Bad Moon Rising
"Scoot down, Rashid."
The teen looked up at the boy who'd spoken to him, a skinny, gangly boy with glasses that he constantly had to push up his nose. Mike Schwartz. He looked taller than Rashid, standing while Rashid sat, but when Rashid rose, he towered over him but at least 6 inches.
"Only for you, four eyes," he teased, smirking at his friend as he shifted down a seat, scooting his lunch tray with him. He was next to Jimmy Smith now, one of the football players, who gave him a friendly elbow in the ribs. At school, they were in vastly different social circles, but their pack blood overcame school cliques. Granted, Rashid could've run in any circle he wanted -- he was smart, handsome, athletic, and likeable -- but he liked to keep to himself.
"You coming to chess club later?" Mike asked before stuffing a handful of fries into his mouth. "Mason is gonna be there, I heard." He waggled his eyebrows at Rashid who rolled dark eyes back, running one hand over his shaved head.
"She can go wherever she wants," he mumbled into his pizza, avoiding eye contact. Sure, Mason was pretty, but she was so far out of his league.
"I just want to learn how to crush your ass at chess," he continued, changing the subject. "Almost did last time." The boys had a friendly rivalry, though Mike only rolled his eyes back and let the general cafeteria chatter lapse between them. It was a pleasant break between classes, a breather before algebra.
