Graffiti on the Walls, Slashes on the Door

1. Incite

I tend to stay away from trouble. 

This means that, as I'm hurrying to AP Chemistry, I avoid the Radio gang and their raucous laughter, ducks around the Beachheads recovering from last night's booze, and the little pockets of socializing people loitering in the hall. 

I'm the first in the class--as usual. Mr. Ellis smiles at me from his desk. 

A few Miscellaneous wander in before the bell--not true Scholars, but not wealthy enough to pay their way to good grades in every class through the "IT professional" and thus wanting of actual education.

As the last majority of the class walks in, Mr. Ellis stands up hopefully. "So today we'll be learning about the chemical properties of ethanol. Anyone?" The class is silent. I answer the question, as usual, when no one else does. 

Daniel Ellis is a recent college graduate with a passion for chemistry, a passion that is quickly waning from the shocking lack of interest from rich high school kids he teaches. I feel bad for him, so occasionally I'll read up on the science community to chat with him a little while before school or during my study hall. 

Mr. Ellis somberly discusses the next lab we will do, energy drained for the day. I take this time to sweep a glance around my class and make sure no one has suddenly decided to target me. I'm the only one here with significant enough standing to be bothered who isn't in a legitimate gang. I'm a Scholar, though, and there are a few important people who support me and my peers--that's enough to keep everyone away from me for today, as well, judging by their disinterested gazes.

There's a knock on the door, and then Respect Lannings walks into class.

Now. There are a few things wrong with this statement. 

First, Respect Lannings doesn't go to class. Teachers mark his attendance occasionally and Respect is certainly seen in dealings at school, but never in an actual, functioning classroom. 

Second, Respect Lannings runs the most notorious gang operating from Jameswell Preparatory School, and it's almost unthinkable to see him wanting to attend class. 

Third, Respect Lannings never merely walks. He has a posse with him, always. And his steps are powerful, purposeful strides.

So it's a rather awkward day, for everyone, to see him in front of the doorway, a backpack slung over his shoulders, shifting back and forth as though he has no idea if he's invited. Finally he takes a seat right behind me, fully rotated to stare right at him. I turn away quickly. 

"So, um, I want everyone to memorize the properties of propyl for tomorrow." Mr. Ellis tries to gain his composure.

"Already did." Respect is quiet. 

"Methyl?" 

"Yep." 

"Cyclohexane?" 

"Mr. Ellis, do you really think that this class wants to learn as much as I already know in one day?" 

Rather than being offended, Mr. Ellis smiles widely, making him look much younger and like the recent college graduate he is. "Somehow you've become my favorite student without coming to a single class." 

I frown, and Mr. Ellis quickly corrects himself: "Second favorite, that is." 

Some of the Beachhead girls whine and bat their eyelashes, so he finally concedes. "No favorites." 

------

I'm the first one out the door. I was acutely aware on Respect behind me the whole time, and now my back hurts from how rigidly I was sitting.

Olive Kira bumps into me roughly, and several books thud to the floor. "Loser. Why did Reesy sit by you?"

"Reesy?" That has got to by the most idiotic name Respect has ever been called. 

Olive rolls her eyes. "Respect, obviously. The Beaches agree that we need an alliance with Graffiti, and we decided to do it old-school. I'm going to be his girlfriend soon, and he needs a cute nickname." She giggles.

"Okay, Olive." I pick up my books and perches my thin glasses at the bridge of my nose when they slip down. "I'm sure he just didn't find a seat next to you." Especially since so many boys sat around Olive, hoping to catch her attention, and more importantly, hoping to get laid that night. 

I turn around, muttering, "I feel so bad for him." 

I come face to face with Respect.

"I do, too." Respect winks at me and grabs my books. "Here, let me help you." 

"Art History, 204," I say numbly. I really want to ask why Respect has decided to come down from the heavens today, but I don't want to get involved. My officers would strip away any immunity I had with gangs. 

Respect hands back the books when they arrive. "Thanks," I say.

"No problem. Just don't call me a stupid nickname and we'll be Gucci."

"Sure, Respect. See you around." 

Respect stares at me intently, then seems to internally decide something. "You'll definitely be seeing me around, Jessica. Count on it." With that, Respect walks towards the door we entered through. An ominous feeling enters my stomach. 

When did I give Respect my name?

So this is my first original story, and I'm so excited to write about this world, this beautiful yet twisted world. Please comment and let me know what you think!