CRIMSON DONOVAN

We fidget in our seats, feeling the weight of the girl's penetrating stare fixed upon us, as if she could see right through us.

"Say what now?" Rowan asks with her arms crossed and her eyes suspiciously narrowed.

"Y-yeah, we c-couldn't believe it either," Ayla stammers.

"So, you are telling me...that they sneak out to collect...animal poop?" Rowan processes slowly.

"Uh-huh," I nod quickly. "They are poop collectors. You know, there has been a gradual increase in stray cats and dogs and...other animals. They collect their dirt and clean the roads free of any other dirt, especially on the roads and the park."

"Really? In the middle of the night?" Rowan asks with a raised eyebrow.

"Because the roads are less busy! Fewer vehicles!" Ayla cuts in.

"I heard that it's some kind of community service. There are many, many stray dogs and they poop everywhere!" I clarify nodding my head seriously.

"Yeah. How kind of the boys to help clean the streets," Ayla sneers with a sarcastic smile as she side-glances at the boys who are seated at the cafeteria table next to us. Rowan had steered us girls to another table instead of our usual one to question us about our 'late-night adventures'.

The boys were trying to appear nonchalant, leaning their bodies towards our direction but failing miserably to show that were not trying to eavesdrop on our conversation.

I hope they fall off.

"So that was it? They were just cleaning the streets at night?" Rowan asks dubiously.

Drexel does an 'I'll-chop-your-head-off' motion, dragging his thumb across his neck, silently warning me about our deal. I hold the urge to show him my middle finger and silently boil in my seat.

Ayla nods enthusiastically in response to Rowan's question. "Yeah, I heard that it gives good pay."

Rowan's eyes fill with understanding when Ayla says that and she sighs. "Oh, I see... I am worried about my brother, he shouldn't work hard like that. It must've been exhausting to work at night." Rowan's words reflect the genuine worry she has for her brother's well-being. Her concern is evident in the tone of her voice and the way she speaks about him.

Stupid Drexel for making his sister worry.

As the questioning finally comes to a close, I take a sip of water to soothe my parched throat and dry lips. Rowan backed down when Ayla mentioned that the pay was high. Do they have financial issues? Why does Drexel Street race? My train of thought is cut off when Zeke, trying to maintain his balance, stumbles and lets out a startled shriek as he tumbles to the ground.

I silently snicker. Serves him right.

After Rowan had retreated to her class when the bell rang, Ayla lets out a long breath from beside me, "Lying to your best friend sucks." I place a comforting hand on her shoulder. "Let's just forget about it, Ayla."

Ayla nods but then her expression turns sour as Archer approaches her. It becomes evident that he had pried the truth out of her. Ignoring his attempts at conversation, she strides forward without a backward glance, leaving Archer trailing behind in his attempts to talk to her.

An arm is put over my shoulder making me jump. "Poop collectors, huh?" Drexel asks. I look up at him. "Well, I did what you asked," I state. He withdraws his hand and begins to move backwards while facing me. "I'm grateful for what you did, Crimson," he says. It seems that keeping his street racing a secret from his sister is important to him, but I don't pry further.

"I'll keep my end of the deal," he promises. I pursue my lips. "I'll hold you onto that."

Suddenly, Drexel trips and starts falling back with a yelp. Instant reflexes move me to quickly shoot my hands and grip his arms. As he regains his balance, he let out a sigh of relief, his face flushing with embarrassment.

Pff.

But cute.

Drexel's chuckle was awkward as he spoke. "Thanks," he says, then glances at the hands I have grasped on his biceps, and his own hands gripped on my shoulders.

Then he fixes his eyes on me which simultaneously widen with mine when I notice how close our bodies are. Our noses were almost touching, our synchronized breathing audible and mingling in the small space between us. and his cologne was giving out a musky fragrance with a woody hint that was solely Drexel. For a moment, I'm lost in the moment, feeling the pull of his presence.

I notice that his eyes were hazel with golden flecks decorated around his irises.

I've never seen or had a male specimen who was not in my family this close to me before. I am reminded of our similar reverie in the supermarket when Drexel's arms had wrapped around me securely and tenderly. His strong touch had stirred my entire system in an unexplainable way which gave a jolt that internally shook me up for good, the same way it is happening now, only I am two times more conscious of it.

This sudden and unfamiliar sensation, spreading from the pit of my stomach and causing my skin to tingle, is unsettling. Why do I feel this way? Why is my skin feeling as if it was swapped by lighting?

A sudden clearing of the throat interrupts us, breaking us out of our daze. We both turn our heads towards Archer, who was standing beside us. His mouth opens and closes, his eyes darting between Drexel and me.

"Class is starting," he finally opts to say.

I quickly let go of Drexel's arms and coughed awkwardly into my hand, trying to regain my composure. "Right, let's go," I said, hurrying in the direction of the classroom that Archer, Drexel, and I were supposed to attend.

° ° °

I can't help but notice the sharp glares Drexel was shooting Archer's way, though Archer seemed to be obliviously staring straight ahead. My confusion only deepened as I observed the sudden tension between the two best friends. They were alright a few minutes ago?

Next to me, the girl lets out a sigh and gazes dreamily at the two boys in front of us, her head propped up on her hands. "Aren't they just the hottest?" she murmurs, and my left eye twitches as I look at her.

Flory was the girl I shared the biology class with, and save for a few words, we weren't really friends. One thing I knew about her was that she was widely known around the school as 'Flory the Flirt'.

I eye her once more and mindlessly flip the pages of my biology book, waiting until the teacher arrives. He was awfully late today.

With surprising agility, Flory slides her chair closer to mine and leans forward, squeezing herself between Archer and Drexel. "Hey there, Hotties!" she trills in a high-pitched voice, fluttering her eyelashes like a cartoon character.

"Hey, Flory," the boys chorus in a bored tone.

"Looking good today," she drawls, "you know, like you always do." She tilts her head and adds, "Say, do either of you happen to know if there's an airport nearby?"

Archer lets out a sigh and rolls his eyes, while Drexel looks at her with a furrowed brow. "What do you mean?" he asks.

Flory puts her hands over her chest and forehead dramatically. "Because my heart feels like it's taking off," she replies.

One of Flory's many trademarks was her 'uncanny ability' to come up with terrible pickup lines on the spot, which she no doubt updated and added to each night. 

Drexel cracks an unsure smile and Archer drags his hands over his face. I bite my lips to keep in my laughs at their reactions. "Your hand looks heavy, Archer," she comments and reaches over her desk (her bum almost smacks me in the face) to take his hand that was covering his face. "Can I hold it for you?"

I had the urge to cry all of a sudden. They were so bad; the pickup lines.

"Uhm, no thanks," he mumbles and takes his hand back.

Flory sighs dreamily once more with twinkly eyes, not at all bothered by his rejection as she inspects her hand, "I've been touched by an angel."

"I haven't seen you guys like, in forever!" she continues, a sad pout pulling at her glossy lips. "I've been trying to catch up with you both, but it's like you vanish every time I see you!" She punctuates her words with a dramatic wave of her hands as if showing a magic trick.

"Huh, I wonder why," Archer says dully. "Exactly! Where have you been all my life?" Flory exclaims, pleased that Archer had 'agreed' with their 'mutual misfortune'.

"Hiding from you," I hear Drexel mumble. I laugh but quickly cover it up with a cough. Drexel catches me and gives me a wink.

Flory turns towards him and gives a blinding smile as if remembering that he was there. "Drexel!" she bellows, forgetting about Archer who looked like he was granted mercy.

It seems that Drexel was having fun listening to her bad pickup lines. "Yes?"

"Mr. Mechanic, my phone is broken..." she trails off sadly. Uhm, Flory? Drexel fixes cars, not phones...

...But I knew what was coming.

Apparently, Drexel didn't.

"What's wrong with it? I can look into it if you want," he suggests. Aww, he is so obliviously, unnecessarily sweet.

"Oh God, Drexel," Archer sighs, sharing the same thoughts as me while I watch him in disbelief.

Flory produces a pink phone from her pocket and hands it over to Drexel. "I see nothing wrong with it?" he says after inspecting it.

"There must be something wrong because it doesn't have your number on it!" Flory proclaims victoriously. Even though I've heard that line many times, I snicker a little and Flory seems to be satisfied with my reaction because she wiggles her eyebrows at me.

Drexel wags his finger at her with narrowed eyes. "You...you are sly."

"More like you are insensible and slow," Archer comments in a low tone. True. Like, there were some of the most common pickup lines ever!

"But it's funny," insists Drexel with a shrug.

"You are just encouraging her," Archer tells bitterly.

While the boys argue in low voices in front of me, I turn towards Flory, bored out of my mind, "I liked the airport one." Flory's eyes light up. "Really?! Come, I'll show you more!" she grabs her phone and scrolls through the screen and shows me her pickup line collection. Yeah, I did this to myself.

Just then, the door slams open with a bang, causing the students to jump on their seats in alarm. The room falls eerily silent as a man strides in, his presence commanding everyone's attention.

Mr. Denver, our biology teacher, enters the classroom like a storm cloud ready to unleash its fury. He towers over us with a commanding presence, his short hair peppered with gray and a noticeable bald spot. I've been attending this school for a month now, and I have yet to see Mr. Denver crack a smile.

Mr. Denver was the kind of teacher who derived pleasure from tormenting his students, inflicting them with needless punishments that served only his own gratification.

Unfortunately, it was also Drexel who was at the receiving end of most of Mr. Denver's random outbursts of wrath.

The fact perplexed me greatly, for Drexel was not a notorious troublemaker, and never once did he start chaos in the biology class, or in any of his other classes for that matter.

Drexel, with his love for street racing, would have been easily stereotyped as a typical troublemaker or bad boy. Yet, such a label would be false, as his character displayed none of the characteristics associated with such a reputation. It was also the boy's bad luck that biology was not his best subject at all.

It bothered him to no end as to why Mr. Denver, a man not known for his empathy or kindness towards his pupils, was particularly cold towards Drexel. The indifference was blatant, like a colourful circus parade against a dreary background, that the whole school probably knew about it.

When Drexel answers wrong to one of Mr. Denver's questions?

"Sweep the whole school compound alone! Not one LEAF on the ground!" (I'll have you know that our compounds are big enough to host two football games at the same time).

When Drexel merely whispers one word to Archer?

"You disrupted my class! Essay on photosynthesis and cellular respiration! 5000 words!"

"Clean the lavatories, both male and female, on all floors!"

Rumours say that two years prior, Mr. Denver had taken it upon himself to conduct a "scientific experiment" by snipping a lock of Drexel's dark brown hair. The supposed experiment has yet to see the light of day.

He even made Drexel run a 10-minute mile in the gym, all while he watched like a predator.

He has even asked Drexel to do some of his heavy house chores, according to Archer.

Though Mr. Denver ditches out detentions and punishments to other students, it was apparent that Drexel faced the most wrath. The fact that Mr. Denver harboured some personal grudge against him was evident, and this wasn't lost on anyone in the school, let alone our class.

....Which explains the glare plastered on Flory's face the moment the teacher entered the class. Drexel has mastered the art of being silent as a mouse, especially during Biology, which explains the blank look on his face with his mouth set in a straight line and his tense shoulders. It was as if he was expecting Mr. Denver to lash out at him anytime now. It was a huge contrast to the usually cheerful Drexel and it caused a dent in my heart to see him this way.

As Mr. Denver leans his body on the desk, his arms crossing over his chest, he casts a silent observation over the students, his eyes scanning from left to right. My heart thumps with increasing loudness as his gaze slows and lands on the boy sitting in front of me. Drexel keeps his head bent down, likely pretending to read his textbook like some of the other students.

Mr. Denver's raucous voice pierces the air. "Last month," he begins, pausing for effect, "there was an incident involving rotten eggs and...flatus gas in the basketball locker rooms."

Drexel and Archer become tense, and my hands become clammy as I grip my sides.

"It was only brought to my attention yesterday, even though the team basically smelled like sewage for weeks." he continues.

Mr. Denver eyes someone seated in the back row. "I got the clarification that it was a prank by some boys from this class."

My skin turns cold and I slightly turn my head back and suck in a breath.

Did I forget to mention that Kash was also in this class?

He is certainly onto something.

His smug expression definitely proves that.

"So, will the culprits please stand up?" he orders like how a Principal would grill his students into confessing who stole his wig. Everyone remains unmoving, the strict voice of the man in front of us making us sit tight in silence, making this look like some kind of disciplinary military training.

Now, you may be wondering why the biology teacher pokes his head into the Basketball Team's business.

But that's the thing.

It is his business. He is the assistant coach for the basketball team. Go figure.

Mr. Denver's jaw ticks due to the lack of response and he slams a big fat book on the table in rage. "You better own up NOW!" he barks.

Drexel seems livid, looking as if he was barely holding himself from punching the life out of somebody. Archer was no better as he glares at his desk furiously. I gulp and my fingers fidget with nerves.

"Kash! A name, now!" he yells. The boy rises from his seat and clears his throat before standing tall and locking eyes with the boys in front of me. He utters a single word:

"Jed."

That was enough to bring a reaction out of Archer. Archer jumps up from his seat, his eyes turning fierce and threatening like a stormy ocean. Flory and I startle in our chairs as he slams his chair into her desk. "You bastard! You deserved it, you piece of garbage! Should've burned them while at it!" he roars at Kash. Drexel, just as angry but seemingly more composed, grabs Archer by the shoulders in an attempt to restrain him. But what's done is done.

Kash smirks in triumph, relishing the chaos he caused among the boys.

It was clear that Kash had intentionally provoked the boys and set them up for a reaction.

"BOTH OF YOU! ENOUGH!" Mr. Denver snarls at my friends. "So, your pal was the felon who destroyed the uniforms? You rascals are in the same group of friends, aren't you?" he exaggerates with a huff.

The distressed boys clearly don't want to push Jed under the bus.

"It was me, sir. I was the one who did it," Archer speaks up making me gape at him.

"No sir, I was the one who came up with the idea," Drexel jumps in and Archer gives him the stink eye.

"Of course! Why am I not surprised? This is exactly the thing you would do! You ought to be beaten into a pulp, disgraceful brats!" Mr. Denver discloses. I narrow my eyes as I recognize the feral look in his eyes.

Bloodlust.

Inhumane hunger waiting to be fed by blood.

His eyes burns with a murderous desire for ferociousness making the hair on my arms stand.

Who was this man?

"As punishment, you are to scrub off every single uniform until they don't smell like dead rats! Every. Single. Uniform! I want them cleaned within ONE week!" he dishes out. "Detention for two weeks for making chaos in the class today! And Drexel, you better have cleaned every car of the teachers without any trace of dirt by the end of this week!"

Huh?

I am taken aback by the poison dripping from his words aimed to weaken the poise of the boys. But the boys hold their ground, seemingly unaffected; as if they had already expected this.

Mr. Denver gives them one more unattractive sneer and trudges out of the class, the eyes of my classmates cautiously following his steaming figure, as if expecting him to suddenly turn back and order all of us to have a car washing spree on every vehicle in PineTree Hills. We then breathe a sigh of relief as the bell rings.

Guess that's no biology today.

Hiii how are you doing?

What is the worst pickup line you've heard? Well, I wouldn't cause you know, nobody said pick up lines to me. Haha, single lives, am I right?💅🏼😂💪🏼💪🏼💪🏼(😭😭😭😭)

What is Mr. Denver's problem with Drexel, what do you think?🤔🤔🤔

Poor Drex😣

Mr. Denver is prolly like;

Did you have any teachers that gave you a wonderful memory like this?