Candyboy

Dirty Lockers.

Amber wasn't over exaggerating when she said she'd have me thrown in detention. About one lonely week after Ken's departure I received the slip in the mail, instructing me to be in room 205 after school and to bring work to do. And now here I am, in the stiff plastic chair at a desk with graffiti decorating its corners with words I didn't even know existed but felt insulting just the same. I looked like a chicken in a pack of wolves; a flock of taller, older delinquent kids giving me the evil eye as I kept my eyes locked on a blank page in my notebook. It was filled with unfinished stories and ideas. I shrunk in my chair; I could feel their eyes on me. I almost find it hard to write, but I eventually melt into the feeling and the current of words flowed out of my pencil;

Annabelle's slim digits ran through his inky black locks like water. Her pale lips rose up to Noah's ear and she whispered quietly, just barely audible enough to separate from the wind rapping at her window,

"Whatcha writing?" A feminine voice piped up over my shoulder and caught me by surprise. I looked over to face her and a tomboy's plum eyes caught mine with an intense stare. She looked to be about a year younger than me. "Man... what's Annabelle gonna say? She better say 'I love you', man. I'd be super disappointed if she didn't." I had no clue as of to how to respond to her, so I slowly nodded. Mr. Fraize shushed us gently but the stranger paid no attention,

"What's your name? I don't think we've met." She popped her gum loudly and my shoulders stiffened. I closed the notebook and pointed at my name sharpied in the corner of the faded leather cover.

"Theodore Dunn..." She repeated thoughtfully. "I like it, it sorta has this, I dunno, kind of a ring to it? Rolls off the tongue nicely. I read somewhere that if the syllables of your name are divided in a specific way, it sounds nicer." The girl blew a stray piece of short, boyish hair out of her face. "Well if we're introducing ourselves, I'm Finley Smith. Call me Fin."

I nod and resume my writing, and she looked over my shoulder intently as I worked for possibly the entire time. Time flew by quicker than expected; when I looked up again it was a few minutes before I had to leave. I could hear the clatter and rustling of oafish teenagers wiggling out of their desks and their yells and whoops as the clock ticked down. Mr. Fraize tried to quiet down the class, but it was futile; when the bell rung the kids became a large, sweaty cluster of bodies against bodies trying to squeeze through the door. Watching them made me anxious; I stayed where I was and awkwardly waited for all of them to trickle out the door. Fin stayed behind with me and watched as I slunk out of the desk. She offered me a clumsy, lopsided grin. "You should hang out with me sometime. I'm, uh, not the best at writing myself, but it's whatever."

I nodded, and we quickly split paths. A sinking feeling in my chest began to form, mostly due to guilt. Maybe being rude to Amber then wasn't the best idea... yeah. We just got off on the wrong foot is all.

~

BEEP, BEEP, BEEP, BEEP.

I woke up with a massive headache and a strong desire to not go to school today. I let go of the teddy bear in my arms and slid out of bed before engaging in my normal routine. When I went downstairs I noticed Mom, crashed on the couch. I smile at the sight, but I didn't know if it was because she deserves that nap or because she wouldn't force me to eat this morning.

Out the door, I went and before I knew it, I was at school again. Everything was as normal as it could be, given that A, I'm still suffering from Best Friend Withdrawal and B, Fin hasn't stopped bugging me since the day we met in detention. Speaking of which...

"Heya Theodorus Rex." I physically cringed as she walked alongside me. Every day was another cheesy, awful nickname.

I cringed silently and opened up my locker, shoving my backpack in it and pulling my tattered Calculus textbook off of the top shelf. I looked at the door of the locker; it was decorated with pictures of me and my friends from the old school I attended... needless to say, it was barren spare a few pictures of Ken. The noirette looked over my shoulder and pointed at the picture in the exact center, which featured me and Ken on the last day of the 10th grade. A faint grin crossed my face as I looked into the preserved memory, our arms slung around each other's necks as we made silly faces into the camera. I texted her the answer to her question,