Lone Wolf

I walked into Mr. Gronan's room and was immediately purturbed. I neglected to remember that this was the classroom with around ten Trendy Kids. They were all lined up on the opposite wall. Every one was looking at me with very not nice expressions. I wasn't an expert on military strategy, but this was not good. "It appears you are outnumbered," the ringleader said smugly. "Not really," I said, in an equally smug tone. Everyone that wasn't a Trendy Kid looked up at me. I nodded. These people stood up and walked over to me. I was not the most personable, but my fighting capability, work ethic, intelligence, and ability to not be asshole earned me respect points with the entire school. "It appears that you are now outnumbered two to one," I said. "This room is now a battlefield. The only way we fight is if you shoot first," I proclaimed. "Only engage on my word," I reminded my allies. At this time, Mr. Gronan walked in. He had a reputation for walking in right as the bell rang. "What's this? A Mexican standoff?" he inquired. "He threatened me," I explained, pointing at the ringleader. Mr. Gronan looked at the situation unfolding, shrugged, and walked to his desk. At this time, the Trendy Kids walked back to their desks. "Stand down," I commanded. My allies walked back to their desks. The rest of the class period passed with little fanfare. It was a relatively dull period on balancing chemical reactions. When the bell rang, I headed to my math

class, which was the low point of my day. I made my way to my seat and sat down. Thankfully, there were very few Trendy Kids in this class. They wouldn't bother me. I could tell by the offhand, slightly scared glances they threw my way. If they were trying to hide it, they were not doing a very good job. With my traditional visual sweep of the room done, I pulled out my black binder for math. Every class was color coded. I did not use notebooks nor folders with designs on them. Oh, and plastic folders. Always. Paper folders fell apart like Polish armies facing a German blitzkrieg in 1939. I began to use the last few minutes of class to pore over the study guide. The test was on the unit circle, and even though I knew them all by heart, I always felt like I was going to screw up somewhere. Probably the product of math being my hardest subject for several years, I reflected. Conversely, the feeling of knowing that I did not screw up when I thought I would screw up aided my confidence. The bell rang, and the test began. Per usual, it involved a lot of sweating and looking at the clock. But, like all things, it ended. I felt pretty good about it. The bell rang again, and the classroom emptied. I walked to my locker. Very few people used their lockers in high school. This was probably due to the fact that backpacks were not allowed in classrooms in middle school due to "safety reasons." The school's active shooter protocols were a safety hazard as well, but no one had changed that. I switched out my stuff, grabbed my lunchbox, and resumed my daily routine. When I reached my lunch table I was greeted by my usual two friends: Jack and Nicholas. "How was the math test?" inquired Jack. "I can see it on your face." "Tiring," I replied. "Nice read." "Point me," Jack exclaimed. "So, best subgun of WW2: MP40 or Tommy?" Nicholas chimed in with our weekly military history subject of debate. "40. All day," I mused, kicking off the argument. "I'll back up the Tommy," Jack countered. "Go ahead Jack," Nicholas mediated. "Hear me out..." Jack began. ".45 ACP." "Thats it?" I replied, astounded. "Hey man," Jack said, with his hands up. "Stopping power." "The .45 is only slightly larger than the 9mm! And furthermore, the Forty gives you less weight, faster fire rate, and a larger mag capacity! It is also cheaper to manufacture and arguably more reliable!" I was nearly out of breath at the end of my rant. "I think he takes this one," said Nicholas gesturing to myself. "You know, Jack, you might have more luck if you actually researched our debate topic," I said in a condescending fashion. "I do!" said an exasperated Jack. This sent Nicholas and I into hysterics. Jack attempted to plead his case, but to little avail over our laughter. Throughout this heated debate, I had been sanitizing my hands with my Purell. After finishing my 765th PB+J, I noticed that the cap was popped up on my Snapple. I didn't think much of it, and began nursing it throughout the ensuing argument between Jack and Nicholas. By the time the drink was half full, I had realized that I had not read the fun fact on the cap. #657. Chinese emperors drank mercury for health. At this moment, the world began to spin. My drink had been spiked. Jack and Nicholas were saying something, but I couldn't see or hear them. I was on the ground giving my PB&J back to the world. Medical personnel began to crowd over my body. They were EMTs. No one, and repeat, no one gets to the scene of a medical emergency that fast. They were in on it. All of these civilians simply turned their heads and started recording it. They hadn't a clue about what was going on. I tried to stop them from picking me up, but my vision turned black. I could not see, but I still pushed with all my might. My arms lost feeling, and I feel asleep, seemingly dead.