Wonderful.

~('')~ The Calling ~('')~

"Sorry." The bower says and looks up. Jess gives her mercy in the works and lobby back to her primary thought.

I move as well now that Chelsea decides to do too. Soon we're inside the crevice to a stenchy, completely noisy and always packed room in highschool - the lockers.

Once we're in, the whole place is the same as how I describe it, but this time there is, none in the center aisle which an imaginative person will like to think a red carpet can fit right there.

"What's the commotion about?"

I ask randomly and one random as well responds,

"Didn't you hear?"
"Sorry?"
"Tyler Banes Ford enrolled in our school?"

My mind seems to get a glimpse of a flashback after the mention of that name but it's too blurred out, the actual things I want to know is unclear and the whereabouts are a mess of white and black dots.

There's an image of a boy, in his young age who looks at me with burning passion, and it cuts there.

"Sorry who again?"
"Tyler Banes? His dad owns Ford cars?"

Everyone turns to the door as a grand, six footer, brown haired and blue eyed appear at the sects of the room.

His outfit a black and beige formal - a modern tuxedo in the edits of casual and less mature. The scent that surrounds him is a gist of a wild raw manly odor I begin to get addicted to.

"Oh my gosh." Jess puts out, her hands flapping to excitement seeing him in a dashing clad attire.

The boys doesn't like the happening from how they grip their girlfriends tight as their nervy hands reveal out their veins, as well as some extra people who originally invented scene.

The football boys.

I hear a clash that's about to come.

Well too much for today's show.

10.30 am

"Class, who can dignify fact from false?" The cutting edge spectacles run down the teacher's face, her matte on the lips cracking as they part.

"Me duh!" Tayla responds, her air of pride giving her the ticket to talk.

"Alright Ms. Carly, would you kindly-"
"Fact means true, the mass perception, the valid and you're beauty. "

The beguiling prince interjects, leaning on the doorway's edge.

His brawny, rugged fingers play with the rose's stem as he shoots a glare my way.

He smells the flower and exhibit a teasing bite of the lip, his eyes tempting at the seems.

"Alright, that's right but what is false?" Ms. Clint asks acknowledging his very descriptive comment on the definition of the word.

"Well, it's sad to say the meaning of false in the situation. But I tell you it's a good one." Mr. Smart speaks, the class attention to him aside from the men.

"That's wonderful. But where's your classroom." The black eye shadow wearer - Agatha Clint - says, a clever smile she has on.

"Oh, I'm told to take Literature." He pauses looking at the door's plaque and then,
"Literature." He returns the same curling of her lips, now the instructor slowly getting out of her wits, annoyed.

"Well detention for you lat-"
"That's okay. I mistakenly say to him class is at ten thirty not ten."

The standing Tayla Carly gives away, and Clint is one nerve from bursting out.