"Fuck it."

Twenty pairs of eyes turned towards the boy standing in the center of the classroom. He was tall and fit, with black hair in a trendy cut and a shirt with a popped collar. It wasn't unusual for people to stare at him. The boy was uncommonly handsome.

"Excuse me, Mr. Morrison? Was there something you wanted to share with the rest of the class?" The teacher arched his eyebrows, chalk still held up against the board.

"Yes," said the boy. "Yes, there is."

The dull, hypnotized class perked up. Unlike Biology II, this was something interesting.

"Then, by all means, continue," said the teacher. "Heavens forbid we actually learn something today."

The boy grinned. It was a hard, flash grin, not a little terrifying.

"Fuck it," he repeated. "Fuck it all. Fuck basketball and soccer. I hate them both. I hate playing them. I hate watching them. I don't even want to think about them. Or any sports. Fuck sports. You know what, I loathe running. The only time I'm running again is if zombies are chasing me. And only if they're the fast kind. Otherwise a brisk stroll will do me. So I quit. And if anyone says anything to me about letting the team down, I will punch them in the face. I'm not spending one more practice being ogled by that fucking pervert coach."

"Thank you, Mr. Morrison," said the teacher nervously.

"I'm not done yet. Fuck my grades. I'm sick as shit of studying. Six hours a night? I never get any fucking sleep. And I like sleep.. I love sleep. Coffee is evil. If I ever drink another cup of coffee, I'm going to vomit. And, no, I won't clean it up, because why the fuck am I being force-fed coffee?"

"That is enough!"

The boy was bouncing on his heels now, his grin approaching maniac lengths. The rest of the class was giggling uncomfortably.

"Fuck these clothes and fuck getting up an hour early to get ready. I should be getting precious sleep! No more designer haircuts. No more gel. I hate the sticky shit. It's t-shirt and jeans from now on. Actually, maybe I'll just wear pajama pants. Much more comfortable, especially since I plan on eating every single disgustingly fattening thing I can find. High protein low fat diet, you can kiss my ass."

"Mr. Morrison, go to the office immediately!"

"And a big fuck you to Amber Waite. I know you've been screwing around behind my back. Is there anyone you haven't fucked? Seriously, you must be just a cocktail of STDS by now."

"Fuck you, Adam!" A curvy blonde girl yelled.

"No, I don't think so," said the boy. "Frankly the idea of touching you makes me want to take a bath in acid. I would rather peel off my skin with a rusty razor than fuck you."

The blonde burst into tears.

"Oh, shut up. You were only dating me because I was popular. And I know about the time you blew the entire lacrosse team. James was kind enough to tell me. Thanks, mate. Of course, he was drunk at the time, so he probably didn't realize it was me he was telling."

Half the class was laughing outright, while the rest were attempting to sink beneath their desks. Amber was being consoled by the two clones next to her.

"Jesus, Adam," said a big, red-haired boy. "What's your problem?"

The teacher was covering his face, muttering under his breath.

"I do have to thank you, Amber," said the boy. "If you weren't such a fucking shit-ass girlfriend, I might have been tempted to stay in the closet just that much longer. But you know what, fuck it. I'm gay. Gay, gay, gay. I love cock. Hate tits, love cock."

A collective gasp.

"And fuck anyone who has a problem with that. Oh, Torrence, I'm sorry about beating the crap out of you in the tenth grade. I thought you were cute and a little bit sexy and it freaked me out. But that was my problem not yours, so sorry."

A slim boy with chestnut brown curls gave a startled jump. He glanced around the classroom, then back at Adam.

"It's okay," he said in a timid voice.

"Good, because I'd like to ask you out. We could rent some shitty zombie movies and eat ice cream and maybe make-out if things went well."

All eyes swiveled to Torrence, who was rapidly turning crimson.

"...yes," he whispered.

"Okay," said Adam.

He sat down, folding his hands on his desk.

"I'm finished, Mr. Reyes."

The teacher sighed.

"The office, Adam."


Adam slung his bag over his shoulder and headed for the door. He stopped, turned back and walked over to Torrence, who was bent over his textbook, determinedly ignoring the rest of the class.

"Torrence," Adam said.

Torrence looked up. Adam smiled at him, a real smile. He bent down and kissed Torrence, soft and chaste.

"Mr. Morrison!" bellowed the teacher.

Adam started to pull back, but Torrence grabbed his shirt, yanking their mouths together. He forced Adam's lips open, twining their tongues.

A mixture of cheers and insults started. Torrence released Adam's shirt, smiling up at his dazed expression.

"Fuck it," he said.

The End.