Carter Ortese is Trouble - completed (The Boys #1)

Chapter 3: Carter

Slightly after one o'clock, I get up and show my Precalculus teacher my pass for the guidance office. She waves her hand at me, dismissing the paper with a flabby, jiggling arm. Ever since I started this class, she's despised me. Mrs. Everett's convinced I'm too stupid to set foot in her non-honors course. If she could, I'm sure she'd place me down in remedial with all the other students who've never given two shits about school.

I care about school, but not as much as Mrs. Everett would like me to. Rather, not as much as any teachers would like me to. It's not like I'm going to college once this is all over either.

I keep a tight hold on the yellow slip. "I have to see my guidance--"

Mrs. Everett interrupts me with a thick sigh. "Can't you sit down like everyone else, Carter?" She peers up at me with contemptuous beady eyes. Her face looks like someone tried to crossbreed a pug with a Persian cat. Her nose barely juts away from the rest of her puckered skin, and her cheeks hang loose around her jowls. 

"I have to go. This is mandatory." I flick the paper again, this time shoving it right in front of her face.

"Oh, yes. I see. To discuss your future," she says the last word like it's some faculty inside joke. To them, my future probably is some big fat joke, the laughing stock of the whole break room.

"Yeah, to discuss my options."

While Mrs. Everett believes my entire exaggerated reputation, she has gotten one thing right: I'm not headed to college, at least not right away and maybe not ever. There is nothing in the world that could make me study for another four years straight when I could be working and helping out my mom with our bills.

"Well, go on. Don't want to be late for your appointment." The words slither out from between her teeth.

I crumple up the pass and march out of the room, closing the door forcefully behind me. I clench the strap of my backpack hard, reminding myself that even punching an inanimate locker might equal instant expulsion. Although, with my future being what it is, maybe that wouldn't be the worst thing in the world. I'd have more time to work, anyway.

As I turn the corner in the hallway, one of our deans, Mr. Howard, eyes me from down the hall and stops me. If I had a favorite dean, which I don't, it'd be him. His curly gray hair and tuft of a mustache make him non-intimidating, even though that is supposed to be the whole point to the upgraded hall monitors.

"What are you doing out of class, Mr. Ortese?"

The fact that a dean has memorized my name in a student body of two thousand should say everything. I show him the pass, and he eyes the slip of paper suspiciously, as if I would invent such a colorful invitation myself. An invitation that the entire junior class has received.

Don't forget! Your senior year schedule is right around the corner. It's time to decide: what will you do with the rest of your life?

First, senior year is an entire year away. Second, it's absurd, expecting a high school junior to make decisions like this. Don't they realize that most of us don't have a clue? For me, I'm more worried about how many tips I'll make on Thursday, and if it will be enough to pay for the date with Emma without dipping into my mattress savings.

"Let me walk with you," Dean Howard says, handing me back the slip. Translation: he's making sure I'm not ditching school. I have to wonder why. Sure, I have my reputation, but I've skipped less than half of the football team. If anything, he should be their personal escort.

"Sure. Not like you have anything better to do, right?" I smirk as I put the slip in my pocket. The dean's eyes narrow into thin slits. I start walking away, acting unaware of my thinly veiled insult.