O'Leary

I hear this test is going to be brutal.

Wheeler

For you? Yeah. 😉

We got this. Shut it, Wheeler.

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Chapter 1 — Asher

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Scribbled on gray desks and a smartboard at the front flanked on either side by twin whiteboards. The room was the dominant colors to spur effective learning — white and gray.

Thank goodness it was the last day, because Asher had the itch to spend the summer away from suffocating walls. He just needed to get through this test first.

“You ready for this?” asked O'Leary.

Asher heard the tremble in his voice. He slid his gaze from the covalent bond examples in his textbook up to O’Leary. His best friend had moderate test anxiety, but he’d never admit it. “I studied, so I should be alright. How ‘bout you?”

O’Leary hunched forward on his elbows. His caffeine fueled leg hammered against the floor while fingers not-so-gently traced and groomed his now jagged thumb. His prey-wide eyes focused on the classroom's door, as if expecting a predator to enter at any moment.

Yeah, he totally didn’t have test anxiety.

He shifted in his desk to face Asher — or tried to — hips catching in an attached arm seat designed for average sized students. They were old school desks. The ones where the top connected to the seat. They weren't designed for yeti proportioned teens. It was one reason folks on the hockey team called the red headed O'Leary, 'Beast'.

He stood up after extracting his wide hips and shifting his long legs. “Stupid desk.” It clattered as it settled. O’Leary pointed his gnawed thumb at his chest, his forced smile drooling with false confidence. “I studied.”

Asher stared.

“Mostly.” The thumb dropped to his side. “I kind of skimmed. Then highlighted and tried to memorize the stuff I really needed.”

“Yeah, you’ll be good.” He was screwed.

The boy seated behind O’Leary chuckled. “It doesn’t work if you highlight the entire book, Beast.”

“Shut it, Wheeler,” Asher and O’Leary said together.

O’Leary spun to face him.

Asher readjusted himself in his seat. Wheeler was in easy reach of O’Leary, and he knew the troll couldn’t stop himself from making it worse.

Wheeler leaned forward. With a flick, the pink rubber blob of his eraser bounced off O’Leary’s head.

O’Leary reached up and touched the point of impact — eyes wide and mouth hanging open.

Shit. Asher sighed. Wheeler was reckless, didn’t know when to shut up, but he had a redeeming kindness. Probably caused by guilt. He was a teammate and friend, but it was easy to forget the second part.

Wheeler snickered.

O’Leary’s expression flipped — open mouth to snarl. Popped brow to furrowed.

Yup. Like right now, O'Leary had forgotten the "friend" part. Dammit, Wheeler. Asher moved his dominant leg out from under the desk. “Wheeler, you really want to piss off the guy who earned the name, Beast?”

Wheeler’s blue eyes gleamed.

Crap. That was a mistake, Asher knew you never challenge a troll.

“This guy? He won’t do anything. We may call you Beast ‘cause you look fierce, but we all know you’re really just a big-soft-teddy-bear.” Wheeler crossed his arms, giving himself a hug. “More hug than thug.” He threw in a sideways snicker smile combo for added instigation.

O’Leary lunged.

Wheeler scooted sideways and dodged his attempted grapple.

"Get 'em, Beast!" shouted Klipper from across the room. He was the closest thing the City High Hurricanes had to a goon.

Asher launched himself between, holding out a hand to deter them as they squared off. Damn, Wheeler’s lucky he’s fast. “Keep it up, Wheeler. You’ll see that teddy bear's fists aren't made of cloth and stuffing.” What was Asher doing? He knew the only thing worse than challenging a troll once was to do it a second time.

O’Leary clenched his fists, knuckles whitened and the pale freckled skin of his bare arms darkened to match his already flushed face. “Just say one more word. I swear...”

Asher shifted the angle of his shoulder and braced. Wheeler, for once, leave it alone, please. But these two were Bleach and Ammonia.

“You know…”

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

O’Leary shot forward, slamming against Asher’s blocking shoulder. The force rocked him back, but he held. “Chill, buddy. Chill. It’s not worth it.” Asher waited for the schoolyard ‘fight, fight, fight’ chant to begin, but it never came. A quick glance over his shoulder showed a smirking Wheeler pointing towards the classroom door. Ms. Rutherford was walking in.

O’Leary didn’t seem to care. All he saw was his target.

Asher leaned into his friend, face and shoulder pressed against O’Leary’s chest. He smelled of sweat, vanilla, and coconut. “The test. Rutherford is here. It’s test time.” He hoped the word test would be enough water to douse his friend’s fire.

“Are you boys done?” Ms. Rutherford asked. “If not, we could do the Principal’s office now and the three of you could write the test after school today?” She dropped a stack of test booklets on her desk.

“Just some fun,” said Wheeler.

“We’re good,” said O’Leary.

The three scrambled for their desks.

“Good luck, O’Leary. You’ve got this.” Asher let out a sigh, “You too, Wheeler.”

“You too, man.” O’Leary twisted and shoved a finger towards Wheeler’s face. “Not you.”

Wheeler shrugged. “Least you forgot about the test for a bit.”

O’Leary grunted and turned around.

Asher skimmed the page of his text one more time, pushing brown hair back from his eyes and tucking it behind his ears. With playoffs over he couldn’t wait to shave it off, or at least cut it to a reasonable length. Most of the team was sporting the same style in shoulder-length solidarity.

Asher looked up and met Ms. Rutherford’s eyes as she scanned the classroom. He took in a breath and closed his textbook — he was ready.

“Hey, Beast? Could you grab that eraser for me? It’s right by your feet.” Asher watched as Wheeler pointed past O'Leary's shoulder.

A chuckle slipped out of Asher before he could bite it off.

Sideways sliding free of his attached desk, O'Leary grabbed the eraser and slapped it down in front of Wheeler with a snarl.

Wheeler countered with a smile. “Thanks, Teddy.”

Asher closed his eyes for a moment. The guy just couldn’t help it.

“Good luck, Captain,” Wheeler honored Asher with a mock salute.

“Hockey season’s over.” Asher shifted and returned the salute, but his version only contained the middle finger.

Wheeler and O’Leary chuckled.

“Quiet down, Ron” Ms. Rutherford looked up and glared in the boy’s direction.

“It wasn’t me,” Wheeler’s voice getting a little higher with each syllable.

“Okay.” Ms. Rutherford stood at the front of the class. “Everything should be in your bags or underneath your seats. The only things on your desk should be pencils, three pieces of scrap paper for equations, and a calculator.”

Scrap paper? Shoot scrap paper! Asher was so focused on studying he’d forgotten. He could feel the equations already slipping from his memory.

Leah sat right in front of him. She was an all-around student-athlete with skills Asher envied. He’d always been a little intimidated by her confidence. Looking over her shoulder, past her curly strawberry blonde hair, he saw she had an old beat-up white and blue scribbler on her desk with a big orange teardrop on the cover. Were those burn marks?

“What about erasers?” Wheeler thrust up his hand — after the question.

“Of course, Ron,” she put emphasis on his name and snipped it off with her teeth. She took a deep breath in through her nose as she moved to her desk and picked up the stack of tests.

“Hey Leah?” Asher tapped her on the shoulder.

She popped up like a newly released jack-in-the-box with a loud squeak.

The class froze and turned, looking at them both.

“Sorry, sorry, sorry everyone.” Leah’s cheeks reddened as she twisted in her seat to face Asher. “What is it?” Her eyes narrowed as she pushed the question out like air from a leaky tire.

Asher pulled back, visibly deflated. “Um… can I, uh. Can I borrow some scrap paper?”

“Oh!” Her eyes lit up. “Yes, of course. Of course. Three sheets, right? Yes, yes, yes.” She reached into the old scribbler and ripped out three pages, slapping them on his desk.

Asher leaned back in his seat. She was almost dancing. “Leah? Are you okay?”

“Hmm? Yup, good, good, good.” She flashed him a smile, “you just caught me off guard.”

“Sorry.”

Leah had already turned around.

Asher looked wide-eyed from Wheeler to O’Leary, and all three of them shrugged. “Test anxiety makes people act in weird ways,” whispered O’Leary.

Wheeler took in a breath.

"No." Asher flicked a finger at Wheeler and shook his head, catching his ‘friend’ before he got the first syllable of the retort out. “Stop setting him up, O’Leary.”

“What?” O'Leary mumbled facing forward, pencil making a rhythmic tap-tap-ta-taptap on repeat.

Asher shook his head and looked down at the scrap papers; right away he noticed one page had some scribbles on it, but the backside looked clear. “Thanks, Leah. Hey, are you going to the….”

“That’s enough, Asher.” Ms. Rutherford gave him the look normally reserved for Wheeler. “I’m handing out the test.”

“Right, sorry,” he said and adjusted his Dad's old Led Zeppelin t-shirt to get more air to his skin as he felt his breathing quicken and temperature rise. O’Leary wasn’t the only one with problems. He had to keep on top of his stress response. Asher felt a tremble radiate through him, yup he needed a new focus — it was one of the first signs of a building attack.

He picked up the sheets of scrap paper, gave them a shuffle and took in a slow breath. They felt old and brittle, like they could crumble at any moment. He understood that feeling — not helpful.

The scribbled-on page, he focused on that one. The markings were like glyphs or runes from a home-brewed game of Dungeons & Dragons. Written in purple and black ink, but nothing else about them was interesting.

Asher was a board game and esports guy, preferring more strategy and teamwork-oriented games. To him, the story was secondary, but he still enjoyed slinging dice with friends in one of Wheeler’s tabletop adventures. He was a fan of the utility classes, like wizards, who had a magical solution for every problem.

That helped. The trembling had faded. He was ready for this. He ran through some tactics his team had practiced in League of Legends. Then he tried to counter them in his mind, all while continuing to scan the strange glyphs on the page for any kind of pattern. Asher let out a low chuckle. He was going to steamroll top-lane next game.

A quick glance told him Ms. Rutherford still had half the room to go. He turned back to the markings, his mind already slipping back into violent digital thoughts or pwning — they were calming.

Asher blinked. His sole focus shifted to the page. He was confused. The glyphs weren’t in the same place as before, or at least he didn’t think they were. He studied the page, rotating it as he tried to make sense of how they had moved.

O’Leary cocked his head and leaned towards Asher, trying to see what he was looking at. Wheeler smirked and gave his head a slight shake.

The glyphs were moving. They were glowing! A dull purple, or violet, or somewhere in between. They sped up, shifting, and vibrating on the page, slamming against the outer edges as if trying to break free. The glyphs combined and twisted in length, forming strings and then reforming again and again. Asher held the paper in both hands, his head moving closer to the page, his eyes wide as he watched pen markings dance.

“Asher?” said O’Leary. “Asher? Are you okay?”

“Leave him be,” said Wheeler. “We all find love in strange places. I guess he really likes dead trees.” He gave his best deadpan shrug.

That was too much for O’Leary. He spun out of his desk, tangle-free, and stuck a finger into Wheeler’s chest, “Listen, you little…”

A loud crash shattered the pre-test unease and harsh whispers of bickering boys.

Then the screaming started.