Seventeen Seconds (And I'm Over It)

Ready for the Disconnect

He's not usually such an ass to you early in the day, but this just takes the cake. You cannot believe your eyes. You refuse.

Your backpack. Its gone. You leave it right here, by your next class where these other kids and you have an agreement not to mess with the backpacks and instead offer a safe haven free from thieves. You know they wouldn't let anyone take it but you, so it only offers one explanation.

Troy, you scumbag. You absolute, rotting, blood fester piece of garbage. He took it. You know it was him, no one else would want to. Or try. And get away with it.

You're going to beat the snot outta him.

Immediately, you whirl around and leisurely make your way to where he always hangs out. Its nearly across campus, but not quite. You make it there faster than you have before.

There he is. And there's your backpack, sitting snugly over his feet. A girl is hanging off of him, but he doesn't seem to be interested in her. A few of his friends, Will and Tami, jeer at you.

"Hey, look! Its Troy number two, nasty attitude included! We got somethin' you need!" They laugh, point at your backpack. Troy looks at you with a slightly concerned expression, like he isn't standing there with your backpack. The girl, Samantha, gets off his shoulders when you walk right up to him.

"The hell do you want, brother. And give that back, you thieving sack of shit," You say, holding out your hand. No way in hell are you bending down to get it yourself.

He looks at you, a grin spreading over his face. He recovers quick, you'll give him that. "Just wanted to talk to dearest brother. And do watch your mouth, it wears a hole in my brain." He hands you your backpack smoothly, like it was his idea all along.

You want to punch him.

Why not?

Teacher, 9 o'clock. A cop is behind you, 5 o'clock, and watching. Its not worth the risk.

At home, though....

"Maybe the hole will finally get you off your highest of horses and make you start to stop being such a dumbass. We can talk at home, Troy. Leave my stuff the fuck alone," you say, getting in his face. He scrunches his nose. "And quit this holier-than-thou attitude, you ain't the pope and there is no way someone's gonna start prayin' to you."

He scoffs and makes to reply, but you've already turned around and out your backpack on, taking out your phone.

ok, you've got my attention. text me next time its important instead of being an ass and making a scene out of it.

You wait a bit, and get a reply once you're back at the backpack pile.

I had to win a bet on being able to get you to come over, get pissed, and not start a fight. I got five dollars from each, so now I have thirty bucks. Do you want anything?

Also, I do want to talk to you. We must speak in person.

There goes the theatrics. You can not believe that he did that. You at going to punch his dumb face when you get home.

brass knuckles to pound your face in. or a new pair of headphones, maybe a milkshake.

Lol. I will have to say no the the brass knuckles.

damn.

The bell rings, and you step into class. You're still pissed, but you've cooled down.

Maybe you won't punch him, after all. Maybe.