Arthur Kirkland, a part of the school newspaper, took great interest in the quietness Alfred F. Jones, and decided to question him. Maybe even add it as a column, since he knew he wasn't the only curious one.
Alfred fiddled with his keys and opened his car door before Arthur tapped his shoulder, and Alfred squeaked and whirled around. For a split second, Arthur could've sworn fear was in his eyes.
Arthur eyed the large red, muddy truck. "You usually walk home," he observed.
Alfred ignored the observation and said, "What do you need Arthur? Usually you don't talk to me. Or at least, without insulting me." Venom dripped in his voice.
What got his panties in a twist? Snapped Arthur in his mind. Alfred never is this snippy, he would normally cheerfully ask me what I needed..After I normally insult him. Gotta give him that.
Arthur is the only one who can argue with a popular kid without being attacked. It was because he wasn't in a category. He wasn't popular, nor was he an outcast. Probably because he had power, being the president of the newspaper and all. Something nasty about someone could "accidentally" be placed in, and that student's reputation can be shattered.
Also Arthur and Alfred were childhood friends, but Arthur doesn't want to get into that. That's a story for another time.
Straightening his tie that was neatly tucked into his sweater vest, Arthur pulled out his pen and thoughtfully tapped it against his notepad. "I'd like to ask a few questions," he informed.
Alfred slammed his car door shut and leaned against it, sighing. "Make it quick. I have...homework."
Arthur raised an eyebrow. "You don't even do your homework!" He protested.
After not getting a reply, Arthur got to his questions: "What has affected you in the past 2 weeks?" He asked. By that he meant, why the Hell did he miss two weeks of school? Alfred wouldn't skip that long.
"You know what?" Alfred tugged his door open again. "I am going to ignore your questions, and go home!"
Arthur quickly slapped the door shut again. "Nope. You told me you'd answer them. We're doing this. Here and now, despite any protests!"
Alfred tried prying open the car door open, but Arthur leaned against it. Alfred glared sharply at him, but said nothing.
"Now," breathed Arthur. "Care to answer my question?"
"C-Can we skip this one? Please?" Begged Alfred.
Arthur raised a thick eyebrow. Alfred doesn't beg. Unless it was big.
"Fine," Arthur gave in and flipped a page in his notebook. "All right. What's with your lack of appetite?"
To be honest, Arthur probably wouldn't have put the answers in the newspaper, but now his curiousity rose.
Alfred eyed his car door handle, but Arthur stood his ground. "Not a lack of appetite. Tired of hamburgers," he answered. He almost sounded out of breath.
Arthur impatiently tapped his foot. "Sounds like bullshit," he began and uncapped his pen. "But I'll take it."
"Can I go now?" Asked Alfred grabbing at his door. Arthur sighed and let him climb in his car. The look in his eyes. It was almost frightened; like someone remembering a bad memory.
The truck turned on and started to drive away. Arthur watched it go down the road and disappearing as it rounded a corner.
"He looked worried," an unwanted French voice spoke behind him.
Huffing, Arthur whirled around to glare at Francis Bonnefoy. An outcast Frenchman who he absolutely hated. A knowing look shone in his eyes. "Ok," he just hummed.
Francis took a step towards Arthur, who couldn't help take a step back as well. "You should talk to him," suggested Francis, glancing down the street that Alfred's car went down.
"Why don't you?" retorted Arthur, shuffling his feet and closing his notepad and stuffed his pen in his pocket. "Anyhow, excuse me. I have a newspaper meeting, and afterwards a student council meeting."
Francis grabbed Arthur's arm in an iron grip as he tried to push past. "No. We are talking," he growled.
Never in Arthur's life has he seen Francis this serious, and they've known eachother their entire life. Another long story Arthur is too tired to get into. Stopping in his tracks, Arthur rolled in his eyes. "What, frog?"
Before Francis could say anything, Arthur leaned in close. So close their noses touched and they could feel eachother's hot breath on their faces. "Is...Is that..makeup?"
Arthur fell back, wheezing with laughter. "Oh! My...My...Oh my Lord!" Arthur started coughing from laughing too hard, and dropped his notepad. Struggling to pick it back up, Arthur wiped a tear from his eye. "Oh my...Okay...What were you s-saying?" He gasped and calmed down after what felt forever of laughing.
Francis glared at Arthur, however continued: "Watch Alfred. Because someone doesn't. He is a brat, but he needs comfort now," Francis said. And with one last glance at Arthur, Francis adjusted his backpack and went down the sidewalk to walk home.
Arthur stood there in confusion. Francis had a look of guilt. Did he do something to Alfred? Does he know what happened? Questions whirled around in his brain.
Re-Collecting himself, Arthur picked his notepad back up and walked to the school newspaper's office.