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.