fair/unfair

07.

    soooo much cursing…...not enough editing……sigh just take it 
   

   
       The remaining Foxes were in the common room, squished together on a surprisingly dingy love seat, some buddy cop movie that Reid was sure wasn't even out yet playing on the flat screen TV.

       The couch was clearly the epicenter of the room, but small circular tables were placed unceremoniously around the room–some with chairs on either side and some without. There seemed to be a communal bookshelf stashed in the corner, and beside it, a shelf of movies and a plethora of Xbox games. An unfinished game of Chess was set up on one of the tables, a Monopoly board that looked to have been personally victimized by Hurricane Katrina on another. Beanbag chairs were safety hazards on the floor, and a chalk-board spanned the far, right-side wall–graffitied with Latin quotes, unfinished math equations, and Reid knew enough Spanish to know that meant penis.
   
       All-in-all, the common room seemed to be almost...normal. Unlike the rest of the school, which was the epitome of pristine and regal and other words outside of Reid's everyday vocabulary, this room was cozy, lived-in, the clear home of a couple of teenagers.
   
      It was almost as jarring as seeing the Foxes without the blond boy, especially when Reid had gotten so accustomed to his eyes finding him first.
   
      They didn't notice him, not right away–one of the girls had her nose in a textbook, and the other two were too engrossed in the movie playing on the screen. There was also a good chance that Reid was just invisible to them, nothing more than a servant and a nuisance.
   
      Elena had Reid cleaning in here today, because apparently, the summers were when most tours took place and she had a couple of them scheduled within the upcoming weeks. Most of the spray painted hallways could be roped off, but none of the major areas could be. Ergo, the common room needed to be spick and span.
   
      Reid slid the wash rag off his shoulder and carried the bucket over to the other side of the room, the furthest away from the Foxes, and started wiping down tables absentmindedly. He couldn't help thinking about the blond kid; there was something...off about him.
   
      Not just that he was off cruising around town in a fucking Tesla, but Reid couldn't shake the feeling that there was something familiar about him. When he first saw him in the cafeteria, the notion had slammed into him like a school bus. It was the first thing he had thought. He knew him.
   
      But, from where? Reid's never gone anywhere outside of the county, and he would've remembered if he had been on the soccer team. Those were his two connections to Foxcreek, besides the multitude of crimes he committed against the institution. Could that be it? He fell victim to one of Reid's pranks? Is that why he pulled a knife out on him?
   
      "Hey, mutt."
   
      Wherever Reid's train of thought was going, it vanished within the instant.
   
      He glanced up to find one of the girl Foxes, the Hispanic one, staring at him from where she was no perched on the back of the couch. Her legs didn't even reach the floor. Her black hair had been wrangled into a thick braid that curved around her neck, across her shoulder and dangled down to her waist. She smiled at him, her grin wicked and entitled.
   
     Reid wiped his hands across his pants. "What did you call me?"
   
     "Oh, put the claws away, pretty boy." Hopping off the couch, she sauntered towards him. She wasn't wearing anything fancy, a slim pair of jeans that almost looked painted on her and a top so small it barely managed to cover her bellybutton. A thin slice of her midriff, bronze and smooth as butter, flashed at him like a warning sign. "There's no need for a dog fight. I just want to play."
   
     "I'm just trying to work." He straightened up as she finally reached him, laying a hand on his shoulder. Her nails were the same danger red as her lips, both sharpened to kill. Forcibly removing her hand, he continued, "And, full offense, dogmeat? You're not my type."
   
     From somewhere behind her, the girl brandished a bottle of whiskey. Her lips quirked. "Relax; the only proposition I'm offering is a couple of drinks. On me."
   
     Reid hesitated, glancing at the bottle. The Fox was waving it enticingly now, as if she already knew she had him, hook line and sinker. What was he supposed to do? Turn down free alcohol? It was against every code in his goddamn body.
   
     "Ramona, what are you doing?"
   
      The other boy of their friend group–scrawny, shaggy black hair, and a wary look on his face–had turned around and was watching them from the couch.
   
      "Getting drunk," Ramona said. "The movie's boring, and he's hot. What's the big deal?"
   
     "The big deal is you know how you get when you get drunk. You'll be spilling trade secrets after a swallow, and you know he's the enemy."
   
      Ramona rolled her eyes. "What I know, Nick, is that you're a drama queen and he's harmless. Let me walk a little on the wild-side. I've never dated a boy with an ankle monitor before."
   
     Reid had been so preoccupied with worrying about the Foxes, he almost forgot about the electronic tracking device that his probation officer had strapped to his leg earlier that day. He hadn't done a good job hiding it; the clump under his jeans was obvious.
   
      "Mal told us to stay away from him," Nick said.