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The Trouble With Americans...
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It wasn't so much that Kiku was eager to take Alfred up on his offer for help with Spanish, insomuch as he had to. Quite literally. Mr. Hernandez had walked up to his desk, and with very disappointed eyes, whispered, "Kiku, I think you better take Alfred up on his offer." Then he had ghosted his hand across Kiku's back in what Kiku had hoped was meant to be a comforting gesture.
He laid down the test Kiku had taken just last week with a sad smile. It was the test Kiku had thought he'd done well on. He'd studied hard the night before, and tried his best to pay attention in class that week—no easy feat what with the way Mr. Hernandez ran the classroom.
Scrawled across the top of his paper in—was that red sharpie?—was a big fat "F." While the use of a sharpie was most definitely overkill, the grade at the top almost made Kiku's eyes water with frustration. Failure.
Kiku's first reaction was to take offense—Mr. Hernandez really should not have been listening in on his students' conversations like that. Once the idea actually sank in, however, he realized that Mr. Hernandez was right. Kiku needed help.
How was he supposed to show his parents this? Kiku's dark eyes sullenly trailed over to where Alfred was being far too loud. He was grinning and laughing with a brown-haired girl, waving his test paper excessively in the air. At the top, was a neatly printed "A" and the words, "Great job!" Kiku scowled.
Alfred turned suddenly, blonde hair whipping behind his head. Kiku quickly pretended to be looking for something in his backpack. He used it as a chance to quickly stuff his test paper inside before Alfred could see the grade. Kiku had to swallow and take a deep breath just to get it done. (Stuffing a paper into his backpack as opposed to neatly placing it in its designated folder really went against everything Kiku stood for.)
No one could see how embarrassingly Kiku had failed at what even people like Alfred could learn easily. Kiku didn't care if he needed the help—he'd find it elsewhere. The more he thought about it, the faster his heart seemed to race. He swallowed thickly. He could do this. He promised himself it wouldn't be a repeat of his middle school graduation ceremony.
Kiku took a deep breath and tried to think clearly. He decided he would merely hire a professional to tutor him in Spanish, one that no one else would ever have to know about. He realized that hiring someone capable of teaching such him Spanish would be no small feat, as well as require a good deal of money. Kiku knew there was no way he could confide in his parents, and he would therefore have to gain the funds on his own. Kiku almost immediately decided he would get a part-time job after school—that, however, meant he would have to make up an excuse for coming home from school so late.
Kiku swallowed, his breath coming in short puffs. He unconsciously began picking at the skin around his nails, mind racing. Then he thought of the perfect explanation. He'd simply tell his parents that he'd been elected as part of student council. Yes, that would not only appease his parents' questions, but also make them proud.
"What'd ya get?" a voice asked suddenly.
Kiku jumped, startled. He was still trying to figure out if his parents would want proof that he was part of student council, and if they did, how Kiku would be able to forge it. He glanced up to meet blue eyes. It was Alfred, as always. He grinned.
"I said, what'd ya get on the test?"
All intelligible words fled from his mind. Should he simply lie and tell Alfred that he'd gotten a higher grade? What if Alfred asked to see his test to compare answers? Should he simply refuse him? What could he say? Realization hit Kiku yet again, as he remembered his entire reason for fabricating the story was the fact that he'd gotten an F on a test.
"Huh?" Kiku managed, trying to buy himself time. Heart racing, Kiku feigned confusion, zippering his navy blue backpack closed as quickly as possible. He avoided making eye contact, staring instead at the seat Alfred was sitting on. For the first time, he noticed Alfred didn't seem to have a backpack.
"Your test, duh! What'd you get on it?" Alfred waved his own test in the air again to make a point.
Kiku shrugged, trying to come up with a lie for Alfred. Contrary to what it may seem, Kiku was in fact not a fan of liars, nor a fan of lying. Kiku was logical, however, and he understood that sometimes drastic times called for drastic measures.
"Well, actually…" Alfred was the last person he wanted to inform about his grades. The last person after his Father, of course. Father would be enraged—Kiku didn't even want to think too much about what would happen if he found out. But Alfred—he would probably have the school laughing at him before Kiku could even finish the phrase, "Lower your voice."
"It's okay," Alfred began, whispering suddenly. "Mr. Hernandez already told me. We can help each other like we talked about, right?"
Kiku's eyes widened. He was at once flooded with two distinct emotions: panic, which he had become quite familiar with over the years, and rage. Rage that Mr. Hernandez had disclosed Kiku's personal information without his consent, and panic because who knew who else Mr. Hernandez planned on informing—or even worse, who he had already informed. What if Mr. Hernandez had already contacted his parents?
Kiku wasn't one for foul language, but, shit. Why hadn't Kiku thought of that before? Of course Mr. Hernandez was going to contact his parents. He had just received a failing mark on an important test! There was no way around it.
Kiku glanced down and noticed small droplets of red staining his test. He also realized, much to his chagrin, that in his panic he hadn't even stuffed the right paper into his backpack. The whole class had probably already noticed the failing grade. Everyone knew.
The class was laughing—Kiku tried to tell himself it had nothing to do with him, but how could he be sure? The lights seemed far too bright and Alfred seemed almost transparent. Kiku blinked, vision unclear.
"Hey, you okay?" Someone asked.
Kiku wasn't.
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