The Kids Aren't Alright [Slash] [BoyxBoy]

Chapter One: [Levee]

It starts with the petals.

Little shocks alight on my wrist in short strokes. I snap my gaze from my teacher's excessively long lecture to my arm, carefully rolling up my sleeve. I peek up every now and again to make sure nobody's watching. Curved, purple petals appear on my skin, slowly shaded in.

I suck in a breath and shove my the sleeve of my gray hoodie down, focusing back on the teacher. Still, the long stroke of the stem down my forearm doesn't escape my thoughts. It feels like just the tickle of a pen, barely brushed against my skin, but the ink was dark and sharp.

The bell finally rings, releasing me from World History. History has always been my least favourite subject- It's all about memorization, and I've never been good at that.

I pack up slowly to wait for the class to clear out, rising from my seat and looking down as I exit the classroom. The halls are packed with screaming students, shoving each other into lockers and laughing in large groups. Taking in another breath, I weave through the crowds and head towards the bathrooms.

I slip inside and lock myself in a stall, sighing. I do this between most periods; Sneak into the bathroom, wait for the halls to clear, and get to class a minute or two before the bell rings.

My backpack scrapes against my calf as I drop it to the ground, making me let out a surprised hiss of pain. Furrowing my eyebrows, I kneel down and roll up my pant leg. I watch in horror as welting, scarlet marks grow along my leg, all the way from my ankle to my knee. It blossoms in small spots, like little roses.

My hands tremble. I've never noticed this before. Ninety percent of the time I'm wearing jeans, and, yeah, sometimes my leg hurts but I ignore it and it goes away fast. Even now, I watch as the burn marks quickly fade from my skin, leaving it the normal rich olive colour.

Is it the person drawing the carnations?

Are they hurting themself?

I close my eyes and remind myself to breathe.

The bell explodes overhead and I curse under my breath. I'm going to be late. Anxiety ruptures in my stomach as I grab my backpack and rush out the bathroom, towards my class. All gazes snap to me as I get inside, including the teacher. My legs shake as I make my way to my seat in the back row.

"As I was saying," the teacher continues firmly, "you're all aware of the fact that Hendleton has been quickly losing funds this year. Well, the school board's finally cut them off, and they closed over the weekend." He sounds way too pleased as he tells us this. "The students have scattered to other schools around the state- Us being in the closest vicinity to Hendleton, most of the students have enrolled here.

"Be prepared for several new classmates in your upcoming classes. They should be arriving any minute now."

He ends with that, turning around and turning on a presentation. In capital letters along the wall reads, RENEWABLE SOURCES. I scramble to pull out a notebook and pen.

Just as I click my pen, there's a knock at the classroom door. I frown. The teacher shakes his head and sighs, flicking off the presentation and going to answer. The principal, his hair is disarray and heavy bags under his eyes, forcefully steps inside and starts babbling away.

"Mr. Kendell," he greets shortly, "the first bus has arrived. Every class will be getting at least five new students, and yours are waiting outside. I'm going to need to talk to you in private now."

Mr. Kendell, his eyes wide, just nods. He looks at us, winks, and follows the principal out of the room. The principal hastily ushers about seven new faces into the room, looking like he's trying to ward off a flock of birds. They look among each other while my class stares directly at them, before one boy shrugs and takes a seat at an empty desk. The rest of them follow suit.