Lava Golem Shorts

Hunted by a Lava Golem Part 1

"My bad," I mumble as I bump into a loud and noisy alp, causing her to drop a few books on the floor of the clogged high school halls. I don't look back to react as she sends a string of curses and compliments about my ass at my way. I continue walking through the crowded halls of the school, maneuvering between men and mamano alike. After a minute or so of murmuring "Excuse me" and apologizing while brushing past people in the halls, I make it to my first-period class. The teacher, Mrs. Hertcombe, gently smiled as I entered her calculus class. I sit down in my usual seat and plop my backpack onto the floor, pulling out a composition journal and pencil. I've had that pencil since the start of the year, 2 months ago. It had been sharpened to the point where it was only about an inch long, and the eraser on the other end was essentially gone, with my constant use of the rubber turning it into nothing but a flat, unusable surface.

Calculus was by no means my worst class, but I would do anything to not deal with it. The only mildly redeeming factor was the teacher, Mrs. Hertcombe. The whole school liked her. She was a kraken lady and was often mellow and enthusiastic about the subject; she kept the class alive whenever she could, and that was almost a necessity for a morning class, especially one in mathematics. She started the class with a loud, excited "GOOD MORNING, CLASS!" before delving into the notes for today.

After 50 minutes of constant notes and scribbles, the period was over. I unceremoniously stuffed my pencil and journal into my backpack, and when I stood up to leave, I noticed that Mrs. Hertcombe was right in front of me. "Oh, hello." I greeted her, slinging my backpack over my shoulder. I glanced at the door of the room and saw the rest of the class beginning to pile out of the room and into the busy hall. I internally groaned to myself, hoping that Mrs. Hertcombe wouldn't hold me back for long.

"Whitter! Excellent work as always," Mrs. Hertcombe applauded.

I raised an eyebrow. I hadn't done anything commendable in class today; I don't know what brought her to say that. "Thanks? You can just call me Virgil, by the way."

Mrs. Hertcombe nodded. "Apologies, Virgil. I just wanted to ask you a question. I don't intend to hold you back for too long."

There was a brief moment of awkward silence until she realized I wasn't going to respond.

"Right! I was just wondering if you were interested in joining the school's mathematics team; you seem very gifted in the subject." Mrs. Hertcombe asks, clasping her hands together as she beams down at me.

Ah, so that's what this is all about. "Thanks for the offer, but I can't," I say as politely as possible, taking another glance at the door. Some students for Mrs. Hertcombe's second-period class were entering by now, a sign that I should've left long ago. The passing period is nearing its end, and I really don't want to be late for physics. Mr. Varks will probably beat me with a tire iron if I'm late.

Mrs. Hertcombe's smile is replaced with a frown. "Alright, I can't push you to join something you don't want to. But if you don't mind me asking, Why?"

I shrug. "It's complicated; I usually have to go home and babysit my little sisters and study; I don't have any time to prepare for a math competition, let alone go to one."

That was partially the truth. In actuality, I find the math team really lame, plus it's also pretty dangerous for unmarried men. From what I've heard, nerdier types of men are favored by mamano and thus get snatched up a lot more frequently.

Before you say anything, it's not like I'm not interested in mamano or anything; I just don't want a relationship until I'm in college. Some people might say, "Oh, Virgil, you're in your senior year. Who cares? Go get some pussy." Which might be fair, but I don't think I have the capability to balance both my home life and a relationship at all. In fact, I have to keep both as far away from each other as possible. If my parents were to find out that I was dating someone, they'd do everything they could to scrutinize and examine her for any potential error or fault, all in an attempt to make sure that she was the perfect candidate for marriage with me. I had to keep myself out of the spotlight to make sure I didn't get into a relationship too early. Now, if I were in college, my parents would probably not have as much control over my life as they do now. Or at the very least, I'll have enough control to marry anyone I want once I'm in college.

Mrs. Hertecombe nods in response to my response before she notices the crowd of students entering her classroom. I had a small glimmer of hope that she'd finally let me go from this conversation, although Mrs. Hertecombe had other plans. "Ah, alright. Well, do you have any plans to come to the Halloween prom? It's happening tomorrow!"

I nervously smile at her. "Eh, no. I don't have anybody to go with, and I'm going to have to take my little sisters trick or treating anyway." Appropriately, the Halloween prom was going to take place on Halloween day. Of course, the school system thought that high schoolers would've given up trick-or-treating by now and preferred to mingle with their lovers instead. While this was true for most people, some people, such as myself, still had to tend to their siblings and take them out on that day, meaning that we had to skip prom. It's not like I'm complaining, though.

Mrs. Hertcombe softly grins and takes a look at the clock. "Mhm. Well, I suppose I shouldn't keep you for too long. Go on to your next period; don't be late!"

Before she could finish her second sentence, I was already out the door.

The school I studied at was large and prestigious. Half of the rooms were filled with random electives that I thought nobody in their right mind would take. I walked by three Mamanology classes, two Mamano History classes, and three Botany classes. Unlike an hour ago, with the school's halls filled to the brim with people, the halls were now desolate. I saw other students rushing to get to their classes before the bell rang, as well as various misfits who were skipping their classes to mess around with their friends and spouses. I took a sharp right and entered the wing that led to Mr. Varks' room. I could just barely see the plain, brown door to his room down the hall.

Mr. Varks' classroom door gets closer and closer with each hasty step. I might make it in time! As I put my hand on the doorknob, the late bell rings. I burst in a moment too late; everybody was already sitting and situated with their work; some were looking between me and Mr. Varks expectantly, waiting for the outburst that was about to ensue. I mentally chastised Mrs. Hertcombe for holding me back for so long.

"Mr. Whitter, where's your pass?" Mr. Varks curtly asks. Unlike the case with Mrs. Hertcombe, I don't bother asking Mr. Varks to call me by my first name.

I begin to speak. "Mrs. Hertcombe had to hold me back—"

"You're still late, Mr. Whitter. Go get a slip." Mr. Varks bluntly interrupts.

"But I was late by one second."

"And it's a second too late. A single second matters more than you think in real life, Mr. Whitter. Go get a tardy slip from the front office; I'm not arguing with you."

I sigh in defeat and leave the class, going to grab a tardy slip from the main office before moping back to the classroom. Mr. Varks said nothing as he snatched the small slip out of my hand and threw it into a desk drawer full of near-identical slips, each with different names, dates, and excuses.

Besides that encounter at the start of class, my second-period was uneventful, but I got through it without any issues. Mr. Varks glared at me as I walked out once his class ended; at least he wasn't keen on making small talk during passing period, unlike some other teachers.

My third-period lecture was by far the easiest for me. It was Mamano History with Mrs. Woodlake. She was a fairly pleasant person; she was an amazonian who coached the mamano's football team on the side, or at least that's how she liked to say it in her class. To put it more appropriately, she was an amazonian who coached the mamano's football team and taught mamano History on the side. She spent most of the lecture talking to her players. Hell, she let them get away with a lot of stuff, like skipping class and talking to each other in the midst of lessons. Sometimes, she would give them some hall passes so they could sneak off with their boyfriends for the whole period. To anybody with a pulse, it was clear that she played favorites with her athletes, but nobody really cared. The most important thing was that she wasn't a bother to the average student and was pretty generous with her grades. Of course, all of her football players got As in her class, but it didn't take a lot of work for everybody else to get a high grade either.

"Carrie, all I'm saying is that you should definitely join the Orderbreakers. Y'know, it's gonna help you a lot when it comes to college applications. Not sayin' that you won't get in without the help of joining a sports team or anything, but it really does look good on your college transcript! It makes ya stand out to the reviewers and all of that. Think about it; it can even help you break out of your shell and grow a bond with your classmates!" Mrs. Woodlake pleaded from right beside me. For the past week, she has been continuously pestering a timid yet sturdy hellhound girl that's situated next to me. The Orderbreakers was the name for the mamano's football team at my school, the one that Mrs. Woodlake coached. At first, Carrie denied her requests, but after all of Mrs. Woodlake's badgering, she seemed to be kind of conflicted.

Carrie nervously glances around, the pen gently held between her paws quivering a bit. "Uh, I'm not sure. My mom always wants me home before 5, and I—"

Mrs. Woodlake huffs again, her southern twang going into full effect as she begins spewing out reasons why Carrie should join. "And school ends at 3! I'll tell ya what: usually, practice lasts for an hour and thirty minutes. That gives you thirty minutes to walk home! And if you wanna stop at a coffee shop or somethin' on the way home, then that's not a problem; just for you, I'll shorten it down to an hour and fifteen if that'll convince you. Darling, please, you got the coach of one of the best football teams in all of Connecticut begging on her knees for you to join her team. Not every student gets to see me this way; you gotta be really athletically gifted for me to—"

"Alright, alright, I'll try it out," Carrie says, her resistance against Mrs. Woodlake's persistent pleading faltering.

"Oh, thank you, darling! I could pick you up and swing you about right now! You won't regret this choice one bit!" Mrs. Woodlake says, grabbing Carrie by her left shoulder and shaking her about in excitement. I strongly doubted that Mrs. Woodlake could even pick up the hellhound girl. After a moment or so, Mrs. Woodlake lets go of Carrie's shoulder and walks back to her desk in high spirits.

After Mamano History, I had economics with Mr. Baker, and if you thought calculus was my least favorite class, let me tell you about this one. Mr. Baker was the most boring person on Earth; I think it was physically impossible for him to raise his voice. He always spoke in this dull, monotone voice and talked about the subject like a porn actor reading off a script for the first time. There were some rumors going around saying that Mr. Baker was married to a weresheep. I kind of believe it, if I'm being honest.

Mr. Baker's teaching method wasn't even the worst part of his class. The most diabolical aspect was that each and every student had to endure the subzero temperatures in his classroom. For some reason, it was always cold in Mr. Baker's classroom. I don't know what was up with the thermostat, but it felt like it was stuck at 40 degrees Fahrenheit. The school could be on fire, and it would still feel like winter in his room. He never even reacted to the temperature of the room either, even when all the students complained. Whenever we brought it up, he always shrugged it off and said he would fix it, and even after that, there was no change to the freezing cold conditions.

I shuffled into the classroom behind many other students. Mr. Baker sat behind his desk, not bothering to look up. We all sat down, and he still didn't move at all. It was not only until the bell rang to signal the end of passing period that Mr. Baker got up and began going over the lesson, droning on in that slow, emotionless voice.

About twenty-five minutes later, the lecture had ended. There was still some class time, though, so he gave us all a worksheet so we wouldn't idle for the rest of the period. While we did that, Mr. Baker was doing some work on a computer; at least I think he was. He had been staring at the monitor for the past ten minutes, his eyes glazed over as if he were in some sort of trance. He could be watching porn for all I know.

I felt something from my pocket vibrate for a moment before ceasing. I looked down at my lap and carefully pulled my cell phone out of my pocket. Mr. Baker was too engrossed with whatever was on his monitor to notice me checking my phone. A small red bubble sat on the corner of my messaging app. I tapped it with my finger to see what it was.

There was only one new message; the rest were from days or weeks ago. I only had a handful of contacts; there were only about six friends and a couple of family members saved onto my phone. I opened the new message; it was from a group chat with most of the fellas I was friends with. The group chat was named "The Fidus Achates(es)'" because we were all a bunch of weirdos who liked using big words. The new message read: "Do u guys wanna fuck around after school today?"

I grin at the screen in front of me, already thinking of a humorous quip—one that would be unmatched for years to come. God himself would come down to Earth and shake my hand if I made this insult, and maybe even Barrack Obama if he had the time. I typed it in before anybody else could beat me to the punch. "I didn't know you were into dudes but sure ;)"

The next response came fairly quickly. "Stfu u know what I mean. Meet me near the park at Eastview's."

I respond with "Alr" and put my phone in my pocket.

✸

Fifth-period was another class I was alright with. It was philosophy with Mrs. Edwards. She was... an interesting teacher. Some dragon lady who was bipolar. You'd come in on some days and she'd be all nice and cheerful, then you'd go in tomorrow and drop a pencil, and she'd throw a table at you. Sometimes she switches mid-class. People used to joke about how she was more of a chimaera than a dragon, which then turned into a lot of jokes making fun of chimaeras. The trend went strong for a while, but it ended when some chimaera girl got offended and raped the guy who made a lot of the jokes.

Thankfully, today she seemed to be pretty jovial, so the class was a breeze. Nothing interesting happened during the period.

"Oh, don't forget, friends! Bring ten dollars to the front entrance of the school tomorrow at 8 p.m. if you wanna go to the Halloween prom! Remember to wear your best costume!" Mrs. Edwards announced as we left the class.

Sixth-period was next; it was also my last period before school ended. Getting there was its usual mess: crowded halls, more unapologetic 'sorry's and 'excuse me's, all of that stuff. After about two minutes of going down the busy halls, I finally make it to my sixth-period class, English. The class was... fine, to say the least. The teacher was one of those who always spoke to all the men, with a flirty attitude but not flirty enough to reach the point of risking her job. Any complaints ever brought to the administration would result in an "investigation" and ultimately nothing being done. The teacher herself was Ms. McHenning, a cheshire cat who had a habit of teleporting around in compromising positions close to the unmarried men in the class, particularly the athletic men. Thankfully, I didn't fit the description of being athletic, so I was safe from her frisky behavior for the most part. She still occasionally tried to make a move on me, but never really got far.

I sat down in my usual seat, opened my journal, and began to write a short analysis of a poem written down on a chalkboard at the front of the classroom (it was like some participation point sort of thing; we analyze a poem or paragraph at the start of class and turn it in at the end for a small grade). I didn't manage to write down much before I felt a shadow loom over me.

I tilted my head up, only to be greeted with the devious smile that Ms. McHenning always wore.

"Hey, Virgil. How are we doing today?"

"Good? I'm trying to work on the analysis."

Ms. McHenning nods. "I know, I know. It's just that you seem so quiet today. Feeling down?"

"Uh, the period just started. And I'm always quiet."

"Yeah, but I just want you to know that I value the mental health of my students, just like any other teacher should. Say, if you're feeling lonely and in need of someone to talk to, I can always help. Just visit me after class, and I'll try my best to aid you."

Ms. McHenning gives me a gentle pat on the shoulder before walking away. I stared at her as she sat back down at her desk, plopping her feet on the surface of it and giving me a seductive grin. I turn my gaze away and continue to work on my paper.

The class ended an hour later. As I got up, Ms. McHenning approached me again, practically dripping with excitement over something. "So, Virgil! Do you plan on staying after class?"

"I don't, actually," I say, grabbing my bag.

Her expression immediately darkened. "Aw, what for? You're just going to leave your poor teacher all alone after school?"

"Well, my friends wanna do something later today," I explained.

Ms. McHenning's eyes narrowed, and a sly grin crept onto her face. "Oh, you boys are going to go cause some trouble, aren't you? It's alright; I won't tell."

I raised an eyebrow at her. "What do you mean?"

Ms. McHenning looked at me as if I just told her the earth was flat. "Don't play dumb with me! I know you and your friends are going to mess around for Mischief Night!"

I blankly stared at her.

"So," Ms. McHenning continued, "who's house are you going to egg? It better be Coach Galway, that overprotective bastard banned me from attending any of the boy's football games." She put a dainty finger to her chin and studied me, squinting her eyes as she surveyed my legs. "But you don't look like a fast runner; if he caught you, it'd be game over."

"Wh— Hey, I can run fast! I did track in 9th grade!"

"And you got kicked out within 2 weeks. I remember Coach Genner telling every faculty member in the building about how you fell over face-first twice in the same day."

I scoff, "I was exhausted on that day."

"Mhm, sure, were you still exhausted when you fell over thrice the following day?"

"It's complicated! Ugh, I'm going now." I rolled my eyes before turning on my heel and beginning to stride towards the door. The rest of the class had already left.

"Alright! Maybe you can keep me company tomorrow after school!" Ms. McHenning calls out. I winced, hoping nobody out in the hall heard that.

It's not like she was unattractive or old or anything; it'd just be embarrassing to be known as 'that guy who fucked Ms. McHenning.' It was seen as something you would do if you were really desperate. You know what I mean? Most men generally agreed on that principle. I say most for a reason.

✸

The neighborhood park was located on the edge of our town, and while there were many rows of copy-and-pasted suburban homes nearby, the park itself was located right next to a dense forest. The park only had a few trees scattered about, as well as benches and a small playground. It wasn't much, but it was enough to satisfy local couples and kids. There was, of course, a dirt path leading deeper into the nearby forest if you felt like going on a small hike.

I spot my friend group standing behind a brick building located on the edge of the park. The building was meant to be a public bathroom, but it was rarely used. The state of the thing was abhorrent, so it went untouched by everybody. You were better off running all the way back to your home if you had to take a piss, or alternatively, you could just go deep into the forest and do it there.

I approach my friends. Strangely, there were only two people there out of the six or so who were meant to come, and as soon as I approached, one of them spoke up, somehow knowing what I was about to say. "They said they couldn't make it; their parents were running last-minute errands before Halloween. Carving pumpkins, getting candy, shit like that."

I nod. It's a little sad that we'd be doing mischief night this year without most of my friends, but it is what it is. The two friends that did attend were named Percy and Martin; they were quite the duo. Percy was the only one with a girlfriend in the entire friend group, and he made sure everybody knew it. It often came at his expense, though, as we'd all tell him that besides his looks, he didn't have a single good quality about him. He wasn't the richest, he wasn't the strongest, and he definitely wasn't the smartest. It was pure luck that he managed to snag a Nekomata girlfriend in the 10th grade. Or, more correctly, the Nekomata snagged him. We always made fun of him for getting dominated by a cat girl, even though it wasn't that rare of an occurrence in this day and age.

Martin was the more athletic one. He was the running back for the Paladins, which was the boy's football team. He didn't get into any of Ms. McHenning's classes, but damn did he want to. He fell for her for some reason. He tried to get his counselor to switch periods, but was refused on account of him being unable to find a proper reason. I know I was just going on about how getting in bed with Ms. McHenning was a bad thing for your reputation and all, but occasionally you'd get an odd fellow like Martin who wanted to sacrifice their high school social life for cheshire cat pussy.

"So, what are we doing?" I ask. I stare at Percy; usually, he was the one to organize these things.

Percy shrugs. "Don't look at me; Martin organized it. He didn't tell me shit."

I crane my head toward Martin. He points to a box on the ground, a goofy smile plastered on his face. "Open the box."

I hesitate. I trusted Martin, but the mischievous smile he wore unnerved me. I cautiously kneel down and grab one of the flaps.

"Jesus, Virgil, just open it; stop acting like it's a mimic or something," Percy says from behind me.

I tilt my head up at Percy and scowl. "Fuck off." Within the box, I find a bunch of rolls of toilet paper, as well as seven cartons of eggs.

"Oh, shit. For mischief night?" I pick up one of the rolls.

"Yeah, I got them a few days ago." Martin nods. "There should be enough to last us the whole night."

Percy looms over the box of goodies. "Where'd you get these from?"

"Uh, my dad works at the toilet paper and egg carton factory," Martin replies.

"Really?" Percy questions; there isn't a hint of sarcasm in his voice.

"No, dumbass. I got them from the corner store." Martin retorts, snorting. I let out a small chuckle from beside him. "So, who are we planning on messing with?"

"Fuck, I don't know. I thought you knew." I respond.

"Why would I know?" Martin scoffed.

"You organized the thing!"

"Christ..." Martin puts his hands on his hips and sluggishly paces about, thinking of a home we could mess with. After doing one small circle, he turns to me and says, "I can't think of something. Do you know a place?"

"Eh," I ponder to myself. I consider telling him about what Ms. McHenning asked us to do. Martin would be all over it, but then again, if we get caught egging Coach Galway's house, we're more or less fucked. "Coach Galway?" I finally let out after an uncomfortable pause.

Martin grimaces. "Really? Why him? You do know he will kill us if he catches us, right?"

I was unsure if Martin's use of the word 'kill' was figurative or not. I scratched the back of my head. "Well, Ms. McHenning wanted me to do it. It was just the first one to come to—"

Martin brightened up as soon as I mentioned Ms. McHenning. "That's the first house on the chopping block."

Percy cocks an eyebrow. "Didn't you just say that he'd kill us if he spotted us?"

"Don't be a pussy; it would be funny as hell."

"If you wanna fuck Ms. McHenning, you could just ask her. She's getting desperate if she's going up to Virgil for this kind of request."

"Just shut the fuck up. Obviously, you wouldn't get it with your generic-ass, cardboard girlfriend."

Percy opens his mouth to retort, but I concede before he can say anything. "Fuck it. We'll egg Coach Galway's house first."

Martin grins at Percy. "Two-to-one, fuckshit."

✸

"Hey, Dad? I'm gonna go out for a bit with some friends."

"You're going to trash the neighbor's yard for Mischief Night, aren't you?"

"..."

"Be back before 12."

I leave my house through the front door. Thank the Chief God that my dad was more on the lenient side. I don't think my mom knew what Mischief Night was, but if she did, she would completely put the kibosh on it.

I walked to Martin's house. Dusk was setting in, and it was getting darker with each passing minute. Soon, the streetlights above me would flick on. After we spoke at the park, Martin brought the box full of eggs and toilet paper to a shed he had in his backyard. Because of that, it was agreed that his home would be the meeting spot for us once it got dark enough. I hop over the tall, wooden fence to Martin's backyard to see my two friends already waiting for me.

"There he is." Martin opens the creaky door to his shed. "Let me go get the box."

Martin returns to us after a few moments. Just as he does, the streetlights flick on, illuminating the street adjacent to his backyard. "Alright, nothing's changed, right? We're still going to Coach Galway's home?"

Percy and I nod our heads.

"Good, let's get started then."

✸

"So, Virgil, who do you have your eyes on?"

I rolled my eyes. The short walk it took to get to Coach Galway's home was uneventful; it was no surprise that some random conversation starter would arise from nothing for no reason.

"You already know my answer, Martin."

"It's still nobody, right? I can't expect anything else from Virgil the Eternal Virgin." Martin jibes. It had been a nickname I bore since the 9th grade, which is funny because I didn't even have the 'saving myself for college' mentality back then; my friends just thought it would be funny to label me as such due to the unfortunate name my parents chose.

"Please, get a better joke." I groan.

"Oh, come on, you have to find some girl mildly attractive at the very least; we don't want you to get too involved with this 'preserving your virginity' thing and accidentally alp yourself."

"That's not how you turn into an alp; you dipshit. And I'm saving my V-card for a good reason!"

Martin rolled his eyes. "I know, I know. But I mean, even if the thing between me and Ms. McHenning doesn't work out—"

"You say that like you're already dating."

"And she's definitely into me! Well, she will be once she finds out who I am. As soon as I'm in her class, I'll have her. But let me tell you this: I have a backup plan ready. If Ms. McHenning isn't into me, you know who I'm going for? Samantha."

I almost immediately recognized the name. Everybody at our school did if you uttered the words 'Samantha' near them. "The lava golem in the mamano's football team?"

"Yeah, her. She's still single, I think."

"Well, what makes you think you have a chance?"

Martin raised an eyebrow. "What? Well, hopefully I do. I mean, I just have to wait for her heat season and then go in for the kill."

"Aren't lava golems always in heat since they're made out of lava? I thought that was how that thing worked with monsters." Percy said, scratching the back of his head.

"Well, then why doesn't she fuck anyone?!" Martin exclaimed, his voice echoing through the empty street.

"I don't know, man. Why don't you ask her yourself?"

"No, she'd beat my ass." Martin snorted.

"Then..." I hesitate, thinking, "I dunno, then. We're almost at Galway's home, though."

Martin sighs. "Right, right." A brief pause followed. "Say, Virgil, you'll let me hit if you ever turn into an alp, right?"

"Kill yourself."

✸

We pace around town like a group of drunk frat guys, giggling and laughing at jokes and quips that we throw at each other. We finally reach Coach Galway's home after a short walk. It was fairly similar to all the other ones, except a flagpole was posted in the front yard with the American flag, the Connecticut state flag, and the flag of the Paladins.

"This is it?" Percy surveyed the surrounding area for any potential witnesses that could catch us during our moment of mischief.

"Yeah," Martin responded. Thankfully, all of the lights were off. Despite the absence of lights, he still squinted to make sure nobody was peering through the windows. It seemed like everybody inside was asleep. "We're gonna have to do this fast; I don't want Coach to see me and make me do a thousand burpees next practice."

Percy and I let out affirmative answers. There were only two trees in the front yard of Coach Galway's home.

After some planning about what we were gonna do in order to cause maximum destruction to Coach Galway's home, Martin opens the box to reveal our stash of toilet paper and egg cartons. We each take turns grabbing a roll of toilet paper and unraveling it; a white line of soft tissue drops to the floor like Rapunzel letting down her hair, except it's substantially shittier in this case.

"Countdown?" I say, but by then Percy had already threw his roll of toilet paper at one of the trees. Remember how I said that he wasn't the strongest? Well, I don't know how he did it, but somehow he turned into a Major League Baseball pitcher. His roll went flying into the trees, tangling the branches beautifully with toilet paper. A long line of toilet paper reaches down onto the floor. Shortly after that, Martin threw his roll of toilet paper. It passed through the air and weaved through the branches of the tree. It landed on the opposite side of Percy's roll. The white streak decorated the tree wonderfully, covering as much area as a single roll could. I was up next, so I charged my throw and pitched it at the tree. The roll moved like lightning; if you were a spectator, you probably would've thought somebody was shooting off fireworks. The roll unraveled in mid-air. It only ended its streak when it got snagged by a branch high up on the tree and wrapped around it, leaving its pale trail to dangle. There was a long line of paper going down the tree, outlining each branch of the dead tree. In the end, the whole tree had turned into a wedding dress.

After that, we began our work on the second tree in their yard and decorated it with three more rolls of toilet paper. We used just as much torque as before to sufficiently cover as much area with toilet paper as possible.

We began the next part of our scheme after that. Martin pulled a carton of eggs out of the box and placed it on the hood of a nearby sedan. He popped open the carton and grabbed two eggs in each hand. "Stick with the garage doors first; we can get the front door and windows after."

The pattering sound of hollow eggs smacking against the metal of the garage door soon follows. After a few eggs, Percy starts to get a little too big for his britches and throws one at the front door. Once that happens, all hell breaks loose. Every single window had egg somewhere on it. The front door had dozens of broken eggshells at the foot of it. The white garage door had yellow markings all over it. If you squinted through the dark, you could see egg yolk slowly dripping down onto the driveway.

I threw the last egg in the carton at the front door. As I did, one of the lights within the home turned on.

"They're awake—" I blurt out. Before I could finish my sentence, the rest of my friends began to book it. Martin at least had the courtesy to take the box and the remaining contents.

Another light in the home turns on; this time it's the room that's connected to the front door.

In a moment of panic, instead of running to my left, down the street where all my friends went, I ran to my right, which led into the forest. Coach Galway's house was located at the end of the road, on the same side of town as the park that me and the fellas met at after school and agreed to meet at after we messed with a house. Because of my positioning and the delay in my reaction time, I knew that if I started running right now in the direction that my friends were running, Coach Galway or whoever was in that house would see me and chase me in pursuit. But if I ran into the forest, I could maneuver my way through the shrubbery and still end up in the park while avoiding the detection of the residents.

I run into the forest and dive behind some bushes. Seconds later, I see Coach Galway and a pissed-off lava golem burst through the front door, wildly surveying their front porch for any signs of the teenage boys who had the gall to egg their home.

Coach Galway was a relatively short man, but he was fast and athletic. I had a solid few inches over him, but he would still be able to body-slam me if he got his hands on me. The lava golem who stood beside him was one I didn't recognize, though. She looked old—not like grandma-type old, but most certainly older than me. She was probably about the same age as Coach Galway. I blinked as I observed the tall lava golem from a distance. I never knew he was married to one of them. How interesting.

After a quick scan of the front yard of the house and the streets beyond, the couple angrily shouted about 'finding us' and 'breaking our spines' and other pleasant things like that before marching back inside. I snickered from within the bushes.

A twig broke from behind me, interrupting my laugh. I snap my head towards the source of the noise, staring into the dark forest like a deer in the headlights, or, more accurately, a gazelle being watched by a lion. My expression darkened into one of concern. There is nothing with me in the forest. At least, I think there's nothing. It's hard to tell due to the foggy night.

I get up and begin walking in the general direction of the park, trudging between the trees. I don't want to risk walking by Coach Galway's house again and having him and his wife burst through the front door, waiting for me to pass by. It's best to play it safe.

A few minutes passed. The forest was eerily silent. No birds were chirping; there were only the sounds of my breathing and the leaves crunching beneath me. The wind was crisp and cool; it felt very pleasing as it blew against my skin.

"Psst,"

I whip around. There was still nothing. It sounded like it was right beside my ear. Surely somebody couldn't just disappear like that. Was it the wind?

I step back, still facing the direction the noise came from. "H-Hello?" I quietly said, I was secretly hoping nobody would respond. Fortunately, my wish was answered by whatever deity is in charge of that kind of thing. I took a few paces back before turning around and speedwalking through the forest. I was about halfway through. Percy and Martin definitely beat me there by now, and these spooky noises weren't helping me in the slightest. I prayed that it was just my psyche playing tricks on me, or perhaps it was just the wind or some animals.

I anxiously glanced around, surveying the surrounding area for any animals or serial killers that could be on my trail. (I watched a scary horror movie yesterday; there could very well be a murderer stalking me.) After once again finding nothing during my brief search, I took a deep breath. I was just letting my nerves get to me. I was fine; nothing bad was going to happen.

Then, I heard a loud screech from the forest. It sounded like it was right next to me, but I couldn't discern where. It was like it was all around me.

I didn't even stop to look around this time. I ran. I ran through the forest, my flailing limbs being caught on a few rogue tree branches occasionally. Fuck what Ms. McHenning said earlier; I could run faster than the wind. If Webster or Mirriam, or any other dictionary fella saw me, they would've put me as the defining image for the word 'speed'.

I sprinted, bursting through the foliage and into the park. I saw Martin and Percy staring at me, standing right beside the bathroom we met at 9 hours ago. I jogged over to them, panting from the marathon through the forest I had just ran.

"Virgil? What happened?" Percy asked.

"I... I don't know, something was following me." I said in between breaths. I doubled over and put my hands on my knees as I greedily inhaled oxygen.

"Uh, damn, alright then." Martin raised an eyebrow at my claim and my exerted state. "You good? Do you still want to fuck around the neighborhood?"

I shook my head.

Martin shrugged. "Sure, man," He turned to our other friend and asked, "Percy?"

Percy nodded. "I'm up for it."

"Alright, we'll continue then. I'll see you tomorrow. Get home safe; try not to get raped or something!"

I took my hands off of my knees and began stumbling home. I made sure to murmur a "Bitch..." as I walked past Martin.

✸

Mrs. Hertcombe gently smiled at me as I stepped into her class. To celebrate the holiday, she wore a pirate hat and eyepatch. She smiled at me, which I reciprocated, but I quickly turned my attention to my seat after I noticed that something was different. There wasn't a particular seating arrangement in our class, but there was an unwritten rule that you had a seat and you stayed in it until you died or something. Usually, everybody respected this rule. Until today, of course. There was a certain girl in my class who was sitting in my chair. She was looking down at her cell phone, but she carried a sly smirk.

The girl had long, silky, dark gray hair. It was messy and unkempt, giving her some sort of wild look. One of her eyes was partially covered by a few loose strands of hair. She was looking down at a cell phone nestled comfortably between claws made out of some goopy, orange material. She was a lava golem; I could see her bright, jelly-like chest poking through her shirt. She wore a white shirt with some sort of band logo on it. On top of it, she donned an unzipped navy blue jacket.

I gawk at the girl for a few seconds, taking a moment to process the sacred rule that was broken by this wretched being. I feel as if she knows that I'm watching her, but she didn't make any sign that she acknowledged my existence. At the end of the day, there wasn't much I could do. Throwing a fit over a seat would be more trouble than finding one of my own. I sat down in the chair beside her, which was suspiciously empty.

Soon after that, Mrs. Hertcombe began her lesson. She dove into the... details of calculus, or something. I think it was calculus; I'm not too sure. I'm pretty sure she mentioned MK Ultra at one point; I'm not too sure if that's a part of calculus or not. After the lesson, Mrs. Hertcombe gave everybody a paper assignment. She used one of her slimy tendrils to give me mine, so half of the paper was moist and sticky.

I grimaced at the sight of the slimy paper, gripping my pencil and beginning to work on the problems, trying not to touch the tentacle slime with my hands. About 10 minutes into the assignment, I hear a "psst" from my left. I turn my head, only to be greeted by the lava golem. Her lava-like hand was placed on the corner of my desk. Her fiery eyes looked into mine, and for a few moments, I felt entranced by her gaze. Her sclerae were pitch black, but her pupils and irises were yellow and orange, respectively. I snapped out of my trance after a brief moment, blinking.

"Yeah?" I said. I was a bit nervous about being confronted by the lava golem. I recognized her; everybody at my school did. The lava golem's name was Samantha. She was one of the more popular students at my school. As what's been said earlier, Samantha played on the mamano's football team for our school, called The Orderbreakers. Samantha was fairly popular due to her skill in the sport. It was shocking how she managed to remain single for the whole year. The problem wasn't that she had trouble finding a husband; she could definitely get one within a matter of minutes if she really wanted to. She just never tried to find one. Sometimes you'd see a person ask Samantha out, only to be rejected and sadly slink away.

"Do you know the answers?" Samantha asked, whispering to avoid the attention of the teacher.

I nervously glanced at Mrs. Hertcombe, who was busy staring at her computer. "Yeah, here." I slid my paper towards Samantha, who took my paper with a kind smile and copied the answers down, handing my paper back to me moments later. Now, the slimy paper was warm due to Samantha holding it.

"Thanks," Samantha whispered, her hands grazing against my own as she pulled her arm back. The warm sensation of her molten yet soft hand made me freeze up.

I only let out a murmured "mhm" as I went back to my work. Her touch was so warm and gentle; no wonder people get so addicted to volcanic mamano like hellhounds and salamanders. It must be really comfy to cuddle with one of them on a cold day.

I quickly shook the thought of her touch out of my head. The last thing I needed was to develop a crush on somebody who was without a doubt out of my league.

Even after I gave Samantha the answers to the work, I could still feel her unnerving gaze on me from time to time. I shrugged it off, a bit uncomfortable with her staring, but I didn't bother to look at her and risk making eye contact. Perhaps she was just trying to snatch the rest of my answers from my paper.

✸

The bell rang about twenty minutes after my encounter with Samantha. I got up and speedwalked out the door before Mrs. Hertcombe could slide over and begin to talk to me again. I didn't want to be late to Mr. Varks' class again.

And yet, as I arrived, there was something wrong once again. I stopped at the entrance of Mr. Varks' class, looking directly at the fiery beast in my chair for the second time this morning. Samantha was once again in my seat. We shared the period with each other, so I wasn't surprised that she was in the classroom, but why was she in my seat again? Hell, I even left Mrs. Hertcombe's class before her; how did she get here so fast? She innocently smiled down at her cellphone. Was she doing this on purpose? I mean, one time is a coincidence; two times is a... sign, maybe? Why would she even do this? I sigh; perhaps I'm just overthinking it.

I go and sit down right beside Samantha, seeing as that was one of the few seats open. Samantha took a glance at me. I could tell because I felt the temperature rise by 2 degrees Fahrenheit as soon as her eyes went over me. I didn't react to her; my eyes were laser-focused on the front of the classroom. Mr. Varks' began to grumpily lecture the class about physics.

Mr. Varks wasn't celebrating Halloween by dressing up in a costume. He wore plain khaki pants and a light gray dress shirt with a not-so-subtle coffee stain on the lower front part.

About 10 minutes into the lecture, I finally glanced over to Samantha. I was pleasantly surprised when I noticed that she was still looking at her cell phone. Normally, if Mr. Varks' caught you on your phone in class, you would have every in-class punishment thrown at you. I'm referring to the classics like 'taking your phone away' and 'answering a question to show that you were paying attention' and 'a stern chastisement in front of the whole class.' I'm surprised he hasn't caught her yet. Samantha is a pretty easy-to-spot figure with her tall, glowy body.

Of course, luck isn't on her side forever, and Mr. Varks finally catches on to Samantha's lack of attention to the lecture he's presenting. He briskly walked over to Samantha. She was too absorbed by her device to notice the angry, old, bald man looming over her. His brow furrowed in fury as he stared at her, tiredly flicking through a social media feed. The whole class was quiet; seconds passed, which only caused Mr. Varks' anger to grow more and more. I'd say that it was tense, but in reality, it was rather funny. At some point, Mr. Varks got tired of waiting for Samantha to notice. "Samantha!" He barked.

Samantha immediately snapped her head up, meeting Mr. Varks' (metaphorically) smoldering eyes with her (literally) smoldering eyes. The light reflected off of Mr. Varks' balding head. "For the word problem on the board, can you tell me what v₁ would be equal to?" He gave her a fake, hollow smile.

"U-Umm..." Samantha nervously chuckled. She was more uncomfortable than embarrassed or afraid. "12 meters per second?" She guessed, anxiously smiling at Mr. Varks as she slowly moved the cell phone beneath the desk she was sitting at. Mr. Varks roughly snatched it from her goopy hand before it could disappear out of sight, though.

Samantha's guess was most definitely the wrong answer. Mr. Varks' sour expression made it clear that it was. His head snapped toward me. "Mr. Whitter, help your peer!" He not-so-nicely requested.

I jolted up, not expecting for his attention to be diverted towards me on the flip of a dime. "Whuh— Why me?!"

Mr. Varks groaned at my question. "Because, as a student, it's your job to help your acquaintances whenever they struggle! Now, help Ms. Galway over here!"

"Well—" I paused. Did he say Galway? Samantha's last name is Galway? Like Coach Galway?!

I'm going to be honest; I never paid much attention to Samantha. The most I knew about her was what I already told you about ten or so paragraphs ago. I know that I should probably know more about my peers, but I never saw myself becoming acquainted with her; thus, I never cared to learn stuff like her surname. Well, you learn something new every day, I guess. It is odd that she started sitting near me after I messed with her home, though.

I glanced at Samantha, suddenly feeling nervous, my body tensing up. "It's 18 meters per second," I muttered.

Mr. Varks narrowed his eyes at me, but ultimately seemed satisfied with my answer. "Hmph, alright." He grumbled before walking back to the front of the classroom.

I sent another look at Samantha, who returned with a sly grin. My mouth tightened into a thin line as my eyes shot back down at the desk.

✸

I sat down in my seat with a sigh. Thank the Chief God I didn't share my third period with Samantha. All those stares she was shooting my way were really unsettling. She was starting to creep me out.

Mrs. Woodlake wore a simple costume for Halloween, if you could even call it one. She went into class donning a football jersey for the New England Hounds, as well as some eye black under and around her eyes to complete the outfit. Mrs. Woodlake wears football jerseys a lot, even on non-festive days. I wouldn't have even noticed that she was dressing up for Halloween if she hadn't loudly announced it to the whole class at the start of the period.

A minute after sitting down and getting settled, a familiar hellhound burst in through the door, wearing a loose football jersey and cackling with a few other bulky mamano wearing similar jerseys.

"Carrie! You did excellent work at practice yesterday!" Mrs. Woodlake exclaimed as she approached the hellhound, arms raised for a hug, which Carrie accepted, pulling the amazonian into a tight embrace.

"Thanks, Mrs. Woodlake." Carrie responded with a toothy grin. She pulled away to say goodbye to her fellow football players before sitting down in her usual seat beside me, her fellow jersey-bearing mamano leaving shortly after.

Mrs. Woodlake chuckled and turned to a smart board at the front of the room that displayed a very low-quality presentation. It covered all the bases for a shitty slideshow: a chalk white background with black Arial text that read "The Silk Road" in the middle, with stretched-out and deep-fried PNGs of ancient artwork plastered on each corner.

The amazonian opened her mouth to talk. Before she could utter a word, the door opened, and a firey being burst in. The late bell rang just a few seconds later.

"Hey, Coach Woodlake!" Samantha greeted, panting a little bit. "Is it alright if I stay here this period?"

Coach Woodlake's surprise was quickly replaced with mild confusion. She raised an eyebrow. "Why?"

Samantha played with her long, misty gray hair; a blush appeared on her face. She leaned in to whisper something into Mrs. Woodlake's ear. I couldn't catch what was said.

Mrs. Woodlake blinked. "Why can't you just do it the normal way?"

Samantha whispered more inaudible words into Mrs. Woodlake's ear. The amazonian suddenly got a wide grin across her face, glancing in my direction. "Ah, right, right. Do you need a pass for the other classes too?"

Samantha nodded.

Mrs. Woodlake tittered. "I'll write them after class. Just tell the teachers that you're coming from my class because you misbehaved or something."

Samantha nodded once more.

Mrs. Woodlake put a strong, tanned hand on Samantha's firm shoulder. "You owe me for this, alright? I expect you to do your best and then some for our next game."

Samantha nodded for the third time, this time with a confident smirk on her face. She turned on her heel and strolled over to the table where Carrie and I were situated. I tilted my head down as Samantha took a seat. I didn't want to look into her eyes. Something about the way she acted made me afraid.

"Hey, Carrie! I didn't know you had Mrs. Woodlake for history!" Samantha innocently smiles at her acquaintance.

"Yeah! She was the one who convinced me to start practicing, actually."

"Really?"

Carrie nods. "Mhm, ask Virgil!" She turns to me.

"Huh?" I raise my head, my gaze rapidly switching between the two athletes. "Oh, yeah, she did. I heard it." I stated.

Carrie gives me a happy nod before she continues her cheerful conversation with Samantha. I can still feel Samantha glance at me every once in a while.

The period continued normally from there. Occasionally Mrs. Woodlake would come over to joke with her athletes before continuing her lecture, but besides that and Samantha's odd stares, it was smooth sailing.

✸

Mrs. Woodlake made a show out of waving goodbye to me as I left the classroom, which was strange. Normally, she never paid me any mind. Samantha remained in her seat; I assumed it was for the passes Mrs. Woodlake mentioned at the start of class. As I walked out, I glanced over at Samantha. Her eyes were laser-focused on me. She had her head propped up with one of her goopy, orange hands. I may have been imagining it, but I'm pretty sure she winked at me.

I speed-walked out of the door and away from Mrs. Woodlake's class after that. What the fuck is even happening? Pass for the other classes? What did Mrs. Woodlake mean by 'the normal way?' Did any of this even involve me?

I enter Mr. Baker's class, immediately being hit by the chill of his classroom biting against my arms and ankles. I freeze in place, holding my breath. Of course, I forgot to bring a jacket to class today. Why wouldn't I? The Chief God has condemned me to endure the misery of sitting in Mr. Baker's class without a jacket for my crimes of... something. I'll figure out what specifically she was mad about later.

I waddle over to my desk and sit in my chair. Mr. Baker also didn't wear a costume for Halloween, unless he was dressed up as a corpse. If so, he did a really good job with it. He sits on the opposite end of the room behind his desk, his eyes glazed over. If he hadn't done this so many times before, I would've thought that he was actually dead. Fortunately for us, he wasn't, although I'm sure that Mr. Baker wishes that he was right now. He didn't move or utter a word as students shuffled in.

The bell rang, and Mr. Baker got up from his chair, picking up a hefty stack of sloppily stapled packets and beginning to totter around the room, passing each student a single packet. "Alright, we're going to continue our lesson today. Take a packet and pay real good attention to the demand curve on the front..."

A few minutes into the lecture, there was a knock at the door. Through the small window on the door to the room, I could see a flickering glow, immediately alerting me to who was lurking outside. I swallowed as I felt my heart sink into my stomach. There was something wrong. There was some reason why Samantha was sitting near me, following me all over the school.

Mr. Baker got up and marched over to the door, peeking through the window before opening the door. "Yes?" He asked.

I heard the uncrumpling of paper as Mr. Baker took a small, wrinkled piece of paper from someone out of view.

"Mrs. Woodlake sent you here? I'm not even a history teacher; why does she want me to watch you? Ugh, fine. You can step in for this period. But only this period, alright? If I see you come back here again tomorrow for 'bad behavior' I'm showing you the door."

Mr. Baker moved out of the way of the doorway and allowed the other person to step through. Lo and behold, it was Samantha.

"You can just sit right by Michael right there— or, Virgil, that's also a valid option, I guess." Mr. Baker shrugged and walked back to his desk to continue his lecture as Samantha found her seat beside me.

As Mr. Baker sleepily mumbles about supply curve shifts and demand curve shifts, Samantha looks at me. Not the quick glances that I mentioned earlier, but a long, deep stare into my soul as if she were examining each hair on my body.

I side-eye her as her eyes continue to molest me. Should I try to talk to her about leaving me alone? Maybe I could shoo her away verbally? That always works with a strong monster girl, right? A kind 'go fuck off'always gets them off your case. Mhm. That's definitely what happens most of the time. Totally.

Taking a deep breath, I turn to Samantha, who's still ogling me non-stop. "Do you need something?"

Samantha's eyes shoot up to gaze at my own. I give her a deadpan stare. "Oh, nothing. You just look so... cold." Samantha gives me a kind smile. "You're all shivery and pale. Do you wanna wear my jacket for a bit?"

I almost say yes out of reflex, but I stop before I can commit to it. If I were to take Samantha's jacket, it would definitely help with the cold, but why is she offering me this? Isn't she mad at me for egging her house? I don't trust it.

"No thank you, I'm fine," I mumble, turning back to Mr. Baker and his presentation.

"Are you sure? I'm a lava golem; the cold won't affect me that much."

I shake my head. Whatever she's planning, I'm not going to buy into it.

Samantha huffs, clearly not wanting to take no for an answer. She gets up, forcefully wrapping the navy blue jacket around my body. Mr. Baker doesn't seem to care about this sudden intrusion of personal space; he's too focused on rambling about his lesson.

For some reason, I let my body go slack as Samantha puppets my arms around, sliding them down the sleeves of the jacket. I look up for a moment to see Samantha's face. Her face is just inches away from mine. She's too distracted with putting on the jacket to notice me staring. I can see why a lot of people wanted her. She had a very pretty face. It was colored ashen gray with a tint of rose, which was especially prominent below her eyes, giving off the appearance that she was constantly blushing. Her messy, asymmetrical bangs partially covered her left eye. Whenever her mouth opened, it was like a furnace opening right before your eyes. It was bright orange and glowy, like a pit of molten lava.

I'm suddenly caught off guard by Samantha's eyes meeting mine. We make eye contact for a brief moment before I avert my gaze to somewhere else. "Thanks," I mumble as Samantha sits back down in her chair. As she does so, her warm hand grazes against my forearm, dangerously close to my hand. I tense up, not expecting to feel her high body heat meeting with my skin.

"No problem." Samantha smiles at me. I find it hard to keep eye contact with her. Something about her is just so... strange? It feels alluring, yet menacing. It's like I'm a moth to a flame. A very dangerous flame.

I didn't say anything else to her after that. I know it's rude of me. If anyone else were to give me their jacket for this class, I would be on my knees, praising them. It's just... I don't know why Samantha is acting like this all of a sudden. We never knew each other prior to this day. I never even uttered a word to her, and now she was following me and lending her jacket to me like I was her friend. Why would she even do this? Is it an attempt to make a move on me? No way she would. There's no way that one of the poster girls for athletic performance in this school would pick a guy like me. Maybe my initial thoughts were right. Maybe she is actually going to beat me up. She's going to try to lull me into a sense of security before she finds me after school and pummels me. Or, if I'm unlucky, during lunch when everybody can see it. It's right after this period, too.

I fiddle with the zipper on Samantha's jacket. Due to Samantha's incredible size, it's more like a top coat than an actual jacket to me. I have to roll the sleeves up three times in order to be able to fit my hands through.

✸

"Scoot over," I mumble to Martin and Percy as they sit down at our lunch table. They oblige and move over, allowing me to sit down in between them. I plop my tray of school lunch (which consists of a lump of soggy meat of undiscernible origin between two dry hamburger buns) onto the wooden table.

"Why do you look like that?" Percy asks as soon as I put my tray down.

"What?" I ask, confused by his abrupt question.

"Like, you look all taut and nervous." He said, turning to me.

"The hell are you talking about? I'm fine."

Percy shrugs. "I dunno, man. Anyways, are you gonna eat your sloppy joe or what?" He points to the sandwich on my tray. Huh, so the mystery meat is actually sloppy joe. It certainly doesn't look like sloppy joe, but apparently it is.

"Nah, I don't trust them. I heard that school lunches were stuffed with demonic energy." I push the plastic tray over to Percy, who takes the food.

"So? I gotta make sure I produce enough cum for my girlfriend." Percy retorts.

There's an awkward silence after that. Not because of Percy's statement, but because everybody is distracted in some way. Percy is too busy stuffing his mouth to speak, and Martin seems to be looking into the distance.

"I think Samantha is checking me out. Do you think she likes me?" Martin says, leaning closer to me as he glances in the direction of Samantha and her clique of football players. The group is at a table far from us.

"Huh? Samantha?" I blink at Martin.

"Yeah, her. You know, the one we were talking about last night?"

I sigh in response to Martin's question before leaning in closer. "I know who she is, man. She's just been acting weird around me today; I think she's following me."

"What?" Martin's brow furrows.

"Like, she's been sitting right next to me and getting into classes that she isn't even meant to be in for the whole day!"

Martin lets out a sharp exhale through his nose. "Damn, so she isn't into me." He mumbles defeatedly.

I raise an eyebrow in response. "What do you mean?"

Martin looks at me like I'm the biggest idiot in the world. "Virgil, you dumbfuck. She's clearly into you."

"What? No! She's... She's way out of my league!"

Martin rolls his eyes. "You've deluded yourself into not being able to see her advances. Just keep your shit together; she's coming over right now."

"She is?" My eyes go wide as I scan the room to see where Samantha is. One quick look confirms that she is, in fact, coming over right now.

Martin gently pats me on the shoulder. "Relax, Virgil. You're overthinking it. I'm sure if she wanted to do something bad, she would've already done it. Just calm down. I'm sure your dick will be working fine tomorrow morning."

I don't have enough time to respond to Martin's last sentence. I turn to see Samantha saunter over to us, her eyes fixed on me.

"Hey, fellas!" Samantha merrily shouted, stopping some conversation from nearby tables and cliques as they looked over to see a trio of boys being accosted by one molten being.

"Uh, hey," Martin replied, "what's up?"

"Oh, nothing," Samantha began with a sultry edge to her voice. "I just wanted to borrow your little friend here for this lunch period." She placed a hand on my shoulder. The heat I felt when Samantha grazed against my arm in Mr. Baker's class was now multiplied tenfold, and it was getting even warmer the more it lingered.

"I mean, I wouldn't mind," Percy said with a mouth full of sloppy joe.

I whip my head to look at Percy, who gives a shrug before taking another bite. Martin also didn't seem keen on being loyal to me today. "Yeah, you can take him." He said, gesturing to me.

"Oh, thanks! I'll try to return him in one piece." Samantha giggles before pulling me off the bench and up onto my feet. "Well, come on now."

I was too busy glaring at my traitorous friends to walk. Percy waved goodbye, which was only met with a string of mouthed curses.

Samantha had to practically drag me back to her table. "No need to be so stubborn," she said with a dramatic huff. "You can sit with your friends tomorrow. It's only one day, Virgil."

Samantha eventually pulled me to a table with her clique of loud, unruly mamano. They were all taunting and jeering at each other. A few of them wore football jerseys.

Samantha sat down in an empty space and patted the spot next to her. "Come on, meet my friends!" She smiled.

I reluctantly obliged and squeezed in between her and a fairly voluptuous Jinko. I tried my best not to stare.

"Who's he?" A minotaur across from us asked, pointing to me.

I look up to Samantha, waiting for her response. I barely even know who I am to her. What am I even doing here?

"Oh, he's just a... future acquaintance," Samantha said with a lick of her lips. The sultry tone was back and more suggestive than ever.

Needless to say, things began to finally click together. She really did want to rape me. How am I this blind? It's been staring me in the face this whole time!

My eyes went wide. Imagine Thomas Lea's The Two Thousand Yard Stare, but the marine is a generic high schooler at a lunch table surrounded by athletic mamano.

I slowly crane my head back to my "friends" across the lunch room, who give me a thumbs up as if to tell me that I'm doing well.

"Oh. Oh." The minotaur says, also catching onto what Samantha is insinuating. She snickers as she sees my bewildered face. "Don't be afraid. I'm sure Samantha will go easy on you whenever she claims you."

I suddenly feel a lot more eyes being cast my way as more and more mamano at the table begin to notice the presence of an unclaimed male at their table. My leg begins to shake out of pure anxiety as the Jinko sitting beside me gets a devious smirk. A few mamano begin to make snide and lecherous comments about my situation.

"You picked a real cute one."

"Look at how shy and fidgety he is! Be sure to break him in real good."

"That guy is gonna be with Samantha? He better get used to being bedridden for a while."

I didn't know what to do or say. I looked up at Samantha, who only returned with a lustful grin. "Oh, it's finally starting to set in for you, huh?"

I'm unsure of how to respond. I have so many questions and thoughts. I open my mouth with an entire paragraph of things to say, but only two words come out. "Why me?"

Samantha mischievously snickers. "Oh, you'll know once I claim you. Haha, I can already imagine the look on your face when I finally reveal it."

I gulp, trying my best to avoid seeing the other football players at the table by keeping my gaze down on my lap. I'm only now realizing that Samantha's jacket is still around me. I guess I forgot to return it to her after Mr. Baker's class.

"Oh, you can keep my jacket if you want. We're gonna be sharing a lot of things from now on, so I don't mind."

"W—What if I don't, y'know, want any of this?" I stutter out, giving Samantha a nervous smile.

She doesn't seem impressed with that question. Quite the opposite, really. Her excited and sultry expression turns into a scornful frown. "Then I'm just going to have to fuck you until you want it."

Whatever retort or plea I had for her to stop was stuck in my throat. She already desired me, and she was going to have me no matter what. "Samantha, please..."

"You don't have to say the whole thing. Just call me Sam. It's easier to moan out, in my opinion."

My mouth turns into a thin line. I want to tell Samantha the reason why I don't want a relationship in high school, but I don't wanna do it right now, in front of her friends. Maybe I could tell her everything in private? I just keep my body still. Some of Samantha's football friends continue to tease me for a bit, but they move on to other topics fairly quickly.

My breath catches when Samantha puts her heated hand over mine. The distress I feel from the situation doesn't stop me from blushing, though.

✸

"Virgil. Sit down." Mrs. Edwards commanded as I entered the room. She wasn't in a good mood, as was apparent by her sour expression and the general quietness of the room. You could normally tell what frame of mind Mrs. Edwards was in by how the class acted. If they were loud and noisy, then she was in a high-spirited one; if the classroom was quiet and still, then she was pissed off at something.

Mrs. Edwards wore a depressing excuse of a demon costume, with small, cheap, glittery wings soggily hanging from her back and an equally glittery headband with demon horns on her head.

Not wanting to make Mrs. Edwards get angry at me, I hastily waddle over to my seat and sit down. I'm not surprised by the presence of a lava golem already sitting beside me, but I do get apprehensive as her eyes follow me. Unlike the occasional sneaky glances she shot my way in the first-period, she doesn't even try to hide her staring.

Samantha didn't say anything to me, most likely because of the fact that there was a very irritable dragon woman sitting at the front of the room.

"Remember, Samantha, you're only getting fifteen minutes in this class before I kick you back to Woodlake's room. I won't have her dumping her disobedient students on me just 'cause she can't be assed to control them."

"Yes, Mrs. Edwards," Samantha says, planting a hand on her chin as she moves her focus back to the front of the room.

I shifted in my creaky chair as Mrs. Edwards began her lecture.

As the period went on, Mrs. Edwards softened up a bit. Slowly, the classroom began getting more and more lively as Mrs. Edwards became more lenient with the students talking to each other and doing whatever.

Of course, this meant that Samantha was free to harass me without much issue from Mrs. Edwards, and she took advantage of this fact.

"So, you know what I'm gonna do once I get my hands on you, right?" Samantha moves her legs to face me, grinning as she burns a hole through the side of my face with her gaze.

I say nothing, trying my absolute best to not acknowledge her existence.

"We're going to start with a thorough kissing session. Don't worry, I'll give you a gentle first kiss. But everything after that is going to be as rough as it can be. I'm talking about an actual fuckfest. Did you know my tongue is made out of the same stuff as my tits and thighs? It's pretty long, too. Can you imagine that swimming around your mouth? I'll wrap it around your tongue, and it's going to leave you completely vulnerable to me. It's going to be so hot having you in my arms as I insert you inside of me, or maybe I should edge you with my hands? Or even fuck you with my thighs until you beg for me to put it inside of my sweltering pussy. Ooh, so many ways to play with my future husband~" Samantha is heaving by the end of her daydreaming (or, more accurately, her declaration). I'm not looking at her, but I'm sure that if I did, I would see drool dripping from her lips, as well as heart-eye pupils staring into mine. I can feel her warm breath blowing on the side of my face; it feels like the left side of my face is in the tropics.

Samantha leans closer toward me as she begins to loudly fantasize about raping me. Despite my best efforts, I find myself listening to every word she says. It's hard not to pay attention to it, really. By the end of her spiel, I'm already half-erect in my sweatpants. It's something that Samantha doesn't manage to pick up on; she's too busy staring at the side of my face to notice the ole' thingamajig down south.

Somehow, none of the other students seemed to notice Samantha's lewd speech. Or, if they did, they didn't seem to care. However, one particular draconian teacher seemed to both notice and care about Samantha's proclamation.

"So this is what you're fucking here for?!" Mrs. Edwards spat out, growling. She had her arms crossed and had a scowl on her face. All of the students in our immediate vicinity quieted down. Then, the students next to them caught on and also quieted down. Within a matter of moments, the whole classroom was back to being quiet. Everybody watched in anticipation as Mrs. Edwards shifted her gaze between me and Samantha.

"Ugh, I forgot that you were even here. I said that you were meant to leave after 15 minutes, yet I gave you 20." Mrs. Edwards huffed, "I thought it was strange that Mrs. Woodlake would send one of her football players over here; you're just here to fuck your boyfriend!" She bellowed, and the 'fuck your boyfriend' part echoed throughout the room.

I blushed in embarrassment, looking at the students and their gazes. Some of them were confused, some amused, but even most were surprised.

I open my mouth to inform Mrs. Edwards that Samantha is not, in fact, my girlfriend, but one quick glare from Mrs. Edwards makes me rethink.

Instead, Samantha pipes up. "Relax; we're not dating. He's just somebody who I have an eye on. I'm only going to be here for one day; I promise."

"To-may-to, to-fucking-mah-to. I still don't like how you two—"

"Wait, before you start bringing Virgil into this, just know that he didn't have a say in anything. This is all because of me, Mrs. Edwards. Woodlake gave me the pass so I could be closer to him for today and today only. I'm sorry, but don't blame him."

I blink at Samantha, confused. She stared up at Mrs. Edwards from her chair with an apologetic, polite expression. It was a far cry from the lewd smile she looked at me with earlier.

Mrs. Edwards was as surprised as I was by Samantha's sudden confession. "Uh, alright." She stated, not knowing how to respond to her. Her angry demeanor from earlier had softened. "You can go back to Mrs. Woodlake's class now."

Samantha nodded, and without another word, she picked up her stuff and skedaddled from the room. Mrs. Edwards just huffed and sat back down at her desk.

✸

"Hey, Virgil~ Glad to see you're on time today!" Ms. McHenning greeted with a sly smirk.

Unsurprisingly, she wore one of those sexy nurse costumes that showed off quite a bit of skin. I tried my best to maintain eye contact with her. I really don't want to let my eyes wander to Ms. McHenning's body when she's looking right at me.

"What? I'm always on time; your room is like 30 seconds away from Mrs. Edwards' room."

Mrs. McHenning just giggled at my response. "Oh, you're so funny."

"What does that even mean—" I start, although I'm interrupted by a loud knock on the door.

Ms. McHenning forgets our conversation and strides over to open the door, only opening it wide enough to allow her head to poke through. "Yes?"

Silence followed, but I heard the crunkling of paper as Ms. McHenning grabbed something beyond my sight.

"Already? But class just started!"

"It's embarrassing; I don't wanna talk about it," Samantha mumbled from the other side of the door.

Ms. McHenning clicked her tongue before opening the door wider to give Samantha access to her classroom. "There you go, Sam. Don't go causing trouble with any of the boys!" She joked, which was, ironically, Sam's exact intention.

Samantha waltzed into the classroom, shooting a malicious grin at me as she did.

Unsurprisingly, she found a seat right beside me. The desks in Ms. McHenning's class were a lot closer than they are compared to other classes, probably so that Ms. McHenning could find an excuse to get extra close to students whenever she came to "help" them.

Sam smiled as she sat down. "Thank God McHenning isn't a bitch about students talking." She began, "That means we have this whole period to discuss what's gonna happen."

"Haha, yeah, we're just going to study, right?" I stammer, hoping to alleviate some of the rapey feelings that she constantly sends me.

Samantha's grin widens. "You're funny, but no; we're going to be going to the Halloween prom together! A great spot for our first night with each other, right?" She leans a little bit closer, allowing me to feel her warm breath against my lips. I almost think she's going to kiss me.

I gulped, leaning back. "I—I can't go to the prom; I have to take care of my sisters on Halloween."

Samantha's shit-eating smile falls off her face. "Ugh, really? You have sisters? Fine, but you better be there at 9 p.m. at the latest."

"What? The prom starts at 8 and ends at 10:50. We'll have plenty of time to... talk, or something. Can I come at 9:50 instead?"

Samantha only growls in response, showing the two of us who has more leverage in this conversation.

"Okay, fine, I'll try to be there by 9:20."

Samantha exhales through her nose, still a bit frustrated. "Fine, but you're gonna owe me extra time for our first."

"S-Sam, respectfully, I don't really know you, and I don't want our first encounter to be... y'know, rape."

"Which is why you have to be at the prom, so we could have all the time in the world to talk; the rape comes after."

"That's not what I mean! You're trying to force me to go there in order to seduce me or something, and if I'm not willing by the end, you're going to just take me!" I whisper-shouted, trying to make sure that nobody heard me. I'm sure the students surrounding me and Samantha are getting a hell of an experience.

Samantha pulls away, studying my expression. "Hmph, fine, you may be there at 9:40, but no more than that!"

I blink at Samantha, appalled by her audacity to respond like that. It felt like she hadn't even heard my argument. I'm about to voice my opinions, but then a curious yet jovial voice chirps up from behind me.

"Samantha, didn't I tell you to not mess around with any of the boys?" Ms. McHenning teases. "Oh, and with Virgil too? Great choice; he's a good boy." She giggles, ruffling my hair with an unwanted paw. I swear I could see Samantha's eyes get a little bit brighter as McHenning's hand made contact with my head. Her eye twitches, as if she's holding back some anger.

"So, are you two gonna go to the Halloween prom together?" Ms. McHenning asks, not noticing Sam's glare.

"Uhh," I turn to Samantha.

"Yes," Samantha plainly states, her eyes shifting over to me.

"Ohh, good! Have fun, you two!"

And with that, Ms. McHenning left to tend to other matters (other matters meaning continuing to try to seduce the athletes in my class).

"Did you like that?" Samantha suddenly spoke in a low tone.

"Sorry?"

"Did you like it when she did that?"

"Sam, I don't know what you mean."

"Virgil," she growled, "when she ruffled your hair, did you like it?"

I shift uneasily, not necessarily a huge fan of Samantha's intimidating aura. "It felt alright, I guess."

Samantha's eyes seem to light up even more in fury. "Do you want me to do that with you? I can give you way better head pats than her."

"I—I don't think that's necessary—" I begin, but by then a warm, claw-like hand is placed on top of my head.

Samantha begins to knead and massage my scalp with her hand. It felt like a non-shitty version of a fever, if that makes sense.

I kind of just sat there, closing my eyes and taking in the moment, before Samantha pulled her hand away with a smirk. "So, was that better?"

"Huh? Oh, sure." I mumble, momentarily forgetting what that was about. I patted down my ruffled hair with both of my hands.

"Are you sure? You didn't sound sure." Samantha got closer to me again, her chair squeaking as she got closer to me.

"Yes, yes! I'm sure!" I exclaim.

Samantha apparently found that an adequate answer and reclined a little. "So, what are you gonna dress up as?" She asks.

"Dress up? You mean for Halloween?"

"Pssh, no. I meant what are you gonna dress up as for Thanksgiving; of course I mean Halloween, dumbass." Samantha snickers.

I scoff. "Sam, I'm a senior in high school. Why would I dress up for Halloween?"

"Jesus, I don't know; maybe if you weren't so boring and actually enjoyed life." She jokes (at least I think she did), "What does being a senior have to do with dressing up?"

"Y'know, being 'too old' and everything?" I reply.

"Yeah, and?"

"What?"

"Ugh, don't tell me your only excuse for not celebrating Halloween is being 'too old'."

"Sam, it's a holiday where children dress up as ghosts and beg strangers for candy."

"Only children? Everybody I know still trick-or-treats! Me and a few girls from the football team are gonna go at 7."

I sit there, both amused and surprised at the same time. This was the same Samantha who had a reputation for being one of the most aggressive football players at our school, as well as the same one who was talking about raping me less than an hour ago.

"Well, I still don't have a costume, and it's probably too late to get one anyway."

"Do you not keep your old Halloween costumes?"

"Eh? I mean," I pause to think for a moment. I do recall a few outfits that I have stashed away in a closet somewhere. My parents always made me hold onto them because my sisters would eventually grow into them, which spares my parents the time and money it takes to buy more costumes. "I guess I do."

"Good! So just wear one of them!"

"Fine." I sigh. I don't really have much of a say in this anymore.

We sit in an awkward silence, with Sam using this time to blankly stare at me and smile. I slowly began to notice that Samantha's mood seemed to have mellowed out during the conversation. The rapey tone she carries is gone and is replaced with something a lot more... alluring, comforting, even.

"I—I should probably finish up with my work," I mumble, looking down at the handout, which I just noticed was on my desk. Ms. McHenning must've put it there during our conversation earlier.

"That's fine. I'll just be here, admiring you."

I fumble with my mechanical pencil and dried-out yellow highlighter and begin to annotate the excerpt on the paper. Christ, it feels like I'm sitting right next to a radiator. I sweat a bit from Samantha's body heat, as well as the feeling of being stared at.

After about 5 minutes, Samantha asks another question. "Will your parents care if you're absent from any classes?"

"If it's not a lot, then no. Why?"

"Because why would I wanna spend time in AP Mamanology when I could be with my little ember instead~"

"You take AP classes— wait, little ember?" I question, pausing my work.

Samantha giggles. "Yeah, little ember. That's a cute lil' nickname for you, isn't it? And yeah, of course I take AP stuff. Did you really think I was just a mindless brute?"

I kind of wanted to say 'yeah' but I felt like that would result in me getting body-slammed in front of the whole class. I just focused on the 'little ember' part instead. "D—Don't call me that; you already know my name!"

"Don't be so boring, Virgil. Every mamano has adorable nicknames for their adorable hubbies. Like, you know all of those buff guys married to manticores still get called 'prey' in the bedroom, right?"

"It's still embarrassing to be called that! And embers are already small, even without the 'little' part!"

"Okay, well, maybe you're just an extra small ember? Did ya ever think of that?"

"I'm five-foot-ten, Sam! That's not small at all!"

"Ugh, whatever. You know you'll grow used to it eventually."

I dramatically exhale through my nose and turn back to my work. I wasn't actually mad at her; it was just to show that I was done with the conversation.

Eventually, the bell rings, signaling it's time to go home. Samantha grabs her bag and winks at me with an orange eye before walking out. "See you at 9:40!"

I roll my eyes as I pack up my stuff and turn in my work, which wasn't even finished due to the lengthy conversation Samantha and I had at the start of class.

I began the commute home; it was a short distance from my school. I made frequent checks to see if Samantha was following. I'm not necessarily a paranoid person, but who knows how far she'd be willing to go if she followed me for the whole day at school today.

Thankfully, I don't spot her at all during my walk, and I make it home unscathed and unraped. Well, she did mention that it was going to happen later tonight. I shouldn't celebrate yet. A long day was ahead of me, after all.