Teenage Dream {HongIce}

Chapter Four

Why he wanted to get to school that badly, he didn't understand. Nothing made sense to him after yesterday, like suddenly the sun had come out and blinded him so he was forced to stagger around like a fool trying to find his place in the world. It felt so uncomfortable to be in this new mood, it almost scared Emil to know how much he had changed over one day.

He arrived at school and turned in his note so he wouldn't get a detention and hurried off to class. What class did he have? He obviously couldn't remember because he began rifling through his locker to find his time table. Maths. Ugh.

He used to be really good at maths until he fell behind and had just barely been passing the semester. He only now hated it because he had fallen so far behind and had never felt motivated enough to catch up. Emil knocked on the classroom door, hiding behind his text books in shame as the teacher came to open the door.

"Finally decided to turn up, Emil?" He playfully taunted. Emil said nothing and darted over to the safety of his usual desk, only to find that some asshole was sitting at it.

"Hey, I thought you'd ditched me," Leon smirked. Emil rolled his eyes and sighed, why was Leon sitting in his damn seat?

"I'm not very keen on doing that." Emil took the vacant seat behind Leon, and wasn't too happy about his spot being stolen, but now was not the time to get possessive over furniture. The teacher continued writing examples on the board and ranting about how learning to solve quartic polynumerals in graphing and going on about how it would only be important for next year and that not ever in actually using it real life should not be a reason to slack off. For the first time in forever Emil actually paid some attention to the pointlessness and wrote down the notes.

But nothing made sense. What the hell was a polynumeral, what the hell was a quartic and how the hell do you solve equations? There was something mentioned about solving quadratic equations in last year's class, but was he paying attention? No, because by then he had stopped paying attention in that half of the year. God he hated realising how much he had missed out on.

The teacher assigned them questions to do from the chapter and the room slowly progressed into a small hum of chatter as everyone began their work. Instead of attempting the impossible work in front of him, Emil sat back and tuned into other people's conversations as he usually did.

In one corner, there were the two German brothers. One was trying to do the work whilst the other was trying to hook pens onto the others shirt collar and complaining about how bored he was.

"Maths is stupid. Why don't they teach us stuff that we will use in life?" The silvery haired one complained, sticking another pen onto his brother's shirt collar.

"And that attitude is why you're two years behind," the blonde haired one answered with a sigh, pulling the pens off his shirt collar.

"Hey! I'm not two years behind! You're just two years ahead, smart ass, kleiner bruder!" He complained.

Emil shifted his attention further down the row past some kids who were actually doing their work toward the front. There were two girls at the front. One with a short bob and the other with long ash brown hair and a bow. The one with the bow was muttering frustratedly to the other in Russian whilst aggressively picking at the desk with her sharp point of her compass.

In front of him was Leon, who was talking to this Polish guy – whom by the way was wearing a skirt – about the fashion in Iceland and all of the trends Feliks had picked up on while he was there. Emil let out a long sigh, feeling his stomach sink and the feeling of abandonment creep up his spine.

To the other side was a rather interesting conversation, or a debate one could say, about AFL.

"Everyone calls soccer football and it's just wrong, because soccer is soccer and football is foot ball. It makes no sense sense for someone to call soccer football. I asked if there was a football team here and they point me over to the soccer team. And I say no, football football, not football soccer," the guy argued, waving his hands around as if he was trying to control his building up anger.