"Who?"

Although I'd easily accepted that my existence was nothing of importance to Clyde Donavon, the word still stung. Like a wasp more than a bee, as I'm not going to be responsible for the murder of Mr. Bee Benson.

Usually, I'd begin to quote the movie in my head. According to all known laws of.. yet, today I was too overwhelmed. I'd just been paired with Clyde Donavon, and he'd just asked who I am.

I'm not usually one for swearing, but it seems a moment like this could use a few curse words.

"Me!" I almost shriek in disgust; the shrill squeak of my voice is painful, the cringe worthy crack at the end unbearable.

I swear to Percy Jackson (get it? Because he's half God so it's only half as blasphemous?), I would've been happy if a shooter burst into the room and killed me.

"Oh. You.." Clyde drags out the word, clearly unaware of who I am.

But it's okay, because I know who you are!

Of course I don't say it out loud, as that's just disturbing, but it's the thought that counts. Literally in this sense.

"Quiet, Mr. Donavon." With a roll of his bold brown eyes, Clyde shuts up and faces the front. I'm once again greeted with the view of the back of his head, but I'm not complaining.

Any view of Clyde is breathtakingly beautiful.

My minds swimming with thoughts. I don't catch what our project is supposed to be about, and I can't focus for the rest of the period.

If I'm pairing with Clyde, we'll have to speak. Have to be near each other. Have to interact!

To quote a coffee crazed, twelve year old Tweek: IT'S TOO MUCH PRESSURE!

Seriously! It is! I cannot have Clyde coming to my house after school; I can't risk it. I have his stuff in my room. A shirt, a fork (one he used when having a salad, a food he hasn't had since I collected the untensil), a toothbrush... and so much more! He'd definitely recognise everything, and he'd be so freaked out by me.

I don't want him to think I'm a freak. I don't want Clyde to not like me. I like him too much for that. If he ever did find out about my obsession with him, it'd destroy me.

It's only then do I realise how much my hands are shaking. I lower them under my desk, hiding them from the rest of the world. Just because no one can see them, doesn't mean they've stopped. They continue to shake, vibrating against my thighs as I try to focus on the lesson.

Yet, it's no use.

I close then into fists. My nails dig into my palm, a sharp sting travelling up to my wrist. My nails are by no means short, so I can easily guess they'll draw blood. However, it'll be worth it once the shaking stops.

It doesn't stop.

My mind's screaming, begging me to ditch the rest of school and race home. Asking me to hide all Clyde Donavon related items, practically demanding me to protect my freak side.

I almost find myself hyperventilating, the idea of Clyde discovering the real me too much. He'd be so disgusted! He'd probably hit me, call me a bunch of horrible names and hit me. Discard me, beaten and hurt and alone.

Just the thought, the singular idea of Clyde treating me like dirt, tugs on my heart strings. The organ aches, and I sniff. My eyes quickly glass over, and I silently curse myself.

Am I really about to cry? In the middle of a lesson?

I'll make such a fool out of myself! Clyde would laugh at me, and probably feel sorry for himself. Or maybe he'd be offended! Maybe he'd believe that I'm crying because I'm paired with him (which I am, but.. whatever).

Just as a single tear rolls down my cheek, a voice cuts off the teacher abruptly.

"Sir!" The shrill, clearly scared, shriek belongs to no other than Scott Malkinson. I turn to glance at my best friend, and see his eyes are glued to me.  They're soft, concern filled. "Can Kevin and I please be excused?"

The teacher sighs, back to the class as his chalk scrapes against the blackboard. His shoulders are tense; he's clearly annoyed at the interruption. "Fine."

My heart aches once more. But this time, it's for Scott. He's such a fantastic friend. He's always there for me, regardless of any situation.

I love him so much.

The brunette is at my side in a matter of seconds; his hand is placed firmly on my shoulder, encouraging me to stand and follow him out the room. I do, and it takes everything in me to not look if Clyde is watching us. I don't want to meet his gaze, just incase.

When the door shuts, Scott awkwardly outstretches his arms. I waste no time. I hunch over the shorter boy, clinging to him with everything I have. With my face buried in his neck, I inhale his sweet scent and bawl.

"It's okay." Scott says, extending the word. His voice is of a weird tone, and he's clearly feeling very awkward. "Yes, it's okay. Just cry all over my favourite shirt, Kev."

A wet, disgusting laugh leaves my throat at Scott's words. I continue to clutch my best friend, feeling immense comfort as he awkwardly wraps an arm around my waist and pats my hair. Pats quickly evolve to him running his fingers through the tangles, and I feel my eyes flutter shut at the touch.

He helps me calm expertly, just by holding me.

"Does it hurt your back to hunch like this?" He asks quietly, fingers stick on a tangle. He tugs (trying to be gentle but ultimately failing). My eyes snap open at said tug, but I ignore the sharp sting of my scalp as he attempts to free himself.

"Depends on how long I hunch." I mumble, and Scott hums. He's managed to free one of his fingers, and I unlatch my arms from him to help him with the rest. He actually ends up with a few strands of my hair stuck to him, but it makes me laugh.

He stares down at the black strands, humming. "You have the same DNA as your sister, right? That's how twins work?"

"I think?" I reply, stepping back and wiping my eyes with my sleeve. I spy the mess I made on his shirt, and feel a little bad.

It's an awesome shirt, with the iconic Marauder phrase printed on the front: 'I solemnly swear I'm up to no good'. While the shirt is cool (I.E the phrase and reference to Harry Potter), the fabric is plucky and ruined. Probably because Scott has slept in the shirt one too many times.

"Fuck yeah." He grins, closing his fingers around the few strands. "I'm going to clone your sister, and make her cosplay Lucy Heartfilla."

I sigh, trying to wipe away the mental image of my sister in a skimpy outfit matching to many of Lucy's. "You can do that later, but now we have to go back."

Scott just gives me a pleading look, and I shake my head. "No. Skipping is not good. Grades are important Scott."

"Fine!" And with that, we head back into class.

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