Let's Sneak Out to Hear Thrashing Metals!

Chapter 2

No sooner than I placed my order- a burger and fries, as an inside joke to myself- than I excuse myself, saying I need to use the bathroom.

Our chaperone, Claire's mom, doesn't give a shit. As I weave my way through the tables. This really annoying teacher Mrs. Portunda sitting at one of them reaches out a hand to stop me. "Y/N!"

I reluctantly stop. Oh, fuck. This lady's like obsessed with me, even though I've given her no reason to be. I literally do the bare fucking minimum in her lowest level possible science class and get A's on her painfully easy tests. I finish my homework at home while people like Claire and Hannah rush to find people to copy off of at the start of class.

"I'm sorry. I'm headed to the bathroom. I've had to go the entire tour."

Her face contorts sympathetically. "Oh, honey, why didn't you tell the tour guide?"

"Uhhh, I didn't want to hold anyone up," I say.

"Oh, sweetie. You shouldn't be afraid to advocate for yourself."

Afraid. I inwardly snort.

"And how are you getting along with your groupmates? I know for some people that are shy, it can be hard-"

I cut her off. "I'm sorry, but I can't hold it much longer." And I bolt out of there. Shy? Is she crazy? I don't fuck with those girls because they're fake bitches who don't give a shit about me, or anyone but themselves, and dealing with them would take precious energy that's not worth it. Not because I'm shy.

Honestly, I can't with this lady. Last month some anonymous teacher that I suspect must've been her told a specialist at school, who then told my mom, about "antisocial behavior", and I had to convince her they were wrong about me. And they are. School counselors and teachers don't know shit. Keeping to myself and choosing not to engage with people that would only be condescending and rude does not make me "antisocial." Plus, I have friends. It's not my fault this bitch doesn't see me hanging out with them at lunch or after school.

I'm still running as I get out into the hallway.

"Whoa, what's the rush?" Comes Rodrick's voice. He's leaning against the dark wood-paneled wall all chill. "That excited to see me?"

I mean, yeah, kinda, but I'm not about to tell him that. I roll my eyes. "I had to get rid of a teacher. Pretended I really had to go."

"Ohhh, nice," he says, nodding appreciatively. "Let's bounce before she comes looking for you."

"Wait, so do you know where you're going?"

"Nope," he says. "I figured we'd walk around for a bit, on our own."

An impossibly sweet smell wafts through the air. "Oh my God, what is that smell?"

He frowns. "I showered this morning, I swear."

"No..." I say. "No, it's not you. It's something baking. Come on!" I start walking towards the direction it's coming from. We eventually get to the entrance of the French restaurant, where it's the strongest. "Oh, damn, I should've known."

"What?" He says.

"The French restaurant was my first choice. I heard the pastries here were to die for."

The door next to it swings open, and I catch a glimpse of a student putting on chef's whites over her clothes, and heading to one of the workstations. Plates upon plates of French pastries are on a table, waiting to be carried out to the restaurant. "Do you see that?" I say, pointing. "They're just sitting there." I turn around to see a glint in his eye, an idea forming in a tiny crevice of his brain. "No."