TORPEDO ✓

prince eric is allergic to tuna

ACCORDING TO HORST FEISTEL, EXPLAIN with a diagrammatic model The Avalanche Effect: this Dorian says a little too loud to himself that the albino in a scribbling frenzy besides him shoots him a glare white-hot as her skin.

"Sorry, sheesh," he winces and turns back to the test script and in a manner, it looks more distant.

His fingernails keep tapping a Black Eyed Peas beat against the desk and his feet throttles his mind further away from the classroom.

Miss. Shade is walking every row and column with her ears and eyes alert and despite her vigilance, the students know better. Dorian can't help smiling when this girl he's never seen on anything but red lipstick fastidiously does a copy-and-paste from her hefty boobs down to paper.

On the other side of the class backed to a corner by clueless Miss Shade's hefty backside is Bruce Wei, Dorian's archenemy for a lot of reasons and from the looks of it, he carved the leaked MCQs answers on his fingernails.

Dorian considers telling on him but then realizes his book is just as blank. Who can blame him anyways? Throughout the week, he could barely keep his heart down and his Peter Parker soft.

"Yes, ma."

Some of his classmates still cringe when he finishes every statement he utters to an elderly person with an exaggerated 'sir' or 'ma' but it's just the dormant African in him.

"Dorian?"

He shuffles his papers, dusts them smugly like they contain content worth B minus [they don't] and hands it over.

"Are you sure you're ready to submit? It's been barely ten minutes," says the ginger woman with doubt that glooms on her face. Dorian doesn't deserve the doubt. She knows better than to think Dorian is the student to get a heart attack from the apocalyptic pop quiz so Dorian can say he's disappointed. Still:

"I'm through, ma." Dorian doesn't hide the fact that he wants to get out of this place as fast as possible, because he turns his neck towards the clock so fast,; it's a miracle he doesn't get a whiplash. "Can I go now?"

Miss Shade shakes her head and places his papers on his desk. "Sorry, but I'll have to force more time on you. Trust me, you'll thank me later."

"Ma..."

*Yes?"

"But, ma-"

"No."

"Ma, please."

"Sit, Dorian."

He blows raspberries and slumps to his seat in defeat but his mind is still miles from this class.

Last week Thursday, he made the riskiest decision ever. Well, morally if he does say so himself but what he did was to open a Grindr account. That night he can remember like it was yesternight: he was mentally sweating loads as his fingers grazed his keyboard and his brain racked his skull for a pseudo name; the most trivial thing.

Then he stepped into the online community and forgot to breathe for a few seconds. Never has he been so close to so many..."homo" people in one place. Is this app even legal? Why are they so gay? The place reeked too, and much to his dismay, he was hooked like a moth to a candle flame.

Sunday came and with Dorian steadily skimming the site for nothing particular in mind, he stumbled upon this guy. White and athletic, same age, same school, same zodiac. They've been texting but on anonymous grounds and Dorian desperate for the homosexual contact his suppressed nature craves decided they meet up, today, Friday.

Now he can't stop thinking about how wicked 'Eric' boasted his French-kissing is.

The lunch bell rings in no time and Dorian is grateful it came in the nick of time when he was about to pop a boner fantasizing about Eric taking him to a gay bar. Yes, Eric promised him that. His life is about to change and all because of some app.