Villain

Chapter 7

WREN

The resounding toll of the school bell was my cue to screw the cap of the dry-erase marker back on. I had just finished giving a presentation on my research proposal to test the impact of microtubule aggregation on the docking and fusing of vesicles in giant axonal neuropathy, and was in the middle of answering questions from other students in my Neuroscience class who had no clue what the fuck they were talking about. Exactly how many picoamperes of current will be applied for how many seconds to induce depolarization, why exactly do I propose to use drosophila instead of worms or frogs or my own mother, so on and so forth. Except I knew realistically that the issue lay with me and my study design, not the pricks in my class who actually raised valid points. I swallowed down my disappointment on the imperfections of my proposal as I stiffly packed my bag and nodded to Professor Nwosu before exiting the classroom.

Micah was leaning on the lockers across the hall with his hands in his pockets, listening with rapt attention to a towering dude with his school blazer draped over the crook of his arm and the sleeves of his uniform rolled up. When I stopped right in front of them, the time it took for Micah to remove his gaze from Nicholas, his calculus tutor, to even look in my general direction was both comical and slightly offending. The first one to acknowledge my existence was Anna, a longtime friend of ours.

"Hey, you did well," she said, referring to my presentation. They were waiting on me to come down for lunch, so they probably saw me losing my shit and getting overwhelmed with questions at the last bit. I mumbled an incoherent thank you, uttering that it really could have turned out better if I had prepared more--

"Dude, I love how you're reduced to a flustered, timid pile of goo whenever your passion project is mentioned. It's so adorable I wanna hurl," Micah quipped, making a pleasant gagging sound that made Nicholas stifle a chuckle. Anna offered me an apologetic smile.

I sniffed in disdain. "It isn't a passion project. I know you're not familiar with the concept, but it was an assignment."

"You think I don't notice the way your breath hitches and toes curl when you hear or speak of shit like 'operating definition?' My brother in Christ, you take the phrase 'wet lab' to a whole other level," Micah countered, slapping my shoulder.

"It's operational definition, you shitdick." I knew it would just prove his point but I had to. Also who fucking cares. "And I vividly remember you having a periodic table themed blanket only a couple years back that you annotated," I quipped, and noticed the pleasant surprise on Nicholas's face.

Micah was quick to retort, "You, my friend, want to do the snail's pace data collection that barely drives science forward and write boring lit reviews. I'm gonna become a mediocre chemistry teacher who turns into a revered drug lord by selling blue meth. We are not the same."

We began turning towards the closest staircase to go down for lunch and Nicholas directed Micah's attention away from me, albeit without much effort from his part. "About that blanket. You still have it? I was super anxious when I gave it to you back then cause I thought it'd be too nerdy for you, but guess you warmed up to it." His grin looked almost giddy as he swept a hand through his head of dark curls.

I would have continued to observe with keen interest as Micah fumbled for words in embarrassment as one is wont to do in front of their tall, broad-shouldered, Sierra Leonean crush, but the sight of two people who trigger my gag reflex coming up the stairs across from us made me pause.

Lineas, with his hands in the pockets of his trousers, strode with footsteps that were quick but heavy from the effort not to stomp, preferably on the neck of the petite girl trailing his heels. Gone were the lilac-tipped locks that had once hung to her chin in a bob; Esme now wore her hair down to her lower back in waves that undulated gently with each step. Every teenage douchebag in the corridor wasted no effort to hide the eagerness with which they leered at her bare legs and short skirt, but Esme spared them no glance. Instead, she was relentlessly attempting to grab onto any part of Lineas she could find.

"Please stop touching me," Lineas huffed quietly, swatting away her wandering hand on his hip. His statement was polite and sounded almost pleading but the narrow set of his eyes and slight tremble in his hands implied a subdued anger. Esme didn't seem to care-- her giggle was playful and conspicuous while she slid her fingers into the back pocket of Lineas's pants. Anybody could buy the image of a sweet couple playfighting in the hallway between classes; the fact that Lineas was always characteristically grumpy did nothing to help his case.

Anna nudged me, and I noticed that she was also glancing in their direction. "The secondhand embarrassment is huge on this one," she said, her eyebrows raised. "I didn't expect Lineas to just take it, though. It's like he has an invisible gun to his head or something."

Anna was right in a way because I figured the metaphorical gun was most likely held by a stern woman who goes by the name of Odette Prescott, the principle of this school. Oh, and also Lineas's mother.

Since being an asshole was my thing, I decided to intercede. "Got bored of Connie already?," I drawled as I stepped in front of them, addressing the question to them both. Nicholas and Micah were already on their way down the stairs, their attention undividedly on each other. Anna paused to gauge whether I was okay with her following them and only left after I nodded in response. 


"What's it to you?," Lineas quipped, studying me with furrowed brows. "Don't you have lives to ruin? Kindly fuck off, please."

My lips parted as I took a moment before replying. Did he know? What I did to her? The idea of Connie opening up to this prick with the emotional intelligence of a pencil caused incredulous laughter to bubble up in my chest. Esme didn't utter a peep, just looked everywhere but at me.

"Just looking out for a friend. It pains me to think that she's out there in a new school without a support system to lean on like she did here." I put a hand to my chest, blinking innocently at them. I knew I wasn't fooling anyone, at least not completely, but it was still quite fun. 

"Esme," I continued, changing lanes abruptly. Her eyes rounded in surprise, and it was hard to hold back my amusement. "I hope your dad's doing alright. If he ever gets tired of the drug dealing business, I can always be a reference and put in a word or two for him at my dad's company." Her eyes glazed over with tears, the perky confidence from before swept away completely like dry, lifeless leaves on an autumnal wind. Her lips remained shut, albeit quivering slightly. Lineas's expressed remained both blank and unwelcoming, and by then I decided I was bored.

I shifted the strap of my backpack on my shoulder and made my way towards the staircase, leaving them with a "See you around, shitheads." 

Behind me, I faintly heard Esme blubbering out a teary explanation for the boy next to her who clearly did not give a fuck: "My dad is a pharmacist, not a drug dealer!"