Before we left lunch for our afternoon periods, I forced Kash to take my maroon Thrasher hoodie.

"Dude you don't have to do this, it's just a small stain," he said as he pointed to the huge soiled mark on his polo shirt.

"Yeah right, it looks like someone took a massive dump on your chest," I answered, rolling my eyes as I threw my hoodie at his face. "Besides, I have a long-sleeved shirt underneath so we're good."

"Are you sure? Won't you get cold? Remy, I know you get cold easily, just take back the jac—"

"No, I gotta go to Math class now, see ya," I said hurriedly, making a clean getaway.

Kash meant well but I hated the thought of him walking around with spoiled chocolate milk on his shirt. He would definitely get bullied. I just prayed to the math gods that maybe Mr. Marcs didn't blast the AC today.

Mr. Marcs was a long lanky man who was past his prime and in his late thirties, but still young enough and attractive to gather a harem of school girls. He walked around the room until the students hushed their conversations. He never yelled, too concerned over keeping up his running title of cool teacher of the year. He placed his worn wooden stool in the front of the class with delicate twink-like elegance. My desk neighbor, Dylan, who was sickly infatuated with this man, just had to make some kind of salacious comment on Mr. Marc's effortlessly chic and loin-frothing beard stubble.

I began to wonder if everyone in this school walked around so thirsty all the time. Mr.Marcs merely wanted to, as he sometimes lamented, avoid the treachery of sitting behind a desk all day, and that the jaded older ways of teaching served no one any good. Holding a torn Trigonometry textbook in his hand, he flipped through a few pages before abruptly closing it in an apparent quel of frustration; and the calm quiet of his classroom was curtly interrupted by the thunderous sound of that very same textbook hitting the ground. The egregious act immediately garnered the entire room's attention, putting the eyes of every student on him, in the palm of his hand.

Oh man, here he goes...

"Students, may I riddle you this?... Pythagorean theorem!" He held his breath, melodramatically performing for the room. "Is this too ancient an equation? Are we now too advanced?" He strolled around the classroom, making his way through the side aisles, continuing to lecture on. "Why do we teach it today? To sell iPhones and stocks...Hmmm? Or does this have a special meaning to it, a secret code to unlock the wealth of mathematics's mysterious ways..." He paused, strategically returning to the tattered book on the ground. "This is your quest today, my pupils!"

Oh god, he's coming at us with another quest.

"Please, if you will, convince me why I should even bother to pick that book up off the floor and help you unlock it's knowledge." He gazed with a ridiculous, menacing stupor out at the classroom.

Every teacher usually has a full mental breakdown in front of their classroom at least once, but judging by everyone's muted and moreover bored reaction, this couldn't have been the first time Mr. Marcs decided to unfurl in public.

"You have until the end of class, you hopeless broods. Succeed, and you shall have no homework this week. Fail, and face the atrocities of a pop quiz each day from any section of the book‒‒even the ones we haven't covered!" He gave the room another moment to soak in his anger, but a majority of the class had already returned to either their phones or quiet whispers to speculate how much Benedryl and beta-blockers Mr. Marcs was currently on. So with no tears left to cry, he simply yelled, "Now go!"

He returned to his stool debilitated, and the class let out a collective sigh once the whole outburst seemed over and done with. The few teachers' pets there were amongst us flocked to the front of the class, making doggish attempts to lift Mr. Marcs from his theatrical despair. As far as I could tell from my seat in the back, it seemed like he was half asleep now and he could barely even pay attention to the students who actually gave a shit about him.

By my guess, being a math teacher was never Marc's dream job. He was so garish and got these great spurts of energy, and it seemed like he might make for a much better drama teacher. But Rosewood High barely had a working carpool lane, let alone a theater to host the escapades of an impassioned mad man. So here he was, trapped in a small town teaching adolescent youth on the subject matter he himself only had a sparing grasp on.

What a fucking mess.

Sinking back in my seat, I took my headphones out to chill for the rest of the class. I had already taken trig back in Atlanta; and I had passed with an A- under a teacher who actually knew what they were talking about. Unfortunately Rosewood High refused to accept my credits (citing differences in state curriculum's), and so here I was being forced to waste my time‒‒held hostage by a man at the end of his wits whose only source of self-esteem was a group of doting teenagers.

A quick vibration interrupted my train of thought, a Rosewood Creek area code popped up on my phone screen.

Hey Remy, it's Theo. My eyebrows shot up.

Umm ... Oh my god, Theo actually texted me.

My body tensed up a bit‒‒half nervous, half excited. I was beaming but somehow scared all at the same time. . .

What the fuck, man? Just get a grip over yourself and reply!

Another message popped up on my screen before I could type anything back: Can you meet me by the stairwell for a second? The one next to the boy's bathroom on the first floor?

I was at a loss for words. Was this a good thing or a bad thing? I couldn't tell. I quickly glanced up at the front of the room to see that Mr. Marcs had now taken the book up off the floor and was parading around to his circle of admirers: a smaller and much more suitable audience so as to not douse the flame of his ego. I rolled my eyes and looked back down to my phone.

I mean, I'm in trig rn... But what, like in between classes? I texted back.

I waited tensely as the small bubble on my screen indicated he was typing. It took more than a few seconds, only making my stomach flutter even more.

Goddamn, was he typing a novel?

"Please Tucker, you must give more thought on this matter. Why do we even need this if we created the Kardashians? We as a civilization have moved on from our archaic ways‒‒ clearly!"

I could hear the teacher's whining growing louder at the front of the room. Every benign effort made by Mr. Marc's fan club seemed to be in vain. You couldn't pay this man to do his job. My phone buzzed again.

No...

Right now.

If you can, of course.

Jesus, all that build up just for a "right now"?

I didn't know who I thought was crazier in that moment: my teacher or Theo. I ultimately decided Mr. Marcs wasn't doing anything for me today, and so I bailed out of the room on the limp excuse of having an urgent shit to take.

Sure be right there. I texted back as the classroom door swung close behind me. 

Skipping down the stairs, I hopped off the end of the main landing to find Theo chilling by the side entrance door, just where he said he would be.

"Hey," Theo nodded my way.

"Umm... Hi," I replied awkwardly back.

"Umm... I know I said we should meet up after school," he shifted his gaze down to the floor and bit his lip just a bit in a kind of mischievous shyness, "but I kinda just want to dip out early, ya know?"

"Oh.. okay."

I wasn't sure why he couldn't have just texted me this. Glancing down at his jacket, I noticed fresh bloodstains were sprinkled on the faded jean material. His face was slightly swollen by his lip area, almost subtle enough to miss, but then again I always found myself staring at his pillowy lips and so couldn't help but notice the blotch of puffy bruise skin.

I gave him the benefit of the doubt that he probably needed to leave campus because of some stupid fight he'd just been in, so I decided not to question him. I just gave him a soft nod to indicate some level of agreement with his plans.

"I was thinking we could go to the public library off Fletcher Street...Maybe get some materials we need before school lets out, and that way you can get home on time."

Pondering if I should actually do this, I shifted my stance before I decided. I really didn't give a fuck about the attendance policy at this school anymore. Half the teachers here were walking jokes, and the other half were just waiting to retire.

"Sure, let's go," I answered, shrugging my shoulders.

Mr. Marcs, the principal, and the brown nosers at the fronts of every classroom‒‒they could all eat it for a day as far as I was concerned.

"Cool," Theo replied nonchalantly, wincing slightly as he nodded back. His injuries no doubt had taken some sort of toll, but other than a slight quiver in his smile he seemed to completely disregard the pain he was in.

We started to stroll down the quiet hallway, making our way out of the school...

A/N Theo is making Remy skip school, such a bad influence!😝 How do you guys feel about Theo? I think I already know from some of you! 😏 Let me know what you think in the comments! 

Also, don't forget to like and subscribe! ✔ ❤

Thank you to all of my subscribers! It's literally the coolest thing to see so many people enjoying my story. If you are feeling up to it, feel free to give some ink.✨