Spooky

Chapter 7

-Scourge's POV-

My leg bounces up and down with spastic energy, thumping noisily against the linoleum. I'm leant over my desk, propping my head up with one hand resting on my chin, beneath my jaw, the other crossing my chest and rapping on the desk with one finger. Eyes glued to the clock, I tune out the teacher's idle prattle—you couldn't pay me to care about Chemistry—and just wait a bit less than patiently for the bell to ring. Next period is Art, then lunch, I say to myself; my stomach rumbles appreciatively at the thought of food, even though I know the cafeteria's just gonna put out some disgusting crap that shouldn't even be called food. Still, garbage is better than nothing, I reason, tipping my head to one side. It's bright and sunny outside, the leaves on the trees a rusty red. Some have already begun to fall off, scattering across the pavement, crunching beneath the heels of some stray students milling about, either skipping or on their free period. A bit of envy flickers through me—for "security reasons," the school had forbidden me from taking a free period, ever. Doesn't matter, though, I remind myself with a smirk. I'll just wait a few months and start cutting classes. I'm sure Steel will do the same. I hear students around me begin to shuffle, packing away their things, and a glance back at the clock informs me that class is about a minute away from ending. With a grin, I sit up; the bell screeches, and I deftly swing my huge-ass overflowing backpack over one shoulder, pushing my way out the door first. It's just one quick walk from here to the art building, straight across the sidewalk; I claw my way through the mass of students all trying to hustle on over to whatever class they have next, finally flinging myself out the Science Building's door. The sidewalk is less busy, and people duck out of my way much more easily as I make a beeline for Mr. Fejardo's Art Studio. Dumping my bag outside, next to everyone else's, I fling the door open, sauntering in cheerfully. Truth be told, this is the only class I like going to; Mr. Fejardo is usually pretty laid-back and lazy, letting us do whatever so long as we clean up any messes we make and, as he says, "keep the volume to a dull roar."

"Eyyy, Scourge!" Knuckles cheers, swaggering up to me with a similar beam adorning his face. We high-five, and I snicker, amused by the fact that this lumbering oaf thinks we're friends, acting all buddy-buddy 24/7.

"Hey, Knux," I reply nonchalantly, passing him. He turns on his heel to follow me and we both trek over to the pottery section, though to be honest, I don't really feel like making a mug today. Hesitant, I let him pick up a wad of clay, trying to figure out what I wanna do.

"So," Knuckles starts, and my eyes fly to him, curious. "How was your first night in the dorms?"

"Eh, pretty boring," I lie, scratching my chin lazily. "You?"

"Same," he answers, pounding the clay in his hands into a ball. He takes note of my stalling as I drum my fingers on the table, and one red eyebrow quirks up. "Hey, you gonna sculpt today or what?"

"I'm thinkin' more 'or what,' actually." I answer meditatively. "Think I'll go draw, instead."

The red echidna snorts. "Whatever, dude." Turning away, he walks over to the wheels, and I step back, turning round to head to the drawing tables by myself. The sound of a door opening catches my attention, as well as a girl giggling; my ears prick and I twist, looking at the entrance quizzically. What I see is something I really wasn't expecting, but I also wasn't incredibly shocked by.

Rouge steps in, holding the door for a dark-clad hedgehog behind her who speaks in a low voice, a rare smile flickering across his face as she laughs at something funny he said. Her wings were drawn across her shoulders, but once she steps into the room they relax, spreading out a bit; it's easy to see why, since her tank top is against dress code. She was probably trying to dodge the Dean. The rest of her outfit, however, amusingly matches Shadow's, since she too sports bright red jeans and a black shirt with hieroglyph-esque font. The two chatter cheerfully until the door closes, and Mr. Fejardo stands up from his desk.