Class of Fuck 'em High (fm:sci-fi/fantasy, 5324 words)
|Added: Jul 26 2018||Views / Reads: 778 / 510 [66%]||Story vote: 8.50 (6 votes)|
|(This story was inspired by my love of 80's B-level horror films, where the premise is a little weird and the actors are 30 instead of 18.) After the cool kids pull a mean-spirited prank, they are sent to detention where a jester seeks revenge.|
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Don't forget to vote for this story, in the yellow voting box below the story!"I'm sooooo fuckin' high."
Bev moseyed down the hallway with books in her arms. Her eyes were half-open behind the lenses of her huge horn-rimmed glasses. She wore overalls rolled up past her bony ankles and striped Adidas tennis shoes. Her bright copper hair pulled back in a ponytail.
"Me too..." Bruce walked at her side. The squared-jawed athlete sported a blonde flattop and a letterman jacket over a graphic-print dress shirt. "Nuke-weed..."
"Nuke-weed?" Bev asked.
A buzz of chatter spilled out each classroom and filled the empty hallways. A paper airplane flew through the open door and over their heads.
"Remember when the nuclear plant had that leak? Well, while ditching class yesterday, I found a field of meh-he-wanna where the leakage was."
"Is it safe?" Bev's voice heightened with concern.
"I hope." Bruce showed her a dopey smile. Upon seeing Bev's face wrought with worry, he put his arm around her shoulders. "I'm teasing. It just makes you kinda horny."
Bev bit her bottom lip but didn't reply.
"Hey..." Bruce pinched Bev's pointy chin and turned her head to him. "Glad you came with me."
"Glad you asked." Bev flashed a smile before looking back to the linoleum floor. "Why did you ask me, by the way?"
"Well I, uh, I think you're a righteous chick."
"Thanks. That, uh, that's so rad but..." Bev hugged her books. "...it took you the last day of our senior year to think I'm cool?"
"Well, to be honest, you're always with that Screckle kid," Bruce said. "I thought you might've been a cou—"
"Ugh! No!" Bev's face soured at the thought. "He follows me around like a little puppy."
Bruce chuckled and snuggled her against his chest. "So, you're saying I haven't missed my chance?"
"Well..." Bev shyly glanced up at him with a look of longing. "...no."
Bruce veered off from the aisle and pressed her against the lockers. She giggled as he curled a stand of hair behind her ear. "Far out..."
Bev prepared for a kiss. The inexperienced girl closed her eyes and poked her lips out like a fish.
Instead of kissing her, Bruce smirked and leaned into her ear, "Wanna meet me in the bathroom?"
"Why, what's in there?" Bev asked with a sudden loss of breath. Her eyes distended, already knowing the answer. "The gloryhole?"
"You know about that?"
"I mean I've never been—not to say I wouldn't go or haven't tri—I'm..." Bev exhaled a nervous breath and looked to the restroom's blue door, a few lockers down. "I've heard rumors."
"Soooo..." Like a dancer, Bruce slid to the bathroom on the slick surface of his shoes. He leaned against the door. It opened to a gross restroom: mucky white tile floor, three stained sinks, three warped stalls—one missing a door—grimy mirrors, and urine left in the urinals.
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