The Donut Shop ✔️

'R' Stands for 'Respect Family Time'

"Fine. We'll do it. But, make sure your typing fingers are charged up and ready to go. We have some people to expose," Tweed said in an aloof manner, swinging the roll of blue construction paper over his shoulder, nearly whacking Ethan in the face. His arms flung up and he barely dodged the roll. Apparently, he just turned into a brick wall when Mara was around to argue with. 

"The exposing of who? Your parents? I sure would like to know if they regret having you," Mara said with a smirk. Ethan couldn't help but snort at this, and Tweed rolled his eyes as he shoved the roll of construction paper back into her hands.

"Ok, don't help then. We'll just bypass you and go straight to the council. What will they say about their incompetent president then, who failed to spot a great, local cause?" he mocked, and she tutted, turning sharply on her heel. 

As Mara strutted down the hall, Ethan's eyes dawdled after her but stopped roaming on the vice president, the boy from the meeting, the one that stood up for him. His eyes fluttered on him. The boy was lean and tall and had chestnut brown hair that gleamed with a black tint. From here, he noticed how stylishly he was dressed, in a fitted blazer and jeans that seemed to hug him in all the right places.

Ethan couldn't explain why his fingers tingled when he looked at the boy, but he quickly snapped out of his trance when Tweed leaned next to him and whispered, "Don't tell me..." He followed Ethan's line of sight, but his dark eyes darted to the floor. He glued his gaze there and felt his ears turning a bright red while he waited to be potentially exposed, stripped of his shield.

"Don't tell me you're into Bauchman," Tweed said as if he had uncovered the greatest secret to ever roam the earth. Ethan let out a breath of relief, unaware he was holding, and shook his head.

He let out a chuckle of relief. "No way. Feisty girls have always been more of your type," Ethan teased as he began walking toward his AP US History class. In fact, girls, in general, seemed to be more of Tweed's type.

Tweed floundered for a moment, his mouth agape, but he managed to get himself together as they approached the classroom. Both of them went quiet as they walked into the room. The tests were already placed on their grey-speckled desks. 

"Ready?" Ethan asked his friend with a grimace. He saw Tweed gulp as he took his seat. Ethan's palms were sweaty. He would make an Eminem joke if he could. His throat constricted as he dug in his bag for a pen. Their teacher, a cranky old woman who layered herself in long skirts with ugly prints and cardigans, just waved her hand, motioning for them to start.

Ethan flipped over the page and his eyes bulged. Nothing they learned in the powerpoints or in the class lectures was on the paper. What the hell was the Greenback party? Weren't they still on Reconstruction?

The clock above the board ticked like a drum getting louder and louder. Ethan wanted to cover his ears and drown out the sound with humming, but he tried his best to answer the questions. Seconds turned into minutes, and soon, the class period was over. 

"Pass your papers up," their teacher ordered. Ethan's face fell as he tapped his seatmate to hand him the paper. As she collected the papers, the woman said, "Your unit test will be on the Friday of the school dance, and it will cover everything from units five and six."

Ethan's feet shuffled against the white tiled floor. He couldn't keep failing tests because of their study spot. They had two weeks. They had to make a plan, and they had to save the bakery in two weeks. 

***

"Hey, Nerd."

Ethan turned around to see Tweed jogging across the half-dead grass toward him and his family, receiving glares from his grandmother and grandfather because of it.