𝐀 𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐃𝐘 𝐎𝐅 𝐕𝐈𝐂𝐄𝐒

Bonsai

"You can't be serious."

Oscar gawked at the pink note crumpled in his hands. Straddling the back of his chair, he leaned his elbows against your school desk. His brown eyes, wide under his orange bangs, scanned the fancy handwriting two more times until the corner of his mouth twitched.

And it twitched in a way you knew all too well.

Sighing, you leaned a cheek against your palm. "You're allowed to laugh."

That was all it took for the 6'8 boy to erupt into loud, hysterical laughter. It echoed off the walls of the classroom in thunderous waves and made your desk, chair and the space around you quake. He could only speak between sharp gasps.

"Ho-ly shit, this- is gold!" He wiped a tear. "Who studies to make a bagel? And Bre-Brenda?" Another tear. "I can't- can't believe you used my dead father's crazy ex-girlfriend's name like that."

So you did know a Brenda.

You shrunk back. "I didn't realise–"

"No no, I don't care about that. But what I do care about is how you manipulated the poor guy into giving you a free bagel."

"I didn't mean to."

"Whatever helps you sleep at night."

"But I really–"

Oscar broke into another fit of laughter. Trust him to find humour in the slightest fuck-ups you make.

Sighing again, you looked him over.

His ginger hair was a bird's nest, perpetually wind-blown. Today it smelled like shampoo. His brown eyes crinkled and nose scrunched whenever he laughed, straight bright teeth only the result of four years of wearing braces. Freckles dusted the tanned skin of his cheeks and neck, where a mole sat just below his strong jaw on the left. The first three buttons of his white school shirt were unbuttoned. He wore a brown jacket on top, the rest of his clothing were the usual black uniform pants and white Vans shoes.

You two had been stuck together for as long as you could remember, going to the same schools and ending up in the same classes. He was always that kid. The one who kept getting in trouble for a variety of reasons, from talking during class to setting the chemistry lab on fire due to mixing random chemicals together - that was in Grade 6. This 'extreme' end rose in stakes every year, where he almost got expelled last year. What for? Gluing every chair, desk and other equipment in every single classroom in the entire school to the ceiling, in their exact positions, like a mirror. How he managed that, you had no clue.

Engrossed in his joy, Oscar thumped a hand onto your desk, which made you snap out of your reverie. His large fist happened to land right next to your apple juice, which toppled over and splashed onto the desk adjacent to yours.

There was a high-pitched shriek.

"NOOOOOOOOO!"

The blonde male next to you stared in horror at his hyper-realistic sketch of a tabby cat - the one he bragged about spending three sleepless nights creating - now nothing but a miserable blur of soggy lines. The juice had also spilled all over his green jumper. His golden eyes lingered on the yellow, fruity-smelling stain blossoming across the parchment, before he shot a glare at your best friend's direction.

"You sweaty mongrel! What the FUCK was that for?"

"Haaa"—Oscar sniffed, still looking your way—"You're so mean, Y/N."

"I'm talking to you, bitch."

You nudged at Oscar's arm. "Deuce is talking to you."

"Eh?" He gave Deuce a once-over. "What do you wa– Oh. That looks bad. Didn't you spend three hours on it?"