Jerry Chumpkins' secret misadventures

Giggles. Jerry knew who those belonged to.

Usually he'd just look down, try to hide. Maybe set his head down against his desk, look like he was sleeping, then pull out his phone and play Clash of Clans. Thing is, he was never really good at that game. He wasn't much good at anything.

Plus, today was different. Today, he had a strange item in his backpack.

"Oh, excuse me!"

"Here!" The raggedy man shoved a brown solid edged object into Jerry's chest, not seeming to care about his collision with him.

"Wha -- what is this?"

"A Book, lad, a Book of Secrets." His wide gaze made Jerry uncomfortable, but he tried to maintain a semblance of conversation.

"You mean, like... forbidden stuff? Stuff normal people shouldn't know?"

"No! This book is blank!" He made a wiggling motion with his wrist. "You write in it; you make the secrets. You," he guided a finger to Jerry's sternum, "give people their truths."

"Oh. Uh... okay," Jerry coughed, eyeing him nervously. "How do you know, though? If it's blank that means it hasn't been used, right?"

"Wrong, lad! I did use it! I ripped out the pages!"

"Oh. I see..."

"Anyways, it's yours now! Huzzah! Buh-bye! Toodles!" And with that, the man scuttled away, leaving Jerry standing skittish and alone in the alleyway.

Jerry had spent some time thinking about the book, checking it, pulling it apart. It was bound in some tough, fabric-like material -- the pages seemed made out of old paper. Weirdest of all was the set of 'rules' scrawled out in ink behind the front cover right before the first page.

One Alpha secret a day... one Omega secret a week.

Alpha basically meaning relatively small-scale secrets, while Omega ones were reserved for those operating on an epic scope.

It was all bull of course. It had to be. Jerry thought about the other guidelines scribbled below, specifying how it worked. But most of it was hard to make out.

"Hey, Jer-Bear!"

Jerry's attention was suddenly thrown eschew as his things were shoved off the desk. Papers and writing utensils flew before him. He flinched, looking up to see Dylan Tampa looking down at him smugly.

"School's out, Bedhair," he smirked then walked through the row and out the door. "Thank me later!"

After a stone stillness, Jerry finally began picking up his things. Just then, he heard more giggles; he knew the ones. They were the same ones as before. He could tell them from a mile away. Cheeks flushing, he whipped his neck toward the entrance, seeing Hayley, Viviana, and Carly quickly trying to hush themselves as they floundered away -- probably to Dylan himself. He was the local high school jock, and like many other pretty people, they were a part of his entourage. It was a harmonious union.

Surprising himself, Jerry sniffed and wiped away some residue from his eyes. Dylan he was used to. He had a natural malicious streak. What hurt was seeing those girls playing the laugh track. He didn't even know if they were being sincere or just found everything 'cool' funny and everything 'Jerry' mock-worthy.

Besides... it wasn't bedhair. He just could never comb through it right, with how thick and curly it was.

Suddenly, Jerry remembered the book. Maybe it was out of senselessness, after all, his emotional side usually had that effect on him.

Or maybe, something about it just naturally drew himself to it. And the next thing he knew, he had it unzipped from his backpack and onto his lap.

Jerry breathed in then out, then thought of the three girls. They were all pretty. Hayley and her petite body but girl-next-door face framed by long dirty blonde hair, Viviana and her Hipsanic, curvy D-cup lusciousness and wavy raven hair, and Carly, with that short, cute brunette bob and tight, killer bod... not to mention that ass.

Then he whipped out a pencil, opened the book to the first available page, and placed the tip against it.