THE DIARY OF A MISFIT

OPERATION PROFESSOR

[9] Politicizing what the truth is doesn't change the truth; it only changes the way the truth is perceived. Truth doesn't care about credence. Believing so much in a thing is not the validation of how true it is; it's just the measure of how much desire and pride has taken root in your righteous thoughts.

The reason why humans hope in a distant better future is to make their current state of living bearable. Take hope away and what is left is just a hollow cocoon subject to time.

As a Misfit, hope was everything to us. Living in a daydream where you were yourself, but not exactly yourself—a divine remedy to the pain we inhaled every living second.

Our best is yet to come, stuck fast to my thoughts in the days that followed. Reeling me into a world of dreams that I had not experienced yet or given a second thought to.

It was like trying to buy your first condom—and you like...Please, can I get the red box...the one that you use for the thing...that you know...that thing.

My world of dreams followed me everywhere and at every time. I was an addict and day-dreaming was my secret pride. Not even Biology, the most interesting class in Senior High I could take me off my dreams—I mean that in every sense.

Biology became every boy's favorite class when Miss. Caroline Wan transferred in. She was a few years short of twenty-five—making her the youngest teacher. She was a thing of dreams, including mine.

It will be way easier to complete a thousand pieces' puzzle than to count how many times I had imagined a teacher-student erotica scene with her.

Her eyes blue like the ocean under the sunlight. Her auburn hair—mostly, held together by a band to form a curly ponytail. Her smile...let's not talk about it. When she spoke, her voice was calm and sensual like melodies of a siren.

She was the one thing that did not make me want to hurl my guts out in the lab. Our biology lab, like most, looked like a psychopath's playhouse. Or one of those settings in a horror movie where you're so sure someone is going to bleed to death. The walls were decorated with parts of the human and animal bodies—drawings. The sinks were mostly stained with blood. Pincers and dissecting knives of horrifying sizes lined up by the sinks.

The lab assistant looked no better. She was a middle-aged woman standing at almost dwarf's height. Her eyes stern and hawk-like, with a scowl that never took a second off her face. She often mumbled words to herself whenever she was alone. She made no friends and took no joy in long conversations—perks of being a loner. Her kindness was one tested, but not tried at will.

Sometimes, I did picture her as that hunchback fellow with Dr. Frankenstein—well, not after I learned that she had hearing impairment, which made me feel like a BIG DOUCHE—yeah, in all caps.

"What are you thinking about?" asked Weeney; sitting by my side at the end of the Biology lab. Sam and Musa were still on probation for betraying me—a week of silence was not enough to quell my anger.

I heaved a sigh. "I have a lot of problems." I turned in the direction where Sam and Musa sat; chatting happily—maybe, gossiping about me. "A few dressed up as friends," I added.

"You are still angry?"

"No, I am not. If I was, I will be planning an act of befitting revenge for those muttonheads." I sighed again. "The struggle is real, bro."

He chuckled. "Yes, it is." His gaze heading in a different direction; his tone a bit lower. "Yes, it is," he reiterated.

"So Zaara—" He shushed immediately to my amusement. His eyes ravaging through the class to see who took notice. "Fine. I won't say you know who's name aloud."

"It's alright." He sighed. "I am just taking it slow."

"Yeah. Your plans have gone unnoticed by the dark ones." My eyes settled on a few bullies chatting carefree—probably, talking about Miss Caroline. "Mine, not so much."

"I think you have a shot with her. She does look in your direction most often."

"I think I have a better chance at telekinesis than with her." I looked at Sam and Musa. "Maybe, I could hang those two traitors upside down."

He gave a short laugh, with his head on the table—hoping he wasn't too loud to draw attention. When his head came up again, his eyes wet and his hand on his mouth. I guess, his laugh wasn't as short as I thought.

"So are you going to ask...you know, out?" I winked after asking.

He shook his head with a broad smile extending into a blush. "I will. I don't want to rush things. I just need to get a few people off my back."

I shot Cyrus a quick glance. "I get it."

"If only there was a way to get back at them."

I smiled as a baser thought crossed my mind. "A setup."

He crossed his fingers on the table. "Am listening."

"And it's all going begin with a rumor," I smirked; my heart exposed to the soiling from the most despicable intentions. "It is going to begin with a whisper."

"I don't like the look on your face, but I don't care what happens to those guys either. So, we are good." He shot to his feet. His note in his hand. It was then I realized that the class had ended.

We shuffled our feet to the door. I was with Weeney, so I tried my best to keep my eyes away from Daniella's questioning look. I decided to keep them on Sam and Musa, although, I wasn't really looking at them. My plan had most of my senses in its grasp—including, my sight.

It was quite simple on paper. Play on the need and hate of a bully, add enough coals to the smoldering fire, and watch the effects of the wildfire from the safety of a far distance. I did not know much about the interests of the bullies in my class, but I knew of one thing present in all hierarchy—rivalry. Rivalry was the only tool I had, and also all the arsenal I needed.

"Andrew!" A voice called out; severing the link to my deep thoughts. It was Sam, standing by my side—Weeney, at my other side and Musa coming up at the rear. The others were a good distance away—to the front and the back.

"See, I am sorry for what I did. I know, you are still angry with me and you have every right to be—"

"We all make mistakes." Those words fell from my mouth, before my head could stop it—a bad habit that had grown on me. I sighed. "You are forgiven. But, right now. I need to think."

I smiled at Weeney, and he repaid the gesture with a similar smile that meant, I understand. Then, I turned in a different direction heading towards the cafeteria. The walk to the cafeteria and back was more than enough time to lay out all my thoughts, carefully without any distraction. A hole in my plan would be catastrophic to my remaining years in Senior High. There was no room for mistakes—that, I was sure of.

Lucky or blessed, fate had a role in my plan that day. For I found the perfect lead man on my way—almost, bumped into him. He wasn't with his crew and he was mopey about something. Christian Neville, his name—a Rulebreaker and a trendsetter was his status.

"Hello, Chris."

He raised a brow, surprised to find me away from class. It was Physics period. The teacher was strict and diligent—a nationwide quarantine could not make him miss a class. "Shilling?"

"Surprised, huh?

"I guess so. What are you doing here?"

"Didn't feel like sleeping in class today," I replied.

He let out a chuckle, before placing his right hand around my neck. "Welcome to the skipping class club."

My plan was beginning to take shape gloriously on the ground, and that graced my heart with joy. Nothing escapes Andrew Shilling's well-thought plan.