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"poor kamil like OH GOD ETHICS. ETHICS AND PROBLEMS. ALSO MY DICK. ETHICS AND PROBLEMS AND MY DICK"
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As they have been every year, the rising juniors of Cavelier Highschool are being provided a new printing of the student handbook, accounting for changing staff and new district bylaws and some new very pointed rules about exactly who is permitted in which bathrooms.

This particular book's cover appears to be a misprint, CMYK all disjoint, but apart from the slightly dizzying misalignment it appears entirely ordinary.

It lands on its appointed desk, and the student passing out books moves on.

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Because Camillo is bored, and also a compulsive rule-follower, he flips through the booklet.

Because he's bored, and also seventeen, he draws dicks in the margins, and underlines disseminate and assessment and meningococcal, and edits a particular section heading:

Use by of Students During and After School

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As the book falls shut, the full weight of early-morning torpor descends on Camillo. The room is warm and quiet, whispered side chatter overlaid with the drone of the homeroom teacher.

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He can put his head down on the desk for a minute. Just for a minute. Better now than in history.

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As the homeroom teacher comes down the row with another handout,

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Canillo gets a kick in the ankle across the aisle from a good Samaritan.

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He kicks back, automatically, before sitting a little more upright and mouthing sorry, thanks.

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A grin, and a thumbs-up.

(There’s a red plastic band on his wrist today, the kind they use at water parks and hospitals.)

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...eyebrow raise.

Cutting gesture across wrist.

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He seems confused, and tilts his head, before the teacher passes between them.

The rest of the class period is, tragically, orientation, but Z hangs back by the door at the end as usual.

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"Hey.

 

          You been, you know...?"

(The gesture, again.)

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“…sure, but not, like, extra.”

They’re walking in the same direction for a little while, thankfully.

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"You need to do that less."

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“But I’ve got so much free time.”

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"Maybe if you did your homework..."

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“But then they’d take me out of the PSP.”

He wiggles the wrist with the red band demonstratively.

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"Is this a new thing? I didn't finish reading the handbook."

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He looks unsure how to proceed, for a moment, half-smiling uncertainly like he’s trying to figure out the joke, before something else gets his attention.

“Of course you read the fucking handbook.”

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"Someone has to know what the rules are."

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He laughs, and punches him affectionately in the arm.

“I can’t believe I hang out with you.”

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"Good heavens! Violence! A violation of rule 36, subsection F!"

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Pffff.

He makes a grab for Camillo’s hand,

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and then remembers where they are, and shoves his hand firmly in his pocket instead.

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Camillo takes advantage of the crowded hallway to walk close enough to bump shoulders with him.

"Speaking of homework. Did you actually bring yours, today?"

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“I gotta go to my locker.”

He sprints the other way down the hallway.

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