When You Wish Upon A Star

Now

A/N It's been a while since we've seen these kiddos, huh? Hope y'all enjoy! 😉

8.)

Small things are often overlooked.

Needles prick gently but sharply at tender flesh until they finally draw blood. A vicious stinging of pain that is easily warded off with the bite of a lip.

It's no big deal; a minor inconvenience at most. After all, a pricked finger is nothing compared to a stab wound.

But a needle plunged into the wrong place can be just as bad. Especially if the injury is constant.

Internal pain is still pain. And small things can have a large impact.

~~~~~~

The bell rings and Logan and Patton make it right on time, stepping into the classroom to be met with a mass of chattering students. Without discussing it, the two sit down next to each other among the mayhem.

"Settle down!" Mr. Flores says, his voice barely raised. He was smiling at the chaotic classroom and obviously trying to contain his amusement to exhibit some order. "Guys, c'mon we gotta start class!"

Patton looked around. He and Logan seemed to be the only ones to have heard him. All the other kids were still buzzing with the excitement of greeting their friends after a long summer.

Mr. Flores raised an eyebrow and calmly walked over to his computer, turning the volume up to max on his speakers. With two quick clicks, he plays the first two seconds of "Ignorance" by Paramore, startling all the students into silence and making them scurry to their seats after a moment of shock.

Patton recognized the song instantly after so many years hanging around Virgil. By the looks of it, Logan did too. He was sporting a fond but slightly bitter smile.

Mr. Flores had everyone's attention now. He looked up, grinning. "Well then." He said calmly, moving around his desk to lean against the front. "Now that we can hear each other, we can do introductions."

He points a thumb towards himself as he speaks and pronounces his name with a perfect Spanish accent, "I am Mr. Flores and as you know, or, at least, I hope you know, I will be your grade 12 English teacher this year." He points at a list on the whiteboard, "We'll be studying and attempting things like advanced essay writing, creative writing and poetry. Any questions?"

Nobody had any so Mr. Flores continued talking, explaining the subject in more depth. It was clear he was passionate about it with the way he bounced around excitedly as he spoke.

On the wall next to his desk, a piece of paper was taped up with duck-patterned duct tape. It read: "Frustrated Writer" and had an arrow pointing to where he sat.

A hand-made mobile with shapes cut from old CDs dangling from it hung from the ceiling and made rainbows in the florescent light. Several bookshelves packed with novels lined the walls of the classroom with all kinds of random bookends keeping them in place.

Inspirational dog posters decorated the walls and a pride flag hung proudly over the projector.

Patton observed this all and smiled. This teacher didn't seem half bad. It was clear from everything about him that Mr. Flores was a good kind of chaotic intellectual. Much like his own Uncle Emile.

Mr. Flores reached onto his desk and picked up a tiny foam basketball. "When you get the basketball tell me your name, preferred pronouns and..." he thought for a moment before giving up, "Any one thing about yourself!"

For the next few minutes, Patton listened to kids awkwardly announcing their names and pronouns. The facts are generally superficial: Favorite foods, descriptions of pets, origins of names and places students had lived in in the past.