Team Crafted High School AU

Chapter Nine:

Punk Questin is cute in my opinion. I like the punk peeps.
A lil oocness
WARNING: strong talk of cutting, blood, suicide, death, abuse
Remember kids: Ender is here if you need to talk. Don't listen to Quentin. Message me if you are feeling down. Like literally if you are sensitive you can skip this chapter please I don't want my readers triggered be safe.
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Quentin's POV

I dreaded school today. Not because of the classes or teachers. Well, one teacher.

Her name was Miss Shuster. She wasn't old, or young. She had beady eyes that bored into you and always had her hair in a tight bun. She gave no cares in her class. You have a pass? Wait for the bell. Sick? Wait for the bell. Having a severe panic attack and is on the floor crying? Detention. I hated her. Unluckily I had her first hour. Along with Jordan.

It seemed like a normal day. I walk in and sit in my seat. Jordan a few to the right. She's shifting through paperwork as others file in. When the bell rings she got up and pulled the projector down.

"Today class we have a guest speaker," she started. Did I mention she has a squeaky voice? (4th wall Quentin) a few kids mumbled amongst themselves.

"Quiet," she snapped, giving off her glare, "now. He's here from the police station. So treat him respect."

With that she walked over to the door and let him in. Now he looked young. Early thirties. He did look nervous. Afraid of high schooler are we? I rested my chin on my hand. Cocking a smile when he looked my way. He looked away quickly, making me scoff. Can't even hold eye contact.

"Uh, hello students," he started, receiving no reply, "I am detective Bryns and I'm going to speak to you about the increasing levels of Suicide and Abuse."

Dead silence. I could feel eyes boring into me. I snuck a glance over at Jordan. Color was drained from his face. Leaning back in my chair, I raised my hand to the annoyance of Miss demon eyes.

"Yes," Bryns nodded to me. I brought my hand down and folded my hands together.

"Yes hi," I clicked my tongue, "I have a problem. You see, my roommate gets... Very sick when this type of topic is brought up. Now if you don't want vomit on the floor. I suggests you allow an excuse for him."

I locked eyes with the teacher, seeing her face red with anger. She hated me to the core, along with my sarcasm and protectiveness. Jordan wouldn't protest, so who would?

"Carry on Detective. Mr," she paused, "Quentin is just trying to discourage you."

He nodded, taking in a breath, "I have worked in the detective area for only two years, but I see that suicide is generally."

I droned him out, going into my thoughts instead. I hear this constantly, each year exactly. They bore it into kids heads. But does that stop curiosity?

--Flash back--

"Come on Quentin."

"I'm not sure," I mumbled, looking at my close friend. I was back in middle school when it happened.

"Just one little one. I'm right here."

My friend held up the razor, allowing my to take it with shaky hands. They warned us, but one little try won't kill us. We wanted to see how bad it really was.

"I'll do one too."

"Ok..."

--Reality--

"Furthermore. Once isn't enough. They will continue, and cuts will deepen."

--Flash Back--