chapter six - freshmen

chapter six — freshmen

MR. REED COULD TAKE HIS TRIGONOMETRY AND SHOVE IT UP HIS ASS. This was fucking Geometry, it wasn't supposed to be hard. The triangles on the board all blurred together, but I salvaged each of them on my paper as I doodled a man made of triangles. His head was a triangle. His nose was a triangle, and I struggled to find what the length of his nostril was. His body was a giant, right triangle, the angles of his armpits an even 45 degrees each, crotch completing it with a 90. I contemplated making his dick triangular before Mr. Reed tapped on my shoulder and I turned my head towards him, not in the least concerned that he'd 'caught me'. I was still doing the work, just not how he'd like it.

He acted like he hadn't interrupted me, bright smile on his face directed at the freshman whose notes were neat and tidy, pencils at the ready for any obscure notes he'd whisper and then put on the test.

"Work on the rest of the problems in your table groups, and only ask me for help if none of you can figure it out"

Fuck that. I don't want to talk to the freshman.

I was a grade behind all my friends and a class level behind my grade, miserably stuck as the only sophomore in a class full of freshmen taking geometry. It fucking sucked.

"Kieran?" A random Indian kid waved his hand in my peripheral vision and I turned back to my work, eyes only briefly glancing at him. He took it as an invitation to open his mouth more and I scowled, already knowing what to expect.

Do you need help?

I wasn't fucking slow like everyone thought I was. I didn't need help. I had all the work right fucking in front of me. I managed a C in the class, which was literally the grade deemed average. I was average, as in, 'not in need of your fucking help'.

"What did you get for number five?"

I blanched, not expecting that at all. My eyes widened the slightest bit before naturally narrowing again, mouth pursed as I scanned my notes.

Was number five Triangle Guy's head?

His crotch?

The dick I hadn't completed yet?

"Um," I stalled for time intelligently, growing more panicked as I thumbed through my various drawings. Fuck.

What the fuck was number five?

"It's okay if you don't have it, I'll just ask—"

"—No, no. I have it. I just..." I trailed off, one hand under the desk flexing and relaxing in time with the pages flipping.

Fuck, that's too far back.

I flipped back to where I'd began again, looking up when the Indian kid coughed.

"Nah, man. It's fine. I'll just ask Mr. Reed"

"But I did it" I locked eyes with him, my own drilling into his flighty black pupils, which were determined not to meet my gaze.

"I-I'm sure you did, but you can just continue your work. Don't waste your time finding it," He tried answering coolly, slowly getting up and out of the chair. He turned his back on me, quickly stumbling over to Mr. Reed. His mouth was moving at a thousand miles a minute, but I couldn't hear jack shit since the room itself was filled with all the things that made freshman annoying. Freshman chatter. Freshman gossip. Freshman fear.

I hunched my shoulders, starting to feel peoples' eyes on me. They felt slimy and I craned my neck, nose almost squashed flat into the numbers so I wouldn't see them stare. They always stared. Sometimes I liked it, especially after a game of basketball. They would stare, almost hungrily, mouth wide open with praise. I liked that. But this wasn't that. This was the soul-deep stare of Judgement Day that I despised. The one that people dealt out on the daily though I couldn't care less for what they thought.

I absently started to fill in Triangle Man's legs, filling the triangles as best I could with the proofs Lukas hated so much. I didn't like them all that much either: why the fuck did you need to prove math? 'Math itself was its proof', that's what Lukas said, and I liked to think he knew more about this shit than Mr. Reed ever would. Than all of them ever would.

"Fuck," my pencil tip broke by T-Man's calf, granite rolling off the paper and onto the floor. I crushed it with my shoe, starting to pack up since I couldn't be bothered to find a new pencil.

"Hey, I got the answer in case you wanted to know it"

I looked up, lips quirking up slightly when the Indian kid flinched at my gaze.

"The answer to number five was 33 degrees"

"Okay"

"'Cause of the Vertical Angles Theorem"

"Okay"

He nodded mutely, sitting back down to speed through the rest of the problems. I watched his mechanical pencil move over the table, his thumb backtracking to click on its button anytime the point broke off.

I closed my notebook, spying what he'd been talking about wedged securely where T-Man's brain was.

33 VA Theorem

The bell rang. It was an angry shrill sound that reminded me of Mum's friends. She didn't have many friends, one best friend really, but they were all loud as fuck and all too preoccupied with my business. Mum wasn't like that. She only got involved with my life when she felt like I was acting funny, or if I asked her too. She was cool like that.

Δ      Δ      Δ      Δ       Δ      Δ      Δ

"Hey, Mogan!"

I pushed myself out of the throng of freshman leaving class, bumping into another freshman. His hair was long, almost girl-like and my frown deepened. He had tried out for the basketball team and made it a few weeks ago. His accuracy was subpar, but his handling was insane for a kid straight out of middle school. He moved on the court so fast he didn't need to tie his curly hair back, just tuck it behind his ears.

Marco had joked that the team should welcome him with a headband, but I disagreed.

Scissors would be better.

I fidgeted with my words, disentangling myself from the group of freshmen in the hallways, feeling claustrophobic. The kid with girl hair looked down, dejected as I denied his greeting, turning on my heel and moving as quickly as I could out of the hallway. Fuck, they're everywhere. The freshmen clung to the walls in pods, moving as units so big you couldn't walk around them. They were like Russian tanks, slow and impenetrable, and I was stuck.

"For fuck's sake, move faster, fuck!" I waited for them to squeak, jumping aside with wide, terrified eyes. They knew I was a sophomore, but they also knew I would shove them into the lockers in a heartbeat. I had a reputation.

I ignored the voices, walking faster and turning a few corners so I ended up in the vocational wing. It was always practically abandoned, the kids in autobody class seldom emerging, very rarely leaving this wing. Autobody was an elective class people took to learn how to fix cars, and the students usually just worked on teacher's cars. The football players liked to take autobody since it was really relaxed and Ms. Polach let them do whatever the fuck they wanted, as long as they fixed the teachers' cars right.

I dropped my backpack to the ground, back sliding down against the wall until I hit the ground. I felt like curling up into a ball, but instead, I lay my legs out straight, hands fumbling for my ear pods. Normally, I'd head to the nurse whenever I felt off, but even the nurse's office wasn't safe now. It was almost always flooded with girls trying to get out of class with cramps, nausea, or a shit ton of other fake-ass excuses.

There are just too many idiots for me to handle in this shithole.

I couldn't decide on a song to listen to and I shoved my ear pods back into my bag, defeated. My phone screen was cracked from the time I'd dropped it when I opened it, the spiderweb cracks almost obscuring my lock screen. It was a picture of my first free throw on Varsity basketball freshman year. It had tied us at finals, the second leading us to win state championships.

Marco was behind me in the picture, creepy-ass smile on his face, chin tilted up to watch the ball as it left my hand. He'd given up pot for the week leading up to the game, and it was the happiest I'd ever seen him when I made that shot. A random senior was next to him, he'd graduated last year, his legs already moving for a potential rebound.

I could spot DJ's leg in the lower corner of the frame, straining against the weight of one of the defenders. He'd been playing on a sprained ankle the entire game and not told anyone of us. Marco had chewed him out after that, driving him to the Emergency Room at the end of the game with his week-old probationary license.

Roger was slightly off the frame, sitting on the sidelines since he'd gotten a concussion from the game before. He wasn't really allowed to be there, the noise of the game only worsening the injury. His parents had grounded him for a solid three months after that, but he'd assured us it was fucking worth it.

Lukas was dead-center, my Mum's ancient camera capturing him in much better definition than any of us. His eyes were locked on me, mouth set into a grim line and muscles relaxed. He told me afterwards that he knew I'd make it, otherwise, I would've beat him up for being unprepared for a rebound. It was a load of bullshit, but it'd made me smile.

We'd won the game against every anticipated bet, and I'd been honorary match MVP. It was like a dream come true.

"Hey there, Kieran, what are you up to?" My head snapped up, legs drawing in as Arrigo Lombardi took a seat next to me. I slid over imperceptibly, not wanting him to be near me in the slightest. He was, all things nicely said, a fucking asshole. He thought football was some kind of fucking superior sport and went around spewing bullshit about how the entire basketball team was gay and shit. I fucking despised him, but he went around like we were friends.

He held out his vape pen to me, eyebrow raised when I declined it.

"Don't vape?"

"Vaping leads to smoking which leads to death. Not a fan of death" I replied snidely.

"Who told you that? Schmitt?" He chuckled, but tucked his pen away.

"I was enjoying the silence, Arrigo" I snapped back, lips drawing back into an ugly sneer. He just laughed like I'd said the funniest joke, arm flying up to pull me against his side. He was a cornerback, his biceps the size of a tree trunk, his brain that of an acorn, and I struggled under the weight of him.

"Don't call me Arrigo, Keke, you know I don't like that. It's Henry. Here, say it with me: Henry. Hen--"

"Don't fucking call me that," I hissed, throwing his arm off of me and standing up. He was up in an instant, broad shoulders blocking the hallway. I could make it if I wanted to, I just had to push by him, but something told me that wouldn't work out so great.

"Why not? You let Schmitt call you that" His lips turned up cruelly, arm against the wall so he could cage me in. If this were a cliche highschool movie, I'd have been the girl. I'm not a fucking girl.

I shoved at his chest, momentary satisfaction filling me as he stumbled back, not expecting me to be that forceful. He may have been born in a fucking gym, but I lifted too and I was more than ready to rip him a new one.

"He's my best fucking friend, you cocksucker. I don't even fucking know you," My hands were curled into fists and I was one word away from pummeling him.

"Cocksucker, huh? Use that word a lot, Kek--?"

I socked him in the jaw, knuckles cracking on impact. I wasn't an idiot, I knew how to punch without hurting myself, but even then, my hand stung like I'd punched a fucking brick wall. Or bone, probably because I had.

Arrigo hissed, head snapped to one side. He put his palm over his jaw, using his free hand to shove me into the wall. I'd seen it coming, but his fingers grabbed my shirt, hauling me back against the cinder blocks. My head hit the wall with a crack and my eyes teared up on impact, hands scratching at Arrigo's extended arm.

"Let go of me you gay-ass motherfucker" I yanked his arm off of me, fist flying into his stomach. He doubled over pitifully, and I debated kneeing him in the skull. I doubted I'd actually hurt him since his brain was so small, but I didn't want to risk bruising my knee on his thick skull.

He tried straightening up and I watched him, ready to knock him out if he tried anything. Maybe I'll go for his mouth next so he can bite his fucking tongue off.

"Stop"

My hand dropped, my head turning so quickly I almost gave myself whiplash. Maybe that was Arrigo's plan. Get himself beat up by me and then get me in trouble with a teacher. Fuck, would I be kicked off the basketball team?

But it wasn't a teacher standing there.

"Henry, go back inside before you get your ass handed back to you"

"I don't need your help" I scowled, hand flexing and relaxing, watching as he shuffled nervously, rainbow soles of his Converse standing out against the white linoleum floor.

"I know" Michael half-smiled, his earring gleaming in the filmy light. He was wearing all black, a few rings decorating his slim fingers. A small rainbow peace sign was pressed onto his shirt pocket and I eyed it with a familiar unease.

I heard a door open and saw Arrigo hurrying back into the autobody class, head hung low, hand pressed over his stomach. Michael walked up to the door, catching it before it closed and half-entering before I stopped him.

"You're Lukas' friend right?" I picked up my backpack, eyes never leaving his.

"Of sorts, yeah"

He smiled, lips curving up only slightly. It was small, but there. I didn't return it, my own mouth drawn into a flat line. Far from being bothered by it, Michael nodded like he was agreeing with something I said, ducking into the classroom without another word.

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2511 words

Ah, I'm sorry for the late update again! I thought today was Sunday 😅

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