Detention Is Where The Heart Is

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..::Chapter Two::..

..::Faith Ellsworth's P.O.V.::..

It’s 3:30 and I’m still at school, standing in front of the detention room to be exact. Apparently in this school there are things called fire drills. At my previous school, the fire alarm only went off if there was an actual fire, so this fire drill concept was new to me.

When the deafening alarm started blaring, my chemistry teacher said calmly, “Okay kids, make a single file line and we’ll evacuate the building.”

My reaction to this was not to quietly get in a line, but to yell, “Move you old hag, I’m about to die,” before running out into the parking lot.

I mean, really. If you thought there was a fire, would you just stand there in a single file line and slowly exit the building? Or would you scream profanities while pushing and shoving people out of your way? Definitely the latter option. 

“Miss Ellsworth, is the door that fascinating or are you going to actually come in?” says a man in what seems to be his mid-twenties who's now standing in the opened doorway. Huh, when did that happen?

He’s pretty attractive for an older dude with his shaggy dark brown hair and muddy eyes. I take a brief moment to survey his outfit, which consists of a pair of black slacks and a dark blue button up.

“I guess,” I say, sighing dramatically and slumping my shoulders.

I look around and notice that it’s just a plain room with lots of desk in rows. Nobody else is here, which you would think odd for being a delinquent school. It's probably because the students attending this school do violent and dangerous things that get you suspended or expelled instead of back talking the teacher. I drop my bag onto the floor and sit on top of a random desk, swinging my legs.

“So…” I trail off, not knowing his name.

“Trevor Carter,” he fills in with a nod. “But Mr. Carter to you.”

I wave a hand in the air. “So, Trevor,” I begin again, putting emphasis on his first name, which makes him roll his eyes and take a seat behind his desk. “What do you do in detention?”

He looks at me as if I’ve just grown a second head. I raise my eyebrows, urging him to answer me. “You’ve never gotten detention before? That’s hard to believe after what I heard about you from your teachers,” he retorts, chuckling.

I glower at him before jumping off the desk. “Eureka!” I exclaim. I then begin to push several desks together and lie on the bed of desk on my stomach. Once again Trevor gives me a disbelieving look but I merely shrug, which is hard to do while lying down.

“No, I’ve never been to detention before.” I place my hand over my heart in mock hurt. “I can’t believe that’s what you think of me, Trevor. And I thought we could be the best of friends.”

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