Survival Of The Fittest

((Continued from The Bonfire))

Another day was blooming in the Science wing of Southridge High, and many students were bustling to get to their next class before the dreaded bell rang out to signify tardiness. Among these students was Andy Walker, attempting to push through the throng of freshmen still confused about their class locations and the other morons standing in the middle of the hall having animated conversations. Forcing himself in between two conversing girls, the boy frustratedly glared at the two before stomping away in order to reach his own class. The blonde was wearing a long-sleeved dress shirt, pale pink in color paired with khaki slacks and his pair of Sperry's. His hair pulled back into a ponytail, Andy shook his head out of annoyance, padding down the hallway towards AP Chemistry. The class was at the very end of the Science wing, and everyone seemed to be hoping to prevent access to the room.

Reaching his destination, Andy sighed with relief just as he crossed into Mr. Gault's classroom. There was no one there yet, although the boy knew soon enough the room would be filled with over-achieving underclassmen and multiple seniors. Now that he took notice of it, the burly figure of Stanley Gault was nowhere to be found in the lab-based setting. Andy momentarily admired the clean, almost hospitalized atmosphere of the room. It was a rather wide space, spanning enough across that there were four rows of four lab tables spread comfortably apart from one another. The door had been positioned to the right of the room, and visible from the doorway were the wide, open windows at the back of the classroom along with the smaller ones situated on the left.

Both sets of windows were covered by white blinds. Industrial-style lighting fixtures hung overhead, lighting the room completely with white glow. The walls were white as well, although multiple charts littered them, from a poster of the periodic table of elements to charts showing chemical formulas. At the front of the room was the white board, wiped clean of any writing aside from the date in the upper left hand corner. Directly in front of it was Mr. Gault's desk and a lab table for his demonstrations, the latter holding many flasks and labeled tubes. At the back of the room on the left was the supply closet, a large space for storage of all the materials. Moving towards the center-most lab table in the front, Andy took a seat on the right side, still unsure of who his permanent partner for the class would be. Each day of the first two weeks' classes, Mr. Gault had somehow managed to ignitiate long, extremely boring lectures on something or other that had little to do with the actual class and more to do with his personal life. The lithe teen hated himself for signing up for the class, but he knew that it would pay off if he scored well on the AP test at the end of the year.

Finally, a minute or so later, the peaceful silence was lost in sound as more bodies began to emerge from the doorway, signaling the bell was close to ringing. He knew most of the poeple in the class, and as they passed by, he greeted them with a bright smile or a happy wave. Chatter rang out through the room, increasing in volume as others joined the wave surging in. Andy waited patiently for their teacher with his notebook out, casually going over minor notes he had picked out of Gault's lectures as others settled down at their chosen seat. His senior year was going to go smoothly, but only if he were to calm himself down during class. The sounding of the bell issued an immediate reaction to the blonde's classmates, casting the room into an eerie silence. A moment later the gargant form of their teacher stepped into the room, the man peering at the students from behind large, square-rimmed spectacles. The older man moved stiffly towards his desk, Andy allowed himself a small smile in regard to Mr. Gault's robotic movements. Once he was in front of the white board, the gruff educator opened his mouth to speak, already aware that all eyes were on him.

"Good morning, class," his voice rang out in earnest, deep and booming. A chorus of the same greeting met the ears of Andy, his lips moving of their own accord; they had done this every day since the first day of school.

"Today we will begin talking about polyatomic ions, something your teacher may or may not have briefed you about before. A polyatomic ion is a molecule that bears ionic groups, that is, a molecule with a charge. The majority of biological compounds and inorganic species conform to this strict definition. Ordinarily however, blah blah blah blah blah blah," Mr. Gault began to launch into a dense explanation of the topic, but Andy only heard a few sentences before recognizing the drone signifying another boring, unhelpful lecture. Sighing defeatedly, the blonde attempted to catch bits of the speech unsuccessfully, and instead turned in his seat to see what the others in the class were doing.

'Anything's better than listening to him,' Andy resigned to himself.

((EDIT: Due to recent re-activity issues, this topic will now be placed in the canon after Homework Blues.

Thank you for your cooperation.))

AP. Advanced Placement. The hallmark of high school achievement, whose completion meant that one was not only an exemplary student but also one who was ready to dive headlong - and with a headstart - into college and hopefully into a career that was more rewarding than those who only took "regular" courses.

But despite being enrolled in the required array of courses and having disturbingly high scores in those subjects (including this one,) Eduardo Trinidad-Villa was not interested in the "rewards" as he trudged glumly into the classroom, the expression on his face so straight that a ruler might not be able to trace over it. In a dark blue T-shirt, loose cargo jeans and suede "sneakers" of sorts, nobody outside of the usual array of bullies would have paid him notice anyway, and that was all he wanted until he completed his education at high school. He looked around as the class assembled, but was focused more on an empty seat.

Unfortunately for him, the one most available to him was beside one of two students who had made a rather unwelcome advance on him during a little bonfire party some months ago. His mouth twitched in a grumble before he made his way over and plopped himself into his seat. He tried not to pay attention to the blonde cheerleader as he reached into his bag to dig out his chemistry notebook, textbook, and a pen to write with.

By the time the aptly-named Mr. Gault had started speaking, Eduardo's chemistry notebook was already out and opened, and his pen uncapped and ready to write. Much of the notes that were scribbled in the book were actually relevant, though when the lectures started to "digress," Eduardo had often turned to the current lecture's relevant textures. He didn't find it surprising that Mr. Gault rarely noticed that he was deliberately paying more attention to his textbook than he was to the lecture itself. Neither did he find it surprising that the way he arranged his notes and diagrams in his notebook gave it some resemblance to Leonardo da Vinci's, minus the mirrored handwriting. All in all it was just another day in chemistry, another day in his life.

This was not what Andy had foreseen in his future. Eduardo was sitting in the seat next to him now. Forgetting the other students in the class, there was a sudden rush of blood to the blonde's cheeks as he thought about what had happened at the bonfire party. The close proximity of another boy alone was enough to spread fiery pink to his face, but there was something more to the feeling he got around the hispanic boy. It was almost natural to want to be close to him and his cold demeanor, but Andy was good at controlling any unwanted urges his body or mind brewed for his psyche. Chemistry. How ironic was it that the class that he shared with the other boy was of all things, a double entendre that didn't exactly favor the cheerleader's chances. Glancing with his peripherals, Andy looked at the way Eduardo's chest fell in an erratic rhythm; obviously the boy was unnerved that he was sitting next to the self-coined "Rainbowest" boy in the entire school. Not that the blonde cared. Much. It was just odd to see the loner look so focused on one thing.

Eduardo had been avoiding Andy's eye since he sat down, not even offering the other boy a greeting. Awkwardly, the effeminate boy kept staring at the Latino, expecting the boy's shell to suddenly break and for them to lock eyes; however, the object of his attention was not one to let mild staring make a crack in the exterior of his countenance. The entire situation was maddening to the cheerleader. Here he was, a popular and well rounded student on his way to becoming a great success in life, but he was looking longingly at Southridge's own whelp and personal punching bag. It was absolutely pathetic on Andy's part, at least to him. The air seemed to be crackling with the obvious tension, and Mr. Gault's long-winded speech was drowned out by the rhythmic beating of the blonde's own heart. The only possible way that the boy could see himself communicating with Eduardo would be through writing, so Andy set about writing a note.

Hey. Are you like, mad at me for something? Cause that was totally not my fault at the bonfire.

Folding the notebook paper he had written on, the cheerleader passed the note to his right, the message landing directly where Eduardo had previously been reading from the book.

Eduardo was breathing erratically, but not necessarily out of any sort of attraction. Throwing the wrong chemical in a mix was often likely to produce a repulsion, like oil and water, more often than it would cause the kind of mysterious explosion often found in sci-fi flicks and action-packed superhero books. This made it hard for him just to focus on his notes, a routine that had survived numerous spitwads from classroom nasties and other things. That said, having a note land between him and his notebook didn't seem to even cause the child of gray to even bat a glance at the rainbow kid next to him.

Eddie propped his notebook up so that it formed a visual barrier between him and the teacher so he could unfold the note. He could tell it was Andy's handwriting at first glance as he read it. Of course, one couldn't tell that he didn't believe the note one bit about it "not being Andy's fault" about what happened during the bonfire. Not that he was mad about it tough, as he softly spoke a reply instead of writing back.

"It's nothing. I'll get over it," Eddie muttered just loud enough for Andy to hear, although judging from the direction of his glance he looked either to be speaking to himself or toward the myriad pictures in his Chemistry notebook. There was a distinct tone in his voice, however, that seemed to suggest hopelessness covered in a veil of sarcasm and loathing. "You weren't the only one," he added, turning his glance just that couple of degrees to the left to start a new page of note-taking.

To him, Anderson Walker was someone who was good-looking enough to flirt with any boy or girl (seeing as how having some degree of androgyny seemed to be all the rage these days). He was also popular enough to literally get away with what he was doing. Still, it wasn't as if it hadn't happened to him before, and not at the beach. The thought of the other person it happened with actually made him blush a little bit...though he didn't actually realize that.

Was that a blush tweaking Eduardo's face to a light pink? It could have been the bright, overbearing flourescent lighting in the chemistry classroom, but Andy could swear he saw the slightest change in color. Because of the Latino's indifferent verbal response, the blonde cheerleader couldn't be all that sure of the implication a blush would bring about. After all, he didn't have much tact when it came to hiding emotions. Every feminine trait aside, Andy was a man when it came to his emotional passion. This situation with the hispanic boy would be no exception. There was only so much one could take. He could feel the frustration bubbling up into some sort of urge to take action; but he couldn't let it get the best of him.

Now and then he let his emotions get the best of him, and it usually led to his downfall. Here and now, though, it wasn't going to happen. Forcing himself to focus on something else, anything else, Andy kept his brown eyes on a random white spot on the wall, his attention fixated indefinitely. But there it was again, that stupid urge to talk to Eduardo. 'Just stop thinking about him' the blonde told himself, 'It's not like he's worth anything to you. Just another face in the hallway after this year.' The class was taking forever to end, though. Mr. Gault kept his droning on and on about how cations and anions were blah blah blah blah. It was so beyond boring. Andy was surely in hell. Boredom and unwanted urges did not mix. They just led to more crap. Finally, the bell was ringing, and the blonde was the first one out of the door. Off to another class, anywhere that Eduardo Trinidad-Villa was not. Somewhere much safer for the both of them.

((Continued in Fit for a Queen))