Paint Me Like One of Your French Girls

Chapter One: Partners

   
Michael's Point Of View
I walk into school, binders, and notebooks in hand. My backpack broke this morning, rendering it useless, so my arms'll just have to do for the time being, until I can save up money enough for a new one. Oh well, it wasn't a big deal. It's not like I had much of anywhere I needed to carry my things to except class-to-class, and on my mile-long walks home which I found to be comforting.
I get into the class, opening up my notebook, and start to draw. It's not anything special, just something to wither the time away, and to help me de-stress...at least a little bit, "Ok, class, uh.. today, marks the start of a new unit," Mr.Willis exclaims. Groans and sighs fill the air, as chatter starts to fill the room. Every time there's a new unit, he starts it off with partner work. I roll my eyes and start shaking my leg, trying to stop the nerves. I hate partner work. I always get stuck doing it all, and giving the other person a good enough grade as well, "So, Partners," I start to zone out after the first three, until I heard, " Michael, and Grant," shit. I've never spent true time with him, but our small, near-daily interactions tell me enough about him to get a conclusion: He's ad dick, and he knows he'll always be a dick. Or at least in my eyes.
I look up, he's the one sitting in front of me, the one I was drawing earlier. Shit. I hadn't noticed. I was still drawing him when he came over. I Looked up at him, shutting my, notebook, looking over at him, "Hey, what's that?" He questioned, my face somehow turning whiter than it already was.
"Oh, it-it's nothing," I say, sliding it into my lap I hope he didn't see. I hope he didn't realize that it's him. Or, well, the back of him.  "We're you drawing in there? Am I allowed to see?"  He questioned, taking it off my desk flipping through the pages.
"Hey" I call out, worthless, though. the classroom is as chaotic as ever, "Give that back!" I reach for it, he lifts his arm high, in a sort of taunting way. He keeps flipping through, stopping on a page.  His page, "Please...just give it back to me," He gives me a look. A look that reads: 'What the fuck', but also, 'Damn. Impressive'. 
"Yo, is that me?" He questions, my voice, and my body start shaking.
"Oh, I-I'm sorry, I can throw it, if you want me to," I reply shakily. 
"Nah. It's all good. You're talented, like, this almost could look like a picture," he replies, I start to calm down a bit more, since for some reason he's not being as much as a dick to me than I thought.
" So, since there are only about two minutes left of class, wanna come over o my place after, to get a start on this?" He questioned me. I adjusted myself before answering.
"Uh, yeah. Sure," I said, glancing at him for just half a second, then slightly smile down, " Oh, I don't have your address, though."
"Oh, right. Here I'll text it to you. Number?" He asks, nonchalantly pulling out his phone.
I clear my throat, "608-984-5252."
"Okay, got it. I sent it to you. You got a car, or do you need my to give you a ride? It's a little out of town," He says, full of questions, much?
I'm still looking down, haven't looked up, "Oh, yeah. I don't have a car yet," I clear my throat again, (Maybe to I'd of the awkwardness? I don't know).
"Oh, ok. Sounds good. I'll meet you at your locker after school, sound good?"  How does he know where my locker is. Huh.
"Yeah," I say, looking up at him this time. The bell rang, and we parted ways.
——————
The rest of my classes went as usual. Boring, and I really didn't pay attention. I never do. I always do everything at home, so I have at least something to occupy my time with. But, Now it's time to go to Grant's, and I'm not really sure about if I'm excited, or nervous.
I get to my locker, and I'm greeted with Grant leaning on my locker, his face shoved in his phone, "Hey," I say, trying to start a conversation. I don't think he realized I was here.
" Oh," He said, moving away from my locker, "Hey, sorry," a tight, apologetic smile on his face. I open my locker, grabbing out my English and my History, and my book, since that was all the homework I had for the day.
We walk out of the school, quiet until we got to his car. It was nice, a convertible. Red with black interior. I liked it.
"Hey," I say, opening the door to the passengers seat, "thank you...for the ride," looking down at my book.
"Yeah, man, no problem," He says, reaching for his phone, pulling out of the parking lot, "You good if I put on some music? It makes it easier for me to drive, I don't know why, but it just does," he's still looking at his phone swiping on it with his thumb, his other hand controlling the wheel.
"Oh, yeah, that's fine," I reply, looking back down at my book.
Then I heard it. Really? He really doesn't seem like the person who'd listen to this music.
I fold the corner of my page, setting the book on top of my school ones. I then sit up, "Wait, you listen to them, too? I love this song," I say, a smidgen of confusion and surprise in my voice.
"Oh hell yeah, man. FIDLAR's been my favorite group for who knows how long. I love all of their music, really," he replied, sending a few small glance while he was talking, to let me know he was paying attention, "This is my favorite song of their's overall. What's yours?"
"Oh, well, my favorite is probably Stoked and Broke. I love the lyrics of it. I can relate to that song," I say, looking around outside.
After that we grew quiet, more music filling our ears.