Teenage Dirtbag (SeaChaos - REVAMPED)

4 - House of the Derps

I am in my classroom all of probably six seconds before I hear a loud and familiar-sounding crash echo from down the hallway. My brain kicks me and tells me to go find the source, that I know who the most likely culprit is, but I shove that thought away. 'Course, not for long.

"Chilled!" The moment I hear the shout, I am out of my seat, throwing my bag over my shoulder, my brotherly -- I suppose that's the easiest way to describe it -- instincts kicking in. I fly down the hall and skid to a stop at class 204. And I sigh.

Inside the small room, chaos seems to have taken over. A desk has been upturned, others are pushed into disarray, papers and books and other materials litter the once-clear floor. Mr. Live -- the newest teacher, who only started last month, the poor guy -- stands with his back against the whiteboard behind him, fear in his eyes and stance. Ze stands in the back of the room, in an unsurprisingly untouched area of classroom. Smarty stands to the right of the room, a bruise already blossoming on his face.

Typical Galm destruction.

In the middle of all of this stands the culprit, Galm, who glares at Mr. Live, who is surprisingly injury-free. As the calmest one in the room -- or rather, the one most willing to do something, of course -- I decide to interfere, stepping in front of Galm before he can lunge at the poor, shaking man before us.

"What the fuck is going on, Galm?" I ask, glaring at him, but he matches my glare easily.

"He graded Ze's paper wrong," he says around clenched teeth, his effort at calming down.

"I did not!" Mr. Live responds. Hemusthaveadeathwish, theidiot! Galm let's out a growl and lunges past me for him, and I try to catch him before he gets to far, but he deftly dodges me. Just as he grabs a fistful of Mr. Live's shirt, a soft voice speaks up.

"Anthony," the voice murmurs, not speaking to me, but to Galm. At the sound, Galm straghtens, releasing his grip on the teacher in front of him. Of course. He only listens to Ze, really, anymore.

"Sorry, Ze," Galm says as he moves away from Mr. Live, who is torn between relief and uncertainty.

"You could've said something earlier," I mutter mutely.

"Don't kill Mr. Live, Galm," Ze says softly. "He didn't do anything wrong." Galm clenches his fists, glaring at Mr. Live angrily, making the older man flinch.

"He graded it wrong," Galm grates out, but Ze only shakes his head.

"It can easily be re-graded," he responds simply.

"But I--" Ze gives the arguing teacher a hard look.

"It can easily be re-graded," he repeats, and the older man, looking slightly diminished, nods. After the problem is solved -- which means Ze just got a free one hundred instead of the ninety-two he previously had -- I herd all three of them out of the room, hearing Mr. Live mutter something about not signing up for this. I apologize as I leave the room, knowing it's all I can do.

//--//--//--//--//--//

I refuse to allow Galm to walk back home almost alone, in fear that he might A) rape Ze in public -- although I doubt it would be considered rape since Ze would be all for it or B) kill some innocent passerby for saying the wrong thing. So, Smarty and I tag along, Tom meeting us about three feet from the front of the school. We own a car. Tom drives it sometimes, but most of where we go is within walking distance, and Tom is all for 'Derp fitness'. In all honesty, I could care less about that. I'd rather save it for the gym, but I guess I'm slightly glad for the benefits it has gavien me, like helping me keep a rather slim form. Well, I guess slim isn't really the right word, but oh well. We'll pretend that it is. Needless to say, I'm glad to be able to say I'm not fat or out of shape.