Goody Two Shoes

Part One.

"Yes, Mr. Parry?" The teacher rubbed his head. The last lesson of the day, always seemed the longest. Even longer when you had the star student curious about everything. Including the quadratic equation.

"Sir, I believe that you can apply the quadratic equation to the Nth term, to create a simple equation to answer the question. Oh, the answer is actually 6.9." Snickers resounded around the classroom. Immature idiots.

The bell rang loudly, signalling the end of class. Dexter Parry shook his head. He didn't actually like maths, but he wanted a decent job. Unlike the other students, he generally cared for his teachers and education.

"Sir, I suggest a good sleep and a healthy meal tonight. Also, have a chocolate bar. You need it." He tossed the (very slightly) melted bar to his professor. Walking out the room, he slid his bag over his shoulder.

Snickers followed him, and a little kid ran up to him and kicked him. In his tenders. He nearly fell, but quickly pulled the dumb 'kick me' note off his back.

"Wow. I've seen newborns more mature than this. Now if you'll excuse me, I have a shift to attend to." Dexter glared round. He headed to the janitors room, and grabbed the lawn mower. His least favourite job. It took forever, and it was the middle of summer. Great.

He stepped outside, and immediately thought of losing his shirt. He would get burned, but he'd rather not get stroke. He hung it over the school rails, and got mowing. His pale skin glistened in the sun, and he had put his radio on loud. He stared at his grass stained white trainers.

He had needed new ones... He pulled his mind away as he heard girls giggled and gasping. He stared self-consciously at his tight stomach. He knew he was hot, but he hated flaunting it. Girls just didn't attract him. Ignoring them, he finished and emptied the grass into the bins. Grabbing his shirt, he pulled on his roller skates.

After putting his bluish green shirt on, he slipped his bag on his back and set off. Shooting past the aforementioned girls, he sped round a corner. Unfortunately, Trent was there. Waiting. Leaning on his car, he casually tripped our favourite grey haired fourteen year old.

"H-H-Hey, Trent. What's u-up?" Damn his nervous stutter. Dexter got up, gingerly feeling a few grazes on his face, and a particularly large cut on his arm. That was gonna scar...

"Not much pip squeak. Except maybe you handing over your wages. Isn't fourteen a bit young?" He glared at the blonde. Trent knew he was extremely low on money, yet he still patronised him.

"No. I need it for tonight's rent. You know I need to pay your parents!" It was extremely difficult to lodge with your enemy. Especially if you were only fourteen. Skating toward their shared house, Trent drove up beside, a mood change overcoming him.

"Get in squirt. I'll drive us home." Dexter blinked in surprise, and climbed in anyway. Careful not to scratch the paint.

Trent definitely was confusing.