Not So Unwilling: Chapter Two

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Hey! I'm uploading again in the same night!!

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Well, anyway, here's the second chapter.

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Chapter Two

                The rest of the day I spent wracking my brain for all the bad things I had ever done in my life. There really wasn't much that I came up with. I tee-peed a house once when I was in eighth grade when I had gone out with my friends who weren't like me in my goody-two-shoes ways on Mischief Night. I had cheated on one of my boyfriends, but that was because he cheated on me and broke my heart first. I had once been in on a prank in sophomore year where we stuck my old cell phone in the ceiling and set it on alarm for every minute and it would play Shots by LMFAO, the explicit version. It was hilarious. The teacher got so aggravated that she made us put all our phones on her desk and it was so funny when after she had taken every single cell phone and put it on her desk, you hear a Shots, shots, shots, shots, shots, shots, shots, shots, shots, shots. Everyone in the class was on the verge of dying of laughter, even the very dedicated students and the painfully shy people in class. And the only other thing I could think of was the time I went to a party and got really drunk and even took a couple puffs of pot right after I found out a serious boyfriend (now ex-boyfriend) was cheating on me. But that was pretty much all I had done that was really bad. I mean I cheated once in a while, but only in Italian class because I couldn't help it that the smartest guy in the school sat right in front of me and I even drove over the speed limit when I was in a real rush to get to school. None of these things I had done were enough to ruin me, although my parents would get pretty mad if they heard about the party.

                I spent the rest of my day going to all my classes in a complete daze: thinking and wondering. My friends kept asking me what was wrong, but I just blamed it on cramps and they left me alone, especially my guy friends. After lunch, I had AP Statistics with Mrs. Davidson, who I had my freshman year for Geometry. I wasn't too fond of her. She was like a horse. She neighed when she laughed and her teeth looked like they belonged munching on hay and apples and oats.

                I walked into class and stopped when I spotted Timothy Lenoir sitting backwards on a chair talking to a guy in our grade, Grant Zink, who was six foot seven and two hundred and fifty something pounds. He was the Varsity Football teams Michael Ore so to say. I cursed my luck at having this class with Tim. And of course I was going to sit right in front of him because every teacher in the history of teachers always puts the seating chart in alphabetical order, well at least all the teachers I've ever had.

                I plopped down in a seat next to a friend of mine from the soccer team and talked to her about our first day of senior year and how we were going to kick ass this year in soccer although all our star players had graduated and went to college. Mrs. Davidson walked into the classroom looking ten years older than when I had her as a freshman. I was pretty sure she had gone through a divorce or something difficult like that.

                "Alright, class, stand in the back of the room and I'll give you your seats," Mrs. Davidson said taking a clipboard from her Vera Bradley tote bag and walking to the very first desk. "Brandon Acer... Kylie Adler...  HollyBay... Jacque Bundy... Tyler DeSimone... Marina Disawinathian..." she read weaving her ways through the desks, "Randy Lancer... Jasmine Leno... Tim Lenoir." I sighed heavily and slid into my seat. I once again cursed the inventor of the desk with the attached chair when Tim once again linked his fingers through my belt loops.

                "Hello, again, baby," he whispered. I noticed Grant looking at us with a smirk on his face. I stuck my tongue out at him and he laughed and looked away.

                "Stop touching me for God's sakes, Tim, and stop calling my "baby"," I said, prying his hot fingers off of me.

                "Fine, how about I call you pumpkin butt or maybe muffin cakes or butter biscuits or my personal favorite shmoopie whoopie?"

                "Oh my God, there is something really wrong with you, Timothy," I said, trying hard not to laugh at how he said shmoopie whoopie.

                "Bad, shmoopie," he said, slapping the small of my back which wasn't covered by the chair.

                Class started after Mrs. Davidson gave everyone their seats and Tim stopped talking to me although he continued touching my back, wrapping his hands around my waist, and sticking his fingers in my back pockets. I can't tell you how many times I had to slap his hands away. He never got the hint though and I was unable to focus because I kept trying to figure out what Tim knew about me that was so bad. I planned on asking him after class was over. It was eighth period, the last class of the day, so I had plenty of time to corner him and beat a confession out of him. I had a feeling though, that whatever Tim knew, he was never going to let it go until I did in fact kiss him.


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Love, Mel Bell <3

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