-Evan's POV-

"You're gonna make it obvious," Jared accused me playfully, dropping an arm over my shoulders. "When was the last time you looked a teacher in the eye, huh?" He took back his arm to give me a playful punch.

Which was disappointing, well, it was sad, I guess, because then I didn't get his warmth. He gave me a soft nudge.

"S-sorry," I replied, playing nervously with the hem of my favorite blue polo shirt, "I just felt, well, I feel like maybe, you know, maybe we should feel, I mean, shouldn't we feel bad about this?"

Most people would be confused by my scattered way of expressing my scattered thoughts. Well, not Jared. He understood me just fine. I hoped.

"Nah," he flashed a grin, "you shouldn't. I'm the only one doing this. I'm starting to regret telling you. It's giving you anxiety."

I shook my head with a tiny smile. "I already, I have anxiety."

Jared laughed and I ducked my head. "Well, yeah, duh." he replied bluntly. "That's common knowledge."

With no response to this, I resumed our paused conversation, "Don't you feel guilty? Like, you should, or do you feel, uh, well, bad about this?"

Jared's carefree swagger matched his face. "Uh, no dud, it's their fault anyways. Bathbomb deprivation is a serious offense. I'm taking what's mine and saving them the guilt of my death on their hands."

"You won't- You wouldn't- Jared." I wrung my hands and my breath sped up. How could he joke about that? How could I live without him? How could he leave? My life would go dark without his light, my light. His light was my light. We all know my sun didn't rise.

"Evan." He responded. I blushed when he said my name and tugged the hem of my shirt again.

As if sensing my discomfort, Jared grinned at me. "Hey," he said, and I looked up. Through his glasses I could see his amazingly beautiful eyes, brown with the spot of green in on eye. Oh. Oh dear. I was thinking liking-Jared-thoughts again. I quickly looked away.

Jared squeezed my shoulder. "We'll be fine." He spread his hands, but I missed his hand on my shoulder. "Plus, you won't be involved so you have nothing to worry about." He gestured to the bathroom. "See ya in a minute."

I was too shy, of course, to say it to him, but once he left, I told the air, "But I'm worried, worried about you."

I, of course, would never tattle on Jared. Bu if I didn't would it be my fault?

-Connor's POV-

Wow, the teacher looked pissed. I knew it wasn't our class. I was him talking to Mr. Hamilton, maybe that was it. Or… yeah, that was it. All I'd done in class was sketch some accurate weed leaves on my worksheet and called it a day, but-

Mr. Curly Hair- Damn, stop it, you sound like Jared. Mr. Laur… something was too occupied by our class idiot to care.

Jared this, Jared that… uhg. And our perfect innocent kid, who was also- well, he was okay, he wasn't bad. But by association with Jared, he fell pretty low.

And all that blue hurt my eyes.

And how do you understand that scrambled language?

Jared was worse, though. Swaggering around like he owned the place and using memes in everything and even though we both exasperated the teachers, he somehow charmed them or some shit so they still liked him.

Dear god, why was this monstrosity created?

Actually, that question was more applicable to our president, but…

Jared was a close second.

"Hey." Mr. Laur-something tapped my desk, which I'd chosen specifically so it would be unreachable because it was at the back of the room. "The worksheet is for art, but not just for doodles. I love the style, but I would prefer if you also completed the work and chose a more appropriate subject."

He was trying to be nice, I could tell. It wasn't hard to see past that cover, though. He'd had a shitty day or something, that was clear.

Well.

I didn't want to make him mad. But. It would be pretty entertaining.

Eh. "I don't work to your preference. I prefer to draw weed." I shrugged and started another leaf.

"Look." I heard a current of anger. "Fill out the worksheet and you can draw afterward, okay? You're a good artist."

I snorted. "I'm not that gullible. I'm not doing the worksheet just 'cuz you fed me some bullshit compliment. They look like shit."

Actually they didn't. But he was almost over the edge.

"Yo, man, just do your work. Quit messing with Mr. Laurens." Jared fucking Kleinman.

I shot him a glare. "Did someone give you a crown or something? Or do you just assume you're so good you can tell me what to do-"

"I do think I'm so good. Because all I need to be is better than you. I got that in the bag."

Mr. Laurens- I guess that had to be his name- was flushing with anger at this point. "Boys! Jared, you're not helping."

"No," I sneered, "You're not."

Mr. Laurens let out a growl he probably thought only he could hear. "Neither are you." he added, whipping around to glare at me.

"Well, no I'm not," I replied smoothly, "I'm not a helper. I'm the problem, right?" As I said it, it stung me. Connor Murphy, nothing but a problem. Was that how everyone saw me?

Wait no, I thought quickly, that's what I decide to be. I was trying to be a problem. And I was killing it.

Mr. Laurens let out another soft growl to himself.

"Watch out," I commented lazily, "our teacher's gone savage."

He took a deep breath and told me, "I'll give you 10 seconds to sit down, be quiet, and do your work. I'm trying to find a compromise here."

"One, two, three, four, five," he counted, watching with frustration as I didn't even blink, "six, seven, eight, nine-"

"Number ten, now what?" I cut him off impatiently.

Mr. Laurens looked ready to explode. Ooops. Maybe too far.

Oh well. This guy didn't have the guts to dole out a real punish-

"A week in detention, both lunch and recess and after school," Mr. Laurens burst out, "and a student-teacher-principal conference if I can get one."

"Holy- what the fuck? I barely did shit!" I exploded, storming up to him.

Jared snickered in the background. Grrr.

"Language!" Mr. Laurens barked, "or it'll be more!"

I stomped right up to him and saw something in his expression flicker as he watched me- fear? Interesting.

"You scared?" I asked bluntly.

Jared slapped his desk. "Bro, let him be."

Mr. Laurens fixed his expression and told me firmly, "Go back to your seat."

"Nbah, I already got so much detention, what else you got, huh?" I stepped closer and his fearful look returned.

"Con-connor, leave him alone," Evan's squeaky voice piped up.

I whipped around and stomped closer to Evan, who cowered under my stare.

"Hey, don't you look at Evan like that," Jared growled, dispelling my feeling of power.

"It's always me!" I yelled, "I'm always the bad guy, right? It's not Evan's fault because he's telling me what the fuck I'm supposed to do, it's mine, because I'm mad at him for that, and the damn teacher keeps fucking with me but it's still my fault- fuck all of you!"

"Lang-" yeah, he was definitely afraid. I didn't care. I was pissed.

Something tugged in my consciousness, telling me I had no right to be mad at a teacher in this situation, but that shit was easy to ignore.

I reached for the closest solid object- a shining color printer. It looked like it was a hefty weight and inside I was boiling for something to unleash my inner monster. Be the problem my mind cheered as I picked it up.

Fuck. It was heavy. Probably filled with paper and a bunch of other stuff for printing colors and shit. Mr. Laurens fell silent and I loved the feeling of utter control as the world froze, watching me.

"Freak." The moment was broken by Jared's weak snarl.

I growled back, "Well fuck you too!" and tried to throw the printer at him.

But as I threw it, Mr. Laurens yelled, "No!" probably to divert my attention or mess me up.

It worked. Time slowed again, the whole class watching as the printer left my hands, my anger powering the throw.

Straight at Laurens.

Some insanely well honed reflexes- where'd he learn that?- made the printer barely catch the curls in his ponytail, but I was too shocked at the whole situation to be relieved.

I want reflexes like Mr. Laurens.

I'm fucking screwed.

I need to get the fuck out.

Without a glance back, I did just that.

As I ran back to the orphanage dorms, I wondered to myself. Was I really a problem in their eyes? Was that what they saw? I wondered why the teacher looked so terrified. I wondered why the class fell silent. I wondered why Jared hated me so much.

I wondered how many people in that room were hurt or scared.

And I wondered how much of it was my fault.