My Teacher, Louis Tomlinson

Chapter 1- Surprise

Luckily, I put up my arms in time to block most of the pasta from burning my face, but the result was a couple dozen welts on my forearms. Great. This means I need to wear long sleeves tomorrow.

I know better than to yell at him when he’s drunk, so I just cleaned up the pasta and broken glass (resulting in cuts on my hands… can’t really hide those) and quickly went upstairs. I said hi to my mother who was lounging in the room she shared with my father. I don’t blame her. The farther away from Dad, the better. I grabbed the letter from school off my desk and carefully opened it, glancing quickly through the standard letter to parents and soaking in all of my class information.

1st Period: Biology I

2nd Period: Calculus I

3rd Period: English I

4th Period: Spanish II

5th Period: Lunch

6th Period: Music

MUSIC? FUCKING MUSIC? WHERE THE HELL DID THAT COME FROM!?

I took music last year and absolutely HATED it. I mean, I love to sing and I dabble a bit in piano and guitar, but the people were horrendous. Most all of the pimp-posse was there, and we were constantly doing group projects with assigned partners. That was hell.

What am I gonna do?

~~~School the next day~~~

“Good morning staff and students! Welcome to the first day of the new semester! Remember to enjoy all of your new classes. If you have a problem with your schedule, please go to the classes you have been assigned and meet with a counselor during your lunch period. That’s all for this morning, ladies and gentlemen, and remember, keep it classy.”

Are you fucking kidding me? Now I have to go to a counselor during lunch. Fuck.

The day slowly went by, full of boring lectures about guidelines from each instructor. By lunch, I was ready to pass out.

But no.

I had to go see a friggin counselor because some skank-ass ho fucked up my schedule.

The guidance office was pretty packed with upset teenagers, so I had to wait a while before my turn. In fact, it was less than a couple minutes until I had to go to the dreaded class.

“What can I help you with, sweetie?” Some fake, crayon-faced counselor inquired.

“Um, there’s a mistake on my schedule. Instead of Creative Writing, I’m stuck in Music.”

The woman tapped into her computer for a bit before emitting a kraken-like giggle.

“Oh sweetheart, that’s no mistake! Ms. Drake signed you up for it!”

Ms. Drake. My old music teacher. The only decent person at this school.

I didn’t know what to say. I was dumbfounded. Well, maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. As long as she was teaching it, I’d get through it.

“Uh, sorry. Thanks.” I mumbled at the woman as I awkwardly scooted my chair back and stood up.

I mean, I’m bummed about not being able to take creative writing, but hopefully the pimp-posse won’t be all up in my business this time.

Hopefully.

I walked into music a good 15 minutes late. Yeah, I coulda made it only five minutes late, but I basically stalled. She wouldn’t care. She liked me. I checked the room number one more time. Yep. Her room. I knocked on the door and waited for a second. It sounded like a bunch of dying whales in there. They must be doing warm ups.