Schulzeit

"Schulzeit"
Starring teenage Flake and Paul

Flake's POV

"Christian!" I heard my mom yelling from somewhere downstairs. "You'd better hurry, or you'll be late for school!"

"Coming, Mom!" I yelled back, running a comb one last time through my bleached-blonde locks. My mom hated it that I'd 'ruined' my hair just before the start of school. But 'punk' music was the new thing, and I wanted to do what I could to try and fit in with that scene. My thick, nerdy glasses didn't help at all to make me look cool, and Mom would kill me if I pierced anything, so I had to improvise. "Bye, Mom!" I called out to her as I rushed out the door.

"That boy," I heard her say. "I wish he would at least eat breakfast."

I rolled my eyes and kept walking as fast as I could, knowing I'd probably be late anyway. A car suddenly slowed down next to me, prompting me to walk even faster. I got bullied by the older kids sometimes, and I was praying that this wasn't one of those times.

"Need a ride to school?" I heard a boy about my age ask.

I cautiously turned to look at him, relief washing over me as I saw the friendly smile on his face. "Uh, sure," I said. "Vielen dank."

"What's your name?" he asked me as I climbed into the passenger seat of the car.

"Uh, Christian," I replied. "But please don't call me that. Call me Flaco. My best friend Pedro calls me that because I'm so skinny." I could feel my face begin to flush.

"Flocka, huh?" he asked in an accent I didn't quite recognize.

"Close enough," I replied quietly. "What do people call you?"

"Paul," he said. "Which isn't my real name, either. But seeing as how my Russian mother saw fit to give me a Russki name to go along with my Deutsch surname, I go by my middle name instead."

"I see," I said. "I don't suppose you'd care to tell me your real name, then?"

Paul looked over each of his shoulders, as if expecting someone to actually be behind him, listening in. "Heiko," he practically whispered.

"That's not such a bad name," I said, shrugging.

"This is Germany," he said, glancing at me. "Do you really think I want people to know I'm Russian? I'm only half-Russian, but still, I'm sure you understand."

"I don't have a problem with it," I said, shrugging again.

Paul pulled his car into the school's parking lot, turning to me and casually draping his arm around my shoulders. "You're a good guy, Flocka," he said, patting me on the leg. "By the way, I really like your hair."

My face grew hot at his compliment. "Uh, danke," I said, nervously running my fingers through the object of his compliment. "I like yours, too," I said, shyly admiring his blonde mullet. The longer hair in the back was pulled into a casual ponytail.

"Vielen dank!" he exclaimed, flashing me the most beautiful smile I'd ever seen in my life. My heart skipped a beat from his attention, making my face grow even hotter still.

"Gern geschehen," I replied shyly, realizing we were flirting, of all things. I jumped out of the car and walked hurriedly, hoping he couldn't see me blushing.

"What's your first class?" he asked me, falling into step beside me as we made our way towards the school building.

"English, with Frau Kruspe," I replied, wrinkling my nose. "I hate it. I'm terrible at English."

Paul chuckled and flashed his gorgeous smile at me again. "You're a couple of grades behind me, then."

"You're 18?!" I asked incredulously, nearly choking.

"I'll be 18 next month," he replied.

"I've only just turned 16," I said.

"Awesome," he said, holding the door for me as we entered the school. "So, I'll see you around, then?"

"I hope so!" I exclaimed. Then, realizing how girly I sounded, "I mean, of course!"

Paul laughed, nearly killing me with his movie-star smile and good looks. "How about I give a you a ride home after school?"

"I'd like that," I said shyly.

"See you after school, then," he said, waving at me as he turned and walked the other way.

"Why are you grinning?" Pedro asked me as I sat down in my desk next to his. "Du siehst aus wie... en idiota."

I had to chuckle at Pedro's mishmash of both Deutsch and Spanish.

"It's nothing," I said. "I just got a ride to school from one of the older boys. He's really cool."

"Was ist sein... nombre?"

I rolled my eyes at his repeated language mix-ups. "Paul."

Pedro smirked knowingly at me. "You like him, don't you?"

"Shut up!" I hissed. "Ich bin nicht schwul!"

"Yup," he said, smiling and turning his attention to his English textbook. "You like him."

My school year just became a whole lot more interesting.