The Player Game

Chapter 17

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And enjoy.  It's short, but important.  Next chapter will be a nice, long Aaron and Emily chapter.

I stifle a yawn, glancing from the boring science teacher to the clock on the wall.  There’s still half an hour of the lesson remaining, and with the way Mr Biggs is going on, it seems like that thirty minutes will easily morph into what would seem like an hour.  Another yawn overcomes me, but this time I don’t bother to cover my mouth, as I let my eyes drift to the empty chair at the end of the row; Brad hasn’t turned up for school today.

I don’t give the absence a second thought – after all, everyone gets ill – and cross my legs, returning my gaze to the front of the class.  I would usually be scribbling notes down manically, but this lesson is one of those repeats – where the teacher forgets that he has already taught the lesson, and no one bothers to break the news to him in case of having a really hard lesson.  Yes, one of those boring, monotonous classes.

“Let’s skip,” Aaron mutters, tapping his pen lightly against the tabletop.  To be honest, I don’t think I’ve ever heard such a good idea come from his mouth, but all the same, my eyes widen.

“What, now?” I whisper back, glancing surreptitiously at his face without trying to attract the teacher’s attention; a piteous action considering the class could start a conga line and Mr Biggs wouldn’t notice.

“No, in two years,” he replies, the sarcasm dripping from his tongue.  “Yes, now.  He won’t even notice we’re gone.  I’m one hundred percent sure that he won’t turn around for the whole lesson, and when he does, the class will be leaving anyway.”

He has a good point.  I don’t for a second doubt that what he says isn’t true, but the thing that’s making me hesitate is breaking the rules.  I nibble on the inside of my cheek, my eyes going from Aaron’s mischievous expression to the bald patch on the back of the teacher’s head.  “Well,” I draw out the word, pulling an indecisive face.  “If he isn’t going to notice-”

“He won’t.”

“Then I suppose we might as well,” I say hesitantly, not quite believing the words coming from my mouth.  What would my parents think if they knew that their hard-working, responsible daughter is agreeing to skip class with a guy?

Aaron grins sloppily at me, an excited glimmer in his eyes as he slips his books into his bag before slinging it over his shoulder.  I follow his example, attempting momentarily to smile back, which only comes out as a grimace.  I ignore the curious looks that Harry and Jerry send us as we quietly slip out of our seats.

Luckily, the door in this classroom is at the back of the room, adjacent to our table.  The only thing between us and our escape is the short walk across the back of the classroom, which happens to be in the clear view of the teacher, if he happens to be facing the front, that is.

I send a worried glance to the front of the class, noticing with relief over the tops of the drooping students’ heads that he is still engrossed in writing on the whiteboard.  “Come on,” Aaron whispers, his hot breath tickling my ear.  I feel his hand wrap around mine, and look down to see our hands entwined.  Strangely, the sight is somewhat comforting.