"I'm your new art teacher..."

I keep my head down and walk in to resume my seat at the back of the class. Slipknot's 'Vendetta' soothing me. I open my sketchbook and carry on with my sketch I had started at home last night. A girl with a mask, bits chipped away revealing her skin beneath.

"Uh hello everyone, your art teacher Mrs Low has left for the rest of the year due to an operation, so uh I'm your new art teacher," A male voice stumbles.

"And what's your name?" A popular slut flirts.

"Uh Mr Way."

I look up and lock eyes with him. I instantly look away. He only looks about 21 at the most. He's got shoulder length greasy hair, which looks incredibly hot in my opinion. Pale skin and skinny. He's wearing black skinnies with a white dress top, a black waistcoat and a red tie.

He begins the roll and a bunch of yeses ring out in the room.

"Emma?"

"Uhuh," I look up.

I lock eyes and feel my cheeks heat up, I look away again.

"*Cough* whore *cough* *cough*" The popular whore taunts.

Mr Way shoots her a dirty look but she smirks it off.

"Okay now would anyone like help? Or advise on their artwork?" Mr Way asks.

"Yea Mr Way," She bats her eyelashes.

I groan and pick up my by along with my sketchbook. I walk over to the back door and open it catching Mr Way's eye. He sends a puzzling glance but I cast my eyes firmly down and walk out. I sit in my usual place just outside on the cold concrete leaning my back against the orange brick wall. I shove both headphones in my ears and continue to sketch. The bell rings signaling the period was over. I shut my sketchbook and standing up, picking my bag up as well. I take out one headphone and walk through the door.

"Alright have a good day and I think we have art 4th period tomorrow," Mr Way says.

My eyes still firmly set on the ground I shuffle over to the door.

"Uh it's Emma right?" A voice asks.

I look up at Mr Way and nod, "Em."

He nods and arches and eyebrow, "Any reason why you sit outside in the cold?"

I resume my eyes to the floor and dig my nails into my palms. I shrug while slowly walking towards the door. I take a last glance at Mr Way and notice his eyebrows are knitted together with a mixture of concern and confusion. I brush it aside and step into the crowed hallway. My breathe hitches in my throat and I start to panic. I tug and my sleeves and walk fast down the hall to my English class. Everyone is already seated and as I walk in the teacher gives me a filthy look but let's it slide this time, since everyone is silent reading and she doesn't want to make a scene. I get out my book and open it, beginning to read. My English teacher has never liked me since day one. I've had we three years in a row for English. She's a grumpy old lady who's about early 60's.

"Okay books down. Where analyzing sonnet 116 today," She says standing up and clapping her hands together with a booming thud.

A bunch of groans escape people's mouths. I sigh and lean back in my chair.

"Time to sleep," I murmur.

The beauty is, in English I don't have to listen cause I already know this and the teacher gets pissy when I don't listen but get the questions she fires at me, correct. My eyelids droop and I nearly fall asleep but I'm saved by the bell. I grip my sketchbook to my chest and sling my bag over my shoulder before fast walking out the door. I just manage to get out of the hallway before the horror's flood the hallways. I walk to the bleachers and lay down on the very top one while shoving both headphones in and clasping my hands together on my stomach. I close my eyes and let the sun beat down on me. I can't fall asleep, sensing someone watching me. I turn my head towards the running oval and I can faintly see a figure turning towards me, a cigarette hanging out of their mouth.

"Damn I'd kill for a cig," I murmur to myself while starring up at the cloudless sky again.

A few minutes later when my iPod is changing from one song to another, I hear footsteps coming up the bleachers to where I'm laying. My body snaps up and I pull out one of my headphones. She stands there with a scowl on her makeup covered face.

I scoff, "And what the hell do you want?"

"I don't know maybe a little pay back?" She spits while advancing closer.

I swing my feet over the side and stand up.

"For what?" I clench my fists.

She simply reaches out and slaps my across the face but before I can respond with a punch, she snatches my sketchbook before running down the bleachers like a pansy. I groan at the stinging sensation in my face.

"Damn for a popular whore she slaps pretty hard," I think before bolting after her, taking two or three stairs at a time.

She takes the stairs to the ground but I take leap of faith landing a meter at most away from her. My hand connects with her pretty dress pulling her towards me. She turns and I sock her in the side of the neck. She falls over cold. I gather up the loose drawing that flew out of my book when I punched her. I turn around and return to the top of the bleachers.