1 entry #1 | vïяυѕ

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virus

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"(Y/n)," an elderly woman scolded in a stern yet gentle tone. "How many times do I have to remind you to stay awake in class? It's your grades that are suffering because of it, not mine."

The (h/c)-haired girl covered her mouth with a free hand as she yawned, before fixing her hooded (e/c) orbs on the older woman. "But I hand in my homework every day," she whispered, as if it took too much energy for her to speak any louder. And knowing (Y/n) White, it probably did. "And I get full marks on all my projects..."

There was a collective gasp as all the staff in the teacher's lounge stared at the sleepy girl. Many of the teachers knew the girl from either their classes or as the girl who was always sleeping, whether it be in the tree next to the school building or on one of the many windowsills. That girl could fall asleep anywhere. And because she was always so sleepy, (Y/n) hated wasting what little energy she had. So all her interactions with the teachers were never more than three words.

With the exception, it seemed, of Mrs. Richards. The elderly woman shook her head and let out a sigh, but couldn't help but let a little smile show at the comical sight of the 5'4 female swaying as she did her best to stay upright.

"Projects and homework aren't the only things that count towards your grade," Mrs. Richards said, glaring at the girl playfully. "Nevermind all the tests you almost flunked because you wrote the right answers one bubble down."

"Or like that time you made bubble art on your scantron in my class," another teacher added with a hearty laugh. "The pillow art was beautiful, (Y/n)."

"...'Anks," (Y/n) mumbled as she turned slowly towards her physics teacher and nodded at him. She stifled yet another yawn and covered her mouth with her sleeve, shifting back to face the grey-haired woman. "Can I go now?"

Mrs. Richards placed her hands on her hips and shot the (h/c)-haired girl a warning look. "Not so fast, young lady. We still have to discuss your lack of participation and motivation. You are a good student, yes, and you never cause me any trouble—well, forgetting your scantrons—but you always strive for the bare minimum, (Y/n). And while that gets your passing grades in my class, that's not going to fly in the real world."

(Y/n) wrinkled her nose. "Do we really have to have the future talk here, Mrs. Richards?"

"If not now, when are we going to talk about it?" The woman patted the free seat near her. "Come on, dear. Take a seat. You look like you're about to fall over." The girl complied, slowly settling into the very nice-looking chair. She wiggled into a comfortable position and was about to close her eyes until Mrs. Richards snapped her fingers in front of her student's face.

"Oh no, you don't!" She let out a tired sigh as she forced her eyes open. "I was reluctant to let you sit at first because of this," Mrs. Richards said. "But I suppose there's no helping it. Now, where were we?"

"'Bout my grades," the girl said slyly. "We were wrapping up."

"I see, thank you, dear—wait, don't you try to trick me!" The woman laughed. 'I tried,' (Y/n) shrugged and leaned back into her chair. "I'm not senile just yet! Alright, as I was saying, you need to show more interest in your studies, dear. What was it you said you wanted to be when you grow up?"

"Professional bed tester," she mumbled.

Mrs. Richards nodded sagely. "Yes, that's the one. Professional—hold on, that isn't a real job!" A chorus of laughter rose up in the room from the teachers that were listening in on their conversation.

She decided to try again. "Professional sleep buddy?"

"That isn't one either, as fun as it sounds," the elderly woman tittered. The (h/c)-colored girl, out of ideas, sighed and sank lower into her seat. "What do you enjoy doing besides sleeping, dear?"

She traced little circles on the arm of the chair with her finger. "I guess like computers," (Y/n) finally said after a moment of hesitation. "Like making robots and stuff. And design. I think."

"Oh, how splendid!" Mrs. Richards clapped her hands. "See? You do have a goal, (Y/n). So to reach that goal, you need to put a little more effort in school. Just grades alone won't get you anywhere in these times. You need something to make you stand out from the rest. Do you have a college in mind?"

The (h/c)-haired girl tilted her head to the side as she thought. She folded her legs in the chair and absentmindedly played with the cuffs of her jeans. "Maybe..." (Y/n) started.

"Yes?" The woman prompted her, nodding encouragingly at the girl to go on.

"...Cambridge would be nice," she finally said. "Or St. Andrews. But Cambridge..."

"Cambridge is the dream," Mrs. Richards nodded knowingly. "Quite the prestigious school you have in mind there, dear! And speaking from experience, good grades alone will not secure you a seat, my dear. How about this." She pulled open a drawer and took a folder out from it. The teacher opened it and handed a piece of paper to the (e/c)-eyed girl.

(Y/n) took it curiously. Out of respect for the grandmotherly woman, she decided she'd actually read one of her handouts this time. It was a flyer for a tutoring program offered by the school, whether to become a tutor or to be tutored, and all free of charge.

"Now that you're in Year 11, (Y/n)," the woman continued. "You'll have to pay extra attention to your performance in and out of school. That's why I think it would be beneficial for you if you took part in this. There are a few sessions that might overlap with class time. And," her smile turned teasing. "It won't mess with your sleep schedule."

The girl eyed the paper with distrust, reluctant to take the woman on her offer, but she also didn't want to turn such a sweet person down. "Err, I'll think about it."

"Alright, sweetie," Mrs. Richards smiled kindly. She patted the girl's shoulder. "You do that. Remember the deadline's this Friday. You have two more days. Off you go now!"

(Y/n) stood up and thanked the elderly woman, quickly exiting the room before stuffing the paper into her the deepest crevices of a black hole called her bag. She doubted she'd ever find it again.

'I really don't want to do this,' the girl sighed as she trudged down the halls with her hands stuffed deep in her pockets. 'But like, if I don't, I might hurt Mrs. Richards' feelings. And that would be really awkward when I have her class.'

Mrs. Richards, contrary to her appearance as an English teacher, actually taught two precalculus classes, two AP Calculus AB class, and (Y/n)'s very own AP Calculus BC class. Being one of the only three Year 11 students in the math class, the (h/c)-haired girl was surrounded by those older than her. How she got in, she did not know.

(Y/n) wrote off 90% of all problems she couldn't solve as magic. Hence, her scantrons have become a legend among the teachers.

'Maybe I should become a professional scantron artist, she mused. Help all the kids ace their tests...on second thought, that's too much work. Thinking is too much work. I'll stop now.'

The girl rummaged in her pockets and pulled out a crumpled ball of paper. Unfolding it, she revealed a table littered with words. Her schedule. (Y/n) glanced at the grandfather clock standing in a corner and then at the sheet. '11 AM...I have AP European History...'

She furrowed her brow in distaste. 'Ew. History. Maybe I should tell Mr. Wright I have social anxiety so I went to my counselor. Wait, I already used that excuse. I should pull the sick card instead. Then again, I've used that...'(Y/n) began counting on her fingers. 'Um, a bunch of times. I dunno.'

She sighed and let her hands fall to her side. "To class, I go...I guess." And thus, the sleepy girl began her long and treacherous journey through the mobs of creatures called humans and up steep terrains called stairs to her class, history.

When she arrived, the classroom was already bustling with the annoyingly loud voices of her classmates, and all the seats were filled, save for the teacher's. Seeing this, (Y/n) grimaced and was just about ready to use that as an excuse to run away until a voice stopped her.

"Hey, (N/n)!" The person called. The (h/c)-haired girl surveyed the room in search of the source of the sound, her gaze slowly falling on a grinning red-haired male her age. He had a mischievous sparkle in his emerald eyes as he waved frantically at the maiden, his unruly crimson hair falling in his eyes.

"(N/n)!" He yelled again, rocking back in his seat. "I saved you a seat!"

She miserably cursed the male under her breath for forcing her to endure another boring history lesson. The girl plopped herself in the seat and immediately placed her arms on the table and buried her face in them. She turned slightly to peek at the male beside her.

"I hope you fall," (Y/n) said bitterly before resuming her previous position and closing her (e/c)-colored eyes.

The male placed a hand on his chest dramatically as if struck. "I thought we were friends," he sobbed, crocodile tears pouring down his face. "Yet thou art so cruel, so cold, so brutal to mine heart—"

"Shut up, you theater junky," a new voice laughed. A purple-haired girl appeared before the two, dragging a chair with her and flanked by two other girls. They set the chairs in front of (Y/n)'s desk and sat down. "Don't you have some other poor soul to annoy with your annoying voice, Reese?"

The red-haired boy scowled and glowered at the girl. "At least we're not deafening everyone with terrible, off-key screeching, Isla."

Isla turned red instantly as she slammed her hands down on the table, shooting to her feet. "I double-dog dare you to say that again, you arse! Choir has won multiple awards, thank you very much, unlike that pathetic excuse of a drama club of yours."

Reese shot to his feet and glared back at the purple-haired girl. "Pathetic? Pathetic?" His voice rose in octaves with each word. "If anything, your measly club is the very definition of pathetic. Just consult the dictionary, you plum face!"

"Oh, now you've done it, Reese bloody Grayson!" With a screech, Isla lunged for the red-haired male, only to be pulled back by two other girls. "Let go of me, girls! Let me beat some sense into that berk!"

"He's not worth it," one of the girls hissed in a notably American accent. "C'mon, Isla. Grayson ain't worth the trouble."

"Carmen's right," the other added. "And losing our first chair will lose us the competition next week if you get suspended."

Reese sat back down, a smug smirk dancing on his lips. "Scared, are we?" He mocked. "Backing down, are we?"

"Darn you, Grayson!" Isla shrieked, still struggling. "You're just so insufferable!"

"I'm insufferable?" He scoffed. "You should hear what we call you behind your back, little miss drama queen."

"You're the one in theater, not me!"

"Because you'd be bloody terrible at it, particularly with that crow-voice of yours!"

"You arse—"

(Y/n) couldn't take the noise anyone, especially with it being right next to her ear. She snapped her head up and fixed a scathing glare on the four. "Can you two turn it down?" She said angrily in that hushed tone of hers. "I lose brain cells with every second I listen to your petty argument!"

Isla settled down slightly with a subtly guilty look on her face. "But Grayson was mocking me!"

"Then tie him upside down to a tree," the (h/c)-haired girl said as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. "Or throw him out the window. Either works..." she trailed off, promptly falling asleep again.

"Oh, nice idea!" The purple-haired girl clapped her hands. To the shorter blonde female next to her, "Lucy, where's the rope?"

"Hold up," Reese stammered, raising his hands in surrender. "You're actually going with it?"

Lucinda gave the red-haired man a blank look. "Obviously. What better solution is there?" Carmen and Isla nodded in unison. "Ah, here it is. A London girl must always carry a spare rope in her bag."

"There are so many things wrong with that statement," Reese sweatdropped. "First of all, we aren't even in London. Second of all, no one in their right minds carries rope with them everywhere! What do you even have in that bag?"

The blonde merely smiled and pulled the said rope out of her pink handbag. She handed it to Isla who snapped it threateningly with a wide smile on her face.

Reese promptly leaped to his feet and hid behind the sleeping (h/c)-haired girl. "(N/n), save me!" He cried. "Their passive-aggressive smilies are scaring me. Make them stop—eek!" He shrieked and shied to the other side of the girl as the three advanced on him. "(N/n)!"

(Y/n) raised her head and let out an annoyed sigh. "A rope won't do."

The red-haired male's emerald eyes filled with grateful tears. "(N/n), my savior—"

"Use some duct tape too," the girl finished. "And maybe some zip ties." Reese's mouth opened and closed like a fish as he was cut off. He slowly processed her words before his face paled.

"(N/N), YOU TRAITOR!"

"Haha! Nice idea, (Y/n)!" Isla cheered. "Get him, girls!"

"Alright, back to your seats, class," the teacher interrupted them just as the three girls were about to wrestle the male into a headlock. Mr. Wright closed the door behind him as he entered the room. He was a strict male in his 50s and a 25-year veteran of the school. Prioritizing hard work, academic integrity, tardiness, and discipline, Mr. Wright was one of the most formidable teachers in the school.

No one dared to get on his bad side. If he liked you, the class wasn't that bad. If he disliked you, the class was a literal hell. From constant call-outs to detentions and extra homework, the history teacher would stop at nothing to "reform" the problem student. But even with all that, he was a nice guy outside of class. After all, how could you hate a teacher that gave you free cookies? That's why he received the nickname Master Wright.

The bell rang, signaling the start of class. "I'll be taking attendance now," the teacher said. "Amelia Baker?"

"Present!"

"Charles Boothe?"

"Here!"

The list continued on through all 25 students of the class. Reese answered for the sleeping (e/c)-eyed girl beside him. Used to her antics, Mr. Wright merely shook his head and let out a sigh. He reached the end of the list and swept his dark eyes over it once again for absentees.

"Leon Matthews?" He called the only name left unchecked on the paper. "Matthews, are you here?"

Only silence met his voice. The teacher sighed again. "I see Mr. Matthews has decided to skip again. Is European history too boring for him, or should I teach American history instead?" Nervous titters filled the classroom. "Nevermind him, shall we begin our lesson—"

The door flew open, slamming against the wall and bouncing back. The figure stopped it from hitting him with one hand. There was a collective intake of breath as the students froze and eyed the newcomer warily.

A tall, imposing male stood in front of the doorway in all his gray jacket and dark pants glory. He wore a white shirt underneath with wrinkles evident in the fabric, contrary to the unblemished and crisp clothes of the other students. The male narrowed his silver eyes at the crowd, a scowl creeping onto his face at the onlookers. Everyone quickly looked away fearfully.

Among the few students willing to defy Mr. Wright, Leon Matthews was one of them.

"How nice of you to grace us with your presence, Mr. Matthews," the teacher drawled. Unlike many of the staff of Fortuna Institute that was terrified of the dark-haired male, Mr. Wright had no problems butting heads with him. "So I don't have to turn to American history after all."

Leon furrowed his brow. "What?"

"A joke, a joke," the man said, waving his hand dismissively. He gestured to the array of desks arranged with military precision. "Take a seat, if you may." The students tensed even more if that was even possible. They were split between those praying fervently the male wouldn't sit beside them, mostly boys, and those who begged for the god-like male to sit near them, mostly females.

The silver-eyed male clicked his tongue in irritation and removed his beat-up bag from where he slung it across his shoulders. He made his way down the aisle, his footsteps quiet but too loud at the same time on the tile. His bright eyes peeked out from underneath his dark bangs as he seemed to head straight for the back.

Reese stiffened as the male came closer to where he and his group of friends, namely the sleeping girl, sat. Much to his and the other three girls' dismay, there was an empty seat next to the (h/c)-haired girl. He wasn't afraid of the guy, but he was worried about what he'd do to his best friend, (Y/n). No good rumors ever came with Leon Matthews' name.

The red-haired male let out a sigh of relief as the black-haired male passed them and threw his bag to the floor next to a spare chair in the far back. It wasn't far enough, however. It was right behind them. Leon settled into the chair just as the other students near him subtly shifted their seats away. He slammed his feet on the desk and leaned back, promptly falling asleep.

Mr. Wright sighed for the umpteenth time that day at the sleeping duo and picked up his book of lesson plans. "Let's get to it, class. Shall we?"

At some point in the lecture, (Y/n) had woken up. She lifted her head and rubbed her eyes tiredly. Blinking a few times to regain clarity in her vision, the girl fixed her eyes on the blackboard, wondering what was happening. Upon seeing the archaic scribbles of some ancient, lost language called English, she turned her attention back to the blank, opened notebook in front of her.

Something hit the page and came to a stop in front of her. It was a folded up piece of paper. The (h/c)-haired girl turned to give her neighbor a questioning look, but Reese was focused on the lesson, his chin propped up in his hand. She raised an eyebrow and turned away, missing the small smile that quirked up a corner of his lips.

(Y/n) unfolded it curiously. Across the white paper were a series of letters scrawled across it in a surprisingly good handwriting for a guy. 'You free afterschool today?' It read. There was no name attached to it, but judging from the handwriting and the strange humanoid drawn next to the words, the girl had a pretty good idea of who it was from.

'Yes,' (Y/n) wrote her answer down slowly, a little mad at the red-haired male for making her spend energy on writing. 'Why?' She refolded it and glanced up to make sure the teacher's back was turned before tossing it back. Reese wasted no time in opening it, his smile growing wider at her reply.

'Wanna get milkshakes with the gang?' He asked her. 'At the usual place. And then we can crash mine after.'

'Sure,' she responded. 'Did you ask them yet?'

'When you were sleeping, I did. They're all coming.'

'Even Jas?' Jasper Reynolds was the sixth and last member of their tightly-knit friend group. He could be considered that one responsible kid in every social circle, the one who organized plans and chaperoned the rest of them.

'Yeah,' Reese confirmed. 'Even him. We're meeting him at the hangout.'

'Who's we? Izzy, Carrie, and Lucy too?' She asked.

'Naw, just the two of us. Did you forget they don't have the same last period class as us?'

'I never look at my schedule.'

'Figures.'

'I'm sleepy. So hush now.'

Reese nearly started laughing on the spot. 'I'm not even talking,' he scribbled. 'And you just woke up.'

The (h/c)-haired girl frowned as she read the notes as the emerald-eyed male covered his mouth to suppress his chuckles. 'What's wrong with spending my class time wisely?'

'How is it wise when you never listen to Master Wright teach?'

'I still get better grades than you.'

At her cheeky reply, Reese shot her a glare. (Y/n) smiled widely back before making a show of flipping through her notebook. And all without notes.

'Oh, curse your smart genes,' the redhead wrote back with a scowl. 'You should give me some sharing is caring.'

'By that logic, you'd have to share something with me. And, I don't want your ugly drawing skills.'

'Hey! I'm a great artist!'

'Not when your attempt at anything humanlike looks like a potato and a chicken married and popped a baby.'

'(N/n)!'

'Shaddup, Reese's Pieces.'

Satisfied, the girl turned back to face the blackboard, seemingly the epitome of a good student while her red-haired friend seethed and fumed beside her. Mr. Wright turned to peer over his shoulder and seeing Reese glare at the surprisingly awake (e/c)-eyed girl, he tapped his ruler against his palm.

"Is Ms. White's face really that interesting, Mr. Grayson?" The man asked, pushing his glasses up his nose. "More interesting than my lesson?"

The class laughed as Reese flushed, his face turning almost as red as his hair. He mumbled an apology under his breath and shrank deeper into his seat.

"Good," Mr. Wright said. "Let's continue."

(Y/n) grinned and waggled her eyebrows at the male. Tomato child, she mouthed silently to him. Reese turned redder and shot to his feet. "(N/n), you—!"

"Mister Grayson," the teacher interrupted, tapping his well-polished dress shoes against the floor. "I was not aware we were studying Ms. White's history instead of European History. Perhaps you're in the wrong class."

"I-I'm sorry, Mas—uh, I mean, Mr. Wright!" The snickers turned into full-blown laughter at Reese's slip up. He turned redder and covered his face with his hands, letting out an embarrassed groan. "Oh god, I'm so sorry." (Y/n) giggled sympathetically at her friend.

Mr. Wright's smile was unchanging as he extended a hand towards the door. "Wrong class," he repeated. "Perhaps a breather outside would do you some good."

The redhead obediently made his way through the tables and towards the doorway with his head lowered in shame. (Y/n) almost, keyword almost, felt bad for him. Mr. Wright watched the door close behind him before refacing the class.

"And don't you lot think I'm unaware of what you call me behind my back," he said warningly. "Master Wright, was it?" The students gulped and smiled sheepishly, a few brave enough to laugh and holler. "Guru, was it? Well, neither of the two are insulting so I suppose I'll let it slide just this time." He pointed a finger at them and fixed a warning look. "But if I ever hear it again, my entire budget will go towards me, which means no more cookies."

"Nooo," one student moaned. "Please, your cookies are the only reason I come to school!"

"Yeah," another agreed. "How else am I supposed to endure all these classes?"

"Perhaps you would have more energy if you spent more of your time sleeping rather than gaming and partying," Mr. Wright teased. Spotting the (h/c)-haired girl, he smiled. "Then again, perhaps some of us could do with a little less sleeping."

The class laughed as (Y/n) sheepishly scratched her head and laughed awkwardly. She had just been about to lower her head and fall asleep again until the history teacher called her out.

Mr. Wright glanced at the clock on the wall. "You guys have ten more minutes until the end of class. Since I'm in such a good mood today and we finished the lesson so fast, why don't I let you out early? I don't see any harm in it."

"YEAHHH!" The class cheered, leaping to their feet. "I was starving!"

"Starving? You mean thirsty, you b*tch. Thirsty for that (censored) on legs sitting in the back."

"Ohh, mmm. Matthews is something alright."

"Yep. 10/10 would bang, anytime."

"Your face is the only thing getting banged, you h*e."

"Mmm, kinky. I like it."

"The f*ck? You thirsty as hell—"

"Now, now," the history teacher interjected. "No foul words in my class. Slowly and carefully pack up and leave. Someone tell Grayson out in the hall to come in. Class is dismissed. Have a good one!"

Isla spun around from where she sat in front of (Y/n) with Carmen and Lucinda. "Hey, (Y/n). Where do you want to eat?"

"Isn't the cafeteria good enough?" (Y/n) moaned. "Anywhere else is too farrrr."

"This is why we need Jas if we're going to bring you anywhere," Carmen said, shaking her head in amusement. "Otherwise you'd be too lazy to even walk to your own house."

"Well, yeah," the (e/c)-eyed girl deadpanned. "That's why cars exist."

"Okay, wow, smart one." Carmen rose to her feet. "The cafeteria it is. We'll save you and Reese seats, okay?" If the three girls waited for (Y/n) to pick her lazy a** up from the chair, none of them would be able to get a seat, so only Reese stayed behind to make sure the girl didn't fall asleep somewhere.

"Mkay," (Y/n) replied as she feebly floundered around, inching her stuff into her back. She waved at the retreating trio and then plopped her head down on the wood. 'Just three more periods after lunch,' she told herself in an attempt to cheer up. 'Three more hours and whatnot until you can leave. You can do it, (Y/n)...'

Her mind trailed off as her energy to think left her. Thinking is hard. Who thinks anyway nowadays?

A loud clatter drew her attention and snapped the girl out of her daze. It was the black-haired male. He cursed harshly as he massaged the knee he had hit against the table when he woke up. Silver eyes met (e/c) ones as he looked up. Leon's face morphed into a glare.

"What are you looking at, pipsqueak?" He scowled. Where any other person would've cowered away, (Y/n) just stared back at him, unimpressed, and stood up. Leon watched the girl warily as she turned her chair around and sat back down. She rested her chin on his table and stared up at him.

A little unnerved, he eyed her with irritation evident in his eyes. "What's up with you?"

"You can't just insult someone you just met," (Y/n) said finally. "I'll have you know I'm very offended you called me a pipsqueak. I'm super mad right now." Her emotionless face remained unchanged, contrary to her claim of being angry.

"I don't f*cking care," Leon snorted. "Are you trying to be funny, pipsqueak? 'Cuz you don't have a bloody chance of being a comedian."

"How rude," the girl sighed, turning her face to rest on her cheek. "This one's a barbarian on top of being a caveman. I'm disappointed." She looked up and pulled the corners of her mouth down with her fingers. "Look, I'm mad."

Leon decided she wasn't right in the head. He placed a hand on the (h/c)-haired girl's head. "Look here, pipsqueak," he said in a softer tone. "Have you been taking your meds? Y'know it's not good to shirk on the pills." He patted her head again before throwing his bag over his broad shoulders and rising to his feet, preparing to leave.

He paused just before he could exit the room and looked over his shoulder at the girl. "By the way, middle school's on the third floor." And with that said, Leon Matthews was gone, leaving behind a wide-eyed girl with a gaping mouth in an empty classroom.

Reese entered the room a few seconds later. "Whew, the bathroom was super crowded." His smile froze on his face at the sight of (Y/n)'s normally hooded or closed eyes open all the way. "Holy frick, why are your eyes open? That's scary. Please stop it."

"I hate you," (Y/n) scowled, throwing a pencil at the redhead. "And," she added under her breath, mostly to herself. "I hate that oompa loompa annoyingly-tall zebra. Argh!"