Obscurity

IV. of sneaks and geeks

Xander was in big trouble.

And it didn't have anything to do with cheating or drinking or dealing drugs underneath the bleachers.

It was simply because he had been at the wrong place at the wrong time.

As soon as the glorious bell that signalled the end of class rang throughout the entire school, Xander had wanted nothing more than to go back to the isolated field behind his school; to the old oak tree that stood in the middle of it, amidst the knee-high weeds that were overgrown, and the cracking ground that lay beneath it.

He'd wanted to run as fast as his feet could, to see if there really was going to be a new letter, just like it said in the letter--which currently resided in the deep end of his backpack, slightly crumpled after reading it over and over.  He tossed his hand through his messy hair, stiffling a yawn as he passed through the current of students making their way out of the torture chambers that was renamed 'high school'.

He'd barely gotten any sleep the previous night--he'd been too busy reading the letter again, underneath the covers, one hand holding a flashlight, the other tracing the lining of the written words, trying to find something, anything, that would lead him to the identity of the mysterious obscurity.  Curiosity didn't sit well with Xander, so you can only imagine the horrors that an anonymous letter held for him.

"Yo, Xander!" A boisterous voice yelled loudly, turning heads in the crowded hallway.  Xander immediately came to a complete halt, keeping track of the bobbing red head within his line of vision.  Cameron, being the idiot that he was, decided that it would be a spectacular idea to walk in slow motion--complete with sound effects.  

It raised eyebrows from all angles of the hall, but Cameron honestly didn't care about what other people thought about him.

In fact, he didn't seem to care about anything at all.

Xander rolled his eyes as his best friend stomped his feet, ending his charade (with an exaggerated 'whoosh' sound), checking his watch and tapping his foot impatiently--anything just to hint to Cameron that he didn't have time for his crap right now. 

Needless to say, Cameron didn't get it.

"What do you want Cam?" Xander asked impatiently, constantly looking at the door that led him to freedom, which stood a mere ten feet away.  So close yet so far--

"Yeah, about that..." He trailed off, scratching the back of his head, tossing his red curls around. "...I sort of need a favor, man." 

Xander quirked his brow. There it was again--his never ending thirst of curiosity. "What is it?" He asked uncertainly, because the last time that he'd done a favor for Cam, it involved his grandmother's house and nine very unhappy cats.  And it did not go well.

But as many things Xander was not, he was definitely one thing--he was a good friend.

Unfortunately for him.

_

He wondered for the umpteenth time why he thought that it was a good idea to be best friends with Cameron as he twisted the metal doorknob of the door that read 'faculty'. It had sounded way simpler when Cam had discussed the plan.

"Sneak into the faculty room, leave it on Mr. Hemmington's desk and leave. You're one of the model students of our class--no one would look twice if they saw you go in there. It's just an overdue essay.  Come on bro, it's no big deal."

"And what if somebody reports me?"

"That's why you get to wear this rad ski mask!"  He pulled out what appeared to be an oversized sock that he had cut eye holes on.  This was bad.  This was very, very bad. He grabbed the ski mask from his best friend's grip, his toothy grin becoming even wider.  

"Thanks man! I owe you for this!" He said, scampering off to the exit, on his way to cause god-knows-what mischief.

Why he couldn't have just passed the paper on time, Xander would never know.

The room was empty, with only a few desk lamps for illumination.  They shone brightly against the golden nameplates that sad on each desk, and Xander held the paper tightly as he maneuvered his way through the desks, looking at each nameplate.

Mrs. Canfield, Mr. Jensen, Ms. she-gives-a-crapload-of-homework--

And finally, "Aha." Mr. Hemmington. The polished namelpate read. He placed the slightly crumpled essay atop the pile of the two thousand word required essay on the history of feudalism, and he unconsciously calculated the number of words that his entire class had managed to type up.

Two thousand times forty students--

"Ehem." Somebody cleared their throat behind him, and even though it was barely a sound, Xander could already tell that whoever it belonged to held a high position of authority. "What do you think you're doing?"

He gulped and slowly turned around, and who he hoped was just a janitor ended up being the assistant principal, Mr. Clint--also known as Mr. I-hate-my-life-and-I-take-it-out-on-students. 

"Unmask yourself this instant."

Xander's eyes widened, and his breath hitched. Because Mr. Clint was blocking the only exit, he had no choice but to oblige with his request, no matter how much he didn't want to. He slipped the mask off, his hair ruffling with it.  The authoritive figure narrowed his eyes at him--at disbelief and in shock.  Alexander Twill was the last person he'd expected to be underneath the poorly cut mask.

If Cameron had a knack for plans that required passing long overdue schoolwork, Xander's personal gift was that he could tell when he was about to get in trouble, and to what extent.

And right now, he was in deep shit.

 _

Dedicated to CreativeDreamer_01 bc she's the most supportive creature ever.