Can I request for a poster? My shops are all closed :(

Red.

All I’m seeing in front of me is red.

And the tattered pieces of my to-be project right beneath my feet in a major pile of uselessness. My eyes are wide with disbelief and the other growing emotions inside of me as they grow inside me and deflate, over and over again. I’m trying to soothe this feeling; this emotional anxiety; this overwhelming anger that’s pooling all over my legs alongside my project of two months. But it seems that I can’t.

What’s happening to me? I’ve been so good at containing my anger towards the slackers in my class for a long time and I’ve been going through the same feelings and desires to knock them all to their feet a million of times whenever they do me badly or do each other badly; but I’ve also always been good at suppressing them. However, now I feel them two times as big as I stare around me with blank eyes, trying to muffle them down and failing with how atrociously alight they havr become.

“I’m, well, you see, I mean, I’m sorry.” The girl that’s responsible for the broken pieces of my paper and my dangerous fume of rage stands in front of me, nervously fiddling with her fingers and avoiding looking me in the eye. I lift my eyes from the ground and give her a pair of large eyes.

She’s what? Sorry?

“The ink bottle fell all over the first paper and it went downhill from there,” she tries to explain amidst her nervous words and the anxiety in which are quickly devouring me as well. “I forgot some of the points since I didn’t type them in my phone so I had to make do with what I have. I hope you don’t mind.”

I wanna scream. I really wanna scream. I’ve worked so many hours and days to get this coed project done from my part and when it came to her part, she ruins it? I want to be the girl everyone is talking about behind my back; the in disguise of a good girl; the nasty that belittles people and drowns them in their own stupidity; the girl in which sleeps with adult teachers to get her real grades. I really want to be that girl right now, to be courageous enough to tell her to off. Fortunately for me, the wrath that’s building up inside of me is encouraging enough to make me become the promised jerkface that everyone wants me to be.

“The word-count went down by three hundred words,” the girl in front continues to blabber while I try and grow the massive indigenous anger that’s flooding my system like an eruptive volcano ready to cause havoc across dozens of countries. “And I had to add some of the lines we scratched the beginning of the school year. All in all, I was able to salvage the core idea, because I remembered some of the key points. I had to do some of it handwritten, Is that alright with you?”

I’m eruptive. I’m destructive. I don’t want but do want at the same time to be the bad person that all of the school is thinking me to be behind my back, but you can’t simply erase a part of who you are simply because you don’t like it, or you don’t want to admit of it. I’m bad. I’m mean. I’m part of a squad labeled ‘MASSIVELY MADDENING’ at the front of my chest. I’m rage. I’m red, and I’m in the face of the spectator that causes this emission out of me.

“You ruined our three month work in a speck of a day?” I echo silently, my lips a pursue of dissatisfaction and dim annoyance.

The girl frowns. “I wouldn’t say ruined, I did try to work it out in the end. That all that matters, right?”

“Our work..” I mutter slowly, my eyes still large and my fingers tight around one another to suppress whatever is leaking past my demeanor. “The points we had to squeeze out of a hundred or so book and the practical samples we had to give around the school for picked students, and the conclusion I practically had to pay up a professional writer to make, and you.. you ruined it all?”

“Well, when you say it like this—“

My anger seeps past the pores of my skin like liquid lava, and I raise my hands and cause the first dent I ever had in my perfect school record.

-

I walk towards the principal’s office with my usual permanent frown up on my face, my legs heavy and dragging down on the sparkling grounds of the school, my backpack wrapped tightly around me. I’m not the most delighted person but I’m not the worst person to be around as well, but as I walk down the hallways I have such a dark cloud hanging a head in top of me that it’s darkening the whole place. My mom tells me my lips curl so beautifully when I smile and my dimples deepen, but I don’t remember the last time I actually smiled; what happened first period with the slacker girl dampening my mood for the entire day and giving me no actual desires to smile at all.

I see a tall guy sitting in between two seats next to the shut door of the principal’s door, and I scowl. He’s so massive that he’s taking all the available seats with his spread apart legs, his arm placed on each of the chairs and giving absolutely no space for anyone to sit next to him in wait. Fortunately he’s decent enough to remove one of his arms when he sees me coming, and I sit myself next to him with a huff.

I’m not a wordy person or a people person, so I work perfectly good with ignoring people exactly like how I’m planning to ignore this person, too. But I can feel his eyes on me, taking me all in and trying to see if he knows me. I don’t know. I don’t look him in the face to detect whatever he’s thinking through his expression. I just sit there, turning my bag towards my front and hugging it so I can lean my back against the chair, my eyes looking straightly forward. I begin to remember whatever I’ve been studying for tomorrow’s biology test, and wholeheartedly contemplating taking out my cue cards out of my bag to reminisce and study considering I have some time before the principal’s ready to meet me—us.

“Hey,” I hear his voice call out to me, and it’s so near and so low-pitched that I jump in my seat. I turn to him with my eyes wide. “Aren’t you that too-good-to-talk girl with the awkward bow tie?”

The first thing I notice in him aside his warm, low-pitched baritone voice is the harsh gray of his hair, but when he leans backwards against his chair the sun peering from the window in the end of the hall shines on it and it flickers into yellow blonde. His eyes are squinted when he’s staring at me but I can tell they’re naturally wide. His lips are curled into a tiny smirk, but he’s curling them in an inconspicuous way to appear vague. I’m so used to people sneering at me I notice the smirk so easily.

I furrow my eyebrows at him and try to squirm a little bit to the left on my seat where I’m not directly next to him. “My tie is made in a degree so it wouldn’t turn askew or hang off. What would you know about it anyway? You look like something dogs would drag in.” I look down at him and his clothes’ choices in disgust. Instead of the white vest and the blue blazer of the school uniform, he’s wearing a large and oversized purple hoodie. His hair is so widely ruffled it looks unbrushed for at least three days. He’s so sloppy it makes him look like a homeless person in the streets.

His smirk widens significantly. “Huh, so you are that goody-two-shoe girl. I guess all good girls are called to the principal’s office once or twice.”

I flush bright red at his implication. I hate being called a good girl, and I hate it more that they hold it against me, as if I’m not allowed to make any mistakes like getting called to the principal’s office for acting violently against a fellow person. I shoot the guy a harsh glare, hoping my eyes would grate on his self-esteem for a little bit.

“Just so you know, I did nothing wrong,” I say confidentially. “That girl deserves to be knocked down a few heads so she’d at least use hers. I didn’t even touch her that harshly but they’re already dragging me here— you know what?” I close my eyes shut, take a deep breath to calm my uproarious emotions, and open them. “Never mind. Why would you understand anyway? You look like one of those slackers who can’t put together a neat sentence down, or the type to use black pen over blue.”

“If I do say so myself,” the guy leans his head back against his arms so casually and stretches his legs forward. I want to smack him. “I’m not very much into all this school they load on us. Teacher G, you know him right? he gives us so much homework so that he’d quickly end his day without having to teach us anything, and teacher K is even worse.”

My eyes widens a little at the way he’s speaking to me. I had guessed from the beginning that he might be familiar with me with how he’s calling me, but the way he speaks about these unfamiliar teachers tell me he knows me from a different place, and not from the rumors that’s about me. I give him a funny look, flabbergasted because I don’t know who he is, but he might know who I am. He misunderstands my look for confusion and begins to explain the names for me.

“Oh, G for goggle eyes and K for knucklehead. Teacher Kim’s eyes are so focused on girls’ skirts it’s like he’s wearing zooming goggles, whereas teacher Choi is a knucklehead, period. I am a black pen kind of boy, too.” He shrugs his large shoulders that are squished down by the oversized hoodie. I squeeze my arms around my backpack and try to wiggle a bit away from him, shooting him a wary look.

“You’re weird, and you’re not supposed to dye your hair.”

He widens his eyes, weaving a hand inside his hairlocks. “No ? I had no idea.”

I give him a confused look. “The principal won’t tolerate it, you know.”

“He doesn’t tolerate violence, you know.” He says in the exact same tone I used, his seeming rather teasing.

My eyes widen and I can feel myself flush tomato red. “I’m not violent,” I swallow thickly. “I’m not a violent person. I didn’t hit anyone. I simply just pushed her backwards and she fell. I didn’t know she had zero balance, and Mrs. Hee just hates me.”

“Wow, a teacher hates you?” He snickers into a large hand, looking so incredibly teasing I feel my body burn defensively. “You’re not much of a good girl than I thought. I’m disappointed.”

I roll my eyes. “What good girl? Your labels are so outdated.” I hate being called a good girl. I hate it. “What about you? Are you supposed to be some sort of a bad boy with a rebellious streak?”

His eyes flash with something I don’t exactly understand, something dark, and his lips curl into the same smirk he has been shooting me ever since I sat next to him. “Oh honey, there’s no prete