entry #6 | ℓσådïηg

━━━━༻ ♦ ༺━━━━

loading

01101101

━━━━༻ ♦ ༺━━━━

"And...that's how integrals work," Mrs. Richards exclaimed. She turned from the blackboard to smile at her class. "Easy peasy, right?"

She was met by rows upon rows of blank looks.

"Haha, I'm just kidding, my dears. I don't expect you all to get this in one day. This is a week-long unit, after all. Anyway, the bell's about to ring in a few minutes. Homework will be thirty questions from page 903 and ten from 915." The class stifled their groans and settled with staring sadly at their desks. "I expect it all to be in the proper format, of course! Got it?"

"Yes, Mrs. Richards," the students chorused.

"Good, good," the elderly woman smile. "Well, you're all dismissed! (Y/n) and Tristan, stay behind for a few minutes, alright? I promise I won't keep you long."

The said girl's head shot up at the mention of her name and she looked around in confusion until her eyes landed on her red-haired friend, who looked just as confused. 'What?'

"Yes, madam," Tristan confirmed, swiftly returning his things neatly to his white bag. To (Y/n), it looked more like a briefcase than a school appropriate bookbag. 'Rich kids...' she shook her head.

"I'll see you in history," she assured her friend. "Save me a seat...okay?"

Reese gave her a worried look before relenting and nodding. "Alright. Tell me about it later then."

"M'kay."

With one last smile and a little wave, the redhead was off, ducking out the door and towards his next class, which happened to also be different from hers. The (e/c)-eyed girl went to the front of the room where her teacher stood beside the blue-haired male and stopped in front of them. Unused to being singled out in such a way, she felt a little awkward.

Her tension was dissolved instantly by the elderly woman's kind smile. "(Y/n), dear, have you met Tristan yet?"

She glanced at him, but his icy orbs and cold expression didn't reveal anything. "No...I'm afraid I haven't," she replied.

"Well, goodness me," Mrs. Richards gasped. "I was sure you knew him by now." She placed a hand on their shoulders and pulled them to stand face-to-face in front of each other. "(Y/n) dear, meet your tutor, Tristan Knight"—she gestured towards the male—"And Tristan, meet your mentee for the rest of the year, (Y/n) White."

Surprise flitted across the girl's face as realization set in. "Now that you mention it," she murmured. "I got an email yesterday...that was you?"

His face was unchanging and even more emotionless than hers. "Yes, indeed," he confirmed. "I received your information last night as well. Later than my liking but I supposed it can't be helped." His harsh, cynical gaze swept down her figure and his lips curled discretely in disgust.

'Wow, rude much.'

Luckily for him, Mrs. Richards didn't seem to notice. "Perfect! Now that you two know each other, I expect good progress," she smiled. "Have you arranged a meeting yet?"

"Well, no—" (Y/n) tried to say, only to be cut off.

"We will set one later," Tristan said curtly. "We have each other's contact information; I will be contacting her later today."

'Don't talk about me like I'm not here,' she scowled, doing her best to keep her displeasure to herself. 'Urgh...I really regret this...'

"It seems like I worried for nothing," the woman laughed. She patted them on their backs, the only teacher brave enough to do so to Tristan Knight, and ushered them to the door. "I'm sorry for making you late to your next classes, dears. Here, I've written a late pass for you two already." She handed them a slip of paper. "Hurry on now! I'll see you two tomorrow."

"Bye, Mrs. Richards...!" (Y/n) waved goodbye at the grandmotherly woman and turned in the direction of her next class, physics. It was after a few moments she realized the popsicle and her were heading in the same direction.

Silence hung in heavy waves between the two, and she was reluctant to pierce it. But out of awkwardness and a need to foster a good relationship between them for the sake of the tutoring program, the (h/c)-haired girl mustered her courage to speak to the icy male.

"Um, Trish?" She said tentatively.

His eyes flickered to her for a brief second. "It's Tristan," he said flatly.

'Wow, way to go, (Y/n),' she scolded herself. 'Getting his name wrong already.' "I mean, Tristan?" The girl tried again.

"You may speak."

Annoyance and shock pierced through her, and she quickly shoved it down. "Do you also have physics now?" (Y/n) asked. "With Mr. Brooks?"

"That is correct."

Conversation over.

'Okay, Mister High and Mighty Popsicle,' she rolled her eyes. 'You don't want to talk. I get it.' Even after almost two years at the school, she has yet to grasp the full spectrum of personalities of the academy.

"Do you want to set up the next session for the afternoon on Saturday?" The girl suggested, remembering her project with Kieran on the same day at noon and the program's requirement of meeting on Saturdays. 'I probably shouldn't have agreed to Saturday...oh well.'

Not looking at her, he replied almost robotically. "I believe I've informed you I will be informing you later today, most likely around four. Do check your email at that time and we will be set. Now, if you'll excuse me." They had arrived at the classroom and he entered first, as if desperate to get away from the girl.

She sniffed her arm. 'Do we plebeians smell or something? Wait, what do plebeians even smell like?'

(Y/n) followed suit soon after and presented her late pass to her teacher, a strict man who was as harsh as Mrs. Richards was maternal. Mr. Brooks narrowed his eyes solely at the (h/c)-haired girl in suspicion after he merely nodded at Tristan. She frowned. 'Favoritism much?'

She took a seat in the middle row, behind a long white table that sat two people each, all of which faced a large whiteboard Mr. Brooks stood in front of. He was a tall man—taller than Mr. Howards—with swept-back black hair and equally black eyes. 'Black like his soul,' his students liked to say behind his back. He was infamous for many pop quizzes and long, hard tests.

Unlike Mr. Wright, who was strict only in class, Mr. Brooks was always strict. If you were late, you were immediately given detention. If you forgot to do homework, he'd give you triple the work due the next day, and the list goes on.

'If he hates kids so much, why before a teacher?' She didn't dare to sleep in his class. The last time she did, she was given detention for a whole week. It would've been for two weeks had it not been for her clean record. 'He's more suited to be a police officer or something. The kind who only targets juvenile delinquents.' Then she remembered a certain rowdy delinquent friend of hers.

Nevermind.

"Work with your partner to finish the lab," Mr. Brooks half-scowled half-snapped. "If you do not finish by the end of the period, you'll be staying after school. Are we clear?"

"Cry—yes, sir," the class said in unison and turned towards their seatmates. The chatter began, although it was low and hushed compared to the other classes. (Y/n) turned slowly towards hers, trying her best to remember his name.

"H-hey, I'm (Y/n)," she offered her hand to the boy awkwardly. She had never bothered conversing with the male much before. How could a girl who was sleeping with her eyes open ever hold a proper conversation with someone?

A corner of his mouth quirked up into a friendly smile, and she breathed a sigh of relief. 'At least he seems nice,' the (e/c)-eyed girl mused.

"I know, I'm Keller," he said, taking her hand and shaking it. "Keller Campbell. You know, like your seatmate for the past month?"

She smiled sheepishly and tugged her sleeve down. "I'm sorry..." 'I have no luck with names and faces...'

"No, it's alright," the brown-haired male reassured her. "C'mon, let's get to work before Cro—uh, Mr. Brooks makes us stay behind."

"Mmm, m'kay."

She found Keller to be surprisingly easy to talk to as they worked, despite her antisocial and lazy nature. He wasn't thrown off by her mostly expressionless face or her weird quirks. Had they not been in different social circles, (Y/n) might've just initiated him into her list of the people she considered her friends. And for your information, that list wasn't very long.

"This lab is a little boring," Keller arranged a small cart attached to a string on their table. "What is it we're supposed to—right, verifying Newton's Second Law. I can't believe I'm saying this, but I kinda miss chemistry now."

"Chemistry was great," the girl agreed. "My teacher made us ice cream once a month...and all those explosions..."

"Really? I never would've pegged for you one to like those things."

She gave him a confused look. "Why not?"

"Because you're always sleeping, obviously," he gave her a pointed look. He looked around and beckoned for her to lean closer as if about to drop a deadly secret. He lowered his voice. "Did you know? You sleeping everywhere has become some kind of legend. People swear they saw ghosts hanging from trees and windows when it's actually just you."

(Y/n) flushed in embarrassment and crossed her arms. "It's not my fault I get...tired. They need to get...their eyes...checked."

"Or you could sleep in a bed instead of in a locker," Keller snorted as he hung a weight from the other end of the string.

"I do not sleep in a locker," she protested.

"You so do," he shot back.

"Do not."

"Do so."

"Do not."

"Do so."

"Do not—"

Someone cleared their throat in front of them, drawing their attention to the new figure. It was Mr. Brooks, his brows dipped into a frown and his eyes two pools of dark poison. Keller and (Y/n) exchanged a scared look and gulped simultaneously.

"If you have enough time to chit-chat," the man growled, tapping his polished dress shoes against the floor. "Then spend it working. Or would the two of you prefer I send you to Mr. Rayne to do your lab?" Mr. Rayne was the supervisor of those in detention.

They bowed their heads in shame. "No sir," the two chorused. "We're sorry." (Y/n) fidgeted where she stood, uncomfortable under the teacher's scalding gaze. She wanted to be anywhere else but here at the moment.

He clicked his tongue and shot one last glare at them before leaving to find another poor victim to pick on. Keller let of a relieved sigh and visibly relaxed.

"Not much scares me, but that guy certainly does," he muttered, more to himself than the girl beside him. "Anyway, I think we're ready. Do you have a watch or something, (Y/n)?"

The (h/c)-haired girl snapped out of her fear-induced daze and slid up her sleeve, revealing a simple silver watch. "I'll time it." She gazed down at the face of the watch, waiting for the second hand to hit 60. She counted the seconds under her breath. "58...59...and go!"

Keller promptly released the weight from where it hanged down from the table on a pulley. The cart began moving across the table and collided with the wooden blockade he had set up prior to the experiment.

He turned towards her. "Time?"

"9.45 seconds," she replied, showing him the watch face. He nodded and scrubbed the number down on his lab booklet.

"Okay, so now we calculate the acceleration," he said. "And then we can get the force...yeah, we can finish this pretty easily."

"I'll draw the force-time graph," (Y/n) volunteered. She flipped to the graph portion of her lab and plotted her first point.

"Oh, okay. I'll do the acceleration-time graph then," Keller rearranged the cart. "Let's do this a few more times."

After a few more runs, they were quickly able to finish the relatively easy but boring lab. (Y/n)'s once white lab was now filled with various observations, plot points, and her two graphs. 'Force is mass times acceleration,' she wrote at the bottom under the corresponding question. 'An object with a larger mass needs a stronger force for it to move at the same acceleration as an object with a smaller mass. Hence, Newton's Second Law of Motion.'

Compared to Brooks' usual labs and lectures, this one was a breeze. She closed her booklet and set her pencil down, leaning forward to rest her face in her arms.

"I'm so tired..." The (h/c)-haired girl groaned. "When does class end?"

The brown-haired male folded his arms on the table and glanced at the clock mounted on the wall. "Third period ends at 11:40, and since this is a double, we have like...a whole hour to kill." He offered her a wry smile. "Fun, isn't it?"

She groaned and buried her face into her arms. "When I die...please bury me in an ocean—"

"Excuse me?" He said, bewildered.

"—Of pillows..." She turned to see him staring at her, surprise written across his face. "What?"

"I was wondering why you'd want your corpse to become fish food," Keller explained with a chuckle. "I'd rather donate mine to science."

"...Nerd."

"Well, excuse me," he gasped in faux offense. "My corpse will serve a noble purpose, okay, unlike becoming fish food."

"One...I never said that. Two...fishes need food too. Gotta save the fish...you know."

"Who cares about the fish? It's all about the bees nowadays."

She scrunched up her face in disgust. "You can't eat bees. You can eat fish."

"Is that your only reason for 'saving the fish?'" Keller chuckled, raising an eyebrow. "Doesn't honey taste better than fish?"

"It's too sweet...I'll get heartburn."

"You're one of the few girls I've met who can't eat sweets," he said in surprise. "Don't worry, I can't either. I don't understand how my sister's able to eat truckloads of cake without breaking a sweat."

A mental image of Isla and Carmen inhaling sweets popped in her mind and her lips twitched as she tried reigning in her laughter. "I can't either," (Y/n) shook her head, shuddering at the thought of all that sugar entering her bloodstream. "My blood would solidify and then my veins will explode..."

"...That escalated really quickly."

"Yup. Cake always leads...to a bloodbath."

"Do I want to know?" Keller asked fearfully.

She gave him a serious look. "No...you really don't."

He seemed to accept that answer.

They spent the rest of the approximated hour poking fun at each other and discussing life in general. (Y/n) found it refreshing to have someone other than her usual friend group to complain to and vice versa. He told her about the rugby team—he was a starter on it, much to her horror—and how there was this one guy he felt didn't deserve to be a starter, but still got the position.

"Is he like...bad or something?" The (h/c)-haired girl asked curiously.

"Bad?" Keller scoffed. "I like the guy and all, but he's utter trash at the sport and he knows it. The man's being pressured by his parents to join and because they're major sponsors of the school, coach kind of have to let him play."

"I feel bad for him," she winced sympathetically. "Does he like playing?"

The brown-haired male shrugged and made a sound through his teeth. "He has a love-hate relationship with the sport. He likes it for the friends he's made from it but hates it for being the sport his parents made him join. I'm telling you, that guy can't catch a ball to save his life. And he's not built for scrums."

"What's a scrum?"

"Have you seen a match before?" He asked. She nodded. "Alright, so do you remember seeing the players line up in the beginning, pack close together, and then start screaming? That's a scrum. Super dangerous and you need a whole lot of strength to be in it. Otherwise, you'd snap like a twig."

She visualized the game she and Wei Wei had gone to last semester and shuddered. "I don't see how you survive...that. It looks really painful."

"It's definitely dangerous," he chuckled. "It's not uncommon for players to break something or start bleeding"—(Y/n) gulped, her approval rating of the sport dropping exponentially—"But! It's all part of the fun. The satisfaction of winning while covered in sweat, mud, and your blood is really something else. You should try it, (Y/n)!"

The (e/c)-eyed girl shook her head furiously to the point Keller began to fear for her neck. "That's too scary for me...so much energy..." She eyed his thin frame. "You...can survive a scrub? Impressive..." She was beginning to see him a new light as her admiration for the male grew.

"It's a scrum, (Y/n)," he corrected her. "And I'm stronger than I look. Everyone says this uniform makes me look totally different from when I'm on a field."

She tilted her head. "Really?"

"Yeah. You should come to watch our game this Sunday."

(Y/n) didn't want to hurt her newfound friend's feelings, but watching a bloody game that nearly traumatized her again? That was a little...

The brown-haired male clasped his hands together pleadingly as he locked his hazel eyes with her (e/c) ones. "Please, (Y/n)?" He begged. "The field's not that far away either; it's like half an hour by coach. I'd feel more confident if you come. So please? I'll give you Skittles?"

He pulled out a colorful candy bag from his pocket and offered it to her. "Skittles? Game? Come with?"

'He reminds me of Reese in so many ways,' (Y/n) sighed internally. 'Oh god, there's no way he also does the same look. That would be too much of a coincidence.'

Contrary to her beliefs, Keller Campbell was almost as good as Reese was at getting his way. He lowered his head and peered up at the girl with a pleading look in his eyes. "C'mon, (Y/n)," the male whined. "Just this once...?"

"Not...the puppy dog eyes!" She tried shielding her eyes with her hands to no avail. He caught her wrists in his larger hands and pulled them away from her face. His eyes began to sparkle more, if that was even possible.

"Pleaseeee?" He tried again.

"No. S-stop it!"

"C'mon, please?"

"N-no!" (Y/n) turned her face away and when that didn't work, she buried her face into her arms.

He laid his head down next to her. "Just this once? Pleaseee—"

"Oh gosh, you two could get away with murder," she grumbled, throwing her hands up into the air. "Okay, fine! You win. I'll come this Sunday."

"Really? Alright!" The brown-haired male cheered, a wide smile breaking out across his face. "You can't back out now, got it? Yeah? Yeah!"

"I said I'd go! So stop shouting...people are looking at us..." She hid her face behind her hair with a tired groan. "You do realize Mr. Brooks...is the type to fail us...for talking loudly, right?"

He clasped a hand over his mouth, his eyes widening. "Oh, crap," he said through his fingers.

"Oh crap indeed," she rolled her eyes. A flash of blue caught her attention but when she turned to get a closer look, it was gone. 'What was that? Do we actually have a pet bird? But knowing Mr. Brooks, he wouldn't own a pet that could mess up his hair...'

(Y/n) couldn't count how many times she'd seen the black-haired teacher go in and out of the faculty bathrooms. 'Does doing hair take that much time?' She took a lock of her (h/c) hair in between her fingers and inspected it. 'The most I do is shampoo and condition it. I don't even own a comb.' She paused in thought. 'Maybe I do. But I lost it. Somewhere in my bathroom...probably.'

How her hair managed to look decent and stay on her head despite her lack of care, she did not know. Isla and Lucinda, she knew, both took a long time getting ready for the morning. Carmen took almost less time (Y/n) did, and nevermind Jasper—that boy's almost more feminine than (Y/n) was.

And then there's Reese.

We don't talk about Reese.

"Ten more minutes," she heard Keller cheer quietly. His hazel eyes were swirling with anticipation as they locked onto the clock. He was tapping his feet under the table impatiently. "One more period and then lunchtime...speaking of lunch," the male addressed the girl beside him. "Where do you normally sit?"

"Near the back," (Y/n) answered. "Wherever there's a free table, mostly. There's six of us, after all."

"Ahh, explains why I never see you outside of class. Do you want to sit with my friends today? Of course, you can bring yours too."

She immediately thought of being surrounded by bulky, sweaty rugby players and laughed awkwardly. "Um...about that..."

As if he'd read her mind, he said, "Don't worry, not all of them are rugby heads. Most of the guys go out for lunch today anyway. So?" He prompted her. "How about it?"

The (e/c)-eyed girl thought for a while, uncertainty and puzzlement conflicting inside her. Then she shrugged and gave him her response. "Sure. I'll tell the others."

What's the harm in making new friends?