Brian cursed as he hurried toward the high school, barely moving out of the way as a black car pulled up to the curb, the Hydrem engine purring silently as the owner shifted it into neutral.
Cursing again, he glanced in the direction of the owner, flipped them the bird and hurried on his way, wondered why his little sister had to be such a brat sometimes as he pulled his shirt...which was covered in strawberry syrup...away from his skin.
Inside, he decided that he would have to borrow something from the lost and found, something everybody normally did when they were either sent to school with a dirty shirt, like Brian; or forced to wear something that was deemed socially uncool by every single kid, including the unpopular ones, who attended Jefferson High.
Slipping down the corridor, past other students, holding his jacket closed, but not pressed against his shirt, Brian stopped at the lost and found in a manner that suggested he might had lost something at some point and nonchalantly began to search through the mittens, gloves, shirts and other cast-offs that had made it into the box over the years; finally settling on a dark red and grey sweatshirt that read Southampton Hawks.
Not sure who the Southampton Hawks might be, and not really caring, Brian took the shirt, paused and, for some compelling reason, after a bit, reached down and took the matching sweat pants as well.
Hurrying to the bathroom, figuring he had enough time before first bell to at least change his shirt, he ducked into the toilet, scanned it, making sure nobody was present and turning, he locked the door and hurried toward the sink, dropping his backpack onto one of the metal shelves.
Shucking off his coat, checking to make sure none of the syrup wound up on his outer-wear, he peered into the mirror and reaching forward, he turned on the tap as he took a bit of paper toweling from the dispenser.
Soaking the toweling, he wrung it out until it was dry and then lightly began to dab at his shirt. When that didn't work, he applied some soap and attempted to scrub the stain off. When that made matters worse, Brian dropped the toweling, reaching down and pulled his shirt off, figuring it was a lost cause and that he was now out a shirt.
Picking up the toweling, a collecting a bit more from the dispenser, he proceeded to wash himself of the sticky mess, glad that, even at the age of sixteen, he had no chest hair to cause any problems.
Clean, he dumped the toweling into the trash bin and reaching over to where he had dumped the sweat shirt and pants, he picked up the garments, wondered why he had felt compelled to take the matching dark red and grey pants and after a moment, shrugged a pulled on the sweat shirt, glad that it was a bit roomy and didn't hug his body to much.
A bell rang and cursing, Brian shoved the pants into his backpack, down past his books, picked up his shirt and jacket, and after a moment's thought, pulled on his jacket, and dumped his old shirt into the sink.
Ducking out of the bathroom, so intent to arrive on time for class, Brian failed to comprehend the tingling sensation that was running throughout his torso. Pulling up the hood on the sweatshirt, which brought a tingling sensation through his face, ears and hair, Brian stuffed his hands into the pockets of his jacket and joined the crowd as he pushed his way toward his first class.