Adam’s like a goldfish. Kind of looks like one too. It’s the golden, orange hair I think. Wonder if he’s got the memory of one too. Wait. Shit. Ain’t they really smart anyway? Problem is Adam doesn’t look smart. Not like Smart Kid 1 and 2. They are in gifted programs. Dress smart too. Dress like they were shot out of the fuckin birth cannal with benjamins flowing out of their mother’s womb juice like she’s a piggy bank.

Adam’s tall. Fuck this kids like a giant or something. Isn’t he younger than me and he’s already taller than the rest of his classmates? When he’s stumped, his lips flap like a guppy. But he’s helping at least. Both the fuck of us are cream colored assholes.

White as fuckin’ snow. But he’s got some more brown in his.

Dresses pretty fucking plain too. He’s a high schooler and dresses like a sad middle aging 40 year old man, in a plain t-shirt. Some old ass lookin’ jeans and some sneakers.

Outside at last. School building was driving me insane. It’s stifling in there. Can’t do this. Don’t do that. Don’t say this. Don’t say that. Then you got the lights fuckin’ buzzing. The walls hum. Kids talking shit. Loud hallways. Then this migraine. My skin crawling. And then this naggy girl of mine called ethanol. Can’t drink at school. Can’t smoke at school.

Probably should actually eat before thinking about those two fucking things. But I didn’t have the money to get anything at the cafeteria. Had enough to scrounge for some potato chips from the vending machine. So all I got is those two things to forget what I don’t. Or to forget being sad or something like that.

Lighting my cig, Adam watches. He stares with his brown eyes. He’s judging. Everyone judges. I just don’t care to let it bother me. Where were, anyway. History. I mean public brainwashing to make me believe like the masses. Make zombies young.

Starting to feel nausea, but I gotta get my grade up from an F, to a D. Else I will be stuck in 9th grade forever. That or I get expelled first.

“Chapter 25,” I tell him, after exhaling out some smoke.

“Right, we were working on regional cuisine,” Adam tells me.

“Right, right, like hot climates put spicy shit to preserve their meat,” I respond.

Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

He seems surprised. Like I don’t listen in class or something. Or that I am dumb. I should probably play the role of dumb better.

“Yes,” Adam tries to remain encouraging, “That’s right.”

Look, I know this shit. I have ears. It’s that I cannot really read them right. I can not believe my grade is so focused on taking notes.

“Look, I just got to take the notes,” I tell him, “Don’t treat me like my brain fell out of my ears.”

“Oh, sorry,”

It’s not like I don’t know Adam. Well we’ve never spoken before. Not once. We just have a lot of the same classes and because of that I know he ain’t liked very well.

Kids in class think he’s an asshole. He sticks to the rules. Tells them. Teachers praise him. But he’s pretty fuckin’ average. Never heard of Adam joining the student council not like fuck what’s Smart Kid 1’s name. Never heard of Adam acting in a school play. That’s why kids don’t like him. Cause he doesn’t have looks. He’s just a kid. A big tall kid. With guppy lips. Who has no sense of style. Average weight. He ain’t a jock. He just exists. Haunting the school with his presence.

“How do you take your notes usually?” He ask, attempting to look at my notebook, we found a table outside. I keep my hand firmly on my notebook.

That’s personal.

“I don’t,” I tell him.

Adam looks a bit confused, “No wonder you’re failing class.”

“Apparently drawing a car is not considered good enough,” I shrug.

“How does,” Adam takes a second, “I mean I would have probably given you a failing grade too, you cannot blame the teacher for that.”

Course he would.

“It ain’t like that,” I say, opening up my notebook to the car, “See when I was drawing this wheel, he was talkin’ bout how hunter gatherers’ only had 20 hour work weeks in comparison to our 40 hour work weeks. When I drew the drawer we were talking about other subspecies of humans. It’s notes.”

Adam looks at the car, “How is anyone supposed to know that though?”

“Ask,” again I shrug.

“Are you taking this seriously?” he looks at the car, “Door, not drawer.”

“It’s what I said,” I reply.

“Um,” Adam nervously skims his assignment list, “We need to take notes on regional differences. The question says, describe how geography shaped early human civilization and how it affected language, cuisine, and regional differences.”

He scoots the textbook closer, “What have you read so far?”

“None of it,”

“So, should we start from the beginning, if I am going to help you have to take this more seriously,”

And I am done.

“I’ll just figure it the fuck out on my own,”

Getting up. Whatever. I don’t need two headaches. A double headache. Guess I’ll just get expelled or something.