I Don't Like Badboys...Seriously | ✓

Chapter Fifteen - I Didn't See This Coming

"So it's like marriage? Where what's mine is yours?" I laughed.

"Ugh. You have issues." He turned away, but obviously, he didn't stay silent for long. About five minutes later he turned back. "So, we're all going to the show tomorrow right? Meeting at ten by the ferris wheel?"

"Uh yeah, I'll just double check with Archer."

Would Archer still even want to go to the show? Would it be weird if he was glum all day? I didn't want to drag him along if he wasn't keen on going.

"Hello?" Hunter said again, waving his hands around. I looked at him. "You've been doing that a lot lately. You should go see a doctor," he joked

"Whatever. I just don't like listening to you."

I turned around slightly to look at Archer. He was staring out of the window with the exam paper open on his desk. I turned back around to find Hunter studying my face.

"What?" I asked, backing away.

"Ah, I see. So he's the reason you're all airy fairy," he said, stroking his imaginary beard.

"Yeah right," I lied.

He kept staring. Mayday. I could feel the heat in my cheeks; I was probably as red as a tomato. Mrs Smith looked at us and I quickly faced the front again, continuing to take notes.

I could never get a break. Straight after exams, we didn't even get a slow easing into new work. We were thrown head first into notes and new content again. Highschool was painful.

"Are you taking down your notes?" I mumbled, noticing that Hunter was just staring at the board, his right arm as still as anything.

"Nope."

"Uh why not?"

"I'll just get them off you."

"Why would you do that?"

"I think, maybe," he contemplated for a moment. "Well, it annoys you, so yeah, it's worth while." The bell rang.

"Well, you can go borrow someone else's notes then." I shut my notebook, picked up my books and made my way to lit.

Yay. Lit. "Today, we'll discuss the main themes and meanings of A Streetcar Named Desire," Mrs Meller announced, scrawling the title on the whiteboard with a bubble around it.

I might as well smash my head onto the desk.

"Did you finish reading the play?" Jenny asked.

"Yup. You?" I replied.

"Yeah. What'd you think?"

"I don't know. I hate Stanley. I hate Stella. I didn't like Mitch, and I didn't even like Blanche that much. I just felt sorry for her."

Mrs Meller continued writing up the main themes on the board. Desire and lust were among the words she wrote up. "Any other themes?" She asked aloud. No one said anything. Then Jenny raised her hand. "Yes?" Mrs Meller said, gesturing to Jenny.

"The creation of a facade to hide the truth," she answered.

"Very good," Mrs Meller commented. "You will have plenty to discuss about this in the upcoming essay."

I wasn't a contributor in lit; I was a leecher. I wrote down all the ideas and when the time came for an essay, I compiled them and expanded.

Sometimes the ideas were so out there, I didn't even know which planet they'd been taken from.

School days were truly mundane. It was painful to know that I would have to go through a sport lesson soon. The day slowly came to a close, and my boredom gave way to some skewed feeling of excitement.