Windy Weylie

3- Get Ready for Guerilla

Chapter 3- Get Ready for Guerilla

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Gif of Austin Jones as Trevor Brighton from chapter 1.

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I was in my third lecture of the day with the most monotonous professor, it was intro to psychology and I cannot stress enough how dastardly my decision was. It's the equivalence of eighty minutes of scraping a cheese grater against my forehead. Right now, Professor Mayfield is blabbing on about the difference between anterograde and retrograde amnesia and I've wanted nothing more than to get premature Alzheimer's and forget this damn class.

Word spread around campus about Weylie's arrival to West, administration entirely unprepared to deal with the infamous trouble student from our high school. Needless to say, many people were stunned to finally meet the infamous Weylie Mai. I see her next in my "fluff class" which I decided to do drama, because at least I won't have to do homework or notes or shit like that in my other classes. I actually always look forward to my fluff classes because it's a good breather from my harder lectures.

As soon as Mayfield dismisses us for the day, I bolt out of the class in hopes of escaping that shit hole. Imagine the childhood game 'the floor is lava' but now it's 'the psych lab is lava and I'm not about to be Anakin Skywalker'. I have about half an hour before drama so I decide to go to the smoothie cart and get me a damn mango refresher. I deserve it after that torture. 

After I pay the bored employee for my drink, I sit on a bench near the fine arts building and play a mindless game on my phone. 

"Ahem, that's my spot," a familiar voice says above me. I look up to see Weylie staring at me with a cold look. I raise an eyebrow at her. 

"And what are you going to do about it?"

"I'll have you know that I'm a ninja and can easily kill you, better watch your back Ashton Briggs." I roll my eyes as she gets into a karate stance with her hands in front of her as if she's going to Judy chop me.

"Ninjas are Japanese, you're Vietnamese, Wey."

"Well, get ready for the guerilla, because the Viet Cong is here to slay your ass."

"The Vietnam War was over forty years ago and I think that joke is still too soon." Despite our banter, Weylie scoots me out of the way and sits next to me on the tiny bench and plucks the drink out of my hands. She sips my mango smoothie from the straw like it's no big deal.

"Excuse you, I paid for that, college ain't cheap." I smack her hand and grab what's rightfully mine.

"Well I don't exactly have much money, why do you think we had to shoplift everything yesterday? Money may grow on trees but apparently you can't just hand someone a bunch of leaves with dollar signs written on it with Sharpie."

"What a cruel world we live in," I say dryly, not bothering to tell her money is not in fact, made from paper.

"Fucking capitalism. Now come on, it's time for our first class together." She grabs my hand and pulls me to my feet, heat spreading through my whole body as she touches me. My heart rate picks up and suddenly, I'm nervous, but I try to pay no mind to it. As we saunter into the auditorium, we see our crazy professor in a kimono and a floppy hat.

Does she know she's inside and we live in Kansas, not a seaside town?

"Ah, this is my new student, I've heard so much about you!" The eccentric lady exclaims across the room, making every head turn towards us. 

"Hopefully all bad," Weylie answers without missing a beat, a perfect smile on her face. I know that look, and it's not good. If Weylie is up to no good, she gives off a million watt smile, rather than her usual crooked grin. Something is going through her head.

"Come come, introduce yourself to the class, we have a small class this semester so get used to us!" Our teacher exclaims again, obviously much more excited than everyone else in the class. However, Weylie makes her way up stairs, tripping on the last step a bit because of her clunky Doc Martens.

Weylie always did have a weird style. It wasn't often you'd find her without a pair of Doc's in crazy colors and her sailor style high waisted shorts. 

"Hi everyone, my name is Weylie Mai, I'm an advocate for long walks on the beach and personal hygiene." I snicker quietly from the back of the room at her stupid introduction.

"How... interesting. So tell me, why did you transfer into West so late in the semester?" The professor asks with a sweet smile.

"Because I've spent the last six months in prison."

I swear to fucking God, Weylie.

If people weren't paying attention, they certainly were now. The only sound to be heard was a pen hitting the tile floor. I look around at all the students with their mouths slightly agape and eyes wide. No one expected her to just pop that casually into a conversation, now did they? How exactly do you drop that bomb into a conversation though? 'Oh hey, how are you? I've been to prison.' I can't help but face palm at my idiotic best friend. 

All is silent until a boy in front of me shouts, "for what?" I expected the teacher to scold him for prying, but she doesn't. She probably wants to know as well. The question was damn personal, but classic Weylie, doesn't even look offended and just smirks away, she's had this little sharing-fest planned since the second she stepped foot on campus.

"Now it's my turn for questions. Have any of you ever heard of a Talullah Bennet?" A few girls in the front gasp. 

One of the girls sits up in her seat and whispers just loud enough for us to hear, "holy shit."

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A/N: loll short chapter, what a dicky author