HANNAH
It had been a few days since The Fart Heard ‘Round the Classroom, and life had more or less gone back to normal. Or, as normal as life could be when Jeremy was around. The teachers pretended nothing had happened, the other kids mostly forgot (except for the occasional “Jeremy!” whenever someone smelled something funky), but for me, the memory lived rent-free in my brain. I mean, how could I forget? Jeremy had stood up like a hero—or an anti-hero, depending on how you feel about farts—and saved my social life with the strangest act of self-sacrifice imaginable.
Despite his newfound fame, Jeremy remained... Jeremy. Still the lone wolf of lunch, chomping down his strange culinary experiments in his corner of the cafeteria. Most people avoided him like the plague. But me? I couldn’t stop thinking about that moment of unhinged glory. I owed him, right?
So, during lunch, I decided to approach my fart savior. Carrying my tray like it was a shield, I walked over and plopped down across from him. Naturally, he was in the middle of dissecting a sandwich that looked like it had been made in a food crimes lab. Peanut butter and ketchup. Classic.
“Hey,” I said, trying to sound casual.
Jeremy looked up mid-bite, his eyes narrowing as if I’d just disrupted his noble quest for sandwich enlightenment. “Hey...?”
We sat there, awkwardly. The kind of silence where every sound—crunching chips, slurping juice boxes, distant playground screams—feels painfully loud. Finally, I cleared my throat.
“So, uh... I just wanted to say thanks.”
“For what?” he asked, as if he didn’t already know. He took another monstrous bite, chewing with the enthusiasm of a cow on its fifth stomach.
“For... you know.” I lowered my voice, glancing around. “Taking the fall. For the fart.”
Jeremy froze mid-chew. Then, slowly, like he’d been waiting for this moment his whole life, he set his sandwich down and leaned in. “Oh, that.” His face split into a smug grin. “Don’t mention it. It was an honor.”
I blinked. “An honor?”
“Absolutely,” he said, like this was the most obvious thing in the world. “That was no ordinary fart. That was a seismic event. A masterpiece. You don’t just let something like that go unclaimed.”
I stared at him, dumbfounded. “You... took the blame because you thought my fart was... art?”
He nodded, deadly serious. “The acoustics, the timing, the raw power. Hannah, you don’t understand. It was a once-in-a-lifetime event. If there were a Fart Olympics, that would’ve been gold medal material. Maybe even platinum.”
I clapped a hand over my mouth, trying to suppress a laugh. Was this kid for real? “Jeremy,” I said, tears forming in my eyes, “you’re insane.”
“Thank you,” he replied, as if I’d just complimented his genius. “But seriously, you couldn’t have taken the blame. You’re too... petite.”
“Excuse me?” I raised an eyebrow.
“You heard me. No one would believe a fart of that magnitude came from someone your size. It would’ve ruined the illusion.”
“The... illusion?” I asked, torn between laughing and throwing my sandwich at him.
“Yeah,” he said, shrugging like this was basic science. “People have fart stereotypes, you know. Big fart, big person. I’m just out here breaking boundaries.”
At this point, I couldn’t hold it in anymore. I burst out laughing, the kind that makes your ribs hurt and your face turn red. Jeremy grinned, clearly proud of himself.
“You’re something else,” I said, shaking my head.
“And you’re welcome,” he replied, taking a victorious bite of his crime-against-humanity sandwich.
High school came around, and life changed for me in all the predictable ways. I wasn’t the awkward kid anymore. My hair got shinier, my confidence skyrocketed, and I became... well, popular. The kind of popular that gets you random love notes in your locker and envious glares from other girls. But through it all, one thing stayed the same: Jeremy.
Oh, Jeremy. He’d grown taller, his baby face replaced with sharp cheekbones and piercing blue eyes that seemed like they could see into your soul—or at least figure out the pH of it. But the weirdness? That had only intensified. While everyone else was worrying about prom and pep rallies, Jeremy was conducting backyard experiments with mold and recording plants “responding” to classical music.
Despite my new social status, I never stopped hanging out with him. People found it bizarre. I mean, why was Hannah, queen of the cafeteria, wasting her time with the human equivalent of a science fair gone rogue?
“Hey, Hannah,” Jessica, the school’s resident gossip, said one day as she spotted us sitting behind the bleachers. “Why are you always with him? Isn’t he, like, a mad scientist or something?”
I smiled sweetly. “He’s not mad. He’s just misunderstood. What’s your excuse?”
Jessica huffed and walked off, leaving Jeremy grinning like I’d just handed him a Nobel Prize.
“Thanks for that,” he said, adjusting his glasses.
“No problem,” I replied. “You’re my weirdo.”
Jeremy snorted. “Glad to know I have a title.”
As we sat there, him rambling about his latest experiment involving sound waves and tomato plants, I couldn’t help but laugh. Life with Jeremy was chaotic, weird, and occasionally gross. But it was never boring.
And honestly? I wouldn’t have it any other way.
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