#academy setting

Ever walked into a new place and immediately felt like you didn't belong? Claire knows the feeling all too well!

I would really love to produce the audiobook for book 2, but each audiobook costs me about $3000. Please share this book with your friends and subscribe to my channel so that I can reach my goal and produce the next book!

“There goes that roommate of yours.” Ratchet glanced up from his datapad. He watched as the usually quiet student made his way through the rec room. He could never understand his roommate's fascination with mingling when it was clear that no one wanted to mingle with him. He let out a slight vent of relief when he was spared a glance. He'd grown tired of finding excuses to get away from the weird mech. He sipped his cube, watching as the mech headed to his usual corner- alone. “Phew, I was afraid he would come over here.” Ratchet gave a snort before going back to his current research document. He didn't have time to worry about anything else. They had been assigned specific Cybertronian diseases and, of course, he had chosen to take a challenge. Ratchet glanced up after a few moments, noticing that Wheeljack had disappeared. He shrugged, looking back to his datapad. Maybe he'd found something to do or work on- he was always tinkering with something as of late. “Wheeljack, please stop,” Ratchet groaned from his berth, lifting the thermal from his helm, “I need recharge tonight, I have an exam tomorrow.” If the engineer in training had heard him, he didn't give any acknowledgment. He rolled over onto his other side, pulling his thermal over his helm. The desk light was enough to keep him online and the noise was no less disturbing. After another loud scraping of metal carving into metal, Ratchet threw his thermal off. The second his pede hit the ground, he assumed Wheeljack would have frozen. The engineer, however, continued cutting something from sheet metal, following scribbled notes on a datapad and a diagram that Ratchet disregarded. He reached out a servo, grabbing onto the mech's left winglet. Wheeljack jerked from his focused state and turned his helm. “Oh, sorry, Ratch... keeping you up?” “No, the noise is the perfect ambiance- yes, you are. Is this a project for a class or something?” “Erm, no, it's not for a class,” Wheeljack mumbled. If Ratchet hadn't known any better, he would have sworn that the engineer sounded exhausted. Huffing, he tugged at the winglet. “Say, Ratchet, what do you know about cosmic rust, anyway?” “If it's not for a class, can't you do it later? I'm trying to recharge here,” he grunted, pushing away from the other, “As for cosmic rust, why do you need to know? You're not going to be a medic, right? I sure hope not. It's incurable, from what I've read up on. Why?” He headed back to his berth, flopping onto the thermal, “Just curious is all. I'm making something that might fix it, you know?” “Probably won't work anyway,” Ratchet huffed grumpily, “Nothing you make does.” He could hear the tools stop working and winced slightly. That had been rude, hadn't it? He stayed still, only turning his helm when he heard the click of the light. Though he couldn't see, Ratchet was sure that Wheeljack was getting into his berth. He vented softly before rolling onto his side again. “Thank you,” he grunted. He received no reply and, as far as he knew, never got one that night. “Haven't seen your roomie in a while,” the mech next to him mused as he sat down, “Did he leave?” Ratchet frowned, worry masked by a grumpy expression. He'd woken up to find that Wheeljack had already left and, when he returned after classes, still found his room vacant. It had been two days since then and he was beginning to wonder if he'd caused the engineer's sudden vanishing. Ratchet propped his cheekplate on his curled servo digits and vented heavily. His appetite had been crawling with hunger and yet, staring at his cube, he felt he did not want it. It was then that his friend nudged him and he glanced up at the doorway. He felt relief build up and then crash as he suddenly saw Wheeljack. He looked awful, to say the least. His face was hidden by that blast mask he always wore and yet, Ratchet felt he could see the sad frown. He watched as Wheeljack moved slowly, almost zombie-like, towards his corner. He'd stopped to get energon on the way, but the cube remained untouched as he sat down. Ratchet felt his spark twist as he took in the miserable sight. Something was wrong. Before he could think to ask, he was tapped on the shoulder and his attention shifted. It wasn't like he and Wheeljack were friends. After all, whatever the engineer had been hiding for was his own business. The medic in training vented and turned his full attention away from Wheeljack. If anything, he could ask him when he went back to their room later on. Odd, he couldn't recall ever feeling worry for that loud roommate of his before. He exited the lecture hall with a wide grin on his faceplate. His research document had gone well, top grade in his class. He proudly showed his friends, who were more than happy to discuss the topic. Ratchet waved a servo and turned down the hallway, intent on making it to his quarters. The earlier events of the day had all but faded from memory. He keyed in the code to his room and, with a sudden plummet in his tanks, the day's events came rushing back. He was staring at the room, noticing that one half was unusually silent. “Uh, Wheeljack,” Ratchet asked, inching inside. He was almost afraid to say anything more, as the mech was simply lying on his side, staring at the ground. His optics flickered before he rolled to his other side, winglets now facing Ratchet. “I won't be here long. Uhm, did your project go all right?” Why was he trying to make conversation? He shifted on his pedes, receiving no answer. “Wheeljack?” “It didn't work,” Wheeljack answered dully, pulling his thermal over his helm, “As usual.” Ratchet vented in slight relief. “Well, you can always rebuild it, right? Better luck next time and what not,” he said cheerfully, though the smile faded from his face. Wheeljack hadn't even twitched his wings at that. “Well, I've got to go. Some other medical students are going out tonight. Uhm...well, good luck on your project!” Perhaps he should have invited Wheeljack. Ratchet sat at the bar with the most disgruntled expression. His friends, or so he had assumed, had all been kicked out for reckless behavior. After apologizing and taking them all home, Ratchet went back to enjoy his celebration all on his own. He glanced down at the bartop, optics flashing as he eyed the screen flashing. The bar had just installed bartop monitors, thus allowing guests to watch any program they wanted. He tapped the bright blue button on the side of the monitor, thankful that it was energon-proof, as he was sloshing his around a little too fast as he pressed. Just as he was about to settle on a channel, a blinking alert came up and a screen popped up. Information flew by, informing viewers about an outbreak of cosmic rust in a factory on the outskirts of the city. Ratchet frowned. Cosmic rust was a hard topic, he never did understand fully how to stop it from corroding anything it touched. The report continued to say that the outbreak was contained, though many bots had been lost. “Poor mechs,” the barmech grunted, “Happened a few days ago, you know? Just blew the whole place up. Barely contained it now. Sure feel sorry for them bots. What a way to go.” Among the released pictures on the screen, one caught Ratchet's attention. He spit out his energon, lifting a servo to hold it over his mouth as he stared. One bot looked achingly similar to his roommate. He slammed a credit down on the bar and left the club faster than anyone had ever seen. When he arrived, Wheeljack was no longer in his berth. Ratchet cursed, looking around the room. Wheeljack's things were still there, yet it looked as though he had left in a hurry. He vented and sat upon his berth, helm in his servos. For once, he prayed to Primus that he was wrong- that it had only been coincidence. But, then, why had Wheeljack asked about the cosmic rust that night? Maybe he was just trying to help...? Ratchet laid back on his berth, servos pressing over his faceplate tightly. “Please let me be wrong,” he mumbled, “Just let me be wrong.” He glanced at the door, hoping to see Wheeljack walk back in any minute. Unfortunately, he fell into recharge before ever finding out. Final projects turned in, Ratchet no longer had anything to worry about. Nothing except the empty seat in the corner of the mess hall again. This had been the fifth day in a row that Wheeljack was nowhere in sight. It did nothing to ease his troubled processor. Being the nosy bot that he was, Ratchet had asked his professors if Wheeljack had turned in any assignments. All had assured him that, though Wheeljack was absent, he had returned everything in advance. Ratchet tried to gather more information, but was sent away before he could collect. He left the mess hall and walked towards his quarters, finding himself feeling oddly hollow. He'd said plenty of mean things to his odd, quirky roommate. He entered the code and walked in, only to slam into someone else. He fell backwards and was only saved by someone catching his arm. Wheeljack looked so tired, so worn out, yet he had still had a quick reaction to catch Ratchet before he fell. “Sorry,” Ratchet spat out, “I didn't see you walking- well, of course I didn't, there was a door, erm...” Wheeljack released his arm and kept his servos at his side. He moved to the side, as if allowing Ratchet his space. He frowned. “Uhm, Wheeljack, do you, I mean, are you...erm. You've...you haven't been to class,” he finally spoke. Wheeljack shrugged, looking at the ground. “Don't you want to be in class?” Wheeljack shook his helm. “It's okay,” he finally mumbled, “I...can work here. That way, I can be done when you get back. Won't keep you up. I have somewhere I need to be.” Though Ratchet tried to stop him verbally, Wheeljack left the room. He vented, shoulders dropping. He'd really fragged this up, hadn't he? Wheeljack had made himself scarce. Ratchet hardly saw him at all anymore, unless they were passing in the halls. Even then, it was like Wheeljack was a ghost, drifting through life without a single thought. Just a wash, rinse and repeat routine- one that Ratchet was beginning to feel was growing unhealthy. Graduation was only a few months away and Ratchet was hoping to at least corner his roommate and force him to spit out everything. When he walked into his quarters, however, Wheeljack was already sitting on his berth. “Hello, Wheeljack,” Ratchet ventured. The engineer in training said nothing, only stared at the mangled part in his servos. “What's that?” “Nothing.” Ratchet gave a frustrated vent. This was it. He shifted and sat upon his berth, kicking his pedes out as he leaned back, arms supporting his frame. “Wheeljack, what's wrong? Why are you keeping yourself so far away from people?” “Because,” was the only answer he received. Ratchet sat up quickly, staring at the other. “Now, come on, Wheeljack. What's happened that's made you so distant from people?” He feared the answer and, when Wheeljack spoke next, his spark plummeted. “You were right, you know,” Wheeljack murmured, “Incurable. And it didn't work. Nothing I make ever works. I thought if I took my time, I could...but it- it didn't. It didn't work. It didn't even start to work, it just...didn't.” Wheeljack dropped the part to the floor and pressed his faceplate in his servos. Ratchet was surprised. He'd never seen the mech so sad, let alone distraught. He moved only when he heard the soft clicks. Before he could think, he reached out a servo and rested it on the other's shoulder. “Wheeljack...?” “I was supposed to make a device to fix it. B-because medics c-can't and no one wanted to help him- they just taped them all off like lost causes and-,” Wheeljack stammered behind his servos. Ratchet frowned. At this point, his vocals were reaching a high octave and his vents were becoming ragged. “...Wheeljack, it's...it's okay, sometimes people make mistakes. You just have to try again, right,” Ratchet asked, hopeful tone in his voice. Wheeljack shook his helm. “I don't get a second chance, Ratchet,” he whined, curling into himself, “S'gone. Didn't work. Failure at everything, it'll always explode...malfunction...just like me.” Ratchet felt his spark twist. Without thinking, he threw his arms around the inventor and squeezed, pulling the helm against his shoulder. He could hear Wheeljack's gasp of surprise before he collapsed against him, clicking uncontrollably. Ratchet smoothed down his helm and a winglet, murmuring into his audio. I'm so sorry I said all those things to you. I'm sorry that I yelled at you and called you names behind your back. I'm sorry that I told you that you'd never amount to anything. I'm sorry that I mocked your inventions. Had I known the device you were building that night was to fix your creator, I wouldn't have- No. No excuses. The words were on the tip of his glossa, yet all he could do was whine out a soft, “I'm sorry,” to him. He began to repeat it, smoothing down the winglet again. “I'm sorry, Wheeljack. I'm so sorry...” Wheeljack continued to cry well into the night and, after a long few hours, he'd exhausted himself into stasis. Ratchet sighed, resting the inventor down in his berth. Though he knew he wouldn't rest well, he crawled into his berth and laid down. Tomorrow was a new day. Graduation came and went, everyone so happy and excited to finally be moving on in the world. Ratchet glanced over the crowd and immediately spotted the winglets retreating from the celebratory group. He pushed his way through and extended a servo, grabbing the engineer's arm. Wheeljack turned his helm and offered a smile beneath his mask. “Congrats, Ratch. Looks like you get to go on to medical academy classes. That's great, I-” “I'm so proud of you,” Ratchet blurted out. He looked mildly surprised, yet pushed on to correct his awkward statement, “I-I mean, you had so much on your plate and you still delivered. Top of the science classes, you're really smart.” Wheeljack shrugged and looked over the crowd. Ratched tugged his arm. “And I'm sure your creator would be proud, you know? See? You're not a failure. You're just on your way. Which reminds me, I think we should start over.” “Pardon?” “Start over. I was so horrible to you all semester, I want to make it up to you somehow. So,” Ratchet said, stepping back. He held out his servo, “Hi. My name is Ratchet. I'm studying to be a medic.” Wheeljack tilted his helm and extended his servo to grasp the other. “Heh, nice to meet you, Ratchet. I'm Wheeljack. I'm studying to be an engineer and, well, an inventor. I guess I'm too curious...” “Nice to meet you, roomie,” Ratchet exclaimed with a grin, slinging an arm over Wheeljack's shoulders. He looked very confused. “Roomie?” “You're staying with me for the summer,” Ratchet stated, matter-of-factly, as he lead Wheeljack towards the crowd, “I already asked my creators and they said it's fine. You'll get your own room and a place to invent. You can't stay forever, but I think you could use some company these days- at least for now.” Wheeljack felt a smile rest on his faceplate. “Wheeljack? 'Jack? Hello?” Wheeljack! Wheeljack jerked out of recharge with a groan, rubbing his optics with his servo. “What- what happened? It wasn't me.” Ratchet gave a grunt, nudging the inventor with his elbow. “Move over, I have to go do something in the medbay. Optimus and Sideswipe got into some catastrophe with salt or something. Get off of me.” Wheeljack rolled off of the medic and curled onto his side in the berth. As Ratchet rose to his pedes, he glanced back. He gave a rare, fond smile and pat the mech's helm, leaning down to peck a glass audio fin. “Back to recharge, sleepy mech. I'll come back in a while.” Wheeljack hummed as his optics dimmed and powered down. “See you later...” Ratchet chuckled and opened his door after grabbing a datapad that was downloading reports for the mecial procedures ahead. “G'night, 'Jack.”