Pancakes and Paper Planes || ✔ || Under Revision

9|Texts and Tours

After lunch is World History with Mr. King. The sixty-year-old teacher is probably my favorite because he has the oddest sense of humor. I once asked him if he was related to Stephen King. He laughed and said he wished he was. Then he proceeded to give a history lesson/rant on the author.

I'm not sure why I had asked him in the first place, other than pure curiosity. My mom was in a Stephen King thriller/horror movie a few years back. She made me read three of his books and I had nightmares for weeks. I was too scared to see the movie so she made walk the carpet and then had Kevin take me into the dressing room and watch Friends while I slept.

Mr. King begins class today with an overview of the Dark Ages. He claims that this period of time was his favorite because they buried live kittens in the walls of their buildings. He has something against cats that I really don't understand. I mean, what's to hate about adorable little fluffballs that meow and purr when you touch them? To me, they're like the perfect alternative to stress balls.

When the teacher calls on me to read an article that we were supposed to review, I reach into my binder, sighing. I don't bother to open the rings, and instead rip the paper clean out. Summer is almost here—I honestly don't care anymore. I read the text clearly so that everyone can hear, then exhale loudly in the last sentence.

"Thank you, Micah," Mr. King says, winking. I swear this guy has some issues, just like everyone else at the school. I would bet that more than half of the teacher use some illicit substances in their downtime. Most of them are just as rich as their celebrity students, though a few come from New York and the rest of the east coast.

As I go to stash away the article, I hear a small 'blip' in my pocket, the sound that an incoming text makes. I sneakily take a peek at the screen. There is a text alert, claiming to be an unknown number.

Confused, I raise my hand, and Mr. King calls on me.

"Can I go to the bathroom?" I ask, innocently.

As soon as he nods, I dash out the door and down the hall, turning into the girl's bathroom. I click on my phone, going straight to the iMessage app.

Who is this? I type in, sending it.

I wait for a few seconds, then a reply pops up.

Nick, I read.

I sigh, relieved. No one can even guess how many times people have looked up my phone number on some creepy "date-a-celeb" website and asked me out. People have even started sexting me and I had my mother find them. They received...ample punishment.

I got your number from my mom, Nick types. I can pick you up after school if you want.

My heart stops for a second, then resumes its drowsy ticking. It's not like he loves you or anything, I tell myself. Not yet. Shut up, Micah.

I text him an okay.

Aren't you in class? he asks.

In the bathroom, I reply. I could ask the same of you.

My school gets out early.

I reach up into my hair, pulling out the tie that keeps it up in the twist. It falls down in gentle brown curls, bouncing around on my shoulders. I wrap the hairband around my wrist, shaking my head to loosen up the strands.

Absentmindedly, I comb fingers through my hair as I stare down at the screen. Sometimes I enjoy the long brown hair I have been granted with, but other times I wish it was short. My mom won't allow me to cut it though, so I don't have much choice.