HIS FAVORITE GINGER ✓

ONE.

HE FEELS HIS HEAD BEING pulled by his locks and bashed into an imaginary wall multiple times. He feels his head is going to split anytime from now like a damn Sodom apple. Nausea washes over his being and the repulsive carcass that lay before him seems to increase his discomfort. He diverts his eyes towards anything but the latter, they are met with the cream tiled floors writhing below him like turbulent sea waves. His sigh is hazy, at least he can see Mrs. Callaghan staring down at him with concern and pity.

"Are you sure you're feeling well?" She reminds Alejandro of Voldemort - if he even has a granny more haggard than him - and thus, needs a serious tan, and fast or else people will mistake her for being naked in that hideous angel-white frock.

His classmates turns him into an human television which does nothing to better his situation. He doesn't even have the strength to glare back at them while they pitifully watch him emit tremors and exhale hurricanes. Alejandro Bale is anything, shy or socially awkward is not of the list. He has a mouth, sharper than a two-edged sword, capable enough to slice and dice them all with only one swing of it; a simple sentence. He labels his predicament 'sight fright'. One thing he can't stand is the human eye(s).

But then again, that isn't the main thing on his mind at the moment. He's marveling at the perks of being paired with the school's bad boy on this cursed, cliche biology project. He gets fifteen minutes free to start the practical all by yourself, nice. He forgets breakfast now his head is spinning tornados and he's sweating tsunamis, sweet. His little ass will collapse and he'll find himself on the floor, again, cheers.

Diabetes is a bitch, so is he.

He wiped sweat globulets off his forehead with the sleeve of his Givenchy sweatshirt. Like a cameraman focusing with trembling hands, he struggles to concentrate on the experiment before him. A sharp glare jumps out of his eyes and stabs at the dissected lizard whose guts seems to mock his condition.

At least my insides aren't wide open like a prostitute's vagina. He spits on the poor reptile. He's internally glad he has someone - something - to vent his anger towards.

"So you guys should pick out the lungs carefully and examine the trachea. You see the semi-permeability and numerous capillaries engages efficient diffusion of gases zzzzzzzzmmmmmmm. . ." The teacher's treble eventually transforms into the humming of a fucked up radio. His ear canal sizzles from blood loss.

Soon after, the classroom door bangs open. As if he was sinless, he prances into the classroom with his crossbag hanging on one shoulder instead of across his chest. His leather jacket slightly unzipped, revealing a plain white top and his gorgeous, platinum blonde hair swaying back and forth like a flame only to be put out by Mrs Callaghan.

"You are sixteen minutes late." She says, clearly trying to suppress the anger that was apparent on her tomato face.

"Oh my god. You've got to be kidding me." He gasps - melodramatically - and does the checking-the-time gesture. The only problem; there was no watch on his wrist. "I had no idea! I was so exhausted this morning and still had to run eighty gazillion errands. The principal gave me a eight-hundred-word essay to complete before daybreak. I had to buy groceries for tonight's Thanksgiving dinner. I had to drive the equipments for coach to school. I had to study for the incoming biolo -" he coughs, "chemistry test. I should blah blah blah. . . . . "

Alejandro snorts. This guy is going to be the end of himself. Thanksgiving was three months ago and there is neither a chemistry nor biology test. The class seems to be mimic Alejandro's mood as few of their giggles tickle the atmosphere.