said, dragging Baljeet back by the leg.

"Oh, come on. What is it?”

"Not sayin’." Buford said smugly, sitting down on his bed.

"Well you cannot just peak my curiosity, and then.."

"Go back under there, and I’ll slaughter ya." He said, pointing an accusing finger at Baljeet.

Baljeet sat down cross-legged on the floor, with his arms crossed and his bottom lip sticking out. “Fiiiiiine.”

He looked at the books he had already rummage through, scattered around him. “So.. Which poet is your favorite?”

Buford’s eyebrows quirked up. “Voltaire.”

"Obviously."

Baljeet listened to Buford talk on and on. He only had a rudimentary understanding of the things he brought up, but it became clearer and clearer how much he was enjoying showing off his knowledge. And when Buford mentioned something with a glint in his eye like he was sharing a secret no one knew, Baljeet pretended he didn’t; the smile it put on Buford’s face —and the feeling that smile gave him in his stomach— kept him from correcting him when he misquoted information. By the time they had delved into the realm of poetry of the Transcendentalism movement versus poetry by the Dark Romantics, Baljeet realized it was time for him to go home.

When he was nearly out the door, he squeaked, “Oh! I never retrieved my phone.” and plunged back into the mass of books under the bed without a second thought.

“Wait, Baljeet-”

Baljeet popped back up with his phone in one hand, and a beat-up red spiral notebook in the other. “Buford, is this-”

“Gimme that!” Buford shouted. He yanked the notebook out of Baljeet’s hand, then hit him on the head with it for good measure.

“Buford!” Baljeet said, smacking him on the arm for payback. “Is that poetry? Do you write poetry?”

“Uh, no! wha’do I look like to you?!”

“You look like someone who is very, very embarrassed.” Baljeet pointed at the notebook. “If you do not want a person to discover you write poetry, then I advise you do not write “poetry” sloppily across the cover.”

“Yeah, that was kinda stupid.” He said, absentmindedly flipping through the notebook.

“Soo..” Baljeet began, “Can I hear some?”

Buford snorted. “Um, no. Are you stupid?”

“Oh, that is too bad.” Baljeet sighed overdramatically. “Because I cannot leave until I have heard at least one poem written by the critically-acclaimed Buford Van Stomm.”

“Are you serious right now?” Buford complained.

Baljeet sat on his spot on the floor, arms crossed, with a smug look on his face. “I am afraid so, Buford. I will have to hear a poem, or I shall not leave your side.”

Buford groaned. “I don’t believe ya.”

Baljeet gave him his “I mean it” look, and eventually Buford was worn down. He flipped to the shortest, least embarrassing poem he could find, and mumbled it. It was met with thunderous applause.

“You know, Buford, most boys our age have pornography hidden under their beds. Not this.”

Baljeet managed to talk Buford into reading another poem, “only this time, put some heart into it. You know you want to!” By the fifth poem, after insistent encouragement from Baljeet, “louder!” and “come on, where is the emotion!”, Buford was standing on his bed, reciting a poem in an overly dramatic Romeo-style, with a hand on his heart, and both boys were laughing uncontrollably between verses.

It took three more poems before Buford came to his senses and kicked Baljeet out. During the lecture he got for being late, Baljeet decided he’d listen to a million lectures if he could relive the day he’d just had.

4. Buford thinks “nerd” means “best friend.”

Baljeet knocked on the door of the Van Stomm house. He bounced nervously from one foot to the other, hoping Buford would be the one to open the door. It was late, but the light on in the living room had to be him; his mother usually went to bed early.

Buford opened the door. “Baljeet? What’re you doin’ here?”

Baljeet looked up at him and and smiled sheepishly, hoping he looked a little happier than he felt.

"What’s’a matter, nerd?"

Apparently not. Baljeet smiled to hear the nickname said with concern. It was the first time he realized that it wasn’t an insult; it was a term of endearment.

"I am moving back to India."

Buford stared at him for a minute.

"Come inside."

Baljeet walked past him and into the living room.

"Now, what?”

Baljeet sighed, and landed heavily on the couch. “I came to India for my education. Now that graduation is approaching, it is time for us to leave.”

Buford sat next to him, and looked like he was going to ask a question, but then thought better of it.

“And before you ask, no, I do not want to.”

“But.. What about college?”

“They say that American university is too expensive. They would like that I attend in India.” Baljeet put his head in his hands.

“But you and your brain could get a scholarship to, like, anywhere! I wouldn’t be surprised if colleges didn’t wanna pay you to come!”

“I have told them that!” Baljeet sighed. “But they are homesick. Visits home will not satisfy them anymore. They wish to move to India, permanently. But I do not want to leave! America has been my home for so long, and everyone I care about is here!”

“Can’t.. Can’t they just go without ya?”

“They will not support me if I stay. And I mean that both parentally, and financially.”

“Aw, ‘Jeet.” Buford said, putting a hand heavily on Baljeet’s shoulder. “Wha’do we do? I can’t lose my nerd.”

Baljeet looked at him with a self-pitying smile. “There is nothing to do. And may I assume, in this instance, that “nerd” means “best friend”?” He teased.

He expected Buford to tease him back; that was what he always did, but he just looked away from him and said, “Yeah.”

“Oh.” Baljeet mumbled.

“Did you tell the guys yet?”

“No. I was only told tonight. And I came straight here.” Baljeet explained, with a blush rising to his cheeks.

Buford, seeing his friend blush, asked, “Why here?”

“I..” Looking at his friend, Baljeet’s words caught in his throat. “I could use some cheering up.”

“Are we just gonna pretend you’re not leavin’?”

“Yes.”

5. Buford gives the best hugs.

They pretended he wasn’t leaving. When Baljeet told Phineas, Ferb, and Isabella the next day, they pretended he wasn’t leaving, too. They pretended he wasn’t leaving for months. They pretended he wasn’t leaving when they all applied to colleges, even Baljeet. They pretended when they all got accepted, even Baljeet. They pretended he wasn’t leaving at the graduation ceremony. They pretended he wasn’t leaving every day of summer that they spent together. They pretended he wasn’t leaving when they offered to help his family pack up their things. They pretended he wasn’t leaving his last full day home. They pretended he wasn’t leaving when he and Buford walked out of Phineas and Ferb’s backyard that afternoon. They pretended he wasn’t leaving when he went to Buford’s house instead of his own. They pretended he wasn’t leaving when he ended up staying there all night, watching movies and playing video games and pretending he wasn’t leaving. They pretended he wasn’t leaving when he called his parents the next morning and asked if Buford could drive him to the airport instead of them picking him up, since his friends were coming to see him off anyway.

“‘Jeet..”

They stopped pretending for a minute.

“Yes, Buford?”

“I.. Just.. Wanted to tell ya before we go and get the rest of the guys, uh..” He was looking over Baljeet, with his hand on the back of his neck, struggling for what he was trying to say.

“Spit it out, you are about to never see me again.”

“Shut up.” Buford said, but he wrapped Baljeet up in a hug. Baljeet loved Buford’s hugs; he didn’t know what it was about them, but they just made everything better. Everything bad faded into the background and there was only Buford and his arms around him. He imagined it had to do with Buford being so much bigger than he was; he could just bury himself in Buford’s chest and his senses would fill with him and nothing else. He thought back to the hug Buford gave him the night he told him he was leaving; after hours of beating him at video games and pretending he wasn’t leaving, Buford simply turned to him and wrapped his arms around him and didn’t say anything. Baljeet had closed his eyes and ignored everything else, and maybe cried just a little bit and maybe fell asleep; Baljeet decided that it was the best hug Buford had given him.

“‘Jeet, I’m not a mushy guy..”

“There is a notebook of poetry under your bed that would beg to differ.” Baljeet teased.

Buford laughed. ”Shut up, nerd.” He sighed, and pulled Baljeet closer to him. “Just wanted to say.. That you’re my nerd, and it don’t matter how far away you go, you can’t get out of it. You’re stuck being my nerd.”

“Can I assume that by “nerd” you mean “best friend”?” Baljeet teased him some more, barely audible with his face buried in Buford’s chest.

"Yeah, that.”

“Or how about “most important person ever, in the whole entire world, ever”?

Buford snickered, digging his chin into the top of Baljeet’s head. “Suuuure, if that makes you feel better.”

“Or maybe, “the most important, best best best friend in your life ever, who it is going to be horrific to lose”?”

“Don’t push it, nerd.” Buford warned. “But, as long as it’s out there, yeah.” He released Baljeet.

“I’m gonna miss ya, Baljeet.” he mumbled, punching him in the arm.

“I will miss you, too, Buford.”

6. Baljeet is a little bit in love with Buford.

They pretended he wasn’t leaving when they picked up Phineas, Ferb, and Isabella, and they pretended he wasn’t leaving all the way to the airport.

Baljeet hugged each of his friends goodbye, working his way down the line of them. Phineas told him that “as soon as we make teleporters that can fit in a box, we are mailing you one and you are coming straight here. Or, we’ll just teleport to you. Or teleport it to you. Anyway, what i’m trying to say is: visit. I’ll miss you.” Ferb said nothing, but hugged him tightly, and Isabella said, “What Phineas said, but with less rambling. And he forgot to tell you he loves you.”

Buford was last. They had already said their goodbyes at Buford’s, but Baljeet wrapped his arms around his neck anyway.

“Goodbye, Baljeet. I love ya.”

“Goodbye, Buford. I.. Love you, too.” Baljeet mumbled into his shoulder, eyes closed, breathing him in.

Baljeet pulled away after a minute or two, looked Buford in the eyes, and then he got a terrible idea. And he knew it was a terrible idea. And he knew he would skype with his friends and visit and maybe even move back one day, but there were too many voices in his head screaming “you are leaving, do it now, you are not going to see him again, do it now” and he knew if he didn’t do it then he would cry, and he decided he wasn’t going to cry.

So he pulled Buford down, and he kissed him.

Isabella said, “Whoa,”

Ferb said, “Took him long enough,”

Phineas said, “Wait, what?”

and Ferb said, “I’ll explain it to you later,” then Baljeet pulled away.

Baljeet turned bright red, stared down awkwardly at his feet, fixed his carry-on to sit more comfortably on his shoulder, took one last look at the flushed, stunned look on his friend’s face, and turned to board the plane before he had to explain himself.

That is, until a hand clamps around his wrist, and a strained voice behind him says, “Wait..”

——————————————-

“‘Scuse me, stewardess lady? Yeah, can you do me a favor and find the Tjinders on the plane, and tell ‘em Baljeet’s not comin’? And tell ‘em to mail his stuff to the Van Stomm house, please? Thanks.”

#bujeet #buford van stomm #baljeet tjinder #baljeet rai #b2 #balford #bsquared #b squared #phineas and ferb #bujeet week #bujeet-week #fanfics #submission #edgarallenpoe-ldancer

982 notes · View notes