Boarding School~Ryden

Four

I'm taking notes that I'll never use for Earth Science, because our teacher is in her fucking 70s, and apparently she thinks that students study. News flash: we don't.

Brendon bursts into the room, and I'm about to look up and ask if I can copy his notes if I give him my English essay, when I see the look on his face: slightly panicked, and also maniacal.

"Uh..." I say, because it's a Thursday evening, and most kids are doing homework or are hanging out, not running around, their arms laden with.... plastic shopping bags? "Hi, Brendon. Care to explain?"

He gulps, pushing his hair out of his eyes and giving me an urgent stare. "R-Ryan. I need your help. Is that work urgent? Do you have to go make out with Jac at a party?" He breathes, and the last question is surprisingly full of venom. "No, and I haven't seen her in a while, so don't even, Brend-" I start, but he waves me off. "I don't want details. I don't care. But we don't have much time... what are you still doing, sitting?!" He snaps, and I stand up quickly, blushing. "Sorry. Brendon, can you tell me what the fuck is going on?"

Brendon turns to me, a scarily serious look on his face. "Okay. You met Spencer and Gabe, right?" He asks, and I nod. "Okay. Once a year, we have a tradition. Normally William does it with us, but he, um, sprained his ankle last year, so he decided to abstain." I raise an eyebrow. "What is this.. tradition?"

He sucks in a deep breath. "Okay, so, like, you know civil war reenactments that lame people do?"

I blink. "Uh, yeah. I used to do them with my grandpa, as a kid, before he died, and actually, they aren't lam-" Brendon rolls his eyes, cutting me off for the second time tonight. "Don't want your life story, man. Anyway, we're fucking cool, so we do a cool version of civil war reenactments." He says, and I snort.

"And what is the cool version?" I ask.

Brendon, in response, tosses me something neon green, which I almost drop. Once it's secure in my hands, I frown, because there's water dripping down my hands and onto my jeans.

It's a fucking water gun.

I look up at him, my lips twitching. "This is your version of cool?" I mock, shaking the gun. Brendon steps forward, his eyes wide. "Ryan, woah, man, that's a loaded weapon. It's dangerous." He says, and I roll my eyes. "Brendon, you idiot, this is plastic." I snap, and he sighs.

"We have to act like it's real. If we get hit, we 'die'. And we also have one water balloon, which is a 'grenade' that we can throw at the other team. They have to freeze for thirty seconds. Also, I have five minutes to prep you and it's been four, so throw some shoes on. Oh, and the grenade is in here..." He says, handing me one of the shopping bags.

I blink. "So you're assuming that I'm going to do this?" I ask, and Brendon grins. "Yeah. I am. Unless you'd rather work on Science...?"

I've never moved faster in my life.

***

It turns out that Gabe and Spencer take this seriously. Very seriously.

I notice this as we arrive to our "starting point" (the middle of the sitting room downstairs) where they stand together. In matching blue t-shirts. That read "Smith" and "Saporta".

"Hey, why don't we have matching shirts?" I ask Brendon, and he rolls his eyes. "I'm not that emotionally invested in this, Ross. Plus, I asked you last minute." He says, and before I respond, he turns to Gabe and Spencer, a smirk plastered on his face.

"I won last year, idiots, and I'll win again." He says, jutting his chin out. "Plus, Ryan has experience, because he did those weird Civil War Reenactment things. We're gonna unleash a can of whoop-ass on you two."