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There was one sound Rodney both loved, and hated.
And that was the buzzing of the bell. After an all-too-short hour's reprieve, he was thrust back into the churning wilds of unwashed teenage bodies, all of which were taller, broader, and wider than he was, for which he suffered endlessly.
Five minutes, but it seemed like five years as he was shoved, pushed, trampled, and otherwise pushed aside as he tried to fight his way into classes that seemed an oasis, an escape.
It was an escape Rodney clung to with every fiber of his being. He couldn't *help* being the smartest, just like he coldn't *help* being the youngest and--
His books went flying everywhere, and he nearly wanted to cry. All he saw was a flash of camouflage jacket, and hair that looked like it'd been fried in the nearest electrical socket. He knew he hadn't seen it before, and filed it away in his mind as just another person to torment him until--
"I'm sorry. Lemme help."
"What?" Rodney snatched the notebook that was being held out to him, staring rudely at the shock of dark, unruly hair falling into a pair of friendly, non-malicious eyes. "I mean, thanks."
"No problem; it was my fault. Haven't quite grown into the arms yet." The boy waggled them experimentally, just to prove his point, and nearly missed clipping two girls in the back of the head.
Rodney stifled a laugh and quickly shoved his books back into his bag again. "Thanks again," he said, straightening up.
"You're welcome, although it's not strictly without an ulterior motive." The boy's eyes darted around, slightly confused. "I'm looking for Physics with Mr. Bronston."
Rodney blinked. "Um, follow me. I'm headed that way myself; it's my next class."
"Great!" The boy held out his hand. "John. John Sheppard. Just started today."
Rodney looked at the outstretched hand like it was a poisonous snake, and then finally shook it. "Rodney McKay."
The End