18: So It Starts

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Noah

In a flash of a second, Spyder was pinned against the gym lockers under the pressure of my balled fists. "You think this is funny? A joke to you?"

"Put me down." He said calmly, which only fueled my anger.

Everyone had left, so it was just me and him. "What did he do to you to mess with him? What did he do to anyone to deserve this?"

He put his hands around my wrists to loosen my grip, but I didn't budge.

But then I saw the fear in his eyes.

I immediately let go.

My parents raised me better than that. Dad won't even hurt an ant.

I wasn't a bully, nor was I a violent person. I quickly came back to my senses as I realised I wasn't being any different than Casper Dean.

"I'm sorry," I said. "I'm just furious."

"It's my fault." Fear was replaced with guilt. I was so disappointed. My own best friend was pulling such acts. What would prevent others from doing worse? "How did you know I wrote the note?"

"I've corrected countless of your essays to recognise your handwriting from a distance." I paced the locker room, my mind drifting to Kent. Sickly frail Kent. The thought of him sleeping under his bed made me feel new levels of anger. At his dad, at his friends, at the world, at life.
"What I wanna know is: why," I gave him a side glance.

He was looking at his hands like they suddenly were the map of the Holy Roman Empire's expansion across Europe.

"Because I hate him." His words were spiteful. What could have he possibly done to piss of Spyder this much?

"Can you at least tell me why?" I said a bit louder. I was worried some teacher was gonna hear us and shoo us out.

He walked past me, brushing his shoulder against my upper arm. "You wouldn't understand."

It really hurt. Spyder was my best friend, and he was acting like some random person I met in the hallways. "So this is what we've come to? You don't even wanna bother explain?"

"Explain what?" Spyder screamed, which definitely was going to attract attention from teachers all the way from the other town. "Explain how my best friend barely talks to me now? How my so called best friend doesn't even know what I'm going through? How my best friend is clueless to everything happening around him? How my best friend," he choked up a little, which was never good, "is falling in love with a bastard? Is that what you wanna know?"

<>

There was a time in my life where I was deeply and gratefully content. I had everything I needed or wanted. I had a home, family, money, friends. Then came a stupid Home Economics class and tied me up with this fragile shell of a boy with anger issues.

I couldn't blame the class, really. I couldn't blame the students either.

All who I could blame was myself.

I stood up for Kent, and I let myself get dragged into his mess of a life. He knew what was going to happen and he tried to keep me out, yet I went in anyway.
I had no regrets.

I exited the gym lockers, leaving Spyder there frozen like a statue, as the note lay bare on the ground, face up:

I know you're a bastard

I went back under the bleachers to fetch my bag. I didn't expect Kent to still be there, and I was correct. The dead grass was creased in two large chunks, the only sign that we were here.

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