Being the players maid

Chapter 3

"Do you need help miss" A women wearing the ugliest floor length cream cardigan and largest glasses in the world, rips the small blue sheet of paper from my hands. I open my mouth to reply, but before I can say anything she motions for me to follow and marches down the halls. A small glance down at my watch and I realise I'm almost a whole 10 minutes late to my first class. Normally my over achieving side would kill me for being this late to anything, especially on my first day. But something about this place, the beautiful dark oak walls, unusual decoration kept my mind far to occupied.

A couple rights and lefts later we are brought to a sudden halt , Mrs Ugly sweater stops in front of a huge wooden door and snaps me back to reality . She motions at the door and whisks away without another word. "oh uh, my schedule"  but she's already too far away to hear me. This day just keeps getting better. Grumbling I grab the door handle and push inside "And this is why the war..." everyone stops and stares. Maybe I should have knocked first. I can feel the heat creeping up my neck flooding my cheeks as I notice the thousand pairs of eyes staring at me. Ok maybe not thousands, but I don't do crowds, and when they tell you to just imagine everyone in their underwear it doesn't work. I repeat it doesn't work!

"Uh Miss Patterson, correct" too consumed by the stares I just nod. I have never been much of a public speaker, people and crowds really aren't my thing, "Get a little lost did we, Go take a seat next to Miss Abby and i'm sure she can help you catch up to speed" Scrambling to my seat, too eager to get the eyes of everyone in this room off me. A couple wolf whistle from a group of boys in the back makes my face burn, making me want to disappear anywhere but here. A couple glares from the girls on their right and i've finally reached my seat. Im not use to being the centre of attention, all my life I have been told to be invisible.

"Hey don't worry about them, they're asshats" I turn to look at the petite girl on my left, away from the stares of everyone. She looks sweet her long brown hair wrapped high in a bun and her soft eye seem friendly as she slides closer to me to share her text book "Im Abby by the way" As she moves closer the smell of sweet coconut fills my nose. "Wow what perfume are you wearing" Giggling she turns to face me.

"That my friend would be sweat and fake tan" i can feel my cheeks turn an even brighter, shade of red I look back down at the text book determined not to make eye contact with anyone for the rest of the lesson. Good job Jess, you could at least pretend you not a total weirdo for one day.

Abby tried her best to make small talk with me, asking me questions every chance she got, they ranged from where was i born too if I preferred a guys abs or ass. I had to lie most questions, truth be told I've never had someone so interested in my life. I wasn't even sure if I liked vanilla or chocolate ice cream better, let alone if I liked a guys ass better then his abs. The more she talked the more I realised how, pardan my french, fucking awful my life was. I was almost 18 and the most I had gotten to any sort of freedom was being here, sitting in a classroom of  thirty really loud and obnoxious teenagers, who stink by the way. Never been aloud to date, much less have any form of a hobby. Then what turned to a pleasant escape of answering stupid questions, made me angry, so angry i swear you could see the smoke trying to escape from my ears. Relief flushed through me when Mr King demanded everyones attention back to the bored.

Thirty very boring minutes of listening to Mr king  argue with a boy sitting in the front row about which war movie would be better to write our next assignment on Dunkirk or Greyhound. Personally I think Dunkirk, getting graded to watch Harry Styles for an hour straight I think yes. A  small knock at the door steals my attention back from my Harry Styles fantasy and right back into this very boring history lesson. Mr King flicks his eyes burning hole into Mrs Ugly sweater who has now appeared at the door. I small smiles creeps onto my face, with the little experience I have on schools and learning, I have never met a teacher this passionate about history, not even in the extensive movie and tv show research i did.