The Cuban kept frowning at the teacher. He hadn't heard any such thing and normally West was more likely to come across obscure gossip faster than Malcolm would. "¿Está seguro?" he asked, turning to watch the teacher's reaction carefully. (Are you sure?)
                              
"Por supuesto." Malcolm replied curtly. (Absolutely). West blinked, feeling like he was reading too much into that statement. Surely Malcolm hadn't meant it to sound so... possessive. West shook the ridiculous notion aside, of course Reaper wasn't banging a student! Even one as hot as that Alice girl. "Yo sólo recuerdo haber oído hablar de ella que es mayor. ¿Sabes cómo las niñas charla en clase." Malcolm added on after a breif moment, seeming to realize how bad his first response sounded. (I just remember hearing her mention that he's older. You know how girls chatter in class). West nodded at the explanation, taking it with a grain of salt. 
                              
A lifetime spent living in paranoid, adrenaline fuelled danger had given him a knack for reading people, and West could tell that Malcolm was not being entirely honest with him right now. When West was younger, he followed Reaper around like a shadow, wanting to be just like him when he was bigger. He never questions the orders Reaper had given him, and had trusted the older gang member explicitly. Now, after he'd grown up a bit and been exposed to the harsh realities of the world, West was a little more pragmatic. He knew his once idol would lie to him if necessary, but never would put him in a dangerous situation. So he let it drop. 
                              
"Es una pena. Viéndola en esa falda y las mallas de baile y no ser capaz de aprovechar ese ...." West started to wax on but trailed off as he saw that Reaper's jaw was clench and he was gripping the photocopier as if he needed the support. (Too bad. Seeing her in that kilt and those dance leotards and not being able to tap that....). Holy s***! Malcolm Vega, the REAPER himself, had a thing for a student! West thought, making his face blank so the older man couldn't tell West had figured him out. Not that West could blame him one little bit for it. West had heard how Alice was handeling the b**** queen Lexi's harassment and had nothing but respect for the new girl. She didn't back down from confrontation one little bit. West knew that a girl with that much spunk might actually be a good match for the mercurial Reaper. Too bad she was his student though. "Anyways, I need to head off to class, see you later Reaper!" West waved to his old idol, setting aside the finished stacks of paper he'd been organizing. 
                              
West couldn't help but chuckle to himself, amazed that Malcolm Vega, Mr. Cool himself was mooning after a seventeen year old. Normally he could catch a glimpse of her as she headed to class, but this morning he didn't pass by her at all. Giving himself a mental shrug, West let his mind drift back to what it had been like to come to Canada and find out the Reaper was his gym teacher. He slouched in his homeroom class, Philosophy, and remembered just how hard it had been to move.
                              
Seventeen year old West was full of a lot more anger and bravado back then. He'd been easily provoked, and any question against his manhood was immediately refuted with violence. And that was the problem. His grandmother was more than a little worried for him. Los Santos, the Lost Saints street gang, was big and dangerous, but that wouldn't stop the authorities from making him disappear if he became too much of a nuisance. When things started to look that way, 'La had contacted Westley Sr and demanded that he do something to intervene. So West had found himself packed up and shipped North. 
                              
The bell signalling the end of first period propelled him to his feet and West strode out of class with a quick pace. He hadn't even bothered to take a book out of his bag, so he beat everyone else out. God West didn't want to sit through this crap again. After Philosophy was the Maths block. The three classes he was failing and needed to pull up to graduate. F***. The teachers there all had heard from his father, repeatedly, about the need to ride him to get him to excell. So everyday in class, one of the teachers would come in and work with him directly, like he was some sort of special needs student. H*** even the special needs kids got less patronizing than he did!