The Class Prince

Chapter 2: The Sleeping Prince

I pulled out my timetables from my jean pocket. The first class I had was Math in room 112. I took a confident step forward but froze when I realized that I didn't know where room 112 was. I asked a few students and teachers for directions. Either they were new here too, or they had no sense of orientation because they were all giving me different instructions. I probably would have found it quicker if I had just followed my instincts, but I eventually found the classroom. I straightened my shirt and cleared my vocal cords before knocking. A man opened the door for me. The first thing I noticed was that he was bald. His shiny scalp hypnotized me, and I wondered if he waxed it every morning.

Everything about him screamed discipline and order: the rectangular glasses framing his eyes, his pink shirt tucked neatly into his pants, and the blue tie that sat symmetrically on his chest.

"Hi," I said, breaking the silence. "I'm Desmond Mellow, the transfer student."

"Mr. Mellow." He spoke in a tight, snobby voice that reminded me of Severus Snape. "You're late."

"Sorry, I got lost."

"I am sorry."

I blinked blankly. "You're forgiven?"

He raised his eyes to the ceiling.

"For your sentence to be grammatically correct, you must say, 'I am sorry' and not 'sorry'. The personal nominative pronoun 'I' must precede the infinitive form of the verb 'be' in the present simple, before the use of the adjective 'sorry' to form a complete and proper English sentence. Are you a foreigner?"

"Uh, no."

"You sound unsure."

I stiffened. "No, I am not a foreigner."

"Then if you've received a proper education in an English-speaking country, you should know how to construct a proper sentence. Out of respect for your native language and your new teacher, refrain yourself from using such abominable half-finished sentences."

"Okay." I might as well use one-worded sentences instead.

He flicked his wrist. For a second there, I thought he was going to punch me. I was about to raise my fists until I realized that he was just checking his watch. Even unintentionally, he made me feel stupid.

"Apart from your horrendous knowledge of English grammar, are you aware that you are five minutes and sixty-three seconds late?"

"No, I didn't know."

"Wrong."

"Excuse me?" I scoffed.

"That was a trick question. If you were attentive, you would have noticed that sixty-three seconds does not exist in a minute. You were, in fact, six minutes and three seconds late."

And you are, in fact, a royal pain in the ass.

"We do not tolerate tardiness in Ivory High. This is a school of excellence and prestige. I will not accept any student who is a second late in class. Is that understood?"

"Yes, ma'am- Oh, I mean, sir," I said, causing the students behind him to laugh. Before he could scold me, I asked, "May I come in?"

Despite the annoyed look on his face, he stepped aside. I tightened my grip around the strap of my bag and walked past him. I quickly scanned the room and gulped. I must have made quite an impression on my new classmates because they all stared at me with a mixture of astonishment, admiration, and disapproval. There was an empty seat at the back, so I naturally gravitated towards it. I sat down, but as soon as I did, murmurs and gasps filled the room.

Was I not supposed to sit here?

Baldy walked to the front of the classroom and resumed his lesson on the equilibrium of X and Y. I took out a tattered notebook and a chewed-up pencil from my bag. I didn't understand a thing the teacher was saying, but I had to at least pretend like I did. I thoughtlessly scribbled down notes until I noticed that my deskmate wasn't paying attention to class. In fact, he wasn't even awake.

His head laid snuggly against his crossed arms, his body steadily rising and falling at each breath. He was facing the other way, but the dense waves of his mahogany hair were enough to catch my attention. He had a nice boyish smell, a hint of fresh pine, and something else I couldn't quite put my finger on. He shifted in his seat, and I lowered my gaze to my unreadable notes. I waited a few seconds before glancing at him once more. He was now faced towards me. The sunlight that slanted through the windows kissed his cheeks, illuminating his defined features. He was asleep, so I studied his face. My eyes lingered on his thick brows before descending to his dark lashes that rested over the dark patches beneath his eyes. He had flawless, ivory skin, and a defined jaw, and high cheekbones. The closest word that could describe him — and even then, the adjective felt lacking — was beautiful.

His lids cracked open, revealing a storm of grey and blue. My heart fluttered when his gaze met mine, and a playful smirk pulled on his lips as if he had known that I had been staring at him, which caused an all-too-familiar warmth to rise to my face. I looked away, pressing my hand against my cheek to hide my embarrassment. When I glanced at him again, he was asleep.