What I Hate About You (#1 What I Hate About You)

Chapter 2

"You know, Simon, I don't know why you're complaining. You never did the last assignment, which you still have to complete for me. And when I do give out this one, I expect you to do it without any excuses about why you can't complete it. You don't want to be failing this class, do you? I don't exactly care if you have assessments for other classes, or other commitments. You're in my class right now, and I want you to complete the work I provide for you."

The class laughs at our teachers comment. I sigh, getting bored with whatever Mrs Callea was talking about. Sometimes I wish it was just me in the classroom so I don't have to worry about the people around me. Maybe I should talk Mum into allowing me to be home schooled for the rest of the year. At least I don't have to worry about anyone interrupting the lesson. I will be able to concentrate on my work better.

"For the next few weeks I'm going to be getting you to write different exercises to help you improve your skills. I'm going to give you different areas of writing so you can get used to them all. It will help you in exams that are coming up soon. I'm going to start you off with some essay writing."

The class groans. Ignoring everyone, I continue to draw in my sketch book. I really did not want to listen anymore.

Mrs Callea continues on explaining what she wanted us to write. She tells us about the importance of writing. I didn't even care about writing. I just wanted to draw right now. She explained what she wanted us to write the essay on. She wanted us to express our feelings through our words and saying what our inner thoughts were on paper. I think it's unnecessary for us to even write that. Just the other day she gave us a practice essay on a poem that we had to analyse, which is going to be a part of the exam. I guess we all did such a lousy job at it that she has to give us something else to write about.

Essays are stupid.

I think for a moment of what I could write my essay on. Hate. I could write about what I hate. Hate is a feeling, isn't it?

I raise my hand.

Mrs Callea looks my way, and I can see she is trying to restrain from rolling her eyes. She sometimes doesn't like it when I ask or give any negative comments on anything that she says during the class, depending on what she is discussing with us. "Yes, Alex?"

"Can I write what I hate?" I ask, putting down my hand.

Mrs Callea opens her mouth to answer my sister's question when the door suddenly opens and then closes. Everyone turns in their seats towards the door. I look too, rolling my eyes when I see Nathan Bridges with his bag over his shoulder, hurrying into the room. He just had to walk in when Mrs Callea was going to answer my question. He walks over to Lindsay and me, taking a seat in between us. Why does he always have to sit in between us every lesson? Is this Mrs Callea's way of keeping my sister and me separated during class?

"It's good to have you finally join us, Mr Bridges," Mrs Callea says. "I'm just explaining to the class about your new assessment that I want you to do. So, what is your excuse for being late this time? Do you have a late note?" Nathan has been late for class a couple days ago. This is his second time for being late.

"I'm so sorry," he apologises. He pulls out a piece of paper from his pocket and hands it to her. She takes it, reading it. "I had troubled getting here this morning. My next door neighbour threw a party last night. I couldn't get to sleep until two o'clock. I overslept and then I found out that someone from the party had put all four tyres down on my car. I had no time to catch public transport, so my dad drove me here. We got caught in traffic along the way."

"Okay. Please make sure you come early next time."

Nathan answers okay. He unzips his bag to take out the equipment he needed for the lesson. He glances my sister's way. Lindsay gives him a little wave as well as a flirty smile. Not sure if he returned the smile, he probably did. He gives her a wave, and then places his bag on the floor beside his feet. I roll my eyes. Lindsay has nothing better to do rather than flirt with every guy she comes across to, especially when her boyfriend is sitting in the back, probably can see that she is flirting with someone else.