Andie peered out across the sea of floating squiggles and shapes that danced over Northwest Pinewall High’s student body, invisible to everyone but Andie and her two best friends. It was lunch period, and she was trying to get a good view to look for Dyllan and Cedric, a task she accomplished by climbing on top of one of the tables - an act the faculty had long given up on trying to stop. Not because they didn’t care, or because they thought the task impossible, but because almost everyone agreed it wasn’t worth the effort.
After all, Andie was stubborn enough that convincing her was impossible, and just popular enough that expelling or suspending her would stir up a school full of reckless and rebellious adolescents in a way no teacher wanted. Her physically chaotic tendencies were fairly harmless anyway. As surprising as it was seeing Andie bolt across the cafeteria and vaulting over other students trying to eat their lunch, she’d never so much as knocked a baby carrot onto the ground.
A small floating image of Sun Tzu popped up over the crowd. It was sketched into the air with haphazard intricacy and a touch of anachronistic flair, just like every other thought-doodle that popped out of Cedric’s head - and where Cedric’s thought-doodles were, Cedric was.
Sure enough, a hop, a skip, and a jump over to the source of Cedric’s thought-doodles revealed none other than the little nerd himself. Alongside the part-time jock and full-time lovable dork known as Dyllan.
“Andie, your internal narration is showing in your thought-doodles again.” Dyllan shot a friendly glare at Andie. “And those in glass houses shouldn’t throw stones. Ya dorky nerd-jock.”
Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
“Eh, fair enough.” Andie chuckled as she slid into one of the lunch table’s many open spots. “So, how goes it?”
“Not great.” Cedric took a few seconds to finish off a slice of what the lunch lady had claimed to be pizza. “Miss Achla chewed me out for reading The Art of War in class.”
“Again? I thought you finished that book last Monday.” Andie rummaged through her lunch bag for a sandwich.
“Well, you know how it is. First read through is for knowing it, second one is for understanding it.” Cedric moved in on the rest of his lunch, devouring it with a concerning speed. “Definitely worth the extra effort. Still don’t understand why the teacher’s so adamant about this.”
“Wasn’t what you were doing, so much as what you weren’t.” Dyllan reluctantly poked at his food. “We were in the middle of a lecture on WWII.”
“I said I don’t understand why, not I don’t know why.” Cedric gazed mournfully at his now empty cafeteria tray. “It’s not my fault they don’t teach anything interesting or useful in class. I mean, the whole thing’s ridiculous. They’re just cramming a bunch of names and dates down our throats instead of teaching us actual history. When job interviewers start asking for the exact day and month that the American Revolution officially ended, we will be ready.” He glanced toward Dyllan’s untouched meal. “Until then, though, it appears getting a practical education is forbidden in these school halls.”
“Alright…” Andie grimaced as she pulled a tomato out of her sandwich and handed it over to an eager Cedric. “…but why were you reading The Art of War in class, anyway?”
“They took away my copy of Gracian’s Manual.”