A/N: THIS WAS REQUESTED BY @Author_Bingette ! Hopefully, it meets up to standards. Thank you so much for the request!
All requests are always welcome! I love being interactive with you guys, so don't be afraid to comment any you might have :)
I like to think of myself as independent. Other people might say stubborn. But I don't think there's anything better than accomplishing something and knowing you did it all by yourself.
For instance. Ever since I was a little tot, I've always taken a liking to those old school musicals and plays. When reaching high school, I found myself comfortably in the heart of a theater group. Through the years, with all efforts and hours I put into the group, I'd my way up in the ranks of a leader of the group.
Although that only just happened two weeks ago, it took long enough.
And to start my big kick-off as the mini manager of the theater group, I was able to produce my very own play.
But being so independent, or stubborn if you like, I'd made a big hullabaloo about setting up and painting all the play props and scenery on my own. Which was all about to be ruined by a boy who couldn't keep himself out of trouble.
"I hope I'm not in trouble." I let out a small chuckle, setting myself down on the chair in front of my principal's desk. Squirming slightly at the un-comfortableness of the seat, my principal let out a chesty laugh staring with his piercing blue eyes behind his thick glasses across the desk.
"Far from y/n," He assured, leaning back in his desk chair. He set his hands before him on the wooden surface, fingers intertwined. "But, I'm not sure if you're going to like what I have to say,"
A hole was poked into my stomach, I prayed sightly it wouldn't devour me with what he was going to say. "Really?" I cringed slightly, fixing my posture as I sat up straight. "Is it anything bad?"
"Depends," He hummed slowly. The hole in my stomach was already beginning to gape. "How would you feel having an extra pair of hands for the next two weeks preparing the props and scenery for your play?"
And that was it. The hole had absolutely swallowed me. "I don't need help," I replied automatically, my voice stern. Before I realised my rudeness, I kept eye contact trying to convince him. "I and the team have already spoken it all through. I can get it finished by myself,"
He gave a small smile. "It's not that I don't believe you y/n," He raised his brows in an expression of sincerity. "It's just, we've got a student that'll be in detention for the next two weeks. I thought it'd be good for him to do something practical,"
For him? Whose he?
"What about the other club projects? Surely there's something else for him to do?" A part of me knew there was no convincing him otherwise. The part of me that was already swallowed that is.
He blinked a few times, before shaking his head at me hesitantly. "It'll be good for you to get some help on the project,"
Good for me? Does this guy know me? At all?
I enjoy my alone time. My time. My me time. Not being stuck with some other student who can't keep away from trouble.
I swallowed uncomfortably. Before taking a breath in. "Is there any chance this is debatable?"
Then he shook his head a second time. His rectangular framed glasses inching further down his nose in the action. "I'm afraid not,"
-
Help? Define help for me. Isn't help just an option? Surely you can't help someone who doesn't need it?
I felt a scowl growing on my face as I focused on painting the wooden house prop the woodwork club had created as their project. The reminder that this boy would stroll through the theater doors any second was chipping away at my patience, as I dipped the thick wooden handled brush into the red paint can.
If I ever needed help, why would it be from anyone else that's only doing it as a punishment? It'll be all half-arsed, slacking and sloppy work that I'd know I could do better.
As I continued to run the red paint on the wooden structure, the theater doors banging heavily shut had pulled me out of my self-pity
I bit my tongue, peering over my shoulder to see who I'd be stuck with for the next two weeks after school.
I bit it even harder when I saw Billie Joe walking past all the theater seats coming my way.
Let it be said. I don't like Billie Joe. But I don't dislike him either.
I guess we've never really spoken. Unless you count him bugging me in math class for the answers a conversation.
"I'm not surprised to see you're scowling at me already," Billie chuckled, strolling over to the stage where I was stood upon.
"You know." I began, placing the brush down on the newspapers upon the stages floor. "You can just take a seat somewhere. I don't really need the help,"
He ignored my suggestion, his dirty sneakers echoing through the room as he made his way on the stage. "You're as stubborn as they warned me,"
I let out a sigh as Billie stood a few feet away from me. "I'm serious Billie Joe,"
A lopsided grin appeared across the boy's lips. "So am I,"
"How about you go take a seat around backstage." I muttered, picking my brush back up. "I've got this,"
"Aww come on, I wore my least favourite shirt for this shit,"
I sucked a breath in, trying to refrain from losing patience as I kept my back to him. Continuing to paint. "Well, I refuse to work with anyone who A, is only helping for a punishment and B, refers to it as 'this shit',"
"Last thing I remember, this isn't any of our choice," He replied snidely. He's been in this theater for two minutes and I can already feel him getting under my skin.
I sighed again, turning back to him as I made my way over to him. I handed him the paintbrush I was previously using. "You think you can manage to finish that house?"
"I'm not incompitent y/n,"
I began to walk away behind the stage to grab more paint and brushes, mumbling under my breath. "That's what you think,"
I tried not to take long leaving Billie Joe unauthorised as I made my way back on stage. Dropping three more cans of different coloured paint on the stage. A wooden handled brush between my teeth.
"So what's your play about anyway?" Billies attempt to make small talk made my eyes roll as I took the brush out of my mouth. Watching him paint the small house red.
"We don't have to talk through this y'know." I mumbled, picking up the screwdriver as I attempted to pop the painting cans lid off.
"Look," He replied sternly, turning his body to face me as he paused from painting. "I get it, you didn't want help- or need it or whatever. But it wouldn't hurt to be a little friendly,"
I blinked at him silently for a few seconds. Before he huffed, turning his attention back to painting as I continued to struggle with the lid.
If I was going to be stuck with him for two more weeks during my time after school, he was right.
"It's about this girl," I began, noticing out of the corner of my eyes he'd turned his neck to see me. "Who's a professional thief. But she falls in love with the sheriff of the police. There's a lot of them making mistakes on purpose until, in a shoot-out, the sheriff accidentally hits her. The whole town praises him but y'know, he didn't mean to do it,"
"Does she die?" He asked as I noticed I had his full attention.
"Keep painting,"
"Sorry." He mumbled, turning back around, continuing.
"Yeah, she does die,"
"Not your average love story," He shrugged his shoulders as I gave up with the paint lid. "I like it though,"
I squinted my eyes at him as if trying to read if he was lying or not. But the boy was unreadable. "Really?"
"Really." He turned his head again, a small sincere smile. "Need some help with that paint can?"
"Umm.." I looked back at it, picking the screwdriver back up. "No, I got it,"
It was painfully embarrassing as Billie watched me struggle. I could hear sniggering slightly. Before he spoke back up. "C'mere." He laughed, walking over as he held out his hand for the screwdriver.
I let out a defeated sigh, placing it in the palm of his hand standing back up straight. Billie Joe crouched down, and within two seconds he popped the lid off. Smiling up at me. "See? Helps not so bad all the time,"
I'm not sure what had changed, but Billie had done a good job at winning me over. Although, it goes unmentioned I still would rather be doing all this by myself.
I gave him my first smile, shaking my head as he stood up. "That's what you think,"
"C'mon, I think we'll get along,"
"That's what you think,"
His thick brows raised, creases appearing on his forehead. "You don't agree?"
"We'll have to see when this is all over,"
A/N: Okay, this is getting long so I'll have to do a part two to this. Hopefully you guys enjoy this enough to be intrested. Stay tuned!! :DDD