Xander's apartment
Alexander Stone — or Xander as his friends, enemies, teachers, and even stray cats called him — was the kind of cute, physically gifted delinquent who could outrun a police dog but couldn't remember where he dropped his homework an hour ago.
Despite his messy life choices, he had the natural charm of someone who smiled at danger and said, "bro, hit me harder."
This morning, though… something felt off.
Xander woke up with a violent gasp, sitting upright like a corpse returning from the dead. His unruly hair puffed up in all directions, making him look like a startled porcupine. He blinked, squinted at the sunlight leaking through the cheap curtains, and rubbed his face.
"…Huh. I'm definitely forgetting something."
His messy single-room apartment offered him no help. Dirty laundry lay in heaps like defeated monsters. Empty instant noodle cups were stacked in architectural patterns that would impress engineers. A single sock hung from the ceiling fan like a crime scene clue.
Xander scratched his cheek.
"Late for… something? Someone? My own funeral? No clue."
He swung his legs off the bed and trudged toward the bathroom with the determination of a zombie that had given up halfway. The faucet rattled like it might explode, but water eventually coughed out.
Xander leaned forward, squeezing toothpaste with more force than necessary, and started brushing his teeth.
Halfway through brushing, the realization struck him like a divine lightning bolt from the heavens.
His eyes widened. His pupils shrank. His toothbrush froze in his mouth.
"…"
Then—
"CRAP—!!!??"
His scream was so loud that a neighbor banged on the wall and yelled, "KEEP IT DOWN, YOU LITTLE DEMON!"
Xander didn't even respond — he was already in motion.
He spat, rinsed, tripped over a laundry pile, somersaulted, recovered mid-air (somehow), and landed on his feet. He sprinted to his closet, pulled the doors open—
And grabbed clothes that smelled like they had been through war.
The instant the stench hit him, he gagged.
"HURK— okay— nope— this is a crime— why do these smell like regret and death—!?"
He checked the time on his cracked phone screen.
Late. Very late.
Catastrophically late.
"No time! Fashion is temporary, FIELD TRIPS ARE FOREVER!"
He put the clothes on anyway, screaming internally the entire time.
With shoes half-tied and hair even messier than before, he vaulted over the apartment railing — missing the stairs entirely — and landed in a crouch that would've looked cool if he hadn't immediately rolled his ankle and yelped.
"OW, ow ow ow—! Style… always has a price…"
He hobbled to the front of the building where his bicycle waited: a battered, squeaky, rust-dusted relic that should've been in a museum titled Things That Should Not Still Function.
Xander grabbed the handlebars dramatically.
"Partner… I need you to hold together today. Just today. I'm begging you."
The bike responded by making a metallic wheeze.
Close enough to a yes.
He hopped on, kicked off the curb—
And shot forward like a poorly maintained rocket destined for disaster.
Pedestrians leaped out of the way. Dogs barked. A man screamed, "NOT AGAIN!"
Wind tore at Xander's hair as he pedaled with all the strength of a delinquent running from responsibility.
"I CAN MAKE IT—! MAYBE—!! PROBABLY NOT—!!!"
But he didn't slow down.
Because today was the school field trip… and missing it meant certain doom from both teachers and friends alike.
As Xander tore down the street, wind slapping his face like karma overdue, he fumbled one hand into his pocket and yanked out his phone. The bicycle wobbled dangerously.
"Come on—come on—pick up!" he hissed, pressing call on his best friend's contact: Sam 'Sunny Menace' Harper, a blonde troublemaker and Xander's official partner in crime.
The moment Sam picked up, Xander shouted:
"SAM!!"
"Xander, where the hell are you?!" Sam snapped immediately, sounding like he was sprinting. "We're literally boarding the bus right now!"
"I overslept!" Xander yelled back. "I'm on my way—just stall for me!"
On the other end, Sam groaned so loudly it crackled the speakers.
"Dude, it's Mr. Fitts-El-Bottom supervising today. The man hates us. Like—deep, ancient, generational hatred. I can probably stall for a minute, but five is pushing—"
"Five minutes! Gimme five minutes!" Xander begged, pedaling so hard he thought his legs might explode. "Please, bro! If I miss this trip, they're gonna make me rewrite the student code of conduct again!"
Sam sighed with the dramatic weight of someone who had already accepted his tragic fate.
"Fine. FIVE minutes. But you owe me your lunch money, your soul, and maybe your firstborn—"
"THANK YOU, I LOVE YOU—"
"Shut up and get here!" Sam barked before hanging up.
Xander shoved the phone back into his pocket.
Then the adrenaline kicked in.
"I've got five minutes… FIVE MINUTES!"
He leaned forward, gripping the handlebars with the determination of a hero in the final episode.
And then—
He gassed.
Instant acceleration.
Instant chaos.
The bike rocketed forward like a possessed missile, rattling violently but somehow staying intact through sheer spite.
Xander shot past pedestrians, trash cans, and street vendors—then past a car—then another—then, impossibly, past a moving motorcycle.
The motorcyclist did a double take.
"HEY—WHAT—!? GET BACK HERE, YOU LITTLE—!!"
But Xander was already gone, leaving behind only the faint scent of panic and old laundry.
"FIELD TRIP OR DEATH!" he screamed into the wind as he swerved around a taxi with supernatural reflexes.
At this speed, he was no longer a boy on a bike.
He was a delinquent comet racing against time itself.
Xander's bicycle screeched to a halt so violently the back wheel flipped up, spun once, and slammed down again. He jumped off, sprinting across the school grounds with the grace of a malfunctioning robot but the determination of a shonen protagonist late for Episode 1.
Ahead, the two giant field-trip buses were parked side by side, engines humming. Students were lined up, chatting excitedly as teachers did final headcounts.
Sam stood near the front of the line, waving dramatically like a traffic marshal signaling a plane.
"XANDER! THIS WAY! MOVE YOUR PRETTY BOY LEGS!"
Xander ducked behind a parked car, peeked around the corner, then bolted toward the queue with ninja-like stealth… or what he believed was ninja-like stealth.
In reality, he was crouched and creeping like a deranged crab trying not to be seen.
Sam whispered harshly, "Dude, subtlety! Subtlety!"
"I AM BEING SUBTLE!" Xander hissed back, crab-walking faster.
He slipped between two students mid-conversation.
"Uh—weren't you behind us?" one asked.
"You saw nothing," Xander whispered ominously.
He inched forward…
One step…
Another step…
Almost at the bus door…
And then—
A shadow loomed behind him.
Xander froze.
Sam's face paled instantly. "Oh no… oh no no no no…"
A low, gravelly voice growled:
"Stone."
Xander's soul left his body.
Slowly—slowly—he turned.
Standing behind him was a tall, broad-shouldered man with a crimson tie sharpened like a weapon, a clipboard held like it was forged of steel, and a glare that could peel paint off walls.
Mr. Fitts-El-Bottom.
The legendary teacher who had declared a personal war on Xander and Sam years ago, after The Great Cafeteria Incident, The Fire Drill Debacle, and The Frog Incident of 8th Grade, which the school still refused to speak about.
His mustache twitched with fury.
"You." He pointed directly at Xander. Then at Sam. "And you. The Agents of Chaos. The Twin Headaches of this institution."
Xander forced a smile that looked more like a pain reaction.
"H-Hey, Mr. Fitts-El-Bottom… looking sharp today! New tie? Makes you look… dangerous."
Sam whispered, "Stop talking. You're making it worse."
Mr. Fitts-El-Bottom crossed his arms so powerfully that air pressure dropped.
"Stone… explain to me," he growled, "why you are attempting to sneak into my line, for my field trip, after arriving ten minutes late, wearing clothes that look like they escaped a dumpster fire."
Xander opened his mouth.
Closed it.
Opened it again.
"…Fashion?" he offered weakly.
A vein burst in the teacher's forehead.
Sam slammed his hands together and bowed. "SIR! I take full responsibility! Xander was—"
"Quiet, Harper," Fitts-El-Bottom snapped. "You two have caused enough catastrophes to fuel my nightmares for three years."
He leaned in close, voice dropping to a dangerous growl.
"Give me one reason why I shouldn't send you both back home right now."
The line went silent.
Students watched.
Sam held his breath.
Xander's life flashed before his eyes. Mostly detention.
Then—
A miracle.
A tiny one.
Barely a miracle, actually.
The second supervising teacher, Ms. Rayne, poked her head out of the bus.
"Mr. Fitts-El-Bottom! We're on a schedule. We need to leave now."
He twitched. He hated being interrupted.
He straightened, glaring down at Xander with the intensity of a man who had prayed for this moment but was robbed by time.
"Fine," he growled. "You may board."
Xander exhaled so hard he almost collapsed.
"But," Mr. Fitts-El-Bottom added slowly, raising one finger, "one screw-up. One mistake. One slightest hint of mischief from either of you… and you will wish you had stayed home."
Xander saluted with the fear of a soldier before a firing squad.
"No screw-ups, sir! Not a single one! We're practically responsible adults!"
Sam muttered, "Why would you say that out loud?"
The teacher snarled. "MOVE."
Xander and Sam scrambled onto the bus like two delinquents escaping death row.
As they flopped into their seats, Xander whispered:
"…Sam?"
"Yeah?"
"…I think this trip is gonna kill us."
Sam sighed. "Xander… this is only the beginning."
Xander and Sam collapsed into a pair of empty seats near the middle of the bus. Both were panting like they'd just escaped a burning building.
Sam leaned his head back. "Bro… that was close. I swear I saw my life flash before my eyes."
Xander nodded solemnly. "Yeah. Mine too. It was mostly you stealing my lunch."
"That was ONE TIME!"
"Sam, you tackled me for a sandwich."
"It was a really good sandwich!"
They stared at each other.
Then burst into laughter.
With the danger behind them (for now), Xander slumped against the window, watching students board. Sam pulled out his phone, scrolling through memes like nothing happened.
"Hey," Sam said casually, "you think Mr. Fitts-El-Bottom's gonna chill today?"
Xander blinked. "…No. Never. Not even if someone paid him in fresh neckties."
Sam shrugged. "True."
The bus hummed with chatter. Students were talking about the museum, snacks, who brought what, and theories about which teacher would snap first.
Xander stretched his arms above his head. "Okay, now that I'm alive—what were we even talking about yesterday? Something about—"
He didn't finish.
Because someone was standing beside their seats.
A small someone.
A very small someone.
Xander and Sam turned to see her:
A cute, shy girl with cotton-candy pink hair tied in two soft pigtails. Her bangs almost covered her big, round eyes, and she held her notebook to her chest like a shield. She wore a little white hair clip shaped like a star — the same one she always wore.
It was Lila Marsh, the quiet girl from their class… who had secretly adored Xander since third grade.
(Everyone knew. Except Xander. Naturally.)
The moment she realized both boys were looking at her, her face turned as pink as her hair.
"H-Hi…" she whispered.
Sam raised a brow. "Yo, Lila."
Xander beamed with his usual friendliness. "Oh hey, Lila! What's up?"
She nearly fainted just from his smile.
"I, um… I… I s-saw you running earlier," she stammered. "A-Are you okay? You looked like you were being chased by… um… death? Or… a wild animal?"
Xander laughed. "Basically both."
Sam elbowed him. "Tell her why you're late."
"I overslept," Xander said proudly, as if it were an achievement.
Lila giggled—a tiny, soft giggle she tried to hide behind her hands. "I… I figured…"
She shifted nervously, toes pointed inward.
"I… um… wanted to ask if… if maybe you two… wanted to sit with me and my friends later when we get to the museum? If you want! You don't have to! Sorry—forget I said anything—!"
She panicked and began to step back—
But Xander reached out and lightly tapped her arm.
"Hey, hey—don't worry. That sounds cool! Right, Sam?"
Sam nodded. "Sure. I'm down."
Lila's breath hitched. She stared at Xander like he'd just offered her the moon.
"O-Okay…! That's… great. Um… I'll— I'll go tell them…!"
She almost tripped on her own feet as she hurried away, cheeks glowing.
Sam snorted. "Bruh… she likes you so much it's painful."
Xander blinked. "What? Likes me? Nahhh. She probably just—"
Sam stared at him.
Xander stared back.
"…Sam, why are you looking at me like I said something stupid?"
"Because you did," Sam muttered.
Xander crossed his arms. "I'll have you know I have the romantic awareness of a—"
"Exactly."
Xander frowned. "…Is that an insult?"
Sam sighed, patting his shoulder. "One day, Xander… one day you'll understand."
Xander shrugged, totally unaware.
Outside, the last students boarded.
Mr. Fitts-El-Bottom stomped up the bus steps.
The trip… was about to begin.