really short chapter, more so an introduction into a scene. I could've attached the two of them in one chapter but I don't feel like it ha.

14: Stalker

"C'mon Arnold, we got an opening, let's go kick his ass man." Nathaniel is almost on the verge of begging, the get-on-your-knees-and-clap-your-hands-together type.

Arnold watches the lanky prick snicker to himself, his back hunched like that Doofenshmirtz bitch, the hat of white hair around his head wafting back-and-forth like a goddamned pom-pom, his arms like sprigs out of the hedge which he, Xavier and Nathaniel have ducked behind. He lowers his eyebrows, his eyes pressing into slits. Now he can not see Loud, at least clearly, but he does not give two shits. He knows that stick can't put up a fight even if his life depends on it. There is no plotting, analyzing or considering to be done; he has learned this from firsthand experience. He doesn't even need to move to kick Loud's ass. He'll just end up finding a way to do it himself.

He pushes himself out of the hedge and suddenly finds himself on the seat of his pants. Xavier comes over, hooks both arms under his armpits, and hoists him up like a toddler. This small yet impactful gesture induces something to swim up inside him. Now he remembers — and becomes a bit too aware of — Adrian again. His head starts to feel like a boiling pot of blood. His heart starts to run up his chest to his neck, but he hardly notices. Adrian . . . Arnie. That one day Loud had called him Arnie. Fucking Arnie.

He has already made sure that Loud got a good ass-kicking for that one, but now that doesn't seem like it was enough. He has already warned him once, but apparently Loud is a slow-learner. That is okay. He would be glad to give him a short refresher course on who he could mess with and who he could not. Perhaps they can step it up a bit more this time, speed up that learning process a little.

On the verge of going postal, his hands draw into thin-fleshed balls, stubby fingernails notching half-crescents into the padding of his palms. His face is becoming hotter, but he hardly notices. His hairline is slicked with sweat, but he doesn't notice that either. Nathaniel pats his shoulder consolingly and Xavier pulls him into a side-hug.

"Relax," Xavier says. "You're going red. Seriously."

Arnold calculates the distance between the three of them, here behind this hedge bordering the sidewalk, and Loud, loitering around the third entrance. If they were to attack, they would need to slink across the blacktop with little to no crowds to keep them hidden. Without cover, Loud would see them. Maybe he would scream for help at the prospect of seeing three of the guys who had clobbered the shit out of him on that rainy day in March — he wouldn't put it past him after all . . . he figures that Loud might have dropped the dime on him. Every teacher has been eying him with narrow-eyed suspicion lately. Maybe something has gotten out; but that only drives him up the wall even further than he already is.

"All of you shut up," Arnold hisses. "We got a whole lunch period coming up to fire on him. We do it here, the little shit's gonna yell it up and get an adult. I don't care what you say, he's like 50 feet away and we're 3 guys, all with an obvious presence. We also have no cover. Now when lunch rolls around, we have a caf full of students to watch, with barely any adults to interfere. It's a dream waiting to come true. Kickin 'his ass and embarrassing him in front of half the school."

He nods at them and they nod back. Then they all look at Loud, holding his phone with one hand and blankly picking his jeans out of his asscrack with the other. Justice would come eventually, Arnold knew. And when it finally did, Loud would end up too scared to even walk the halls.

"For now Nate," Arnold continues, "just run it through me one more time. You were in class, and then what?"