History Class
Keith P.O.V. Our history project was due tomorrow, and we were finally nearing completion. As usual, Lance decided this was the perfect moment to declare himself exhausted.
“Lance, please help. We’re almost finished,” I groaned, frustration simmering.
“Why don’t *you* finish it? I’ve pulled my weight,” Lance whined, stretching dramatically.
“I did the bulk of the work anyway!”
“Fine, fine. Move over.” He shoved me aside and took over the final details.
Within twenty minutes, the project was done. It was surprisingly good work.
“You know, you’re actually pretty smart. This is good work,” I said, genuinely surprised. Lance hadn’t struck me as someone who applied himself. I figured he just didn’t bother to try.
“Of course it’s good. I’m amazing,” Lance replied with characteristic confidence.
I rolled my eyes. “Your ego is… substantial.”
“Not as substantial as my IQ.”
“What IQ?”
He feigned a wounded expression, collapsing dramatically. “Why must you wound me so, Keith?” he cried, playing to the rafters.
I tossed a pillow at him. “Stop being a drama queen.”
“At least I *am* a queen of something.”
“I knew it. You’re secretly a girl.”
“Ye- well–” Lance stammered, scrambling for a witty retort. “Uh, you’re annoying!”
“Oh no, I’m annoying! How *dare* you utter such foul words,” I mocked, dripping with sarcasm.
Lance stuck out his tongue, refusing to respond.
Then he said, “Hey Keith, why did the chicken cross the road?”
“How am I supposed to know?” I retorted, exasperated.
“The chicken was going to the idiot’s house… Knock, knock.”
I saw the setup coming. “It’s open,” I said flatly.
“What?”
“I said the door’s open.”
“That’s not what you’re supposed to say.”
“I know.”
Lance sighed in defeat. “Okay, I give up! You win!”
I flashed him a satisfied grin. “It’s about time you surrendered.”
“Oh, shut up,” Lance said, throwing the pillow back at me.
Lance POV:
“Keith.” I poked him lightly. It was the middle of History class, and I suddenly remembered I’d forgotten to bring a pencil.
“What do you want?” He hissed, glancing my way before returning to his notes.
“Can I borrow a pencil?” I asked innocently.
“I don’t have any.”
“But I need one…”
“I don’t have one! Ask the teacher!”
“But then she’ll get mad at me,” I whined.
“Well, that’s not–”
“Mr. Kogane, is there something you’d like to share with the class?” Mrs. Turley’s voice cut through our conversation, laced with annoyance.
Keith slumped in his seat. “No, ma’am.”
“Very well then. A half-hour detention for both of you.”
Guilt washed over me. I spoke up. “Sorry, Mrs. Turley. It’s my fault. I was just asking–”
“Then you’ll both be staying for detention.”
~*~
Five minutes into detention, boredom set in. I scribbled something on a scrap of paper, crumpled it, and tossed it across the aisle at Keith.
He glared as it hit him, then unfolded it when Mrs. Turley looked away. He scanned the note, added something, and tossed it back.
I unfolded it. It read:
*Hey Keith, how’s life?* (blue ink)
Underneath, in red ink: *Life is crap. Thanks to you.*
I smiled and wrote: *What can I say, I’m a generous guy.* Then I threw it back.
Our little exchange continued for twenty-five minutes, both of us carefully timing our throws to avoid Mrs. Turley’s attention.
Finally, she dismissed us. We grabbed our bags and left silently.
“I hate you,” Keith said, sending me a glare.
“Wha– why? That was fun!” I said, shocked.
“But you’re the reason I got detention!”
“Okay, fair point, but I made up for it!”
He cracked a smile. “Yeah, I guess so.”
Suddenly, someone bumped into me.
“Oh. Hey, Lance,” Hunk smiled, greeting me.
“Hi, Hunk. We still going bowling today?”
“Yup!” He finally noticed Keith. “Hi! You’re Keith, right? Wanna come with us?”
Keith smiled apologetically at Hunk. “I would, but I have things to do.” He flashed another smile and disappeared quickly.
Stuff? What kind of stuff would Keith need to do?