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i. | charles.

DON'T CALL
ME THAT.

CHARLES LYTTON — the brutal

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CHARLES LYTTON DIDN'T like many people.

With the exception of his best friend Lucas Steffek, not many people liked him, either.

So, when Charles almost got expelled for the fifth time, no one bat an eye.

But, now we're on the sixth time.

"Mr. Lytton," the dean, Mr. Westcott, started.

Charles blinked a few times before looking at Mr. Westcott, drilling holes with his bright hazel eyes.

"This is the sixth time in the past two years that you have been in my office. And the reasons aren't good," Mr. Westcott told him.

Charles suppressed a "No shit". Instead, he just blinked a few more times.

"This might be the end of the road for you here at Westcott," Mr. Westcott said, frowning solemnly.

Charles plastered on a face of disappointment. In reality, he was head over heels happy.

Although the school was prestigious and, on the outside, it looked like a dream, inside Westcott Preparatory were many secrets. And not just that Spencer Lawson liked Addy Galvin (which he did). The secrets were deadly. But that's not the task at hand right now.

"Now, I know you're probably disappointed in yourself right now, correct?" Mr. Westcott asked, looking deep into Charles's eyes.

Charles blinked four more times in response.

"So, I'm giving you one last chance. One last chance to change things. One last chance to do something good," Mr. Westcott said sternly.

Fuck!

Charles blinked.

"Detention for a week, Mr. Lytton," the Dean said, ripping a pink sheet off a stack of identical papers to his right. He uncapped his Montblanc Meisterstück Geometry Solitaire gold pen (which Charles thought was a waste of money, retailing at $1,215) and scribbled down a few things. Mr. Westcott handed Charles the paper and put the pen down. His hazel eyes scanned over it.

Student name: Lytton, Charles

Date: 12/2/18

Reason: Got into a physical altercation with another student, sending said student to infirmary.

Seemed about right.

"You may be excused, Mr. Lytton," Mr. Westcott said.

Charles gave the pristine man in front of him a curt nod, grabbed his backpack from the ground beside the gold encrusted chair he had been sitting in, and turned towards the door. Then, an idea ran through Charles's head. He turned back around to face the Dean.

"I just have to say, Mr. Westcott," Charles started, his voice dripping with empty solemnis, "I am so grateful for this opportunity you have given to me." Charles placed his hands on the dark oak desk. The fingers of his right hand crawled towards the gold pen that lay on the desk. "This time is the last time." Charles had his middle finger looped around the pen. He jerked it back and slid the pen into the sleeve of his tailored blazer. "Thank you so much, sir."

Mr. Westcott gave Charles a nod, much like the one Charles gave him, just seconds before. Charles then left the office, a skip in his step, knowing he just stole a one grand golden pen.

"What'd you do that makes you so happy?" Charles's best friend, Lucas Steffek, asked him once he closed the large wood doors of the Dean's office behind him.

Charles jerked his right arm out to the side, letting the pen fall down his arm. He twirled the gold in between his index and middle finger.

"A pen?" Lucas asked, scoffing. "Unless it turns into a sword when I use it, I'm not impressed."

"Enough with your book references," Charles snapped. "It's a Montblanc."

Lucas raised one of his dirty blond eyebrows. "Like, one of the good Montblancs? Or one of the shitty ones?"

Charles rolled his eyes at his best friend. "Because gold ones that cost one grand are 'shitty'," he said sarcastically.

Lucas grabbed the gold pen from Charles's hand. He ran his thumb across the clip on the cap.

"SJW?" Lucas asked. "Does this dude seriously have 'Social Justice Warrior' written on his goddamn pens?"

Charles grabbed the pen back and looked at the clip. Sure enough, SJW was carved into the gold.

Lucas suddenly face-palmed. "His initials. Scott James Westcott," he said.

Charles nodded. "You see, this is why you're the brains and I'm the brawn. We're the perfect Gruesome Twosome!"

Lucas rolled his eyes and laughed, shaking his head. The two of them started walking down the hall, backpacks hanging off one of their shoulders, tapered pants cuffed, revealing black Nike crew socks, covered by black Vans and Converse.

"Whatever you say, Charlie," Lucas said, shoving his hands into his pockets.

Charles smiled through the pain.

Don't call me that.