Alam arrived at class just as the last bell rang, signaling first period was over.
The sign on the door said:
English 101| Bartholomew J. Puddingham
The shrill clang echoed through the room, and the shuffle of chairs and footsteps filled the air as students gathered their things and began leaving.
His professor loomed at the front of the classroom, a gaunt figure wrapped in a tweed jacket that smelled faintly of mothballs and stale tobacco. His thinning hair was slicked back with too much pomade, and his spectacles perched crookedly on a nose red from years of cheap brandy. When he spoke, his voice carried the clipped precision of the north, but soured by the rasp of too many cigarettes. The sour tang of coffee and onions clung to his breath, making students shrink back as he bid them farewell.
"You're late, Mister Lestari," his professor said.
"I'm sorry, Professor Puddingham, I got lost," Alam replied.
"Got lost?! With a map printed on the back of your schedule?" the professor scoffed, his voice sharp as chalk scraping across a board.
"I didn't know."
"Bollocks, you didn't know. Your student guide should've spelled it out plain as day," Professor Puddingham said. His breath carried the sour tang of coffee and onions, making Alam flinch.
Alam recalled his tour with Cindy, but he didn't remember her mentioning a map.
"She must have forgotten," he muttered.
"What's that, then?!" the professor snapped, his eyes narrowing like daggers.
"Nothing," Alam replied.
"You know what, Mister Lestari?" he said with malice in his voice. "I don't take kindly to being lied to."
"But— I—"
"But you," the professor said mockingly, "are getting your first demerit of the year."
"What? What's that mean?" Alam asked in confusion.
"Three of those in a school year, and you're out—expelled," he emphasized, slamming a stack of papers onto his desk.
"Wait, I'm sorry, I just—"
"I don't want to hear it, Mister Lestari. Now clear off before I ring security and slap another one on you," the professor said coldly.
"You can't—"
"Hey, Professor Puddingham!" Ewan said.
"Yes, Mister Sinclair?"
"I've got a box of your favs right here," Ewan grinned. "Straight from Poppin' — you know, that spot that slaps."
"From Poppin' you say? The palace of warm, scrummy treats?"
"The one and only," Ewan said, smirking. "Certified bussin', no cap."
The professor's demeanor shifted instantly. His eyes lit up, lips glistening with anticipation.
"What do you want for them?" Professor Puddingham asked, his voice suddenly desperate.
Ewan casually turned his head to Alam. The professor looked at Alam, then at the box, repeating the glance several times, each quicker and more frantic.
"Done!" the professor exclaimed before snatching the box from Ewan. The sugary aroma of fried dough filled the room as he stuffed his face with tiny warm treats shaped like donut holes, gooey fillings oozing down his chin.
"Consider yourself bloody lucky, Mister Lestari," the professor said between mouthfuls. "No demerit for you today." He coughed, choking on the sweets he was gorging on, pounding his chest with greasy fingers.
Ewan dangled a small bottle of milk in front of him. The professor's eyes widened, desperate, his throat rasping.
Ewan pulled it away and said, "Hold up, fam. I need you to lock in a deal — Alam gets a passing grade, no matter how many times he's late, bruv."
The professor nodded frantically, sweat beading on his forehead, motioning for Ewan to hand over the milk. After swallowing several gulps, he gasped for air, the sound wet and wheezing.
"You're quite the cheeky negotiator, Mister Sinclair, but a deal's a deal," the professor said, wiping his mouth with the back of his sleeve, leaving a sticky smear.
"What the…" Alam said, looking at them both in disbelief. "What kind of school is this?"
"You'd do well to be more like your colleague, Mister Lestari," the professor said, licking the crumbs from his lips. "Now, off you go. The new issue of Scandaly Clad Co‑eds recently published, and I'd like to ogle them in peace."
The professor escorted them to the door, crumbs falling from his shirt, and slammed it shut behind them.
Alam began walking to his next class.
"Yo, Alam, wait up," Ewan called.
"What do you want?" Alam said.
"A thank you would be a nice start," Ewan responded, smirking. "I just saved your butt, bruv."
"Thank you," Alam muttered. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to get to my next class. I don't want to be late for that one, too," Alam said, his voice trailing down the hall.
Ewan whispered with a grin, "I can feel his armor chipping away."