The Art of Being a Gentleman

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

DAVID WAS IN a mood.

You should know by now that this wasn't unusual for the young Mr. Potosky, but this was a mood that could only be fueled by one thing.

"Dude, do you think Elvis is still alive?" Mack sauntered up to him, leaning against the locker next to his, face twisted up in thought.

David frowned, shoving his books onto the metal shelf. "No, he died in the 70's."

"That's what everyone wants you to think. I've read a few articles though and I've gotta say... I'm not so convinced. Do you want to hear my theory?"

"Not really."

Mack eyed his friend for a moment, "You okay, man?"

"Fine."

He found the right books for his next class at that moment and pulled them out, shutting the door and moving down the hallway. Mack followed him, adjusting the baseball cap covering his hair that was getting in need of a trim. "I figured since you got to talk to Alyssa this morning that you'd be a little more smiley."

David shrugged, twisting to the side to avoid someone walking the opposite direction.

"Is it because—"

"Mr. Mackey, hat off," a teacher scolded from where she was standing next to her classroom.

"My bad, Mrs. K! But really," he refocused on David, using his hat to slap his friends arm, "What's going on?"

It's not that David didn't want to talk to his friend, he just couldn't. He was so angry that the words were sticking to the inside of his throat like a thick paste. He tried to think of the techniques that Ricky had worked on with him, taking deep breaths or thinking about something else, but they weren't helping. He felt a pressure behind his eyes and a heaviness in his chest that made him want to go back to bed for a week. He just wanted the day to be over, but they hadn't even made it to lunch yet.

Mack peeked over at him, noticing that his tie was looser than it had been earlier, and a vein in his neck was threatening to burst from the skin. Suddenly, it clicked, remembering that David had been held back after class while Mack had been talking with some of the guys about an upcoming game.

"What did Stiles say to you?"

"Doesn't really matter, does it," David swallowed. His stomach hurt. He wanted to go home.

Mack lifted his shoulders, "It might, though."

Once the room for his next class came into sight, David's feet came to a halt, and he hesitated. Mack stopped too, patiently standing there, smiling at people walking by, while David tried to get his crap together. He felt like a mess. He was being stupid. It was immature to let this bug him so badly.

"He said I'm failing."

"Hm?" Mack blinked, drawing his eyes away from a girl standing near them.

"I'm failing this stupid French class." David pushed his fingers through his hair, messing up the styling he had perfected so he could look good for Alyssa that morning. It seemed silly now.

"Shit," was all Mack could say.

"I know. I might have to get a tutor or something."

"Dude! There's probably so many hot girls that would be willing to tutor you."