Gang Wars

one | school life

School, and everything associated with it, seemed to be infatuated with such a boring and ultimately uninteresting aura. There were occasional bursts of life throughout the fast-forwarded days, such as the intermittent classes where the teacher actually decides to do something mildly enjoyable.

Unfortunately for me, World War history was definitely not one of those intermittent classes. In fact, it was the complete opposite. Dull, tedious and mind-numbing. I tried, honestly, I tried pretty hard to process the information being relayed to me. But everything, even the melting frost that clung onto the windows, seemed more interesting then this lecture.

Mr Alwin seemed to take pleasure in his students' boredom. Every lesson was the same routine: roll call, an hour long lecture, and then question time, otherwise known as 'frantic-count-down-until-the-bell' time.

One of the five members of my little clique, Roman Kennicot, sat besides me, absentmindedly doodling on his current page. Doodling would've been an understatement, because in truth, he was sketching a three dimensional rose. He was an artist, the second Leonardo Da Vinci as the school had known him has. The school logo was even designed by him.

His grey eyes were rare and enchanting to look at, but turned onyx when shadows fell upon them. His slicked-back, chocolate brown hair screamed 'playboy' however he was strayed far from that definition. He wore thick-rimmed glasses, square in shape and exactly like my own.

Roman, unlike the two other males in my crew, wasn't tall nor broad nor muscular. He was average, and he liked it that way. He didn't draw too much attention when he went out, and he certainly didn't get girls' hearts swooning upon first sight. But he was fine with that, pleased with the fact.

For the excruciatingly long minutes that spanned on between Mr Alwin's 'question time' and the bell for break, I stared at the rapidly evolving petals of Roman's sketched flower. The way his slender fingers guided his pencil across the lined pages, and the delicate lines that managed to enhance and render the simple drawing that I simply thought could not get any better.

I could tell he knew I was watching by the occasional flicker of his eyes from me to his rose, but he didn't seem to mind.

The monotonous ringing of the bell seemed to snap some life back into everyone in the classroom, each and every student there snapping their books shut and tucking them away into their binders, their chairs already pushed out.

Me Alwin dismissed us with a simple homework reminder before we all bolted out of the class, entering the congested hallways.

A flood of grey, white, black and red could be seen freely flowing through the singular hallway that connected all the classrooms. Years 10s had two, double-storey buildings: the A-block and the B-block, and Roman and I were currently in the B-block. A singule walkway connected the structures, with the lockers located in various places outside. This was pretty much the same for the rest of the year levels of the campus.

Malbran High was divided into three sections: the junior campus, middle campus, and senior campus. Juniors were from prep to six, middles were from years 7-9 whilst seniors were from years 10-12. The senior campus, the one I was currently in at the moment, was again divided into three sections, by the three year levels.

The year tens stayed on their grounds, elevens stayed in theirs, and twelves stayed in theirs. It was simple really, and was the way our campus worked.

Malbran High was a prestigious school, and one that was full of restless talent and potential. The school of elites. That was the nickname given to us by neighbouring schools who were completely crushed and annihilated by the students here.