LANCASTER AND MAXWELL ( ✔ )

chapter three.

Chapter Three.

HE turns out to be a little over than fifteen minutes late to his first period class. However, considering the fact that his first class is AP US History and the teacher is a coach, it's more of a chat-room than an actual class. As a result, he isn't chastised for being late. It also helps out a little that The Round Table escorted him to class. 

"This school's the size of a fucking Sandals resort or something, don't feel too bad," Coach Langston states before taking a glance up from his phone— Sully isn't very sure if he's allowed to curse in front of him, but his mother didn't raise a snitch so his question is pushed into the back of his mind. "You're new, obviously, so why don't you tell out a little bit about yourself, SJ?"

Moving his mouth from side to side, he can't help but to give a little shrug that signals he's come up with nothing  — unless it's something illegal his teacher wants to hear, the boy doesn't know what to tell him. He winds up telling the class that he lives with his mother and sister, and that he hails from Alabama. It's a set of lame and generic facts, he knows, but it's something real that isn't against the law.

"Your mom cute?"

"I mean, she looks like me."

Coach makes sure to take a quick glance at Sullivan's face before giving a satisfied nod. "Is she dating anyone?"

"Do you drive a vehicle that's worth more than 40 grand?" He asks.

"No."

"Then yes, she is off the market."

Then man gives out a laugh and goes back to the screen of his phone. "You little, snarky bastard. I like you already. Now sit your ass down and get this week's notes from somebody."

Sullivan turns on his heels and looks to take the unoccupied seat in the back of the room before he hears someone say, "Hey, newbie!"

He looks over his shoulder at the source of the voice and sees a petite black girl with one hell of an afro sitting on the lap of a disinterested guy with long curly hair halfway pulled up, and she's waving directly at him.

"You talkin' to me?"

"Nah, I'm talking to the fucking fern behind you," she answers before snorting. "Yes, I'm referring to you. Come sit by us."

He can't really come up with any reasons as to what could compel him to say no to this offer without him sounding like an asshole — he hasn't reached that part of the semester yet. So he just ends up tells himself fuck it when he slides into the empty seat across from them. Barely having time to adjust, he jumps a little when he hears her begin to speak again. "You can borrow my notes if you need to, you got a lot to catch up on."

The brunette shakes his head and pushes the papers she tries to hand him away from his own desk, trying not to cringe at the sight of actual notes in front of him. He hasn't taken notes before in his life, and he doesn't expect to now. "No thanks, I'll be fine."

The girl and guy raise an eyebrow. "The test is next Monday, dude," the guy she's sitting on adds. "And it's a whole chapter about that Italian little fuck from World War Two; you won't remember all of that come test time."

"If you're referring to Benito Mussolini, the leader of the National Fascist Party that gave up rulin' Italy as its Prime Minister democratically in 1925 until his execution in 1943, then I figure I'll be jus' fine."

Watching the two teenagers in front of him grow speechless, Sullivan becomes aware of the fact that he seems like a total ass and a nerd, a part of him that he has spent so much time trying to hide.