DELINQUENT | C. SPRINGER

My Dirty Little Secret

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Ceramics. The class where you think you're artistic until it comes to shaping a clay pot and it crumbles over every three seconds.

You press the back of your hand into your forehead with a frown, trying not to get clay into your hair or on your face. Why couldn't you have been blessed with some sort of artistic ability? You're happy with your above average intelligence but no one really cares about that. You don't brag to someone "oh I like to do math problems for fun." No, they like to hear about fun hobbies. Playing guitar. Dancing. Being a chess master.

You really need to get a hobby.

"Alright you guys clean up before the bell rings," your teacher states from the seat at her desk.

You first smush your failed clay pot up and shove it back in a bag to keep moist and then wash your clay ridden hands off and hang up your apron.

"Nice pot," Marco comes up to you with his sweet genuine smile. A smile he gives to everyone.

"Yeah it's kind of a work in progress," you laugh lightly, sort of embarrassed by your sculpture. "What are you working on?" He points at the rack of projects and you see his is a beautifully sculpted bowl. "Oh wow. That's good."

"It's my third year in ceramics," he blushes. "Im hoping I'd be good at it by now."

You frown at your bag of blob and cringe. "Yeah... I get one term of this so I don't have high hopes for my skill to improve."

"I'm sure it will. Have some faith," he chuckles and starts walking for the door since the bell is about to ring.

Marco is one of your favorite people at school even though you've only talked to him a handful of times. He's nice to everyone and he's someone anyone can count on. He's been that way since 1st grade when he moved to town. You wish there were more students like him at school but it seems he's one of a kind. Well besides Armin. Armin is also kind like Marco. You wonder how they ended up in the same group as Reiner, Eren, and the others.

The bell rings and you head over to the office for your third period class. You enjoy being an office aide because the time goes by quickly and you hardly have to do anything. This is actually your fourth year being one.

"Hey," you set your backpack down by your desk and take a seat.

"Hey, y/n. Glad you're back this year," Mr. O'Brien smiles at you from his seat at the receptionist desk. "I'm going to need you to finish handing out this years schedule to the classrooms. The stack is right in front of you with a checklist for each class that still needs them. Just hand them to the teachers."

"Sounds good," you grab the stack of schedules and your 'Office Aide' pass, then take your leave.

The hallways are empty except for the occasional straggling student. It's nice to not have to maneuver your way through groups of people when you need to get somewhere.

You get through four of the six classes with no issues and now you're upstairs in the science hall. There's commotion going on on the other side of the door, so you walk in and try to locate the teacher among all the students who are working on some sort of experiment.

You recognize a few of them, one in particular more than the others. Connie is leaning over the table, his arms stretched out straight down and his hands gripping the edge of the table, the outline of his broad shoulders peeking through his loose black shirt. He's talking with Jean, completely engrossed in the experiment in front of them. So now you have to find the teacher and do your best to avoid Connie. At least now you know what class he's in so you can steer clear of it.