| 7 | Frogs in Pots

***

It was weird, honestly. The more I looked around at the other students in my classes, the more I saw that electrifying golden hair in the back of the room; just facing downwards towards the desk and doodling. Brice Solace Purton is a smart kid, he's in most of my classes, if not possibly all of them.

But who am I to know, I'm currently zoning out in the boys' locker room. Lunch would be next period, and I personally don't look foreword to it either.

Gym class is a hell on its own, I've learned that for the little amount of time I had in this school. Of course, exercise was never my "forte" back in my old school, but then again nothing was my supposed "forte" in Wisconsin. I mean, being a total brat was, but know I've grown past that.

Or, at least I think I did.

But, changing in front of other people, especially boys, did freak me out a little. I was shorter, weaker, and an easy target to be picked on in the boy's locker room. There was no teacher looking after us, and with the ten minutes we had to converse with each other while stripping our clothes is, well, uncomfortable enough as it is. It didn't help that there were people staring at me while I changed; I regret not wearing sweat pants to school everyday.

But, as I finished changing, fate did have its own cruel ways of working. I didn't know how I missed seeing him yesterday in my classes, he stuck out like a sore thumb—but there he was. There was Brice Solace Purton, sitting on one of the benches in the boys' locker room (that was directly behind me), sketchbook and a purple colored pencil in hand, vigorously coloring something. We made eye contact for a brief moment, before he decided to slam his sketchbook shut.

"How long have you been sitting there?" I asked, cautiously closing my locker filled with my supplies and clothes.

"The fact that I now know you wear purple boxers with little green alien heads on them, a long time," Brice shrugged.

I felt my face heat up, "What are you, a pervert?"

"No, I'm Brice."

I rolled my eyes, he snickered, "Very funny, I'm amused."

"So, Source," his eyes trailed me up and down, like a predator after some prey, "about yesterday—"

"There is nothing to talk about," I huffed angrily, turning away and beginning to walk away. He stood up, grabbed my wrist, and forcibly turned me around. The sketchbook and purple colored pencil fell onto the floor with a loud slam. I winced.

"You wouldn't want all of your little secrets to be revealed, do you?" He threatened.

"You don't want your abusive girlfriend to be jailed, do you?" I mocked. He let go of my wrist for a brief moment. It stung, and my wrist was tainted a pale shade of red.

"A secret for a secret," he murmured.

"A what for a what?"

"If you don't squeal, then I won't squeal, got it Wisconsin boy?"

"If I had a penny for all the nicknames you've given me for the past two days—"

"Not the point," he interrupted me quickly. "Now, yes or no?"

I clicked my tongue, "Fine."

He picked up his sketchbook, the purple colored pencil, and headed towards the back of the locker room. I couldn't help but feel as if I was betrayed; there was something drawing me towards him but I didn't know what the sensation was. I despise him, I really do, but there's something else inside those dwelling emotions that will soon disperse. I wanted to watch him more—I wanted to get to know him better in a way, but then again the warning he gave to me a day prior did stick with me.

+

"And what will you do with that information, Brice?" I taunted—not the best particular idea.

He placed a finger on my lips, hushing me temporarily, "I don't know, I'll play it as a card to my advantage in climbing the ranks."

"Ranks?" I questioned.

Grimly, his voice lingered in the air. His accent was thick, noticeable, "I'd rather not go into full blown detail, Source. But let me summarize it like this; whatever you heard in the hallway do please ignore or the consequences will be dire."

I opened my mouth to speak but was silenced once more, "Do not approach Bonkers, or anyone else about the situation and do not try to become acquaintances with me for as it will bite you back. You are interested in the people who dare to oppose you, Source—don't think I don't know that. You thrive on power and attention, you're like a parasite on the skin. You, however, interest me—which is why I stayed for that long watching you and Ellis converse."

I furrowed my eyebrows, speechless, "Oh? So what gives you the right to watch me, rather than I would watch you?"

"Many things; privilege comes easily."

+

"Alright boys, time to head out to the gym floor! Today is fitness day, you'll be taking the pacer gram fitness test!" I looked up to see the gym teacher hollering at us from across the room. Many of the boys grunted and groaned in dismay.

The gym teacher was clearly overweight, old as well. His stomach sagged out, and the gray shirt that was tucked into his khaki shorts was clearly strained and sweaty. His voice was coarse from yelling too much, and the white hairs sticking from his head did show his stress to a large degree. I guess any school could hire anyone to be a gym teacher—as long as they can yell at children they'll do just fine.

I was among the first people to exit the boys' locker room and walk into the gymnasium. Yesterday, I had sat out on the bleachers (mainly because I was a new student that didn't know appropriate "P.E. Dress Code") and watch the students in the gymnasium from afar. Now that I was standing in front of it all, it felt exhilarating. In my old school I would just skip gym class and they'd never notice, but now to be standing physically in gym class was a huge step foreword.

"Alright, everyone line up! Boys against the wall and girls on the red line! You miss the beep two times you report to your gym teacher and tell them your score, then go sit on the bleachers!"

Who was my gym teacher again?

I think it was Mr. Spofford.

Yeah, it was probably Mr. Spofford.

I went to go line up against the wall. Many of the other students were grunting, not wanting to do the daunting task ahead of them. I didn't either, but at the same time it was, decently, exciting. Running—I liked running a lot. I did a lot of running in Wisconsin; running away from my parents, strangers, friends—

Beep!

I went to go, slowly, across the gym floor. The girls stopped at the back wall and the boys stopped at the red line. I wasn't paying attention, for as I was vigorously shoved foreword as I ran, therefore I nearly toppled over some terrified short girl. I heard Brice snicker.

That asshole probably pushed me.

I growled and looked to the side. There he was; Brice Solace Purton decide to line up directly next to me. Out of all the available spaces, he decided to line up directly next to me. I kicked him in the shin; he hissed.

Beep!

I dashed off. He looked like a fucking goblin when he ran; the long legs and long arms were not appealing in the slightest.

It was terrifying.

So basically my whole goal is to outrun the tall, Australian bastard so he doesn't topple over me and kill me. How pleasant that fate would be. Imagine receiving a phone call from your sixteen year old son's school, then hearing how your son died.

Hey, your short sixteen year old son got ran over by a lawnmower—oh I meant a tall Australian bastard. I know we're embarrassed for him too, come pick up the corpse it's currently rotting in the nurse's office. Don't worry we gave the Australian student a proper punishment for murder—an after school detention! Alright, thanks!

Beep!

I dashed off again, trying to maneuver myself away from Brice. He managed to follow me as I awkwardly shoved some tall boys out of the way. I was a short senior boy in high school; not that difficult to keep track of me. Maybe I could wear him out somehow.

***

So, after what seemed to be forever, there were only a fi—three people left on the gym floor. We were at the 121st "lap," or possibly "beep," and Brice looked like he had just been ran over—twice. He was soaked with sweat, but profoundly still kept going. I was surprised to say the least, he held up quite nicely. There was another boy still in it, he looked sweaty as well. I didn't know who he was, but he had auburn shaggy hair and foggy glasses that looked as if they were about to fall off.

I wasn't entirely sweaty, I just was tired. My face was bright red and my bangs didn't part ways, only a portion of my forehead was revealed. As I said earlier, I did like running, and if I wasn't so lazy I could have taken it up as a hobby and joined track and field. Running kept the adrenaline rushing through my veins, which was a good thing, and it kept my mind focused.

I turned to see the glasses kid leaving to tell his score. It was a bit disappointing to see him go, but then it left Brice and I on the gymnasium floor. All eyes were gazing at us, and the attention was strange. But, as all things go, Brice eventually gave up as well, and it left me to continue running as if nothing happened. Yeah, I was extremely tired, but I knew I had to show Brice up.

So, ten sprints later and my body had already given up. Yeah, the attention was nice but my body was already drowning from exhaustion. The teacher had already knew my score, mainly because I was the last one to go, and signaled for me to go sit down on the bleachers. I plopped myself towards the end, making sure to maneuver myself away from Brice. Of course, he stood up and made his way across the gym floor to sit down directly next to me. I grunted, shifting onto the floor.

"Nice to know that if I chase you, you'll be able to outrun me, Source."

"Nice to know that if I chase you, I'll be able to crush you, Purton."

He rolled his eyes, shifting towards the end of the bleachers, then looking down towards me. The floor was pretty dusty, unclean, and covered in dirt. "How's the weather down there?"

"The weather says fuck you," I replied, flipping him off.

He frowned, making a hurt face, "Why that isn't very nice!"

"Haha, very funny Bri—Purton."

He smirked, "I'll be off th—"

"Brice!" A feminine Australian voice shouted. The blond flinched, hesitantly looking up and his smile fading. A girl stomped up to him, one that was definitely not Bonkers. Her hands rested on her hips and her eyebrows were furrowed.

"Oh, hey Shelby," he muttered, quite hesitantly. I gazed up to see an angry girl. Her face was flushed red, her lips were curved into a frown, and her curled magenta hair bounced in a way that did not look pleasant.

"Don't 'hey Shelby' me!" She shouted. Brice opened his mouth to speak, but then was harshly slapped. The gymnasium went quiet for a moment, before the rest of the students began chatting once more. I shifted away; that girl could pack a mean punch if she wanted to. I noticed the bright red hand print on his cheek.

"Sorry," Brice apologized.

"If you don't stop what you're doing, you're gonna end up alone like you always are."

Brice winced, fear in his eyes. The girl, most likely the Shelby I heard from yesterday's conversation, kept talking, "You should be the one who's sorry, Brice. You're always doing this; talking to people. You should pay attention to me and only me. Got it, retard?"

"Could you not call me retard, please—"

"Shut it, Brice. You're making a scene."

This time his voice cracked, "Sorry."

"You're always playing the victim card, how do you think I feel about this? You're always like this," Brice received another slap to the face. "Let's go, I don't want to see you talking to anyone else, especially that DeceptiBonkers girl, I hope she rots."

"She's just a friend, an art friend. We both like art," Brice tried to defend himself and his friend.

"Your art doesn't matter, it's terrible anyways. I always thought you were making art as a joke, not as something serious. Let's go, Brice, you're making a scene."

"Sorry," he whispered again in total defeat.

"You better be," Shelby rolled her eyes and dragged Brice off to the other side of the gymnasium.

I blinked, shocked. A strong guy like him could have beaten up that girl so easily, but why was he hesitating? Why did he look so afraid? Why was Brice Solace Purton knocked off his high throne when this girl came into play? She was abusive, both physically and emotionally; couldn't he see that? I shook my head, going to go sit back on the bleachers.

"A secret for a secret," I guiltily murmured to myself. Brice was stupid for "loving" someone like that, anyone could see that. She could easily be reported to the school, or even the police on that note, but no one chose to do anything.

I chose to do nothing.

Brice was being belittled by some bitch and I sat here doing nothing about it.

A secret for a secret—it's Brice's problem.

***

It was lunch. I saw Tyler Ellis patiently waiting at the lunch table, a sandwich held in his pale hands. I sat down next to him, not hesitating to ask a certain question that had been on my mind for the past few minutes.

"What's up with Brice's girlfriend?"

Tyler—of Ty as he preferred it, didn't look very phased at the question, "Found out already?"

"She literally smacked him in front of everyone, I think there's something wrong with that," I rolled my eyes, taking out a grilled cheese sandwich.

"The girl's name is Shelby. As far as I could remember, they've been dating since the end of Sophomore year. Brice was head over heels for that girl when he asked her out, and when she said yes the dude was overjoyed. It started out loving but then it went south real fast. When I use to be friends with Brice; he always talked about how she yelled at him when he did nothing, how she hit him, and how she made him feel worthless. She's really a killjoy."

I nodded my head, Ty kept talking, "Everyone knows he's in an abusive relationship, but no one tries to report Shelby. Yeah, Brice is pretty stupid for still being her boyfriend, but it's like when a frog is in a pot. When a frog is dropped in a pot of boiling water, it jumps out right away because it'll die. When a frog is placed in a cool, temperate water, it'll stay there. When the water is slowly being heated up, it'll keep trying to adjust its body temperature to the heat, not knowing the danger it's in. Once the water boils it's too late—the frog is dead. It's kinda like how abusive relationships work, y'know? One day it's all amazing, then it gets worse and you try to adjust. But then it continues to get worse in worse, and once you know it's too late. If it was like that from the beginning, if Shelby was the piece of shit like she was at the beginning, then Brice would ought to be straight outta there."

For a moment, I sat there in silence, taking in Ty's words. "Are you sure you're the same guy I talked to yesterday in the forest?"

Ty chuckled, "Pretty sure. Sorry, I'm just really knowledgeable about this kind of stuff. Brice is a strange dude, I would suggest for you to stay away from him. He use to be nice, but because of Shelby's manipulative skills, he's changed. He's basically holding up a cracked façade everyday."

I bit into the grilled cheese sandwich. The cheese was stringy, just how I liked it. The bread was a bit stale, but it didn't matter. It was still flavorful compared to having no lunch at all—peasantry food is easy to make on a daily basis.

But then, my mind drew off. I couldn't really feel a true sensation of empathy—it felt more like pity towards Brice. I liked the dude; he was the mysterious and solemn type. On the other hand, however, he was a complete asshole. I wouldn't blame his behavior on him, though, it was mainly Shelby's fault. I couldn't imagine what was going through his head when he was with Shelby. Part of me wanted to help, but the other half drew away from Brice.

Pity or empathy?

I shook my head, releasing an exasperating sigh. Yeah, this school was nothing but normal, it was evident from the start. But while I was here I wanted to help fix things—I wanted to make things better and make a positive impact for once in my life. A secret for a secret—I promised that to Brice. Yet, promises can be broken, everyone that had the logic knew that.

Killjoys always made some noise—and promises are no exclusion.