Disaster Class

02. a complete and total mess

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𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝟐
" 𝐚 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐭𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐨𝐭𝐚𝐥 𝐦𝐞𝐬𝐬 "
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          I storm out of the exam room with an air of dignity and derring-do. My classmates' baffled stares and dropped jaws give me a ridiculous sense of power. I feel like a goddamn rockstar.

But as soon as I make it to the hallways and I am utterly alone, I explode. My fist slams against a locker, once, twice -- I'm losing count. The clanging echoes across the empty hall. A sharp pain spreads across my hand.

"Fuck!" I hiss, shaking the pain off. It doesn't help. My knuckles are bleeding. What else did I expect? God, what an idiot.

I look at the locker and notice I've dented the metal surface. Destruction of school property and cheating all in one hour? Wow. For someone with a 4.3 average, I sure am making a lot of stupid decisions today.

It's all this anger that's clouding my better judgment. I'm what my mother calls "a violent hothead." I've always denied it, but this dented locker is damning evidence.

I need to cool off.

I rush to the nearest boy's room. As soon as I enter, the overwhelming smell of bleach floods my nose. I ignore it and head to the sink. I slap the faucet on, which is another stupid decision what with the damaged hand and all.

The cool water soothes the pain to some extent. I wash the blood off my knuckles as gently as I can. Just a mild abrasion; should definitely get a bandage wrapped around it soon, though.

In the lull of the bathroom and the comedown from my rage, I start thinking about the repercussions of my misdemeanors. How bad will it be? Detention? Expulsion? Damage fees for the stupid locker?

Dr. Mom will not be pleased, that's a given. God, I am not looking forward to that discussion. Maybe Dad will back me up.

Sighing, I cup some water in my palm and wash my face. A couple more splashes, and I turn the tap off.

I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror. Wet. Tired. Pathetic.

"This is your fault," I say, pointing at my reflection. He points back at me.

Then I see a stall door swing open behind me. I whip around just in time to see another student emerge. He pauses when he sees me; there's a split second of us just staring at each other. Suddenly, I feel intimidated. I don't know if it's because of those piercing dark eyes, or those pouty lips scowling at me, or those broad shoulders befitting of a quarterback. 

He's leaning against the bathroom door like his knees are gonna buckle as soon as he pushes off. His eyes are a little misty, his nose a little red. His uniform is a disaster – necktie loose and swept up on his shoulder, poorly-ironed shirt untucked. And is that vomit on his chin? Gross. He looks — and this is an understatement — like a complete and total mess.

I don't really socialize outside the A-Class because... why would I? Students from the low end of the academic hierarchy just aren't worth my time. But even though I don't interact with those people, I do remember faces, and I am positive that I've never seen this guy before.

Is he new? He looks too old to be a freshman. A transferee maybe? Whatever he is, he has to know the rules.

"You're not supposed to be out here," I say. Students aren't allowed to go out during exams. Well, unless they were specifically kicked out of the room. You know, like me.