AGENT W | ✓

1 | The New Student

We were all told our assignment the second we entered through that wooden framed door. If you didn't see it, it was magnified 100x on the white board in front of you.

I played with my pencil for a bit before picking up my head and surveying the other students in the classroom with me. They were all like a batch of puppets; reading, writing, sneezing, coughing at measured intervals in time.

I stalked everyone from my favorite seat in the whole world, the front seat.

No, that's a lie. Everyone who knows anything knows it's the back seat.

You may think that the back has its downsides as well; the troublemaking teens, the loud noises, the likely place any experienced teacher would call on.

But at least the distance and the dark makes up for it. There's a relatively higher chance you could get away with stuff when hidden by the forty-some other beings in front of you.

"You, pstt."

I blinked out of my thoughts before gradually turning around to face the boy sitting behind me. My eyes resisted glaring daggers into his sockets and cursing his entire soul-being, as a feeling of breaking bones and snapping necks briefly, just briefly, crossed my mind when he assumed it was a wise idea to poke my shoulder with his pencil.

Like I didn't just turn my entire body and give him my attention.

Like, can I poke your eyes with my pencil.

Slightly amused, slightly disappointed, I found myself giving in to the faint voices in my head telling me that while I aced in acting, my own stubbornness fought diligently to break free and inflict damage. Nonetheless, patience.

"So, what's the answer to #28, huh?" the boy chirped, side-glancing his friends with a — well what he thought was an uncaught smirk — before rolling his head back to parallel mine.

"... A-aren't we supposed to do the problems... by our selves?" Good. Stuttering. The usual.

Poke."Seriously?" he mocked, leaning forward into his desk as his head tilted threateningly at me. All I paid attention to was how his pencil was still in contact with my hoodie since his second poke. "You're smart. Just do the damn problem for me." And after several nudges from his comrades, he didn't hesitate to add, "And maybe #29-45 as well."

If I could, my eyeballs would be rolling to the back of my head. When his parents pooped him out it was hard enough, why couldn't he be a grateful offspring and just learn some manners while he was at it? I'll even volunteer to teach him some sense.

Because you do not look down on, what? Nerds. The Quiet. I could give him at least that much advice. They — correction, we —didn't pop into the world just yesterday at 5 am sharp, so sit your behind down and wipe off that naive look of triumph because you do not know what anyone is capable of, dumb child.

Because one, the nerds will become future hackers, and two, the quiet will become undercover agents.

You never know.

But hey. He wanted to go down this route, come at me. "O-okay, I don't know if this is right [don't they all say this]... but I got A... B. C. D. E. F. G. H. I. J. K. L. M. N. O. P. Q. R. S. T. U. V. W. X. Y, and Z."

Lesson number one in our volunteered lessons: the alphabet.

Dumb snickers filled the back of the room and I felt like I just physically punched the air out of the boy scrutinizing me with a scowl.

"Don't play me," he growled in my face, pointing his pencil at my direction while his friends watched on with amused stares.

Wouldn't dream of it, sweetheart. I've seen better.