Her Fall from Heaven

Wow, She's... A Weirdo

Ben

Why does lunch feel ten times longer when you're in detention? I stare in fascination as the hands of the clock hanging above Mrs. Shepard's desk seem to move in slow motion.

"Uhhh." I groan impatiently for the fifth time now. I hate last lunch.

And, also for the fifth time, Mrs. Shepard snaps, "Be quiet." I also hate her.

I roll my eyes. How is it that no one else managed to get lunch detention today? I alone am forced to sit in a dark, dingy classroom with an annoying teacher I had had Freshman year in Algebra II. Which basically means that she hates my guts. Hey, it's not my fault that math sucks. Aka, I like to throw paper airplanes around the classroom sometimes and occasionally block the door with chairs when the teacher is out of the room. Sue me.

"Can I leave now? There are only two minutes left and—"

"Mr. Brier. If you so refuse to remain silent for any extended period of time, I will have no guilt in sending you directly to the principal for ISS. Do I make myself clear?" Mrs. Shepard sends me a withering look, her fingers clutching maddeningly to her desk's edge.

Laying my head down on my arms, I mumble, "Yes, ma'am..."

And just as I say that, the bell rings.

"Haha! Yes!" I spring to my feet and, grabbing my binder and books from the desk beside me, I proceed to sprint to the door before Mrs. Shepard can make any objections. I run out into the hallway and towards my next class. Which is, coincidently enough, a different math classroom. Or more specifically, Pre-Calc.

Last year in Algebra II, I had absolutely dreaded Pre-Calc the next year. My mother insists that math is a very valuable skill and I should take as many courses as I can while in high school. Lucky me...

Anyway, Pre-Calc had been taught by Mrs. Vera, an uncommonly cruel teacher who sent students home with double the workload they had in class. She had the eyes of a hawk, and I'd gotten in detention by her hand more times than I could care to count. But she'd retired at the end of the last school year, and Mr. Myers had stepped in to fill the role.

Mr. Myers is a pretty pale man in his mid-thirties, with salt-and-pepper hair and a short beard. He wears stylish, thick-rimmed glasses and button-up shirts. He likes to meddle in the affairs of high schoolers and gladly welcomes any gossip we have to share with him. Despite the fact that math is the bane of my existence, I genuinely enjoy his class.

I stroll leisurely through the crowds of bustling students, watching as they part around me like water.

Ahh. The perks of popularity.

Some random blond girl-I-forget-the-name-of presses the whole length of her body up against me while giving me a flirty smile, and I gently push her away. She pouts at me, flicking her hair over her shoulder, before sashaying back into the sea of students.

What was I saying about popularity? Hmmm... sometimes it's just a tad disgusting.

I catch sight of Kaleb's back through the bobbing heads. I quicken my pace and sling an arm around his shoulders, still walking. "Hey, my man! How were the Maldives?"

"Pretty okay, I guess." He has a bored look on his face.

I roll my eyes. "Dude, if I had my own island, I wouldn't be sounding like that." He just shrugs his shoulders.

"I don't know, it was pretty cool at first, but..." He trails off.

"But...?" I echo.

"After, y'know, the fiftieth time, it's just boring. And I know my parents only got it to brag to their friends." Kaleb runs his hand through his dirty-blond hair. The silence lengthens.