Backstage; Wonah/Rester

1: The History of Our Lives

Reed

"Dude, come on." I plead to Lester as he stands in front of me. It's just five in the afternoon and I know if we don't do it now, someone will catch us, like the cleaning staff or teachers that like to stay back (for whatever reason).

Lester huffs, "I don't even know why we're doing this. I have fine grades except for languages."

"Because, if I flunk this last exam, Miss will call my dad." I don't add on that he'll beat the crap out of me. I can't let Lester know anything about my home life. I bet he still thinks my real mom's around and that the scars on my back and neck are from the motor bike.

Lester sighs again and rolls his eyes. "Fine."

I don't thank him or say "yesss!" like I would have when we were twelve. I don't need to say those things to Lester anymore, that's what happens once you've been friends for so long.

Lester props open the locks (he's always been good at picking things open) and I force the window open (I'm usually the one to do the heavy lifting.) Lester slips in, his thinner frame always allowed him to sneak around a lot easier than me.

It's funny how much we changed as we got older, I didn't grow much taller, not that I minded, I realized that you only had to be taller than the girls to be hot. To make up for it though my arms grew, not to mention my legs. I started beating all the others in gym, lifted more than all of them. They probably think it was to look good. It was, but not for girls or anything. Maybe it was for me, maybe my father.

Lester only got taller. He sprung up taller than everyone else. He didn't bulk like I did, his slender frame didn't attract as many girls as expected. Not that he cared. He actually started reading, he still hung out with us, with me. But he was quiet. Sometimes I had to stand up for him as others started calling him a f**. He isn't, I don't think. We don't talk about that anyway.

Lest walks are if there are eggshells under his feat. Which is stupid because nobody else is in the classroom.

"Dude, just grab the papers and go." I hiss through the window. The cleaning people would be here soon.

"I'm getting them." He shuffles along over to the teacher's desk. I know for sure that they're still there after I saw Miss shuffle them in a binder before the end of class, bright pink as well, easy to identify.

Lester snaps open the draw after fiddling with the drawer. He pulls out sheets of last exams, grades, detention slips, even a textbook. But no pink folder. "I don't know where it is, Reed." He whispers.

"Well it's gotta be in there somewhere, I saw the bitch put it in there this morning." I call back, giving up on keeping my voice down.

"You shouldn't call your teachers that, Reed." Lester states like he's reading from a card.

I roll my eyes, "Why do you care?"

He's silent for a second. "You just shouldn't... Anyway, the folder isn't in here."

I climb through the window. "You're probably looking in the wrong drawer or something." I push him aside when I make my way across the room, only to find that it was the drawer. But the folder isn't there. "That doesn't make any sense."

"She could have taken the folder out at some point during the day." Lester suggests. He doesn't understand how important it was for me to find this. Not that he would even care if I left, despite the fact there aren't many others that would stick around for him. I don't want him to end up like that Goodman kid a few years back before Kippen magically fell for him.

Lester isn't a gay. But he sure as hell acts like one when it comes to school.

"You could always study for this." Lester says. He thumbs through the paper, light catching in-between his fingers when it can. I watch as the fragments stick to him as my anger boils over me.