Kisses Don't Lie

Kisses Don't Lie 

The start of year eleven had actually been a good day. So far, I’d discovered that my new Mathematics teacher was the head of department, I had the newly qualified Physics teacher who couldn’t teach to save her life (looks like Physics was going be a fail this year), and was now walking into English. So far, for the first year ever, most teachers had scrapped seating plans. This was good news, as in every lesson I sat next to my best friend, Kara. However Kara wasn’t in my English class.

Spotting my other best friend, Ronan, across the room, I grinned widely.

            “Ronan!” I yelled. He turned towards me, grinning too.

            “Sit with me,” he pleaded. I teased him for a bit, and then agreed to it. We sat at the back of the classroom by the window and waited for the English teacher. When he walked in, I guessed he was another newly qualified, because he looked young and fresh from training.

            “Right, come away from the desks and I’ll tell you where you’re sitting,” he told us. Everybody groaned.

            “But sir, we’re in year eleven now, we can sit next to who we want,” Ronan moaned. The teacher just laughed, and began to call names. Alphabetical order once again. It was like year seven all over again. Ronan’s surname was Sutton, and mine was Jennings, so we wouldn’t have a chance of being sat together.

Finally, the teacher got to me. Smiling almost evilly, he placed me in the second row at the back of the classroom – not a bad place. That was until he read out the next name.

            “Lewis Jackson,” he called. My face blushed a furious red colour. Not again! Damn alphabetical order. So, to solve your confusion; I had sat next to Lewis in most lessons for five years now, right since year seven. Every time we sat next to each other in English, we got separated due to the fact he annoyed the hell out of me for the hour long lesson, and of course I just used the excuse ‘I can’t concentrate’. This new teacher, Mr Kerrington, did not know me, or know him, so it would take a lot of convincing to get moved.

After everyone seated, Mr Kerrington finally got on with the lesson. William Blake poetry – just what I needed. Note the sarcasm. Letting out a long sigh, I drifted into a daydream.

           “Looks like it’s me and you again,” I heard Lewis whisper into my ear. Glaring at him, I pretended not to have heard. “You can’t ignore me all year, Lacey,” he added. Still, I ignored him. If silence was what it took, I wasn’t going to give in. After looking at his seating plan, Mr Kerrington called my name.

            “Lacey, will you do the honour of reading the poem?” he suggested. I couldn’t exactly refuse, and even though I hated reading aloud, I began to recite the poem.

            “It’s a change for you to read,” Lewis whispered. “You should do it more often.” Stuttering on a line in the poem, my reading deteriorated until the words came out all over the place.

            “Will you be quiet?” I complained loudly, pausing in the third stanza. Lewis burst into laughter, and Mr Kerrington gave me a disapproving glare, as if it was my fault. Frowning, I began to finish the poem.

Finishing the poem, Mr Kerrington began to teach again, and I turned to Lewis.

            “What did you do that for?” I moaned. He just smiled.

            “Because it’s what I do best,” he said simple. Rolling my eyes, I turned my attention back to the lesson, which was boring, but less irritating than Lewis Jackson.

About fifteen minutes passed, and I was beginning to the think the worst of the lesson was over.

            “Ouch!” I let out a loud scream, and then furiously slapped Lewis on the face. Everybody in the room turned to look at us.