Remember what I said about loving chaos mixed with a bunch of comedic and awkward scenes. I'm delivering it like a politician!
*COUGH!* *COUGH!*...Damn that was as dry.
---
Leon POV – Later That Day
If getting body-slammed into a girl's private moment wasn't humiliating enough, the aftermath definitely was.
Rumors spread like wildfire. Nay—like an STD in a teen drama.
By fifth period, the whispers had evolved from "Did you hear what happened in the bathroom?" to "Mary Jane and Lion had a quickie in the stall—while recording it!"
I wish I could say I handled it well.
I didn't.
I walked into AP Chemistry and someone started playing Careless Whisper from under a desk.
"Nice work, Casanova," came a sarcastic voice as I dropped into my seat.
I turned and—
Oh no.
Gwen Stacy.
She raised a single brow, clearly enjoying the social apocalypse I was drowning in.
Gwen was... cool. Like the kind of girl who read Kafka for fun and could out-skate half the dudes at the park. Platinum blonde, always wore band tees, and had this half-lazy, half-lethal look in her eyes like she'd either flirt with you or end your bloodline.
"Whatever you're imagining," I said, "it's worse."
"I imagine you face-planted between MJ's legs," she said with deadpan precision. "Was I wrong?"
"I didn't see anything! I was unconscious! There was screaming! A concussion! Why is no one mentioning the trauma?!"
She leaned back in her chair, sipping from a metal water bottle. "You realize this means you're, like, MJ's unofficial boyfriend now, right?"
I choked on my dignity. "WHAT?!"
"She punched you," Gwen said. "That's basically a mating ritual for her."
"Please stop talking."
Before she could reply, the classroom door swung open. In walked trouble wearing gloss and entitlement.
Felicity Hardy.
Silver-white hair, sleek uniform, attitude you could smell from three desks away. Daughter of some rich CEO. Wore designer everything. Used "commoner" unironically.
"Oh, it's you," she said, looking down at me like I'd farted in her champagne.
"I haven't even done anything yet," I said, exhausted already.
"I saw the video."
"What video?!"
"The one where you're groaning in a stall like a raccoon in heat."
"Oh my god," I whispered. "I'm going to set myself on fire."
She slid into the seat beside Gwen, her manicured fingers drumming on the desk like she was waiting for someone to clean her aura.
"I give it a week," Felicia said. "Before MJ's kissing you or killing you. Maybe both."
"Why does everyone talk about her like she's a boss battle?"
"She is," Gwen and Felicia said in unison.
I was going to cry. Or die. Or both.
---
Lunch – The Cafeteria of Doom
I sat alone.
Correction—I tried to sit alone.
But the universe had other plans.
"Mind if I join?"
I looked up and—
Great. Perfect.
Liz Allan.
Head cheerleader. Class president. Probably allergic to poverty. Her golden-brown hair was always just windblown enough to suggest a personal hairdresser hid behind every vending machine.
"Me? Sit? With you?" I asked, confused.
"You're the boy who dented Mary Jane's uterus," she said brightly. "You've got pull now."
"I have what?!"
She laughed and sat down anyway. "It's cute how confused you are."
"I'm always confused," I muttered.
From across the room, I saw MJ watching. Her fork paused halfway to her mouth, brows furrowing.
Liz followed my line of sight.
"Oh, she's definitely jealous," Liz said with glee. "Which means we have about thirty seconds before something explodes."
"I don't want to die," I said.
Liz leaned closer, her perfume so strong I could taste it. "You might not die. But your reputation? That's about to get very, very interesting."
Across the cafeteria, MJ stood up like a red-headed terminator.
"Yep," Liz said. "Ten seconds."
I stood too.
"Where are you going?" Liz asked.
"To hide. And maybe fake my death."
---
Leon POV – Escape Attempt #326
I had two options:
1. Stand here and get annihilated by an incoming redhead with murder in her eyes.
2. Run like a coward and hopefully avoid a cafeteria-wide public execution.
I chose cowardice. Like any sane man would.
I bolted.
Tray clattering to the floor, feet slipping on some poor soul's spilled soda, I tore out of the cafeteria and down the hall like I was being chased by Satan in yoga pants.
MJ's voice echoed behind me. "LEON!"
"Wrong name!" I shouted back. "Also, you scare me!"
I cut a corner, not looking, just running—and slammed shoulder-first into a door I didn't recognize until it was too late.
SLAM!
I stumbled inside, breathing hard, blinking—
White walls.
Benches.
A rack of towels.
Wait…
No. Oh no.
Girls. Locker. Room.
I stood frozen like a deer in hormonal headlights.
A long, slow beat passed.
A door creaked open at the far end.
Gwen Stacy walked in, earbuds in, wearing gym shorts and a cropped hoodie, towel over her shoulder, humming something punky and definitely not written for this level of panic.
She paused mid-step when she saw me.
We both blinked.
Her eyebrow rose. "You lost, Romeo?"
"I—I was running from Mary Jane!"
"Into here?"
"By accident!"
She crossed her arms. "Kinda feels like you're on some kind of freakish locker room side quest."
Before I could explain (or combust), a second figure entered.
Of course it was Felicity Hardy.
Hair wet from shower steam, wearing an unzipped jacket over a sports bra, her expression flat with the kind of disgust only rich girls can master.
She looked from Gwen to me and back again.
Then said, "Oh my god. He's pulling a double. Gross."
"I'm not pulling anything!" I shouted.
Gwen: "Except your luck, apparently."
Felicity shook her head. "You're either an idiot or a pervert."
"Can't I be both?" I gasped. "No, wait. I mean—no! I mean I'm neither! This isn't what it looks like!"
"Uh-huh," Gwen said, pointing to the door. "Out. Now. Before you start bleeding from somewhere unfortunate."
"But if I go out that way, MJ will murder me with her fork!"
"Then choose your executioner, Romeo," Felicity said sweetly.
I backed up slowly, praying no other girls would walk in—
"Leon?"
I froze.
No.
No.
No way.
Liz Allan had followed me.
She stood in the doorway, eyes wide, phone already out, camera app open like a heat-seeking missile.
"Oh, this is gold," she whispered gleefully.
"Don't you dare!" I shrieked.
MJ's voice echoed from the hallway:
"LEEEEON!"
I turned to Gwen and Felicia, hands up. "You know what? Just hit me. Just knock me out. Please."
Felicia sighed. "I charge for that."
---
To Be Continued…