Bridget POV--
Math class was a drag. Ms. Smythe dragged on about shit formulas forever and ever. I wanted to die. It was only the first ten minutes of my hour of math and I wanted to die. When it felt like forever, some guy opened the door. I sat up, observing him.
Jet black hair that reached to his neck? Brown evil like eyes? Pale skin? Who the hell could classify this guy? He surely wasn't a need, God no. He couldn't be a jock, even with the slightly muscled tone. Forget about being Mr. Popular and Social, he looked as if he wanted to burn the place down with all of us in it. I hate those kind of guys, thinking they're all that-- being mysterious and emo.
I looked away but too late to see him stare at me. My face felt hot and I quickly grasped my mind's stable thoughts and tried doing a problem or two.
Every girl oogled him with obvious pleasure. I merely yawned. One, because this class will definitely screw my ass off. Two, I stayed up all night studying for my Bio test. And three (the most important), if girls are too attracted he is sixty percent sure to be a player or a rich jerk. I am not taking that chance.
"Class, this is Blake Night," Ms. Smythe said all hyper. She beckoned the guy in. He stiffly walks in. He has on a black tee, black jeans, and dark brown dress shoes. He has a black backpack and stands next to Ms. Smythe.
"Why hello young man!"
Blake grunts while Ms. Smythe yammers.
When he finally gets to sit down. He chose to sit across from me and next to Kim, the school prostitute. She passes him a note. Without even reading it he crumbles it up in his bag. I watch while smirking. South just got served.
Realizing I look as if I was flirting I turn swiftly, knowing Kim was glaring and Blake was staring.
