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The hallways of West High are always crowded between classes, filled with students and teachers trying to shuffle their way to their next destination. Virgil finds himself passing the same groups of people everyday, all who barely acknowledge his presence.
The theatre girls who only gossip about the newest play, the robotics team who always test their robot in the science hall, the goth kids who growl at anyone who comes close, the--
“Hey, Virgin!”
The group of stereotypical jocks who pick on the loner.
“You know that’s not my name,” Virgil sighs. He continues walking, knowing the pack meatheads will follow him regardless, and he really doesn’t need to be late to math class again .
“It isn’t? Must’ve been mistaken,” grins Anthony, the leader of the group.
“Was there any specific reason to bother me today, or are you three just bored of smacking your heads together and screaming?” They reach Virgil’s locker, Anthony slamming it closed before it could be fully opened. “Very original.”
Wrong thing to say, Virgil guesses, as he is thrown against the lockers, an arm at his throat, pressing. Anthony leans down, and Virgil can feel his nasty breath on his face. “The fuck did you say to me, punk? You think you’re so cool, because you wear eyeshadow? You’re not, you wannabe Brendon Urie. It just makes you look like a fag.”
“Ex cuse me?”
Distracted, Anthony releases a bit of pressure from his arm, and Virgil is able to slip away and towards his saviour.
Logan Alexander stands tall, staring at Anthony directly. “I’ll thank you to never bother him again.”
Anthony laughs, “and what is the little teacher’s pet gonna do about it if I do?”
“It seems you’ve answered your own question,” Logan chuckles, humourlessly. “I could easily get you suspended, which would lead to your third suspension, which would lead to expulsion. I’m sure that wouldn’t be very helpful for your football scholarships, would it, Anthony?”
“Whatever, freak,” Anthony scoffs, and he and his goons walk away.
“Are you alright?” Logan asks Virgil who is just staring at him in shock.
“Uh, yeah, fine,” he says. “Thank you.”
“It was no problem,” Logan shrugs. He grins a little. “Though I must admit, I do not have as much power as I said I do. It was merely a fabrication.”
That startles a laugh out of Virgil, who then swears as the bell rings, signalling he’s late to class.
“Don’t worry about it,” Logan reassures. “I do have the power to get you out of trouble for being late.”
Later, Virgil would thank him over ice cream.