GREAT CRISIS..........
1330 Words
Josh's POV
" What the f**k", just happened. I got back to the campus and rushed straight to the rest room. I was not drenched, no thanks to his jacket. Calm down Josh.... HOLY s**t!!! What will I do with this jacket?
I questioned myself.
I immediately exited the room with the jacket folded into a small cube. I cannot just be a traitor in the group. What the heck was I thinking?
How could I kiss our enemy? Like, really, why? That was such a lame move by me. As I was rushing through the crowd, I hit a concrete wall. "Ouch! This is so stupid," I thought. I might really be out of my mind or something.
“Clothes?” Wait, was I witnessing clothes? From when did walls wear clothes? I looked up to a pair of forest-green eyes. “Dean.” God must be kidding me. This is my best option, I assume.
“Dean, could you please hide this jacket in your locker or something?” He looked at me with great confusion and raised eyebrows. “I am in great crisis,” I insisted. He took the jacket.
And then the realization hit him. He looked at me and said, “Mark?” It sounded more like a question, and I nodded. With a soft squeeze to my hand—which I guess was assurance—he started to walk away.
I straightened myself, wiped my stressed-out expression, and plastered on a smile while walking toward the parking lot. All four of them were strolling around our car. I walked towards them.
“Sorry I was late,” I said. “What the fish, Josh? Why the hell are you not picking your phone?” I immediately fished my phone out of my pocket and gasped. Sixty-four missed calls combined by all four of them. “Oh, sh***! I am sorry. My phone was in silent mode,” I explained.
“What on earth were you doing so busily that you didn’t check your phone for hours?” they demanded. I couldn’t tell them about kissing the enemy and drooling over his naked body. “No, I can’t say that,” I thought. “If I do, I am dead and six feet underground.” Before I could come up with an excuse—in which I suck—I heard someone speak.
“Thanks for helping me out today in the library. I wouldn’t have done it without you,” said Dean. Those words were definitely for me.
“It’s okay, Dean. It’s completely alright; not a big deal,” I replied. “No, no. It’s definitely a cause for trouble because you got late,” he exclaimed. Aisha was glaring at him, which was visible to everyone.
“Guys, meet Dean. He is my friend from history class,” Annie said. Aisha stopped glaring and asked him with utter seriousness, “Are you friends with Mark?” He nodded as an answer.
“Then it’s done. Nobody is your friend here. Guys, remember: an enemy’s friend is also an enemy,” Aisha declared.
Aisha and Emma spoke after long minutes. “Guys, let’s get home and decide.” All of us got inside the car and started our journey back home.
MARK'S POV
The evening carried us to Alex’s place, a spot that had become our casual hangout for unwinding. Drinks were flowing, chatter was animated, and the energy was buoyant—until Alex decided to liven things up further.
“So, Mark,” Alex turned to me with that mischievous glint in his eyes. “Are you gonna drop the bomb now, or should I?”
I sighed and gestured for him to go ahead. He grinned triumphantly and addressed the group.
“Alright, guys, time to spice things up. Let’s talk about the game. Mark’s game, to be specific.”
The room went quiet as everyone looked my way. Zavian, ever the joker, broke the silence. “Wait—are you serious? She’s your ‘love of life’? Are you sure about this, Mark?”
“Yes,” I said, locking eyes with Zavian. “I am, and I…”
“Do you really want her to be ‘the one’ for you?” Zavian pressed, his voice dripping with skepticism.
“It’s not gonna happen,” Travis interjected, shaking his head.
Zavian nodded. “Did you guys forget about Ms. Feisty and her ‘encounters’ with Mark? That chemistry doesn’t just happen.”
“What’s her name, though?” Alex inquired, clearly curious.
I shifted uncomfortably. “I… I don’t know her name,” I admitted, my voice barely above a whisper.
“And what makes you think she likes you?” Dean asked, his tone as sharp as a blade.
As the discussion grew more animated, Alex suddenly sprang up from the sofa, his eyes gleaming with a plan. Moments later, he returned wheeling in a whiteboard, a marker in hand.
“Attention, boys!” he announced dramatically, the room falling silent at his call.
“Now, Mark,” Alex began, gesturing towards the whiteboard, “we’re going to figure this out. Every clue, every interaction, and every possibility—we’re charting it.”
“Here’s what we know,” Alex began, his marker poised against the board. “Mark is in love with this lady—who’s got him wrapped tighter than a burrito.”
I shot him a glare, but before I could retort, Alex grinned mischievously and added, “Cupcake.”
“Cupcake?” Dean echoed, smirking.
“Yes,” Alex said in mock seriousness. “That’s her code name for now.”
I sighed heavily, cutting through their antics. “Can we move on?”
Alex nodded and continued, drawing a line between two names on the board. “Here’s the issue: the obstacle between you and your Cupcake is Ms. Feisty.”
“Obstacle?” Zavian snickered. “That’s quite a word. First of all, she’s not ‘ours’; she’s just MINE. Somebody’s getting all broody, huh?”, said Zavian.
I ignored his jab, my patience wearing thin.
Dean leaned in, arms crossed. “So, what’s the plan, then? How do we eliminate the obstacle?”
“Wrong move,” Alex declared with exaggerated finality, pointing the marker at Dean like a sword.
The room buzzed with nervous energy as Alex outlined his next set of orders.
“Zavian,” Alex began, tapping the whiteboard with the marker like a gavel, “make sure you uncover Cupcake’s intentions. I need you to keep her honest and figure out what’s going on.”
Zavian nodded, already jotting notes in his phone.
“Travis,” Alex continued, turning to him with a conspiratorial smirk, “use your... ‘special skills’ to tap into their schedules and figure out their usual whereabouts. We need intel, and we need it fast.”
Travis grinned, cracking his knuckles. “Consider it done.”
I raised an eyebrow. “And me? What am I supposed to do while you guys act like I’m running a secret mission?”
“For now, Mark,” Alex said with exaggerated patience, “you can stop being a jerk and practice actually being good to Ms. Feisty. You know, treat her like the queen she clearly thinks she is.”
I groaned, rubbing my temples. “This is ridiculous. She’s not an enemy!”
“Exactly,” Alex said with a grin. “And that’s why we need to play this smart. OK, boys, get to work. Let’s meet up in two days with everything we’ve got.”
“Got it, sir!” came the synchronized reply, everyone snapping mock salutes.
As they dispersed, I couldn’t help but feel like I was being dragged into a storm I hadn’t signed up for. Yet, deep down, I knew that if anyone could help me navigate this mess, it was this band of misfits.
- Writer
