HE FEELS HIS HEAD BEING pulled by his locks and bashed into an imaginary wall multiple times. He feels his head is going to split anytime from now like a damn Sodom apple. Nausea washes over his being and the repulsive carcass that lay before him seems to increase his discomfort. He diverts his eyes towards anything but the latter, they are met with the cream tiled floors writhing below him like turbulent sea waves. His sigh is hazy, at least he can see Mrs. Callaghan staring down at him with concern and pity.
"Are you sure you're feeling well?" She reminds Alejandro of Voldemort — if he even has a granny more haggard than him — and thus, needs a serious tan, and fast or else people will mistake her for being naked in that hideous angel-white frock.
His classmates turns him into an human television which does nothing to better his situation. He doesn't even have the strength to glare back at them while they pitifully watch him emit tremors and exhale hurricanes. Alejandro Bale is anything, shy or socially awkward is not of the list. He has a mouth, sharper than a two-edged sword, capable enough to slice and dice them all with only one swing of it; a simple sentence. He labels his predicament 'sight fright'. One thing he can't stand is the human eye(s).
But then again, that isn't the main thing on his mind at the moment. He's marveling at the perks of being paired with the school's bad boy on this cursed, cliche biology project. He gets fifteen minutes free to start the practical all by yourself, nice. He forgets breakfast now his head is spinning tornados and he's sweating tsunamis, sweet. His little ass will collapse and he'll find himself on the floor, again, cheers.
Diabetes is a bitch, so is he.
He wiped sweat globulets off his forehead with the sleeve of his Givenchy sweatshirt. Like a cameraman focusing with trembling hands, he struggles to concentrate on the experiment before him. A sharp glare jumps out of his eyes and stabs at the dissected lizard whose guts seems to mock his condition.
At least my insides aren't wide open like a prostitute's vagina. He spits on the poor reptile. He's internally glad he has someone — something — to vent his anger towards.
"So you guys should pick out the lungs carefully and examine the trachea. You see the semi-permeability and numerous capillaries engages efficient diffusion of gases zzzzzzzzmmmmmmm. . ." The teacher's treble eventually transforms into the humming of a fucked up radio. His ear canal sizzles from blood loss.
Soon after, the classroom door bangs open. As if he was sinless, he prances into the classroom with his crossbag hanging on one shoulder instead of across his chest. His leather jacket slightly unzipped, revealing a plain white top and his gorgeous, platinum blonde hair swaying back and forth like a flame only to be put out by Mrs Callaghan.
"You are sixteen minutes late." She says, clearly trying to suppress the anger that was apparent on her tomato face.
"Oh my god. You've got to be kidding me." He gasps — melodramatically — and does the checking-the-time gesture. The only problem; there was no watch on his wrist. "I had no idea! I was so exhausted this morning and still had to run eighty gazillion errands. The principal gave me a eight-hundred-word essay to complete before daybreak. I had to buy groceries for tonight's Thanksgiving dinner. I had to drive the equipments for coach to school. I had to study for the incoming biolo —" he coughs, "chemistry test. I should blah blah blah. . . . . "
Alejandro snorts. This guy is going to be the end of himself. Thanksgiving was three months ago and there is neither a chemistry nor biology test. The class seems to be mimic Alejandro's mood as few of their giggles tickle the atmosphere.
The old woman sighs in frustration, poke-scratching a spot on her ebony bob. "Just go. Get away from me."
A smile of victory adorns Grayson's face. "Thank you, Mrs. Callaghan." He swaggers past her and to the centre of the class.
Merely watching the scene is tormenting Alejandro, he holds his throbbing head followed up with yet another wave of quaking nausea.
Grayson stops and calls to the class, completely disregarding the teacher. "Who's my partner?"
Everyone was told their lab partners roughly twenty-three hours ago. Alejandro thinks he looks much dumber — or possibly forgetful, most likely not — than he looks, or better still, than Alejandro initially thought he is.
When he doesn't get an answer from the fuming teacher and Alejandro who was planning not to talk, a brunnette with the physique of a toothpick comes to his rescue. It is pitiful and miserable seeing him being so lulu and drop-dead dumb as a bag of hammers at the same time.
"Who the hell is Alejandro?" He makes a face and that strikes an high chord in Alejandro, like they aren't in the same class for fuck sake or maybe Alejandro is just being overly dramatic or feeling too important.
"I am." He mutters aloud, maybe a little too loud and like a screwjack(s), all heads pivots towards his direction, giving him weird looks, including Grayson. Alejandro swears he'll piss on some busybody's faces.
Grayson has a look in his eyes Alejandro can't seem to decipher when he sights the ginger but it lasts only for a second, then he walks up to his partner. They barely exchange curt heys and class goes on.
Alejandro is having a mental panic attack. He isn't fidgeting, embarrassed or anxious beside the blonde who stands beside him, he's scared. Scared that Grayson might remember that he was the one who totaled his nose. Alejandro sneaks a peek at his handiwork, draped with a thick veil of Band-aids, it doesn't look good at all, making Grayson look like a godfather to The Three Idiots. Alejandro reminisces on last week Tuesday's gym when his blazing dodgeball accidentally kissed Grayson's nose.
"Phew." Alejandro sighs in relief. Grayson doesn't know.
He is however kind of taken aback by the sudden question. Well, Grayson can't be blamed anyways. Alejandro transferred to this school two weeks ago.
"Kinda." He replies, trying to keep his cool even though he can feel an impending coma creeping in with a much stronger force.
There is an undeniably intimidating aura radiating from Grayson — apart from his suffocating cologne that should be used on an embalmed corpse instead — that snags at Alejandro. He bitterly admits this despite his titanic self-esteem. Grayson carries himself with so much dignity, it shows like black on white in the manner he talks, walks — he is basically a walking Leonardo Da Vinci masterpiece.
Except Leonardo Da Vinci's masterpieces aren't assholes who abandon diabetic lab partners to fuck their cheerleader baes. So he's cancelled from the list. Sayonara.
He extends his hand for an handshake — to Alejandro. "I'm Grayson Jackson. You can call me Gray."
Of course Alejandro knows who he is. With the little time he's spent here, he's managed to know the golden bisexual fuckboy who also happens to be the captain of Warlocks; Crescent High's football team.
"Sorry I didn't recognize your name earlier." he continues. "I'm not so good at paying attention to other people."
Dayum. That is like, so blatantly arrogant as fuck. Not that I'm one to talk anyways.
"Yeah it's okay." No it's not, you are a bastard son of a bitch. Alejandro shrugs like he isn't currently reciting the original copy of the Dictionary of Profanities published from hell. He turns back to work, and resumes gutting the agama's intestine with pincers.
Somehow, his eyes manages to land on him for the thousandth time today. And he knows why. Grayson is leaning on the table with overflowing nonchalance and texts away on his phone. As if the experiment wasn't for them both.
Luckily for Grayson and unluckily for Alejandro, their two-man group is located — more like hidden — behind the overcrowded classroom. Mrs. Callaghan stylishly saunters past their group with that plank ass of hers to make sure they were doing something since she's unable to see them from her place.
He isn't stupid enough not to realize she is actually keeping an eye on Grayson, to find a cause for yet another punishment. Nevertheless, Grayson sneaks the phone each time — much to Alejandro's utmost dismay. He wants the blonde to suffer for his sins. That wish alone labels Alejandro as a big hypocrite.
"Are you checking me out?" Grayson speaks out of the blue, breaking Alejandro out of the trance, with a teasing smirk on his lips that resembles fat, pink threads. Alejandro can rodeo a mad bull with them ropes.
Alejandro can't believe his ears when those words rolls out of Grayson's mouth. He is already too indignant to even feel embarrassed the slightest or maybe he isn't even in the mood to banter with him right now. Either way, he doesn't care if Grayson is hot or not. He'll piss and stomp on his obnoxious face. He'll get bonus points on the busted nose.
"Darling, I would rather check out thirdhand yard sales downtown than your face."
Grayson reddens like a tomato. That was wayyy unexpected for the blonde. "You're just jealous." He manages to say, still recovering from the oral shock.
"Yeah right." Alejandro scoffs, spinning a pen between his slender, slick fingers. "Jealous of the duck's beak tip you call lips. And please, stop with the phone and let's do this shit together or I'm calling on you."
This time, Grayson blanches on the spot and says nothing.
Alejandro bites his bottom lip hard, hoping it will prevent him from drifting into unconsciousness but, no. It did nothing but to cause more pain and make the Lucky Blue Smith's doppelganger poke his ridiculously aquiline nose into his business. Well, judging from his countenance, Grayson can't be blamed. Anyone will have been scared.
"Oh my god, are you fine? You look like shit." His face crosses with a look of worry as he places his palm on Alejandro who's too numb to even feel any cliche tingle of electricity from the contact.
"Y-yeah, I'm good." He swats Grayson's hand off his forehead.
"You sure? I could —"
Alejandro bursts, as his palms strikes the table. "I said, I'm good!"
His meddlesome ass deserved it, no need to feel like a complete jerk. Alejandro assures himself.
Once again, attention diverts to him. He mentally groans even louder when Mrs. Callaghan appears in front of him — particularly Grayson — like a phantom.
"What's going on here?!" She demands, her eyes twinkling with suspicion. Alejandro quickly bakes up a sugary plea of sort for disrupting her class, the second time today. He definitely doesn't wanna appear on the hag's naughty list.
The look on Grayson's face is priceless. Even Alejandro is almost as shocked at his outburst. His health has always been a very touchy subject for him and people interfering with his affairs is just a giant no-no. He kinda feels bad though because if he isn't mistaken, a hint of hurt flashed across the blonde's face. Totally unexpected to say the least.
Earsplitting silence roars between them for a moment before Alejandro finds the strength to utter something.
Grayson shrugs and keeps mute, Alejandro is grateful for that.
Alejandro finds himself thinking twice about visiting the sick bay before he humiliates myself in front of the whole class, and Grayson — not that he cares about him anyways — for the second time.
"You haven't told me your name." He suddenly says, making Alejandro raise an irritated brow.
"I know we got off on a wrong start," Well slap my ass and call me Ally. "But let's make love and not war heehee."
"What?" Alejandro blinks.
Wait, what what? His statement was 100% harmless! Why the hell did I lay emphasis on that first part? Shit, I'm so helpless.
Grayson blushes. Yes! The baddest of Crescent High fucking blush!
"No! I didn't mean it like that. I meant let's be friends because you seem like a pretty cool guy. Not like make love love, no no!" He scratches the back of his neck, diverting his eyes to the ceiling.
"Uhn uhn." Alejandro swallows and nods timidly.
"Or else if you want, we can arrange that." Grayson replies with a wink that almost made the ginger puke.
He shakes his furry head in disapproval but forces a smile nonetheless. "Alejandro Bale. You can call me Al."
Grayson returns the smile with thrice as much intensity that made Alejandro squint his eyes away from the brightness of Grayson's pearly whites; they match his hair real good. He also can't help but wonder what's up with him. Grayson is being super nice.
"Wait a sec, my name has been said to you over five times for the past one hour."
His perfectly sculpted brows fly up in realization. "Oh really?"
Alejandro folds his arms and sneers at him. Alejandro has completely forgotten he'd almost died ten minutes ago that he still has the energy to bicker around like the annoying bitch he admit he is.
"Well I guess I kinda forgot."
"What?!" Alejandro breathes. The word comes out very faint, like a siren's susurration. He doesn't notice this but he's on the brink of breaking.
"Dude I told you already. I'm woeful when it comes to names." A scowl goes on and off on the blonde's face. Alejandro rolls his eyes and wraps up the experiment. Mrs. Callaghan had instructed them to finish up.
"Anyways I gotta say, yours is really nice. Alejandro." The name rolls off his mouth in a way that made Alejandro's intestines shudder.
"It kinda reminds me of this Lady GaGa song where she was singing the name again and again till it became too annoying. But the video was cool though. Those guys in heels and lingerie swooning on the beds were hot though, no mistaking that and Lady. . . . ."
Alejandro finds nothing unique but he keeps his stare on Grayson's dull cerulean irises as the latter rambles on and on about how most masculine 'spanish' names end with 'o' and how he can jump up to the roof of a skyscraper with the aid of Lady GaGa's Giuseppe heels.
Alejandro is unaware his foothold is offbeat and his figure inclined 67° to the ground. Every molecule of oxygen is knocked out of him. Goosebumps numb his skin, his heavy eyelids droop to the extreme and his sight turns blurry. What he falls on is warm and hard as a volcanic rock, yet warm and comforting and he never wants to leave it.