Chapter 2: Tuesday Afternoon, 3PM - Rage

Moments later, a soft, timid knocking on her door startled Alaina upright. When she saw who it was, she experienced—for the first time—what it meant to have one’s vision go red. WHY IS HE HERE? Why the fuck is he here?

“You.“ she said. She glared at the intruder, her entire being suddenly filled with more fury than she’d thought possible. Her hands clenched at the comforter on her bed. Her face flushed. I’ll kill him. I’ll fucking kill him!

“Uh. Hi, Prez,” said Will White. His voice was low, lacking the confidence that was usually associated with the student council vice president. His body was only halfway around the corner, and he was holding a manilla folder containing some documents. He did not meet her eyes.

It was just as well. Alaina Bishop was not known as an emotional girl. No, if the average student or faculty member were asked, their response would be that Alaina was a perfectly calm little ray of nurturing sunshine.

She was their student council president: not seeking the spotlight, but always there to support others and ensure things went smoothly. When problems arose, she was not one to get upset, instead remaining the voice of reason who kept heads cool around her. She worked efficiently and fairly, usually with a smile.

This was not that Alaina Bishop.

“You.“ She said again, standing. How dare he. Her immaculately-plucked eyebrows were furrowed in an unpracticed manner. Hasn’t he done enough to me already? Now he comes to my house? The rest of her face was drawing up slowly, as though learning on-the-fly how to adequately portray the feelings reflected in her eyes.

“Um.” said Will. His eyes looked up, saw her, and then darted back and forth as though trying to flee without the rest of his body. “I um,” he soldiered on, “I was just coming by and your mom was leaving and well, she knows me because...”

Alaina edged closer to him, the sheer rage she was feeling allowing her feet to break themselves free of the surprise she’d been experiencing. I’m actually going to kill him. They’ll lock me up, probably single life sentence? I don’t fucking care.

A single bead of sweat appeared on Will’s forehead, running towards his eyebrows. His typical loquacious attitude had deserted him. “Err ... And I told her I was here to drop off the work you missed and see how you were doing...”

Alaina began to draw in a deep breath. He’s dead.

“And I did want to see how you’re doing,” he continued, his words coming out nearly too fast to understand as he began to babble, “but also I wanted to apologize for yesterday because things got out of hand, and I—”

“You came,” Alaina interjected, “to fucking apologize?” She was breathing heavily now, her chest rising and falling to a degree which made her hoodie feel confining.

“I can see that you’re upset,” Will began.

“Are you a fucking idiot?“ she screamed, stamping her foot. Her voice was loud enough that Will visibly flinched. “I’m way the fuck past upset!“

“Okay, that’s a great starting point. And there’s maybe some things you’d be rightly upset about...” he trailed off, as she visibly fumed. Her eyes had changed from nearly-closed slits to a wideness that one only associated with the truly insane. He gulped. “And um, that’s ... like ... obviously very, very, understandable and I’m so, so, sorry. Um, Prez, err, I feel like I’m missing something here—”

“You ruined my entire fucking life!“ Alaina lunged at him, fists outstretched. “I hate you! I hate you! I hate you I hate you I hate you I hate you I hate you—“ she continued with this litany over and over as she struggled to land a blow on her taller classmate. When his hands got too close, she tried to bite. When he pulled back, she tried to claw his eyes out with her fingernails. She brought a knee up, aiming for his groin, but he blocked with his leg.

“Whoa, calm down, hey wat—”

She snarled.

After several frantic, frustrating seconds of being denied a decisive strike, Alaina scored an accidental direct hit to Will’s left cheek with her fist and sent him careening into the hallway.

Alaina was beyond any form of rational thought. With single-minded fury, she chased after him even as he was trying to regain his feet, hand to his recently-struck face. “This is your fault!” she screamed, winding up for a kick.

He scrambled, trying to get away. She let fly with her right leg towards his face, and he fell over backwards to avoid it. He rolled, reaching the edge of the stairs, then flipped down the first step, regaining his feet and rushing to the door.

Will, for all his faults, had made what she would have deemed to be a very smart decision—had she been rational enough to evaluate such things—and fled. He rocketed down the remaining stairs and out the front door, which he first spent several seconds attempting to unlock with shaking hands, head pivoting back and forth as she kept chasing, before throwing himself through the door as it cracked open.

This was clearly not the same person he knew: this was someone else entirely, someone unpredictable and dangerous.

Alaina did not pursue him past the doorway. She stood there, pulsing with anger. And then, suddenly, it was gone. The adrenaline receded, and with it went the crazy energy that had possessed her. She closed the door and tottered back to her bed, falling face first across it.

It’s all his fault. She was still angry, but it was a calmer rage now. She turned her head to the side to breathe. Her position, torso draped over her bed with legs hanging off, recalled her memories of when her life had once again gone wrong. The previous day. Her birthday.

Senior Day planning. Truly this was the bane of her existence. If she’d had even the tiniest inkling of what hassle it would be to collect and read through the idiotic ideas of her classmates in order to somehow coalesce them into an actually-feasible plan, she might have reconsidered running for student council president again.

She sighed. For the third time. Or perhaps the fourth. She’d only been at her desk a few minutes, but that was enough time.

“Visit London, because I’ve always wanted to go,” she read aloud from the paper at the top of a sizeable stack. She rubbed at her temples, noting the name on the suggestion. “Betsy Keeney.” Yes, she was sure it would be both logistically and economically feasible to send her entire 400-something member class—plus faculty—overseas for a day trip.

She moved the suggestion sheet into another pile. This one was smaller than the first stack of papers, but she expected that by the end of the process most of the ideas submitted would end up in the discard pile along with this one. She glanced at the clock.

He’d asked to meet her at 4:30PM in the SC office. It was 4:33. She adjusted her glasses. She did not like it when people were late. Her new jeans tugged uncomfortably against the inside of her legs, and she spent a moment adjusting herself before looking down at the unending stack of papers and sighing again.

She considered texting Ayanna to help her sort through some of the ideas, but recalled that her friend had gone out on an afternoon date. Having a day where both she and her boyfriend were free after school was a rarity, and Alaina wouldn’t interrupt it.

She did feel a pang of envy, however. Being in a steady, long-term relationship was probably nice, she mused. Ay had tried to set her up with a number of guys, but she finally put an end to the practice when her prospective beau had texted asking whether “Miss Student Council would have time to counsel this,” along with a photo of his penis. Ay had laughed, then cried from laughing too hard, then told Ken and laughed more, but it hadn’t been funny. At the time.

“It wasn’t even one to be proud of, let alone the kind you send to a girl like me,” she huffed. The reputation she’d cultivated over her years at the school had put her at the top of one of the social hierarchies, the kind which was invite and referral-only when it came to potential suitors.

The position came with its pluses and minuses, but as she sat on her throne feeling the hard denim of her slightly-too-tight jeans continuing to bite into her thighs, suddenly with cock on her mind, she was mostly thinking of the minuses.

After squirming in her seat briefly, she checked the clock again. 4:34. She bit the corner of her lower lip and pulled out her phone, sending a text which read “3PM tomorrow, usual?”

“Ye,” came the immediate reply, just as she’d expected.

She ran her tongue slowly over her lips, a borderline lewd expression on her face which did not fit with her carefully-crafted school image. But that was okay. She stared across the room, out through the window on the door, feeling especially naughty as she rubbed her thighs together while confirming that nobody was around to see. And what her classmates didn’t see...

The door opened suddenly. Will White strutted in with his usual swagger just as Alaina cleared her expression, assuming a stern look. She’d been kept waiting, she remembered. It wouldn’t do to have him make a habit of thinking she’d allow this manner of slight. He shut the door behind him.

“Hey, Prez, sorry I’m late.” His look was the same cheshire cat grin which he wore much of the time.

Despite herself, Alaina found that she was checking out her vice president—subtly, of course. Her eyes roved over him and she sighed inwardly. They ran in different circles, and he was the sort of lackadaisical slacker that she despised, but she couldn’t deny that his genetics had hit the lottery—at least for her tastes. It was a shame about his personality.

“You know how it is, always someone wanting to talk about something. Ended up in the English department talking to some freshmen about Skills and Classes, and that was before I got dragged into an argument with Mrs. Erikson about whether...” he trailed off, realizing how she was tapping a pen distractedly against the desk and not smiling.

She didn’t know what he meant. Occasionally a classmate would call out to her with some matter they wanted addressed, but it was far from being a common occurrence. She had officially-scheduled hours at her desk for students to bring topics that they wanted to raise to the faculty.

“Yes, very interesting, I’m sure. After I’m done reviewing the Senior Day suggestions from our thoughtful and creative classmates, I’d certainly be interested in hearing more about the debates you had with one of our senior English department faculty members. Perhaps with some help, the work might be done faster and you could tell me about it?”

She slowly moved her eyes down to the stack of papers—had it somehow grown since she last looked at it?—and then resumed pinning him in place with her stare.

“Ah, well, I’d love to help you out, Prez, but I’ve sort of got another thing that I was hoping you could help me out with this afternoon. Not that I wouldn’t want to assist you on this matter, of course, because you know I’m always here to help; leadership and such—very important—right?”

“Right,” she said, rolling her eyes inwardly. Will White, the spoiled, rich layabout, was doing something on his own which he needed the help of the student council president? It seemed improbable; Will was simply not one to take initiative, or to do anything that went against the path of least resistance. “So?”

“Um, yes,” he said, trailing off under her scrutiny. He looked back and forth, scanning the room. Were it anyone else, she’d have described his state as nervous, but this was Will White—the epitome of confidence.

He turned back towards the door. “I think we’ll want some privacy for this, so I’ll make sure we aren’t disturbed. Unless you mind?” He gestured at the shade over the door which was traditionally pulled down when meetings were in session for discussing sensitive topics.

She nodded her acquiescence, her interest piqued. Had he gotten himself into some sort of trouble and needed her to rescue him? A thrill ran through her at the thought. Not because she had any interest in saving him in particular, but because he’d owe her afterward.

He pulled down the shade, the “Student Council Meeting In Progress: Do Not Disturb” text now facing outward and blocking any view of the room. His turning of the lock completed the usual process that the student council undertook for some meetings. When they were all present. Not when it was only part of the council, and certainly not when it was just a boy and a girl alone together.

Will walked forward, approaching her desk with his usual nonchalant grin. He didn’t loom. Will had a certain attitude about him—affected or not—which tended to put everyone around him at ease. He just wanted to talk, or listen to you talk. Will was a talker.

“It’s like this, Prez,” he said, hopping up to sit on the edge of her desk. He rotated his body so that he was perching with one leg on the desk and one leg dangling off, facing her. He lowered his voice, speaking more softly as though afraid he might be overheard, and she started inwardly at the unexpected intimacy of the setting; she then became annoyed at his assumed familiarity. She stopped tapping her pen on the desk.

“I’ve recently become aware of some troubling information regarding one of the members of the student council.” He leaned in and stared into her dark brown eyes. He stopped, gauging her reaction. When she blankly returned his gaze, he continued, “I don’t have any evidence of wrongdoing, but I’m certain that if the faculty were alerted, the individual in question would fail a Truth Detection. This would, obviously, be a problem for the rest of us since it would tarnish the reputation of the student council. And the school.”

He continued eyeing her, his grin having faded, but there was no way he could know. It was impossible. Which meant that he must have dirt on someone else. But who?

Seeing her lack of reaction, he did not fidget. He simply maintained eye contact with her, making her feel uncomfortable. It was awkward for people who were barely more than acquaintances to make eye contact like this for such a long period of time.

“Well, what did you find out?” she asked. She resumed tapping her pen on the desk. “Who is it?”

Will glanced momentarily at the motion of the pen, then met her eyes once more. His grin was entirely gone now, and he even looked slightly confused.

“Prez,” he said slowly, his eyes boring straight into her brain, “it’s you.”

She stopped breathing. The pen froze in her hands. It was impossible. She remained convinced of the impossibility that anyone could know, resuming her affected poise.

“Will. If this is a prank, not only is it not funny, I find it extremely offensive.” She furrowed her brow, expressing her displeasure by letting her glasses slip slightly down her nose. The change lost some of its effectiveness due to the fact that he was still sitting on her desk, forcing her to look up at him. “And get off my desk.” She made a shooing motion with one hand.

“You’re certainly a great actress,” he said while sliding off the desk and onto his feet. He spun, facing back towards her. “And it makes this all the better.” He placed his hands on the front of the desk and leaned in too close, his face only a few inches from hers. “Prez, you don’t know me very well. I get that, and it’s mutual. You also don’t like me much, and I get that—I can be a bit polarizing.”

She arched an eyebrow, surprised that Mr. Oblivious was aware of anything that didn’t directly involve him. If this was meant to be intimidating, it wasn’t.

“I don’t have a problem with you,” he said, ignoring her provocation. His eyes narrowed slightly, and she noticed that his eyes were actually a bit cute up close. Clear blue. This would have been so much easier for her if he’d showed up a few minutes earlier, before she got horny. She rubbed her thighs together slowly, not letting the motion change her upper body’s posture or allowing the slight glare to drop from her face.

“ ... Even when you don’t take me seriously. So let’s try this.” He cleared his throat, and when he spoke again, his voice resonated inside her head.

“I know you cheated on your midterm exams. I don’t have the details, and I don’t have evidence, but I can sink you. If we can come to an agreement before I leave this room, I will see to it that faculty never learns of this. If we don’t, I will take the action expected of me as the student council vice president, and I won’t go easy on you.”

She shivered. Her hand dropped the pen, and she jerked away from him. She pushed her chair backwards and nearly tipped over in sudden panic. Her mouth moved, but nothing came out. It was like her brain had disconnected itself from her body.

He knew. His statements had bypassed the critical thinking center of her mind, leaving her with absolute certainty that everything he said was completely true. It was impossible for him to be lying.

But how could he know? How? She’d left no evidence. It had been late at night, after rehearsal. Nobody had seen her leave, nobody had noticed her grab the extra set of keys out of the janitor’s closet, nobody had seen her going into the classrooms or riffling through the paper-filled drawers and photographing the answer keys with her small digital camera. She was certain of it. There were no security cameras, she hadn’t told anyone, and she’d deliberately gotten some answers wrong to avoid suspicion.

How.

She came back to herself after a moment, but she was still unable to respond. He was going to expose her to the faculty. She would be destroyed. No medical school would accept her. Cheating a single time was perhaps excusable if the person was suitably repentant, but she’d cheated on more than just one exam. She was fucked.

“Prez,” he said, cornering her further. She was still in no condition to respond and was staring at the floor, eyes unfocused, lost in her thoughts. “Prez. What do you think? Is this still a prank?” He waited a moment before gesturing at the door. “I can leave—”

“No!” she was terrified at the prospect, recalling his words and the consequences if he were to leave now. She lunged forward, catching at his hand. Her heart beat frantically in her chest, and her breathing quickened. “No,” she said again. “Please. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I believe you. Please please don’t tell anyone.” She clasped his left hand with both of hers. His palm was cool and sweaty, the hand trembling, but the ramifications were lost in her state of fear. She brought his hand in front of her face, gripping it as though it were a life preserver preventing her from drowning. “Please, my life will be over,” she whispered. “I’ll never do it again, please, Will.” She stared up at him, her watery brown eyes pleading. This was no act.

“Well, Prez, it’s like I said.” Will hopped back up onto the desk, allowing her to continue clutching at his hand while he made himself more comfortable. “If we can reach an understanding, your secret will be safe with me.”

“Understanding?” she asked, grasping at the lifeline that he’d thrown her. “You mean like a deal?” Her mind was focusing on the possibilities. “Okay, I’ll do anything. What, you want me to handle your student council duties? Do your homework the rest of the year?”

“No, no,” he pulled his hand free, struggling slightly due to the vice-like grip she had been using. “It’s much simpler than that.”

In a show of familiarity which would have completely shocked and infuriated her if she’d been in a more normal state of mind, Will reached over to her face and plucked the wide-rimmed glasses off her face. He held them up to his face, taking a glance through the lenses. “Hm, barely any prescription,” he commented under his breath. He folded, then carefully placed her glasses on the desk beside him. “What I want, Prez, is you.”

She blinked. Had she heard him correctly?

“Is this,” she paused, “some kind of pick-up line? Like ... you want me to date you?” Her already-muddled brain nearly broke under the weight of this even more baffling prospect. She really had the worst luck with guys. She blinked again.