cue: confusion [IT FANFICTION]

i will hit you with a mop

I spent the first few minutes of this sort of detention in cautious silence.

I eyed Stanley, armed with a mop. He didn't seem that interested, just tiredly sweeping the floor. He caught me looking at him. "What?"

"N-Nothing." I said defensively, making my way to the other side of the room.

He rolled his eyes in response. "You're so weird sometimes."

"Well, th-th-that's u-unnecessary." I muttered.

Stanley shook his head with confusion and the silence continued. He made his way to the edge of the room, still focusing on the sweeping even though his mind seemed elsewhere.

Where we were done mopping and sweeping, we began cleaning the actual materials. I got to work on rinsing and stacking the canvases. He worked out the brushes.

The silence stretched on for what seemed to me like hours. I was fine with not speaking, but it seemed like Stanley was avoiding talking specifically to me, which made me let out a small huff of annoyance. I made sure to communicate my emotions by stacking the canvases obnoxiously loud, to which he simply didn't respond.

I kept on staring at him. This situation was all his fault. Why was I even punished?

In the midst of my inner monologue, I didn't take note of the paint on my hands or my apron from stacking the canvases without rinsing them off. Stanley did, though.

"Idiot."

I looked up at him with annoyance, and he didn't waste the time to tell me what warranted such a comment, just taking the canvases from my hands and rinsing one.

"..Oh." I awkwardly stood there, not knowing quite how to respond.

I snatched back one and aggressively rinsed it, bumping into Stanley unintentionally. He gave me a dirty look and shoved me back with his elbow. I let out a huff and shoved him back.

"God, you're such a child." He said, which was ironic since he was continuing to elbow me.

"Oh, sh-sh-shut up." I said with a small smile, shoving him with my hand this time.

We both froze when we realized my hand had paint on it, and Stanley now had a large paint handprint on his apron.

"Oh, you little bitch." He hissed, then snatched a partially paint-covered brush and smeared it on my apron.

I scoffed. "You're g-going to pay f-for th-th-that."

I reached for my own paintbrush, but Stan's hand stopped mine this time. This caught me off guard, and my mouth hung slightly open until I decided I must look really weird right now. This was a perfect time for a sneak attack.

"Look, over th-th-there!" I pointed towards the doorway, where Mrs. Barlowe was standing.

My stomach dropped when we made eye contact. Her raised eyebrows communicated what she was probably thinking. "The fuck is going on here?"

"It was his fault." Me and Stan blurted out at the same time. He looked towards me with an incredulous expression and whispered-yelled, "The fuck do you mean it's my fault? The talking was my fault, sure, but you're entirely to blame for this."

"I can hear you." Mrs. Barlowe said tiredly, then sighed and maintained a tight lipped smile. "Okay. At least you two were wearing aprons."

"Some of the paint got in my hair." Stan commented, feigning casualness and giving me a dirty look.

"Oh, well, you two can go to the bathroom and wash that out. Your break is nearly over."

Me too? I mouthed, pointing to myself.

She ignored me, packing up the last of the canvases. "Oh, and thank you for the help today, boys."

"N-no problem." I said out of instinct, still confused.

She gave us both a pat on the back, discreetly letting us know we should get the fuck out. She gave a short nod.

We stumbled out of the classroom. "D-did sh-sh-she mean me too?"

"Well, you're the one that ruined my hair. So yeah. In the meantime, you have some paint on your nose."

I began fervently rubbing my nose, trying to find where the paint was. "D-did I g-get it?"

Stan let out a small snicker and continued walking.

"Asshole."

"No, no, you finally got the spot of paint on your nose. I'm so proud." He ruffled my hair and I shoved him slightly. "Hey, we don't need a repeat of our little situation, do we?"

"Your s..s-situation." I mumbled.

"You know what? Keep this up, and you might not get the privilege of showing me where the paint is. I assume that's why Mrs. Barlowe sent you with me?"

"Th-th-the bathrooms h-have mirrors, d-dickhead."

"Then be on your way." He said with sarcasm, but looking like he was biting back a small smile. He shoved me back in the direction of the cafeteria.

See? Bitchy.

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"Bill, I really don't understand why you're describing this as if he were your worst enemy." Ben said with uncertainty. He had been listening to my ranting for an impressive amount of time. "As far as I can tell, Stan's not that bad. He's just quiet."

"Yes, b-b-but you're also q-quiet. The d-difference is th-th-that Stanley is an asshole!"

"Sure." Ben responded, putting on his headphones. I realized that in the most polite way possible, he wanted me to shut up.

I turned to face Richie. "C-come on, at least y-you've got to admit that I wasn't in th-th-the wrong here?"

"My conclusion is that you two are whiny bitches, pardon my language." Richie said nonchalantly. "Anyway, have you guys met the drama teacher yet?"

"I h-have art."

"Oh, right. Well, she's a real, uh... piece of work."

"In what way?" Bev said, looking nervous.

"Oh, if you have her you'll see." Richie said with a smug look, then seeming like he was waiting for us to ask for a further explanation. He awkwardly repeated himself. "You'll see."

"Okay, Rich, w-w-what do you w-want to tell us?"

"Oh, you shouldn't have asked. She's a complete Shakespeare fanatic, pretty freaky. She's fun to watch, though. She reminds me a bit of Eddie's mother. Ohhh!"

Eddie looked very done with Richie's behavior, as they shared most classes. A feeble, "Shut up, dude." was all that he said.

Richie equipped his gentleman voice that still sounded like him, just with a faulty accent. "Anywhoooo, she's having auditions for a show in September. I was thinking, maybe I could drag you kind fellows into it?"

"Yeah, right." I said with a wry smile. "Sh-Shakespeare?"

"Which show is it?" Ben had taken his headphones off to listen in on this, which made me feel very offended that my topic wasn't worthy of his ears.

In his ringmaster voice, "Drumroll, please..."

We offered a weak drumroll as he exclaimed, "Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you: A Midsummer Night's Dream!"

Word count: 1133

This is a bit shorter but I have some juicy ideas

Also are you ready to go back to school??!?!?!?!?!