Vanilla & Smoke || A.I.

Onyx.

Onyx
/on-iks, oh-nicks/
Noun
3. Black, especially a pure or jet black
Adjective
Black, especially jet black

~~~

  "I'm surprised you showed up," Thora grumbled half-heartedly. "I definitely punched you yesterday."

  Luke snickered, tucking his hands in his pants pockets like the douchebag he was. "Hey, no kink shaming here. I'm up for anything."

  For someone who was punched just the dare before- twice, actually- Luke certainly bounced back quickly. He seemed completely unfazed by the daggers that Calum was casting his way, the obvious body posture that both of them were sending his way of 'leave us alone'.

  They were wolves, a pack of two hunched over, cloaked in their dark makeup and protected by their broading posture. They were threats, painted black claws bared and eyes narrowed, every part of their demeanor and look showing just how dangerous they were.

  And yet Luke stumbled up to them like a lost puppy joking about pain kinks.

  He was certainly something.

  "Did you ever find an answer key?" He asked teasingly, knowing just where to poke to agitate the bears the most.

  Thora pinched her arm. "No. You were right, I don't think anyone's gotten an answer key yet." You're right. The words burned on her tongue.

  He smirked, his smile unwavering. How could someone be so calm and collected all the time? Surely he had emotions, under all that rich white privilege.

  Did fuckboys have emotions? They had to, didn't they? Or maybe all the hair gel was toxic, and slowly seeped any form of human like feelings from their heads.

  "I could always tutor you," Luke suggested, the offer clearly open only to Thora. "I could teach you all sorts of lessons."

  "Hmm," she mused, pretending to consider it. "How many of those lessons would be about English?"

  "I'm sure I could squeeze one or two quick lessons while we recovered. You'd need a lot of time to recover after being with me, obviously."

  "From disappointment?"

  "Just think about it." He winked, turning to leave.

  The worst part was, she was considering it. No matter how she acted or what she said, she had to graduate high school. Luke was decently smart for such a prick. Maybe...

  "I hope you're not considering it," Calum said, interrupting her train of  thought. "If you actually wanted a tutor, you could find one who wasn't such a creep."

  She shifted on the balls of her feet uncomfortably. Thora didn't want a tutor, perverted or otherwise. She didn't want to need one.

  "I'm fine," she grumbled. "We should hurry. Don't want to be late."

  "We're not going to be late. The first bell hasn't even rung yet."

  She shrugged, scooping her dark bag  off the floor and swinging it over her shoulders. "Just being careful."

  She wasn't being careful, she was being dismissive. If Thora had one major flaw, it was that whenever something difficult happened, she always tried to avoid it. Mr.Irwin was calling her out on her behavior? Then she needed to sneak out of the room. Mr.Tomlinson was making her feel uncomfortable? Better pretend and avoid, pretend and avoid. Even when she was with Calum, the most confident person she knew, she often found herself drawing back into the shadows, letting him do her dirty work.

  A fear of confrontation. That's what is was, that's what she had, a fear of confrontation. It may have been slightly bothersome, but she saw no need to explore it further.

  The rest of the day, Thora did her best to hide her hesitancy behind her mask of black eyeliner and general delinquency. She was Thora, of Thunder and lighting, an attitude problem with black hair braided down her back. She was Thora, who wore the school uniform with knee socks because she knew it made her look all the more innocent, while her demeanor completely contradicted the aurora of sweetness.

  Her teachers either did their best to ignore her or their best to hide their glances. It was still obvious that Calum was considerably more attractive than her- he was considerably more attractive than just about everyone- but that didn't stop her from being good enough looking for her teachers. A few didn't care, but most admired her from a distance, less discreet than say, Mr.Tomlinson, but not so discreet as to deter her from noticing. Thora just used it to her advantage, playing it like it was the only card she had. She raised her eyebrows, she smirked, she acted enough like a deliquaint to appear confident and in charge, and paid just enough attention to remain relevant.

  It was disgusting, and Thora was well aware, but really, what was the harm? It wasn't like she did anything with any of the staff, she would never let one of them lay a ink stained hand on her. Besides, she was eighteen. Who cared?

  Probably their wives, if they were to ever find out. Most of her teachers were married, and most of them were straight men with families. That didn't mean they were morally correct.

  Thora stayed after for just a minute to talk to one of her teachers about her grade. It was a D, and she knew why. This particular teacher always put in a low grade at first, so then she would have no choice but to stay behind and bat her lashes at him.

  Afterwords, Thora felt particularly dirty, but ignored the feeling and walked with Calum to her next class.

  That's the problem with being pretty. Everyone thinks they deserve a piece of you, when in reality only a few people will ever be worth your time.