『ɴᴇᴘᴇɴᴛʜᴇ』

| t w o |

Dean was already hating math class. The teacher-Mr. Kinnel- was an asshole. It was the first day and they were already taking notes. Dean sat near the back, and he would have preferred the very back row, but clearly a few others had already beat him to that idea.
"If you fail my class," he was speaking again, his arms crossed, "I will guarantee that you take this entire grade again." His voice was gruff like he'd smoked too many cigarettes or drank too much whiskey. Maybe it was both. The class was nearing an end, and Dean was glad that he had history next.
History, he admitted, was not a favorite. So when he got to the class to see that only the front three rows were available, he sat down in the second, near the door. The teacher for this class, just at first glance was a helluva lot kinder than Mr. Kinnel.
She had dark hair pulled into a loose bun that was situated at the top of her head. Her features were kind to match her soft brown eyes. She looked young, for a teacher.
A couple more kids came into the classroom, two taking up the front row seats and one taking the seat behind him. The bell rang, and Ms.Finch went to the board.
She wrote her name in big letters and neat handwriting. "Good morning, I hope your day back has come to a good start." She had a bright smile and Dean looked down, rustling into his backpack for nothing in particular.
"I know it's only the first day, but we will be taking notes. As many of you know, the school year started late but is ending when it normally would, thus giving us a shorter year. So, we do need to have a quick start this year." She quickly wiped her name off the board, clicking a button on a small remote in her left hand. A key-note presentation was now seen, which looked to have quite a few pages.
"Please take out your notebooks, and a writing utensil." Silently the class took everything out, and she clicked to the next page, which was jam packed with words.
Dean started writing quickly until a small piece of folded paper was slid onto his desk from the person behind him. He frowned at it, slowly picking it up and reading it.
The hand-writing was a messy scrawl, and Dean could hardly read it. Once he deciphered it, he wrote back, why?
The note had asked him to lower his head or slouch. It came back to him almost instantly. It didn't take him as long this time to know what it said. I can't see the board. Dean wanted to laugh at the writing. Who cares? He held it over his shoulder for the person to take it.
It came back to him almost aggressively. I do. I would like to take the notes, but you happen to have a rather large head. He had underlined what clearly was most important. Dean frowned at the small piece of paper that was cramped with messy handwriting. He flipped it over, using the other side. Did you just insult me? He handed it back to him. He could tell it was a guy, A) messy handwriting, and B) the fingers that he saw when it was handed back to him were not feminine.
What? No, I wasn't trying to insult you. I'm sorry. Would you just move your head? Dean scoffed quietly. Nah. I was personally assaulted. He chuckled and gave the note back.
Dean continued on with his notes, though he certainly didn't care as much as the kid behind him. The note came back on a different piece of paper this time. You're being ridiculous. Dean smirked. Of course, he was, that was just what he did. You're bullying me. You said I have a fat head.
Dean didn't even care about the notes anymore, never had, to begin with, but now he just wanted to annoy the shit out of the person behind him. When he got the paper back, it was lightly crinkled. I didn't say fat. I said 'rather large'. It's hardly the same thing.
Dean smirked. He was pretty sure he was close to pissing him off. Well, I feel personally attacked. I will not move my head.
He heard the boy release an exasperated breath.
He didn't get the note back.