The Perfect Threat

2. I Meet Chuckles Captain Obvious and the Hunchback

~Zoey~

I stared wide-eyed at the clock located in the top corner of the wall. The hour hand slowly clicked in place above the four, making a true effort to drag out my time in detention. Lovely, wasn't it? I crossed my eyes and stared awkwardly at my pale nose, something I only did when I was this bored. After a while of openly staring, I decided to make the most of my time. Time. It was a valuable thing but so, so easy to lose. And, now I'm starting to sound like Lemony Snicket. Great. Just great.

I leaned over to my backpack on the ground at my right. Pricking my toes up through my Mary-Janes and pressing my feet through a small gap in the school's metal chair, enough to hold my weight, I reached down and grabbed the materials I need for tonight's assignment in Geography. I scrabbled out a piece of red-lined paper and pulled out a large red two inch binder. Not truly knowing why, I stared down at my binder, the torn plastic seal on the front and back worn away from years of use. At the corner, the plastic is creased and folded, all the times I shoved it in my locker to be on time for my next class, even when I was six and seven. The inside sleeves no longer worked as well and the three metal rings to hold paper can't completely close either, leaving an array of stray corners and possible paper cuts around the side. Every year, we are required to toss the mastered papers out into the Waste Sanctuary, our garbage system, but my binders are too heavily filled and can't hold much more. I set the fragile binder on my desk and stuck my long fingers into my bag, rummaging around until they found something familiar; my favorite violet ball-point pen. I'm pretty sure we were allowed to use pens, right? I wrote my last name before my first name as required of me and I quietly tucked a very dark brown strand of hair out of my eyes, behind my ear.

McGlinty, Zoeanne

My full name- why?! Why mother did you have to give me such a weird name?! Why couldn't it either be Zoey or Zoe?!? Urgh.... After my little mental rant, for a fraction of a second, I heard a quiet "a-hmm" near my colorful and Sharpie scribbled desk, but didn't think much if it. Pfft. It wasn't directed towards me. Next, I heard the sound again, this time a little louder. I looked up from my paper, my stiff neck making a soft crack. I sighed in relief as I scanned the room for the location if this "a-hmm" it come from? I let my eyes return to a set of twenty-five college-ruled lines and allowed my hands to jot down today's date even though it wasn't part of the official freshmen heading. Jeez. I was such a rebel.

Just as I had finished neatly printing my first sentence in some of my finest script, my pen was simply plucked from my hand, causing my now not-so-perfect handwriting to have a sharp, stray line across it, darker than the rest. Was this a teacher? Well this is just great. Not only is my paper ruined with a stupid scribble but whether or not my instigator is a teacher, I'm still in trouble. If this is some punk of a kid, this is one the gravest mistakes they've ever made. I heard my father's voice silently scolding me in my mind. Now now, Zoeanne. Calm yourself. I'll probably wind up in Monday detention once again. At least it would be well worth it. Possibly even a little funny.

Almost immediately, I looked up to see as who would be so rude on the very first day of school. An average height, brown haired boy stood in front of me. His motherly combed hazel hair was greased and parted to the right. His crisp white shirt was tucked in and covered by an official-looking black blazer. An expensive wristwatch was slung loosely around his tiny wrist, pinching his pale skin slightly in places. Almost immediately, I knew he was a Monarchist's apprentice, an apprentice to one of the Monarch's advisors. The Monarch was supposed to have a group of ten advisors to help him rule our city, DeCaprion, but I knew that to the Monarch, they were simply just a set of ten of his most loyal servants. In this boy's hand was my favorite violet pen. His chapped lips formed a straight line, giving no emotion away. He looked like he was going to say something snarky and down to the point, until his piercing green eyes met my own blue ones. It was when I began to recognize him that a faint red blush grew on his cheeks, though only slightly. This was the Monarchist Apprentice President, a president of a school organization completely devoted to becoming a Monarchist. Not a soul was permitted to call you by your first name, only Monarchist and your last name, though with the Monarchist's consent (of course) they could be called Sir and Mr. or Miss and Mrs. As his detention supervisor badge clearly read, this was the notorious Alexander Presley, soon to be Monarchist Presley.