Super Crush (BxB)

A Save in the Bathroom

To tell you the truth, by third period, I had forgotten all about my run-in with Stephan. I didn't think anything of taking a bathroom break fourth period to get out of a snooze-worthy AP Bio lesson. However, when I turned from the urinal after doing my business, I found myself face to face with my dimwitted assailant from this morning.

"Well, looky here. If it isn't the butt cowboy himself." Stephan grabs me by my collar and pulls me in close–like uncomfortably close. Though I am annoyed he hasn't even let me wash my hands yet, I am thankful he is chewing minty gum and put a classy splash of cologne on today.

"Stephan, aren't you exhausted? This whole idiot bigot act has got to be tiring. What happened to you? We used to be friends. Can't you fight the power and start giving jocks a good name?"

It's useless to fight back. He outweighs me by an easy 50 and is the school's best wrestler. But if I'm gonna get the crap beat out of me, I might as well go down with a running mouth.

I put a little prayer out there to God, Allah, the Buddha–anyone listening, really. Please don't let Stephan punch me in the face. Two years of braces have done wonders for my teeth line.

He scoffs and lifts me off my feet. "This is going to be fun."

Someone clears their throat behind Stephan. We both look to see who has joined our party. 

It's Clay.

What are the chances?

"Get out of here, Piedra. Brasso has had this coming to him for a long time."

Clay doesn't budge.

"What? Do you not understand English, asshole?"

In a blur, Stephan's on his knees. Clay is holding the buffoon's arm at an unnatural angle. I am shocked. I would have assumed Stephan could countermove–or whatever an appropriate wrestling term is.

"Thought you woulda learned your lesson this morning, Animal Farm," Clay says.

My ears pique. A literature-based quip? George Orwell, the pig sounds, be still my heart.

"But here we are again. You, looking like a dumbass, getting told to leave this kid alone. Starting to think you may have the hots for him or something."

I laugh, in spite of being called a kid.

Stephan lets out a growl as his arm is cranked another notch higher on the it's-gonna-break-any-minute scale. I don't feel bad for him, but Clay has taken it farther than Abe ever does. A part of me hopes Clay knows where the line is.

"Have you learned your lesson this time?" my rescuer asks.

"Yes. I read you loud and clear. I'll leave Brasso alone. For real, bro."

Clay lets him go. Stephen gets to his feet and rolls his shoulder back while keeping a deep scowl aimed my way.

I give a smug wave, and Stephen clomps off with a grumble.

Clay and I turn to face each other. He is even more attractive up close. I ignore his big arms and tattoo peeking out from under his sleeve and break the silence.

"Thanks for that. I know it didn't look like it, but I had things under control."

Total lie.

"Is getting punched in the face your idea of having it under control?" he asks with a half-smile.

Damn. He would have punched me in the face. Glad the holy trio got my prayer and sent Clay.

"I mean...it hasn't happened yet." I finger guns him.

"Because someone else has always stepped in?"

Though he is right, I'm not any less annoyed.

"Keenly astute, new guy. Been here like a day and you already have us all figured out." It may have come out with a bit more bite than I intended, considering he just saved my ass.

"No, Brass, just you," he says.

Before I can retaliate with the classic, "You don't know me," Clay is already on his way out of the bathroom.

And just like that, I'm alone, staring at myself in the mirror above the sink, wondering what the hell just happened.

The rest of bio goes by in a haze. I can't seem to think of anything else except how much I now love and hate Clay. One second I have plans to talk mad smack about him on every social media account I have, the next, I kinda want to invite him to the movies or something. Get to know him. Either way, I know I have to talk to him again. Or maybe slash his tires. I can't tell.

The wait isn't long. Before I can even take a seat beside Abe at our lunch table, I catch a glimpse of Clay shuffling toward the far cafeteria door with a slice of pizza in his hand and big studio earphones covering his head.

"Hey," I greet Abe, without actually looking at him, "I'm gonna eat in the library today. Do one last study session for the AP World History test I have last period."

Abe follows my eyesight over his shoulder. And laughs.

"No need to lie, Noah. Not to me. For starters, you were born ready for that test today and you know it."

I find a perceptive arched eyebrow judging me when I look down at Abe.

I scrunch my face and emoji shrug. He rolls his eyes and shakes his head. This is a recurring silent conversation Abe and I have. I live my life in a constant emoji shrug fashion.

"Just go. He is probably headed to the art studio. I saw him there yesterday on my way here." He turns his attention back to the cheesy fries piled high on his tray.

I take this as the end of our exchange, but as I move around the table, Abe grabs my forearm. No words needed, he gives it a I-will-beat-the-shit-out-of-him-if-he-messes-with-you squeeze. I return the sediment with a smile and I-know-buddy shoulder pat.

Normally, such an affectionate interaction with Abe would have little hearts dancing around my head, but my mind is elsewhere. I see Clay through the big glass windows of the art room.

"Alright, Mr. Piedra, your turn for the hot seat," I say to myself as I push through the double doors that lead to the pottery annex.