Work Text:
The radiator clanks like a stubborn pig refusing to move, pumping stale heat into Mr. Bloom’s overheated algebra classroom. Outside, Mayfield huddles under a damp Oregon gray. Inside, tension simmers. Wally shifts in his wooden desk, pencil tapping rhythmically against his trigonometry test. He’s neat, with athletic shoulders squared beneath his pressed white shirt, effortlessly solving problems. Beside him, Eddie sweats. Not from the heat—his Brylcreemed hair remains a perfect, oily helmet—but from panic. His eyes dart sideways, desperate for Lumpy's answers two rows back. Lumpy, a mountain of adolescent anxiety, hunches over his paper like it might bite him.
Eddie’s plan was simple: cough once for ‘A’, twice for ‘B’. A flawless cheat. He leans forward, clearing his throat sharply—cough. Nothing. He tries again, louder—COUGH, COUGH. Still nothing. Lumpy remains oblivious, chewing his pencil eraser. Frustration boils in Eddie’s gut. Wally glances over, brow furrowed with genuine concern.
"You okay, Eddie?" His tone is warm, oblivious. "Want me to ask Mr. Bloom for a hall pass? You look kinda pale."
Eddie’s smile freezes. Trust Wally Cleaver to offer kindness right when he’s sabotaged him. "I’m swell, Gertrude," Eddie hisses under his breath, the nickname dripping venom. "Just dandy."
Wally turns around, and Eddie glares at Lumpy’s oblivious back. He kicks Lumpy’s chair leg. Hard.
THUNK.
The sound cracks through the quiet room. Heads snap up. Mr. Bloom peers over his spectacles. "Problem, Haskell?"
Eddie flashes his smarmiest grin. "Just a leg cramp, sir! Terribly sorry!" His voice is honey-coated arsenic.
The cheat sheet tucked in Lumpy's sock feels like a burning coal. Wally’s innocent interference—his stupid, decent worry—has ruined everything. Again. Eddie stares down at his blank test, the numbers blurring. Outside, a lone crow caws, a harsh sound swallowed by the relentless clank… clank… clank of the radiator.