Gateway was a joint name for both high and elementary schools. The primary school (elementary) consisted of parallel rows of quiet classrooms, completely different from the noisy building that housed the senior high.
As John made the final turn at the corner, facing the direction of his classroom, today''s events flashed through his mind. He knew it was only a matter of time before the entire stream heard about his "match." And all those freaks in his class would probably cheer him on to take the challenge.
"Sigh," John let out a mouthful of air as he raised his head, reading the sign that had been written on bond paper and plastered on top of the sliding glass door: 4 Fountain. The work had been done hastily; they couldn''t even get a metal or wooden frame. Even though the building had just been unveiled, Gateway''s stingy nature would put Mr. Krabs to shame.
"Bang!" Using more force than intended, the door made a sound as it rebounded off its track, grabbing the entire class''s attention. All the curious eyes stared at John, waiting. Scratching his head in embarrassment, John said, "My bad, I thought the railing was still blocked with those chip crumbs."
"John, you do this all the time! Do you think you''re some sort kind of Ethan Hunt? What if you broke that glass door? Winter is approaching; do you want us to freeze to death?" rang a sharp feminine voice from the center row of the class. That sharp tongue belonged to the class''s "witch," Trisha. With her flawless face and nicely tied hair, you would never expect such venomous words to spill out of her smooth pink lips.
"It''s all your fault for playing tag in class; don''t push the blame on me," John retorted. He had long gotten used to her bickering mouth. Besides, wouldn''t everyone know how weak he was if he took an entire minute to open the door?
As John walked away, a crooked smile crept off Trisha''s lips. "Interesting, but why won''t he react?" Indeed, she was the culprit. This newcomer had given her different vibes from the rest of the class. Not only did he give up pursuing her midway, he''s now interested in another. Was he playing her or practicing on her? Either way. "only I get to decide who plays who."
John headed to his desk at the back of the class, in the right corner. But the gazes of the classmates followed him all the way. Even though he didn''t have a third eye, the tingling sensation on his back gave it all away.
"What''s going on?" John asked his seatmate, Tashman, who only let out a high-pitched, all-knowing laugh. Before John could press him further, a sound rang from behind him.
"Well, if it isn''t our secret Casanova—who''s the lucky girl this time?" Caspa said while offering himself a seat at the desk, even though that was prohibited by Woo-hat''s laws.
"I don''t know what you''re talking about," John swiveled his head toward Tashman. He wondered if this brat had been running his mouth again. But Tashman''s expression only said one thing: Everyone knows, bro.The author''s content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.
"Yes, my man!" Out of nowhere, John found himself the victim of a street handshake, the American drug exchange one. But among youths, it only had one meaning: "rizzler."
"Ah, honestly, what''s the news?" John continued to feign ignorance, but that only provoked the other youths to poke at him further, especially Xavier, who had just passed on the handshake. "How did you manage it? One kick, a direct score!"
"She accepted?!" John exclaimed, but the laughter that followed made him realize he was just naive and had been schemed against. Suddenly, it hit him, that line from Sweet Tooth: "And this is for your frequent visits to our class. Has your Fountain run out of b*** already?" Hitting his face with his palm, John understood what the matter was about. But doesn''t Sweet Tooth have a girlfriend?
"It was nothing; I only got her phone number," John sat down, adjusting the back window behind him. He continued, saying, "I was just trying something new; she''s probably taken anyway." John said as he turned around, only to be met by disbelieving eyes.
"Don''t lie. Flex''s younger brother, Taps, studies in that class; she''s not taken, bro," Xavier said, his tone confident with his information.
His confidence traveled directly into John''s heart. If that were the case, things might not be as simple as time-pushing.
…
The sun hung high in the sky, exerting a fiery presence on the school sporting fields, which were dotted with students. The smell of freshly cut grass, the sound of distant gossiping teens, and the penetrating warmth relaxed John''s fatigued mind.
Scanning the entire field, John spotted a circle near the goalposts. He could see his friends unloading their backpacks. This was his favorite time of day – lunchtime. Knowing there''d be no leftovers if he idled around, John started walking towards the group.
Along the way, the smell of slow-baked bacon and grilled sausages only made his stomach growl louder. A few steps away from the group, a rational thought surfaced in his mind. It had been two months since the term began, and all this time, he had never been seen bringing a lunch box to school.
As he neared the group, his thick skin began to feel thin. He recalled his statement from a day ago, where he mentioned he had no friends in this world. And yet, he shamelessly ate these kids'' food from their parents without any remorse. What kind of monster was he? Suddenly, all the hunger, like a stone thrown into a dam, vanished.
"Hey, John, why aren''t you taking a seat?" said Zeg Egg, John''s classmate from back in elementary school. They both studied at a school in the hood before splitting up at grade seven, only to reunite at the crossroads: grade eleven.
Taking a seat, John unconsciously wrapped his legs around each other, a posture commonly taken when waiting for food in rural areas. Seated to John''s right was Kelvin, who cast John a sideways glance along with a raised eyebrow before slowly bringing out his lunch box.
"Who''s going to pray for us?" Caspa humorously asked. They had never prayed before. After all, it was deemed a rookie move and an outdated event. Everyone chuckled in reply. Having gotten his "prize," Caspa turned towards John and let out a mischievous grin. "Hey, since you didn''t bring your lunch box today either, why don''t you pray?"
"Uh," John blinked, waking up to a group that cast him questioning looks. "Oh, God bless our—" His voice was abruptly cut off by Ziggy, who sat beside Caspa, who in turn sat on John''s left.
"What are you doing? He''s just messing with you," Ziggy laughed. His opened lunch box let out an aroma that made John''s stomach growl in protest: polony.
Unable to take it anymore, Kelvin lashed out, "How long are you going to continue eating our food? Next time, bring your lunch," Kelvin said while opening his lunch and placing it in the center.