Chapter 6: Bad Blood

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It was only second period and the day was already shit, once Mr. Johnson had announced an AP World History project. To make matters worse, it was a partner project. How wonderful.

"Adam. And Kyle."

"Julia. And Robert."

"It's Bob!" A junior boy raised his hand high into the air.

Mr. Johnson rolled his eyes, "Okay, Bob." The disgusting roll of his tongue was surely enough to make Bob wish he were called Robert instead.

"Ravenna. And Winston."

Motherfucker. A few desks away, she heard the agonizing sound of a pencil smacking against the wooden desk. Seems like he wasn't too happy about it either. Well, at least they had one thing in common. Neither wanted the other as a partner. Fuck, Winston barely even tried. What was he even thinking when he chose an AP class?

Several other pairs were named by the teacher, before Mr. Johnson's booming voice cut sharp, "I want you to move your seats to your partner and you are to work together until the period ends. Start now." He swatted his hand to gesture everyone to move, as he slowly retreated to his own desk, where a cup of coffee and a newspaper were waiting patiently for him.

Ravenna's eyes shot towards Winston, who had his head buried in his folded arms. Man, did he really hate her that much? Oh, well. She didn't like him either. At least they were even. After a solid ten seconds, she realized he wasn't going to move to her, so she dragged her chair noisily towards him instead. Mr. Johnson gave a glare in her general direction, before returning to his seemingly intriguing newspaper article.

"Hey," she nudged his shoulder, his head still buried in his grey, ruffled arm sleeves.

His head shot up at the touch, eyes glaring. Just when she expected him to cuss her out, he released a heavy sigh, before scooting his pencil box to the side to make room.

"So," she began, "A poster project seems to be the easiest and quickest option we have, so we can just-- hey. Are you even listening to me?"

His eyes fixed on the desk, fingers running through his light-colored hair continuously, flying chunks of hair strands until it became a literal bird's nest. It sure was a beautiful bird's nest, despite his hair sticking in all the wrong places. Suddenly, a bang sounded from beneath their feet.

"Stop kicking the damn table!" She said, hoping it wasn't loud enough for the teacher to hear. Luckily, Mr. Johnson was undisturbed at the other side of the room.

"Stop talking to me!" He yelled back, as a few glances were aimed in their direction.

"Do not talk to me like that."

"You shut the fuck up first, motherfucking--" Several more vulgar curses, some turning into creative compound words that Ravenna had never heard of in her life. Anger flushed to her cheeks, blood boiling at his words. He had no fucking right to say that. But then, she quickly realized the curses weren't aimed at her specifically. The anger was replaced by irritation, "What's the matter with you, anyway?"

"The cops are so fucking stupid!" He burst out, hands gripping his messy hair, tugging and tugging, until she placed her hand on his to make him stop. It was too painful to watch him attempt to pull out 50 percent of his lovely hair.

His hands, unable to express their anger on his scalp, instead went to the edge of the desk, grasping it so tightly that his knuckles turned white. "Motherfucking, stupid little cunt--" An infinite amount of the most vulgar curses were spat with venom, as he kicked on the desk legs, shaking the table until it was ready to topple over.

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