Various Drabbles (Slash/Femslash/Het/Gen) [Ranging from PG to R]

Smokin' in the boys' Room [Slash]

A/N

SLASH. Rated PG for mild language. This was a request from JustSmileDarling on quizilla. She asked for nerds and end result came out less nerd and more...weirdo who has a major crazy-fashion complex.

Also, Star Wars references. Many, many Star Wars references. Because I'm a gork at heart.

"A man should look for what is, and not for what he thinks should be."- Albert Einstein

Smokin' in the boys' Room

I remember the day he arrived in our first period class.

It was Wednesday, four-mile lap day in gym, taco day in the cafeteria--Emily Fitzgerald had hawked a loogie in homeroom just ten minutes prior. I can’t really recall what I had dreamt about the night before, but I do know who I dreamt about every night thereafter.

He had walked right into my Biology Two class wearing the craziest outfit I didn’t think any teenager was physically capable of wearing to school without running away in terror. His torso was covered in a over sized, long sleeve shirt that seemed to swallow his small frame entirely, even the sleeves hung low enough to conceal most of both his hands. The shirt was bright purple with one miniature pocket where two neatly sorted pens were clipped to the inside.

The ensemble only got worse when I eyed his weird…what would they be? Too long to be shorts or capris, like somebody had left off a few inches of fabric. Not that it would’ve helped in any way, he was wearing pants that were plaid.

The mentally handicapped kids next door were better dressed.

Things only progressed as he was directed to sit beside me, every pair of squinty eyes settling on the fresh meat as he pushed his glasses back up his nose and shuffled to his new seat. The kid was a social cesspool—that much was certain from the first class I’d spent with him. He’d raise his hand and look down at his notebook as he gave the correct answer to every question on the board, avoiding direct eye contact with the teacher or on looking students.

I remember peeking over at his notebook on that first day, curious as to what a know-it-all like himself would have written down. To my supreme surprise: what I found was a doodle. A doodle that comprised of what looked to be himself holding out a light saber, dressed in full Jedi-knight attire.

With one eyebrow raised, I whispered, “Are you for the dark or light side of the force?” I jumped a little when the kid immediately pulled his notebook back and shielded it from my view, not speaking for the rest of the remaining period.

It was only when the bell had rung and everybody begun shuffling off to their next class that he turned to me and quietly murmured, “I’m part of the rebellion.”

I think I might’ve smiled. But I really couldn’t focus on anything other than my heart beating a million times a minute.

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Stephen shared Biology, English and Social Studies with me.

He’d mostly be silent as death during class, even when everybody would goof off and yell across the room in English, he only ever spoke when answering a question. At lunch he sat by himself, munching on a tuna sandwich in the far back of the cafeteria—which was scarcely used when it suddenly became cool to skip lunch and bitch about hunger pains during class—and I recall one of my friends referring to him as ‘social disease.’