I managed a gutteral sound that even I can't put into words as my face as well as the rest of my body hit the cement ground that was my English classroom's floor.
"Alec!" My English teacher, Ms. Bixby snapped. "Please tell me why you felt the need to trip Miss Sykes?" I couldn't see her face, what with mine sprawled across the floor, which God that freaking hurt.
However, I could see the feet of the stupid, blonde male bimbo who'd decided to make tripping the freak part of his daily agenda. I barely managed to roll onto my back to avoid his kick to the face. I really hated that kid. Total jerkface. Yeah, I said Jerkface.
"Alec!" Ms. Bixby snapped again. "I'm waiting." Oh man. That woman.....
Ms. Bixby was tall at 5'11", scary with a pixie cut on her salt and pepper hair, and muscular. I would not want to make that woman mad. That was just asking for a death wish or something. Hm....the thought made me smile an awkward smile.
"I don't know. I'm sitting down now," Alec muttered with a glare. He was failing her class. She didn't like him. I couldn't really blame her.
"Yes, Mr Conover. You may sit down. In the office. Good bye."
Oh snap! My eyes grew wide and Ms. Bixby lowered herself to the floor to help me up. "Why do you just take it, Ariana?" We were the only two in the classroom. Again, I was average weight, but she managed to make my 130 pounds seem like nothing as she hauled me to my feet.
I just shrugged, looking at my feet. I couldn't even begin to tell you the number of time that woman has saved my butt when I'm being harrassed. She's absolutely amazing, besides the fact that her daughter is an editor at my dream company and is trying to help me get the correct certifications and pull the right strings so that someday I may work there too. Well, that, and she loves my writing. Awesome, right?
"You okay?" She asked gently.
I nodded and headed to my seat as the other jerks started to enter the classroom. Hm, there was a new girl among them. She was shorter than me with short light brown hair back in a green headband, haunted grey eyes, a green cardigan over a white tank top, denim skinny jeans, and grey ballet flats. One of the football players (usually when I refer to the jerks, I mean one of the stupid sports jockeys) shoved her into the room, getting in her face and yelling loudly, "THIS IS THE ENGLISH CLASSROOM, OKAY? I'M DONE SHOWING YOU AROUND!"
"Brady, is that really necessary?" My teacher asked exasperated.
"She can't hear anything, ma'am."
"So you felt the need to scream at her? Really? What is wrong with you?" She shook her head. "What's her name?"
"How should I know?" The jock snapped, sitting down.
The girl looked at me, bit her lip, and signed, "Is this the English room?"
I looked a bit surprised before signing back, "Yes it is."
She nodded, touching her fingers to her chin. "Thank you."
I nodded back, not bothering to sign, "you're welcome."
"Ariana?" Ms. Bixby asked.
I raised my eyebrows at her, indicating that she had my attention.
"Can you communicate with her?"
I nodded.
"What's her name?"
I took out my notebook and scribbled furiously, "Why don't you ask her? She's YOUR student."
She frowned. "Please?"
