It all started with a dare.

The rules of the game were fuzzy. Putata didn't remember how they'd started playing, just that they had. The time in between classes was unbearably long and they had to do something to make it pass.

"Go ask Mekeke out."

He normally wasn't one to turn down a dare, but today he hesitated, glancing toward the back of the room. In the midst of all the chatter and laughter that filled the teacher-less classroom sat the one and only scholarship kid, playing with string. Not really the type to go on dates, let alone get asked out. Putata winced.

"I'm not sure about that," he said.

"What's the matter?" Samama asked. "Are you scared?"

"I just think it wouldn't be nice, you know." Putata shrugged.

"If you won't do the dare," Samama said, "that means you have to do truth. I want to know what happened on the ski trip."

Putata stood up so fast that his chair legs scraped the floor. "I'll be right back," he said, a sour flavor coating his tongue.

Kabobo looked up from his last minute homework, eyes wide. "Is he actually going to do it?" he whispered.

Samama appeared overly pleased with herself. Putata muttered a curse as he crossed the room, squeezing himself between the desks. She never played fair.

What do I do if he actually says yes? He considered going back and resigning himself to the truth, but he had promised himself to never let another living soul know about the ski trip. He would carry that fiasco to his grave.

Hanana saw him moving and caught his eye. She was perched by the windows, near the bean plants. She seemed puzzled by his trajectory. Putata hoped she would look away. He wasn't proud of what he was about to do.

Mekeke seemed to notice his approach. He looked up, his one good eye filled with barely guarded disappointment. It was the look he gave everyone. He got called out so many times for "insolence" that it was a surprise he hadn't been kicked out yet. Putata tried waving at him. Even when dealing with the most dysfunctional personalities, Putata knew he had charm and worked it to his fullest.

"Hi," he began, shoving his hands into his pockets. Mekeke's fingers were still entangled in his little string project. Weird. Putata thought it looked kind of like a cat's cradle. "Are you free after class today?"

Mekeke frowned. "No."

"Shame." Putata knew he should stop, but he also knew Samama wouldn't be satisfied. "I was thinking we could go out or something."

"Sorry. Not my type." Putata might have imagined it, but he thought he saw Mekeke's golden eye dart over to where Samama and Kabobo were intently watching. "Leave me alone."

Putata held his hands up in surrender. "Alright then." He returned to his seat, a little stung. What did he mean, not his type? Does that mean he's not into guys or just not into me?

Samama laughed. "Did he shoot you down?" she asked. "I thought no one could resist you."

Putata hazily remembered claiming something of the sort once. Or twice. Was this some roundabout way of taking him down a peg? If it was, Samama was more vindictive than he thought.

"I'm pretty sure he knows I didn't mean it. He's not stupid," Putata said, waving a hand. After all, Mekeke's test scores were the highest in the class, narrowly beating out Samama. Maybe that was why she had no trouble making fun of the guy.

"I think you're not as charming as you think you are."

Putata just smiled. Mekeke was an outlier. The guy had little to no social life and never spoke to anyone if he could help it. Group work with him was apparently a nightmare. Not to mention he was a scholarship student, which gave him permanent Untouchable status. Most people liked to pretend he didn't exist. His apparent coolness towards Putata was indicative of nothing.

"I think he's too busy plotting to burn down the school," Putata joked.

Kabobo shook his head. "You can't say stuff like that."

"Well, I just did."

The door creaked open. Students rushed back to their desks, dragging them into neat rows. Samama swiveled hers to face the front once more as Kabobo raced out. Hanana hopped down from the window into her seat, crossing her legs as though she had always been there. Putata saw Mekeke bundle his string into his pocket out of the corner of his eye.

When Shurara entered rooms, the temperature seemed to drop. Putata ducked his head as their teacher stalked to the front of the classroom. Don't notice me. Don't notice me. Silence descended upon the room as everyone else in the class copied Putata's pose, doubtlessly repeating the same mantra in their heads.

"It's good to see you all so quiet," Shurara said, in a tone that was not quite pleased. "I was concerned you would extend your break into the class period."

Then he began his usual inspection. It was his habit to stalk up and down the rows of desks, looking for gum, cellphones and MP3 players. Putata sighed with relief when he thought of his headphones, tucked safely into his messenger bag.

Shurara found a phone in someone's pocket and swiftly confiscated it with the promise that they could reclaim it tomorrow. One demerit. Three and you got two hour detention after class. Putata held his breath as Shurara came up the row. Don't notice me. Don't notice me.

"What a surprise. A uniform infraction from Putata."

Putata glanced down at his marker covered sneakers. He had thought they were safely hidden underneath the desk. His shoes were a safe sort of rebellion, a way to bend and stretch the rules without consequence, seeing as most teachers didn't want to waste time marking up students for minor uniform infractions. Shurara had no such qualms.

"That's three demerits now, isn't it?"

Putata's ears burned. "They're just sneakers," he muttered.

"I'd advise you not to talk back to me. Your other teachers might let you get away with that sort of misconduct, but I will not. Not in my classroom." Shurara rapped his knuckles against Putata's desk. "Report to Lab B this afternoon for detention."

Figuring he had nothing left to lose, Putata said, "Fuck."

"That's three hours now."

Putata glared down at the fake whorls on the fake wood of his desk. He wanted to scream. Three hours of detention in a stuffy science lab in the south building. He'd sooner scratch his brains out than spend any amount of time in detention under Shurara.

"And you," Shurara said, turning away, "must want to join him there, judging by how humorous you find all of this."

Putata looked around. Mekeke was currently shrinking back under the laser gaze of Shurara. "No sir," he said softly. He ducked his head. This didn't seem to be enough. Shurara moved closer, looked him up and down, then made a noise of disapproval.

"You do know that jeans are not permitted under the school's dress code, yes?" Mekeke closed his eye, as if he could make the whole situation disappear. Putata noticed that the black pants Mekeke was wearing — that they were all wearing — were actually black jeans.

"I...the others are at the dry cleaner's and I didn't have a spare pair," he explained, stumbling over his words. "And I thought it only applied to blue jeans. I mean, they look the same."

It was amazing. Putata had never heard Mekeke talk this much. Shurara shook his head. "If you want to stay at this school, then you had better start monitoring your conduct. The only reason that you haven't been dismissed yet is because of your grades." He sighed. "Seeing as that is your third demerit, you will also report to Lab B for detention this afternoon."

Putata winced. Mekeke stared up at their teacher, his mouth open, like he was going to complain. But then he closed it and lowered his forehead to his desk. Putata wanted to offer up some words of sympathy, but he was scared that it would add another hour to his detention and possibly a phone call home to his parents — the thing he dreaded the most.

Mekeke met his eyes and glowered at him. Great. Putata defied the day to get any worse.

Lab B was in one of the school's drearier buildings: a blocky, 1970s construction with flickering lights and filled with the smell of Bunsen burners and plastic. Most detentions were held in the science labs, because the building was so secure and there were absolutely no windows, except in the hallways. Putata hated it the most out of all the school's buildings. He would have to spend three hours here. It was enough to make him want to scream. He held it in.

Shurara marched in front of him, holding a ring of keys in one hand and a stack of copies in the other. He didn't really look like a teacher. He seemed more like a king, or a dictator. As he walked, he said, "I honestly don't know how you've managed to avoid this for so long. Your conduct record is appalling."

Putata tugged at his shirt cuffs. Hanana had insisted on buttoning them, as well as straightening his tie and tucking in his shirt. As if he was going to meet the queen for tea. Who was he supposed to be making a good impression on?

He had slipped through so many semesters without ever racking up three demerits. Every time it looked like he was about to get a third, the grading period turned over and he was back to zero. It was uncanny. Even Putata wasn't sure how he got away with it.

"Here," Shurara said, pointing at Lab B's heavy wooden door. Even the little glass window was covered (Putata later learned that this was because there was a lab safety poster on the other side). Putata wanted to run, hurl himself out one of the windows. What if they called his parents?

He took a deep breath. Just get it over with. Like pulling off a Band-Aid. He turned the handle and stepped inside.

Mekeke was already there, sitting at a lab table. He had his notebook open in front of him. He glanced up as Putata entered. The short amount of eye contact he gave the other boy was acidic. Putata looked in some other direction.

"I'll be back in an hour," Shurara said. "If you move from this room without my permission, I will know about it and you will receive an extra hour." With that said, he shut the door.

Putata nearly threw himself at the door, but he resisted the urge to uselessly claw at it. Instead, he let his gaze wander over the safety posters and equipment stacked up around the edges of the room. He wanted to look everywhere but Mekeke, who was back to staring at his notes.

"Um…" Putata began, for once unable to form a sentence. "Where do I…?"

"You can sit anywhere except at my table, we're not allowed to talk and if you have to use the bathroom, you need to wait for Shurara to come by on his rounds."

Putata let Mekeke's harsh tone roll off his shoulders. He plopped himself down at the nearest table. The other boy was totally absorbed in his studies. Putata wished he'd brought his sketchbook, but they weren't allowed any form of entertainment, not even books, unless they were school related. He slumped onto the table. I'd rather write lines than just sit here.

"So…" Putata said, after five minutes of clock watching. "Are you here often?"

"None of your business."

Putata spared Mekeke another glance. The edges of his jeans were worn and though his shoes were correct, they were scuffed and old. Nothing about him screamed "delinquent" or "troublemaker." It obviously wasn't his first time here. Did he also get demerits for petty bullshit? There were several band aids around his fingers. They were all fresh. One of them had a spot of red near the top.

"Did you cut yourself or something?" Putata asked.

"You're going to get us in trouble. I don't want to talk to you."

"Why not?"

Mekeke sighed. "Because you're a dick, that's why."

Putata felt a flash of indignation. "That's...you don't even know me."

"That didn't stop you from trying to ask me out earlier. You weren't fooling anyone, by the way. I could see your friends giggling from across the room." His voice choked a little. Either he was angry or hurt or both. "Who does that?"

"Listen, it was a dare—"

"I know. Is that supposed to make me feel better?"

"The alternative was worse." For some reason, Putata had lowered his voice to a whisper. "I didn't have a choice. They made me."

"Have you ever considered," Mekeke said, his jaw clenching, "that you could have just said, 'I don't want to play your stupid game' and been done with it?"

Putata didn't respond. It had honestly never occurred to him to say no, not when Samama was being so demanding.

"That sort of thing is so mean."

"You don't have to be so offended by it," Putata said lamely. "You rejected me anyway."

"Yeah, but what if you'd asked someone who really did like you? And they got excited and said yes. Then what would you do? Go out with her, then tell her it was just a game?"

Putata looked down at the table. Someone had carved their name into it a long time ago. He traced it with his finger. When he'd imagined having conversations with the weird kid who sat at the back of the room, they hadn't gone like this.

He got up and took a chemistry textbook off a shelf. Talking to Mekeke wasn't going well. He might as well study, or at least pretend to. If only he could concentrate. None of the words stuck. He would get to the end of a passage and realize he hadn't learned anything.

Shurara came back eventually. Putata took a bathroom break, just to escape the lab for a brief moment. He considered escaping out the bathroom window, then thought better of it. Shurara would only drag him back and sentence him to more hours.

When he returned to the room, Mekeke was asleep. Shurara either didn't care or didn't notice. Putata, too uncomfortable to pass out, watched him, because it was something to do. Mekeke looked a lot nicer when his eye was closed. I wonder what happened to the other one.

Mekeke was not very well put together: the second hand uniform, the bandages on his fingers, the unruly green hair that couldn't decide if it was long or short, the poorly sewn eye patch. No wonder everyone avoided him. Against a backdrop of rich kids with styled haircuts, smooth skin, and whitened teeth, Mekeke stood out as an interloper.

Still, his hair was a nice shade of green, almost teal, and he was clearly strong. The uniform shirt was pulled taught over his upper arms. Putata put his chin in his hand and looked closer. He'd make a good model for a sketch.

His appraisal of Mekeke didn't last long. The other boy woke up halfway through the second hour. "What time is it?" he asked blearily, running his fingers through his hair to smooth it out.

"You've still got another half hour."

Mekeke groaned. "Fuck. This doesn't get any easier."

Putata's mind was still stuck on drawing. In fact, a body like Mekeke's deserved more than a sketch. He could probably do a whole study on those arms alone. It was strange, because last he'd checked, Mekeke didn't play any sports.

"What are you staring at me for?"

"Nothing," Putata said quickly, diverting his attention to a random carving on the lab table. He allowed himself to acknowledge that Mekeke would be very handsome without the weird haircut and the missing eye and moved on. There was no point to thoughts like those. Mekeke had made it clear that flirtation was off the table.

Putata didn't know why, but he was uncomfortable with Mekeke's dislike. He was used to people hating him. You can't please everyone. But this scruffy boy in detention was a different matter. Maybe...maybe he just wanted him to know that there was more to him than easy smiles and talking back to teachers. That was why. He hates me for all the wrong reasons.

Shurara came back. "Mekeke. Time's up."

"Thank God," Mekeke said, hopping off the bar stool. He shot a quick glance at Putata on his way out, and then was gone, string and all.

"You look terrible! What happened?"

"Three hours in a science lab is what happened," Putata said. "I was bored out of my mind. You can't imagine the torture, Hanana. And the worst part is that Mekeke was there too. That guy hates me."

Hanana winced. "Hate is a strong word. Maybe he was just mad because you tried to ask him out yesterday."

Putata stuck out his tongue. "Nah, it's more than that. I'm pretty sure he can't stand me."

Hanana smoothed her ponytail. "I don't think that's the case. He doesn't know you. I'm sure that if you talked for a while, he'd see that you're a lot nicer than you seem."

"It's all Samama's fault," Putata said. "I should have never agreed to her game."

"Then you should apologize. The worst he could do is turn you down."

"That's easier said than done."

Hanana patted his arm. "Just be sincere. And, more importantly, be yourself."

Putata thought he was being himself. That was what had gotten him into this mess.

Hanana seemed jittery today. It could have been because of an upcoming test – which Putata hadn't studied for – but the way her eyes darted around the crowd made it seem like she was seeking someone out. Putata glanced around. No one leaped out in particular.

"Who are you looking for?" he asked.

"No one," Hanana said quickly. Too quickly. She hiked her messenger bag up on her shoulder. "I have to go. I promised Beriri I'd help review her notes. I'll see you later."

Interesting. Putata smiled to himself as he put on his headphones. He was pretty sure that Hanana had been trying to find someone. The only question was who. He hoped it wasn't Giruru. Putata had thought that ship had sunk long ago.

"So how was detention?"

Even though Putata heard Samama's voice loud and clear over his music, he pulled one headphone off and said, "Huh? You're gonna have to repeat that."

"Don't play dumb. I know you heard me."

"Does 'it sucked' work for you?"

Samama pursed her lips. "And what about Mekeke?"

"He was part of the reason why it sucked," Putata replied. "I'm never doing one of your stupid dares again. Not even if you paid me."

Samama sighed. "You didn't have to do it."

"You forced me. I'm never talking about the ski trip."

"Have it your way then," she said, throwing her hands in the air. "I still don't get why you're so touchy about that."

Putata gave her one of his rare glares. "Because I am. That should be enough." He cranked up the volume on his phone and readjusted his headphones. "Catch you later. I'm gonna go hang out somewhere a little less crowded."

He dropped his skateboard to the concrete and pushed off before Samama could stop him. Technically, they weren't allowed to travel in any other way than on foot on campus, but that had never stopped Putata before. The cool air whipped him in the face. It was going to be a nice day.

The crowd of students gradually thinned the farther he got from the buildings. There were about ten minutes before classes started and a few stragglers were still making their way up the main walk. Putata figured he had enough time to make it back before the warning bell.

He finally came to a stop near an old gazebo (which had absolutely no purpose except to look pretty) and kicked his board into his hand. There were three girls hugging the wall of the science building, a couple of boys sneaking cigarettes before class and...

Mekeke was sitting inside the gazebo, hunched over a textbook and rubbing his eye. Putata crept forward. It was like approaching a rare animal. His legs were crossed at the ankle. The bench next to him was stacked with a binder and composition book. His backpack was slumped at his feet. Putata tried to make his footsteps whisper light without looking like an idiot. Should I say sorry? Should I even talk to him now?

Mekeke's head snapped up. His golden eye narrowed. "What the hell are you doing here?"

"Hanging out. Listen, about yesterday—"

"I don't want to hear it." Mekeke gathered his books and shoved them in his backpack. His voice was more tired than harsh today. The Band-Aids were still there. "I've got stuff to do."

"I wanted to apologize," Putata said in a rush. "For acting kind of..."

"Dickish?" Mekeke suggested.

"Is that even a word?"

Mekeke smiled a little. Putata felt his mouth curving into one of his own. "It can be for now. I was kind of... on edge yesterday. So I'm sorry I snapped at you. But you still deserved it."

"Yeah." Putata rubbed the back of his neck. "Just out of curiosity, why else do you hate me?"

Mekeke shouldered his backpack. "I never said I hated you."

Putata blinked. "But you..."

Mekeke was already gone, darting across the courtyard at a fast walk. Putata watched him go, utterly confused. I just don't get that guy.