16 | Play Dough

"So, Ingrid Ingram, what are the stats for the day?"

"I appreciate you don't call me by that horrid name, Chester. Stats for the day: Outside at the football field, Georgie takes charge of the field and let me say Winnie is not amused right now. At the sixth hall, ooh my, I see our librarian showing off his dance moves again. You go, Mr. Payne! Classroom forty-three, also known as our haunted classroom, has the Exorcists Club trapped inside – ah, no they're having their rituals again. Is Jeanne possessed yet? Should we call the fire station now? Boom, wait! This just in, Ms. Vasquez confirms that she is, indeed dating Acewell Academy's principal. What a horrid taste – "

" – Ingrid – "

"Shi – bleep – I mean shoot! I think Vasquez is on her way here. But seriously? She can do better than that guy. The Yearbook Club should do something about that . . . Wha – oh? Fine. This is Ingrid, and here's just another day at Clevemore High."

I raised the coffee cup to my lips and drank as much as I could. The Debate team ran the intercoms as always, and they delivered news better than any station could. Judging from the strangled sounds and ruffling papers from the speakers, I was guessing Ms. Vasquez, our principal, found their daily hideout.

Once you were at Clevemore High, you became a junkie for daily news, which depicted lives more interesting than yours. The school's morning wasn't complete without Ingrid and Chester's voices over the speakers and if they weren't around, it meant it was hell week (finals week) or they were at the mercy of Ms. Vasquez.

I tapped a girl on the shoulder, a junior but my schoolmate nevertheless. "What's up with the dating thing?" I asked Brenda, niece to our principal.

She smoothed her hair, as if it wasn't as soft as a marshmallow already, "They wanted to break rivalry between the schools or some sort."

I snorted. This enemy-relationship between 'Clevies' and 'Acey spawns' had been going on for centuries. "Impossible," I retorted.

"Tell me about it," Brenda's friends were now flocking around us, desperate for the scoop, "The other principal, let me tell you, is a sweet guy, but the Yearbook Club thinks the opposite."

Just as I was about to ask why, GC Gibbs, member of the Yearbook Club butted in. "Oi, watch it, Brenda," he started to polish his glasses as he stepped into the circle, "That Dex Sanchez is an absolute A-S-S. We spied on their date – he just wants to get into her pants and money."

"That's why you've been protective of Vasquez," I added.

GC nodded a yes, "She doesn't believe us, but the club's going to pull off something great."

Have I mentioned that the Yearbook Club helped Bernardo banish our former principal?

The whole student population looked up to them. They sprung into action whenever a class or a teacher was maltreated in any way, and they were serious in their work. They were the reason bullying was rarely heard around the campus.

I didn't miss how Brenda looked appalled, "You're not doing that to my auntie's boyfriend!"

Perry, GC's best friend, sniggered, "We all know you've got a crush on him, B, but he's – "

"No, I don't!" Brenda screeched, reddening, "It's just that auntie will grill you all!"

"We have a plan," GC assured, "By the end, Vasquez will thank us."

"You won't babble to dear auntie, will you?" Perry eyed Brenda suspiciously.

"No, I have no interest in that," Brenda glared and scampered off with her girlfriends. I glanced at Perry, seeing how his gaze lingered at the group.

Our attention was again caught by the hall speakers, from which we could hear Vasquez talking to Ingrid. The bleep sound that censored the profanities seemed to be broken, because Chester was in the background, blowing raspberries to block out Vasquez and Ingrid's swearing.

"What did that guy – Dex – do to her then?" I asked GC, drinking from my cup, "Something worthy of the Yearbook Club's wrath."

"Err, pervert that guy was," he drawled angrily in his thick accent, "Kept looking in places he shouldn't look; touching her subtly. We had to hold down Winston – that's our new president – to keep him from charging at Dex."

I cringed. Vasquez was fairly loved around the school, so it was natural we got protective of her. "You get him good, okay?"

"Definitely," GC waved me a goodbye as the bell rang and then Perry dragged him to their class.

I was about to turn to my locker to put my coffee inside for later when my arms were suddenly pulled and I was being carried into the air.

I yelped in surprise and waved my arms around. "Sweet chocolate, Mitchell, you can't hold me like this in public!"

"Oh, but I love you that much!" Mitch joked along, putting me down. "Did you lose some pounds? You feel so light."

I patted my stomach, "That's just a sign that my tummy's empty. Why are you so happy?" I twisted back to my locker to safely cage the coffee inside. Somehow, the tall cup wasn't enough.

"Nothing," Mitch looked like she was biting back a grin, "Just that Mrs. Day got me to take all credit for the script I wrote in less than an hour. She roasted my group mates in front of me because she knew I did all the work myself!"

She was fist pumping like crazy.

"Some justice then," I mumbled.

"We – "

The second bell cut her off. We knew then we had to hurry off to our class or else we could land in detention again. Unfortunately, my next class didn't have her in it, so we wouldn't be seeing each other until lunch.

Running to the classroom at the end of the hall, I parted way with Mitch. She blew me kisses as she headed off to her period, the ever-so dreaded Math. My class, on the other hand, was art and this one was just a casual class for me, mainly because of our teacher.

I headed straight towards my seat and canvas as more students piled in. Teddy, our teacher, was sat on the desk, his legs crossed and his hands busy arranging his curly hair. Girls in Clevemore referred to his hair as 'majestic' because it was a flowing mane which resembled Thor's and Sam Winchester's.

However, the hipster necklace, tie-dyed t-shirt and shorts aside, my favorite thing about Teddy's appearance was that he wasn't afraid to wear crocs over socks.

"Is everyone here?" he asked in his nasal voice. He paused for moments, staring at the empty chairs of the students who ditched then shrugged. "Aye, let's begin."

I lacked an artsy bone in my body. My mom's genes held cooking, and from my dad's was vocal ability, but I couldn't draw to save my chocolates' lives. Fortunate thing was that Teddy didn't care if we weren't technically skilled. As long as there was creativity, he tried to understand each student's perspectives.

Teddy began handing out bits of clay. I heard a girl scream once she saw the colors bunched up and mixed, and it must've been her obsessive compulsive tendencies. When I got my share of clay, I stared at the ball of mush on my table.

"Well I'm sorry, but the class before this just couldn't help mixing the stuff," explained our teacher, when people began to complain about the colors.

"Now, do something creative with those," he showed us a multicolored figurine he made himself, "Do anything with it – just make sure that right after, it's still usable to the next class. Am I clear?"

"Crystal," we all chorused.

Five minutes into the period, Teddy had circled the classroom, observing everyone. And five minutes into the period, I did nothing but roll the ball around, toss it and squeeze every now and then.

I looked around at the others. One boy had his clay molded onto the canvas for an artwork, a group of friends decided to carve on theirs and put everything together, and there were two girls who desperately tried to separate the colors.

I started rolling the wad of clay. Maybe I could turn it in as a piece of poop.

"What do we have here, Oliver?" Teddy stopped my seat and leaned at the back of my chair.

I picked up the deformed ball of clay with two fingers, "I call it 'the the poop of disappointment.'"

"Interesting," Teddy hummed, "But you have to turn in more than a wad of clay for today. You can do better than that."

"Are you kidding me?" I sat up straighter, "I see things worse than this in an art museum! They have a block of cheese with hair in it!"

"Those aren't aesthetic art," Teddy waved the topic off in disgust. "You can do something with that. I saw your painting last week – those were tasty looking abs I saw. Why not mold a statue?"

I fought to keep my face straight, "Teddy, that was a chocolate bar."

"Oh, oh," he had a look of disbelief, "Oh. Curse my mind, then, sorry. Why not make another chocolate bar? That can get you a D – oh shoot – an E, I meant."

"Ah, the morning news over the speakers got me lost," he mumbled swear words under his breath. "Go make food. Your specialty, right?"

"Not really something I want to make with clay," I almost shuddered at the memory, "I saw this advertisement for Play-Doh when I was a kid. Mom got me a set of the cooking playthings, and at the end of it all, I choked myself with a big clay cake. After that, never again."

"I guess you preferred Play Dough," he laughed breathlessly, but hysterically, "Get it? Get it? Because you're a cook and . . . "

"More like Play Don't," I grimaced at the terrible pun. "Lay off the jokes, Teddy."

"Pardon," he wiped a tear on his eye, "Désolé, Oliver. I got carried away. But maybe you can make something else?"

"I'll try for a kitchen diorama, thanks." I started tearing pieces of the clay. Teddy made a sound of satisfaction and patted me on the head.

The kitchen diorama with clay was a tedious job. First, it was hard to get the furniture to stand up, then I couldn't even make a proper cube with my fingers and when everything started falling apart, I had to borrow chopsticks to fix them. The outcome was mediocre, but Teddy could pass it as a B.

I kept a steady gaze at my 'artwork' as I fell in line to hand it personally to Teddy, who was sitting on top of his desk. Once I reached him, he beamed at my work, "At least this time, I can tell it's not abs," he took the diorama gently from me.

"The next class is using the clay, isn't it?" I asked, "You have to destroy everything."

He sighed, annoyed, "Sadly, I have to. But not before I take pictures to post online!"

A little laugh escaped me and I involuntarily glanced at his feet. Instead of crocs, he wore sandals over mismatched socks. "No crocs today? What a shame, I missed the Dora ones."

"Bless you," Teddy swung his feet, "You're the only one who likes this fashion. The girls are shoving sneakers and stilettos my way – it's frustrating."

"Those are comfortable," I shrugged.

He patted my head before I hauled my bag and went out the door. If I was lucky, I could find Mitch so we could have a short talk in between periods. But the other side of me wished I could find GC, Perry, Brenda and the rest of the juniors to talk more about Vasquez and Dex. That was juicy news right there.

As I emerged from the classroom, I overheard two girls talking about how convinced they were that Teddy was 'gay'. I smirked, immediately knowing they were freshmen, who didn't know how the school was like yet.

It was common knowledge for everyone that Teddy was trans.

♫ ♫ ♫

Like I had promised Lawrence, I dropped by the college after I passed by the shop to drop off my bag and fetch the cheesecake he wanted. The community college held a mix of Clevemore and Acewell graduates, as well as people from other places. It was a big place, and I found myself getting lost since I was unfamiliar of the buildings.

Finally, Ora, GC Gibb's own sister and one of Lawrence's ex-girlfriends had found me wandering by the cafeteria and guided me to the room where Lawrence would be. We had made light chat when she had asked me how Clevemore was going. I had narrated to her the news flash about Vasquez's boyfriend and she had been amused to hear so much trouble her brother was taking part in.

Just in time, I had met up with Lawrence right after his class. We had talked outside the buildings as he consumed his cheesecake, and then he had offered me a ride to the Dales'.

"You have a car now?" I had asked him, incredulous.

"Still saving up for that," he had chuckled, "I'm driving my friend's."

The vehicle had been an old rusty truck which lacked an air conditioner, but Lawrence was a good driver, and I had found myself getting caught up in our conversations.

Now, I was sitting comfortably shotgun, my feet up on the dashboard like the usual. The windows were down and my hair was doing a good job tickling my cheeks. "I was thinking about your girl problem at school," I told Lawrence, snatching a pair of sunglasses from one of the shelves.

"Why did you suddenly think of that at school?" asked he, "Teddy's giving out ideas, again?"

Lawrence had been a graduate of Clevemore High, but unlike me, he wasn't born and raised in Los Angeles. I knew for a fact that his parents sent him here from Florida, to live with his grandparents. The plan was for him to come back to Jacksonville after he graduated, but he had opted to stay.

"No," I started to explain about the deal with the Yearbook Club and Vasquez, "GC mentioned that they tried setting the principal up with someone else, but it didn't work."

"It reminded you of my love life, didn't it?"

"Sure, it did, but that's not my point," my eyes met his, "I was wondering if we could do the same to you. Maybe getting you a matchmaker can help you out."

As far as I knew, he hadn't tried this one yet. He went on dating sites, like Tinder, but we needed a personal certified matchmaker to play Cupid for him. If he couldn't decide or find the right girl for himself, maybe someone else could, with a different perspective.

He pulled on a look which involved his eyebrows knitted together and his mouth puckered. "A matchmaker? Like Eros?"

"What?"

"I meant Cupid, you mortal," he said, "Anyway, why? Why do you think it's a good idea?"

"Don't you?" I fiddled more with the glasses in my hands.

"I'm not sure. I've never thought about it. Wait, do those people really exist?"

"It doesn't have to be a full-time job. Maybe you could find a person who could get to know you and you could ask them who would be the right fit for you. I mean, girls have a knack for that, right? They could help you. You know those stories when the guy and girl don't see the chemistry between them but everyone else do?"

"You mean, like you and Jackie Chan?"

"What? No!" My stomach clenched just thinking about Jackson – clenched, like a bad feeling, to clarify. "I'm attracted to him. Physical attraction. I do like – love – food, but he has to do better than ice cream and Domino's for me to like what's inside."

"You have weird standards, Ollie," Lawrence chuckled, "But are you volunteering to be my Cupid?"

"Do I like Hannibal?"

"Yes!"

"No!" I made a face, "Vanilla, no, just no. I'm not into pairing people up, Law, I'll just sink the ship myself. I'll probably match you with Destiel the cat. Or I would pair you up with Buttercup Cucumber."

"You mean Benedict Cumberbatch?"

"Blender Cookiesnatch – same thing," I brushed it off, "You can't get me to be your matchmaker. Period."

"But if not you, who will be?"

I tapped my chin, thinking. "Why don't you ask girls at your college? Maybe even guys? Come on, don't tell me you don't have your college matchmaker."

We had a Cupid at Clevemore – Garnet Silva, who was responsible for forty percent of the couples at the school. He was pro, and like Bernardo, he made money out of his talents. He even paired up one of our teachers and a janitor once.

"I don't know about that, but I'll ask around," said Lawrence as we stopped near the Dales' house. "Thanks, Ollie."

"Have fun with your homework," I told him, hopping out of the car.

"Oh, I'm going to slam it down the table and do it all night," he winked at me before speeding off.

While I walked briskly towards the house, I prayed and wished that Brennan wouldn't be home, but if he would be, I wished he would be on his punishment or too busy to ruin this afternoon's food fest. I knew him enough to know that he would be willing to play tug-of-war with his brother for all those pizzas.

The sounds I heard upon entering the threshold led me to the living room. Blasting from the speakers was Charlie Puth's Marvin Gaye and the two brothers were there. I first noticed the pizza boxes strewn and piled around the coffee table, waiting to be opened and eaten. I also spotted tubs of Ben and Jerry's and a box of cake sitting on a chair.

Not bad, Jackson Dale.

Speaking of Jackson, what he was doing made me drop my bag and hold in a laugh. He was sitting on a stool beside the couch, where Brennan was sleeping. On his hand was a box of Cheerios and his other was stacking each Cheerio on Brennan's forehead. The pile looked neat and sturdy.

My eyes wandered towards the couch, which I remembered was previously torn by Swissybuns. I now saw a needle dangling from a thread which patched up the hole. Seeing by how messy the stitching was, I assumed this was Maira's punishment for Brennan.

"Thirty-one Cheerios and counting," Jackson grinned at me as I knelt beside him to marvel at the stack of cereal.

I quickly whipped out my phone snap a photo of snoring Brennan. This must be a sort of payback from Jackson because of that chocolate covered raisin incident. I looked back at Jackson, who was now holding Sharpies in his hands.

"We could avenge ourselves from Sweatybuns," he whispered, wagging a green Sharpie on my face. I laughed softly and took it from him, uncapping it to vandalize Brennan's pretty face.

"I feel like a criminal right now," I murmured, "Will he wake up?"

"Not for a few hours," Jackson dared to go first. He took a purple Sharpie and began highlighting Brennan's eyebrows.

This was so better than Snapchat.

I went in after Jackson and drew a mustache under Brennan's nose. Then, Jackson dotted freckles on his brother's cheeks. Laughing, I took a two Cheerios and placed them on Brennan's nostrils, one on each.

After Jackson and I finished our masterpiece, he held me back and got his own phone out. "He's actually starting to become pretty; what a miracle," I commented, tilting my head.

Jackson laughed and squeezed my hand. "He fell asleep just trying to sew the couch," he narrated, "Mom had him fix every single thing Sweatybuns broke. And I'd lie back and enjoy seeing him doing all the work."

"Did your Dad say anything about the whole thing?"

He took more pictures. "Brennan literally ran to him for help. Dad got Brennan out from washing the newly hung clothes the dog ruined. Not much of an impact, though. Dad's afraid of Mom, too."

I couldn't stop grinning, "I would be afraid, too."

He stood up and shrugged off his jacket, "Let's get the food and lock ourselves in the bedroom before he wakes up." I willingly followed, taking the pile of pizza boxes out the room, into the kitchen, up the stairs, Jackson in tow, holding the desserts. I could already smell the cheese and pepperoni, oh my.

Jackson locked the door and I screamed happily, hugging the boxes to myself. "These are beautiful, Jackson, thank you."

"I'll be over here doing my homework while you finish all those," he sat himself down on a chair after setting down the ice cream and cake.

My eyes went as large as saucers, "What do you mean?"

"I can't just sit here and watch you eat, can I?" he said, "I'll just do my homework instead of looking like a creep."

He thought I asked for all these to be eaten by only me? My heart was touched, but my brain made me stand up and pull him towards me. "Jackson G. Dale," I flicked open a pizza box, grabbed a slice and shoved it into his mouth, "You are going to eat all these with me and we're going to store all of the food to last until tomorrow. You and I both know I can't finish everything by myself."

I couldn't believe how red his face was, "You'll . . . you'll share this with me?" He acted like a house elf that had just been given a sock.

"Of course!" I took a slice for myself, "I can't just sit here and eat in front of your starving body. I love to share my food."

"Are you really sure?" he had taken the slice out of his mouth and was now staring at it disbelievingly.

"Oh my chocolate . . . Is Johnlock canon in my head?" He just stared at me blankly.

"It is!" I exclaimed, "You're not allergic to pizza, are you? Don't say you hate pizza!"

"No, and no, but –" I abruptly cut him off, pushing the slice into his mouth.

♫ ♫ ♫