Sixth

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'Shit.'
'Fuck.'
'God. Damnit.'
These are all thoughts Michael had during 8th period: the last class before school ends. He was royally fucked.
Five minutes.
Michael tapped his fingers on his desk, his arm sore from the wound from earlier. His mind darted quickly to he text, trying to assure himself he could escape this.
Four minutes.
His brain chose to remind him that he had planned to confront Jeremy today. Oh, the irony! He was screwed, but he still laughed.
Two minutes.
Time seemed to go faster as Michael realized that he might faint before leaving the classroom, which, was close to Jeremy's, and had Jake, Rich, and Chloe. So four of the cruelest people in school.
Thirty seconds.
His fingers twitches nervously, his backpack shifted as Michael prepared to bolt from his seat to anywhere he could hide.
Zero minutes.
Michael jumped from his seat and ran for the door, turn down two hallways and bursting out of the school building. He could hear Brooke yelling, but he didn't stop to hear what. His heart pounded in his chest, his breath thumping in his throat. He ran and ran and ran...
Michael stopped, a hand on his shoulder bringing his sprinting to a halt. He turned to see Brooke, shushing him, leading him down the alleyway. When she finally let out a breath, he began to question her.
"Why are you helping me? Did you send the text? What's going on? Are you my friend? What-"
"Michael," Brooke yelped, "Hurry!" She covered his mouth and pulled him behind a dumpster. Footsteps sounded, and Michael heard heavy breathing.
"Where the fuck did he go?" Rich snarled, turning in circles in an attempt to spot him.
"This way, I think." Jenna said, trailing in front of everyone. Finally, the voices and footsteps faded, the panic bubbling down to a sizzling heap of fear.
"Jenna sent the text."

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