I was stood frozen in front of the door to the room, with my jaw most likely hitting the floor. Mr. Styles cleared his throat and nodded his head to the desks, gesturing for me to sit down. I looked down and made my way to the desks sitting in the middle of the room. I obviously didn't want to sit in the front, but I didn't want to make it obvious that I felt awkward by sitting in the back.
I got my phone out and started playing Flappy Bird but was interrupted by Mr. Styles voice which was surprisingly very close to me.
"You know, you're not supposed to be on your cell phone. This is detention," he said. I looked up to see him sitting on the desk next to me with his feet resting on the chair. I put my phone in my purse before clearing my throat and replying, "Sorry."
"I didn't say you had to put it away," he smirked, "just that it wasn't allowed. What's your high score?" He asked as I pulled my phone back out of my purse.
"13," I grumbled, frustrated that I can't seem to get past that dreadful number. He laughed and pulled his iPhone out of his pocket, conveniently the blue 5C that I had originally wanted to get until he recommended it to me.
"Mine's 127," he showed me the screen of his phone after pulling up the app, proving to me that his high score was indeed 127.
"What the fu-heck," I corrected myself, remembering that I was talking to a teacher. He laughed once again and sat in the desk next to me.
"You can swear too, you know. I'm not gonna give you another detention," he said. But then paused and looked me up and down, "But on second thought, I think I should give you detention everyday for the rest of the year."
I rolled my eyes and scoffed, "Pig," I muttered.
"Relax, I'm just kidding Randi," he said.
My eyes widened at his nickname, "Randi?" I asked him, laughing at the ridiculousness of it. I've only ever been called Miranda my entire life, or Mer, but never has anybody called me 'Randi'. That sounds like a guy's name.
"It's Miranda," I corrected him, wanting rid of that awful nickname he created.
"Hm, I like Randi. Does anybody ever call you that?" He asked me and I shook my head no before replying, "And I'd like to keep it like that, thanks. So call me Miranda."
I was dead serious, I didn't want him calling me Randi, or anyone for that matter.
"Whatever you say, Randi," he laughed, causing me to roll my eyes.
"Do you always talk to students like this?" I asked him, gesturing to his close proximity and the way he was so obviously flirting.
"Nope," he said, popping the p, "Just you. Which, if we're honest here, I don't think of you as a student too much. You seem very... mature for your age."
"Well, I'm still your student, mature or not, so maybe you should, I don't know, back off a little bit?" I shooed him back and scooted my desk over.
"So, how'd you do on the quiz earlier?" He asked me, still not leaving me alone.
I almost confessed that I did terrible, but then I thought better of it and replied, "Good."
I mentally face palmed myself, realizing that he's my teacher and he's gonna see my test and realize that I did absolutely horrendous on it. Guess we'll deal with that when the time comes.
"Really?" He asked, to which I nodded my head in response. "Randi, you got every single question wrong."
I ignored the use of his nickname before blurting out, "Are you serious?! I didn't even guess one answer correctly? What are the odds of that?!"