Kill of the Night [BXB]

Chapter 10

I spend the weekend working my ass off on Rion's behalf. I get knee-deep into a dozen torture devices, all designed specifically to go over everything he's gotten wrong, i.e. everything he's pretended not to know. Although they'll be disguised as time consuming assignments, they'll really just act as a way for him to get his energy out on paper. If I work him hard enough, he won't have the time or the energy to do his regular bullshittery. I'm not meant to be nice to him, I'm just supposed to squeeze something more than a sixty out of him, and squeeze something out I certainly will.

Monday arrives. I wait patiently for lunch to come, not-so-patiently sprinting to the cafeteria after the bell rings. I know Rion will be late as usual, but I need to be there as soon as possible just on the off chance he's early. If he's early and he doesn't come to me, I'll have to find a way to approach his table. Thankfully, as the cafeteria is slowly filling up as I arrive, I see no red varsity jackets in sight.

I take a seat in my regular spot at the edge of the table, dropping my backpack to the floor beside me. My binder is too small for all the stuff I've printed off in the library today, so I put it in a separate folder. As people arrive, I spot the first dash of red. I don't bother to look, knowing Rion will take at least five more minutes.

Five minutes comes and passes. The art table is completely full. I check my phone. Six minutes. That's alright, the time is never exact.

Seven minutes is when the door opens. I recognize him by his stupid varsity jacket. He looks shitty as usual, and the backwards baseball cap has made a return. My heart leaps at the stapled papers he clutches in one hand. He trudges through the aisle, blind to the usual looks thrown his way. I fear for a moment that he's not going to stop, but he does, and it's so sudden that I think I'm seeing his afterimage for a second. He steps closer to me, slamming the papers down so hard the table rolls a little. The entire art table turns to stare at him.

"There," he says menacingly. "Three thousand words."

"I asked for two thousands," I reply automatically. For some reason, I feel more excitement than fear.

"I spent the entire fucking weekend on that shit. I worked on it for eighteen hours on Saturday and sixteen on Sunday. Shut the fuck up before you test my limits again. I did way more than what you asked for, so don't you ever go easy on me again."

I look up at him, looking into his eyes. There is rage and frustration, exhaustion and hatred. "Does the word count include sources?"

"No."

"How many sources?"

"Twenty-seven."

With that, he is gone, smoke in the wind suggesting anger directed solely at me. I cannot wait for our history class together.

"What was that?" Tao asks gently, like he's a parent asking if his child is being bullied.

"Metamorphosis," I answer.

I read over his essay as lunch continues. I feel just about every range of emotion as I read it, because not only did this motherfucker actually do it, but he did it really fucking well for the timeframe I put him in. I feel a bout of pride, like the tamer of a lion. Rion wrote the essay like a champion, and I know he deserves a ninety, but I also know he'd be satisfied with nothing but a sixty, so I write it in big red ink on the cover page and circle it for extra measure.

The rest of my afternoon passes by achingly slowly. I fake paying attention in my classes, but instead of taking notes, I'm finishing up the last of this week's assignments. Like Rion, I spent the whole weekend just for the five hours I get with him, but unlike Rion, I didn't do it because I was forced to, I did it for fun. Next week will be hell for Rion, and this week will be hell for me as I prepare for it. I won't have any time to do other stuff, not that I mind. This is much more interesting than Nessie.