WARNING: Do. Not. Read. This. I was a fetus when I wrote this (like, 13-14ish), so this thing is awful. The only reason I keep this story up is for the people who have been following me for years. In fact, if they didn't practically burn down the White House when I mentioned deleting it, I probably would've already wiped it from my head because...*shudders*
~MC
&& it's funny, really, how many bruises and scars you can hide with a little bit of fabric and a smile...
"Still not seeing the big deal," I muttered to my best friend, who kept going on and on about the new English teacher. She had been pestering me about his British accent all morning, talking about how "sexy" it must be with such an "unimaginably" hot body.
Gag.
"The big deal? Come on, D! He's practically foreign!" Miranda whined, emphasizing her words with her hands, "Don't you have any eye for romance?"
"It's not romance, it's a fairytale. We're Juniors, M, remember? Bottom of the food chain? Or did you forget the threatening gaze from Ms. Queen Bee?"
She pouted and I laughed as she stuck her bottom lip out childishly, "Excuse me for wanting a more exciting life than simply "getting through". High school's supposed to be filled with life and drama. We're already half way through the year; everything was supposed to change when we moved up, but nothing has!"
I rolled my eyes, "So all the fights we've been getting into all year aren't new? How about you pipe down the daydreaming and focus on staying out of trouble? I don't want to have to back you up if you decided to piss off a couple seniors again."
"Please, I'm over that stage," she said, waving me off as if it was a long time ago instead of two minutes ago, "Anyway, the bells about to ring, so I'll see you later! Tell me all about his amazing appearance at lunch~"
I rolled my eyes as she winked, stepping into my first class.
English 12. I know, I know, a junior with a senior class? What, was she a geek? Sadly, no. My talent lied in English and Math, nothing else. I was practically failing my history class and it was only thanks to Miranda that I passed Science last semester.
The seniors always did the same thing every time I walked in – they'd stare at me until I finally sat down – but today was different. Every last one of them were so busy talking about the new teacher that none of them even noticed I had entered the room. Most of the girls were over exaggerating it, saying he probably knew Robert Patterson or he was an actor himself. Others were obsessed over his accent, just like Miranda. They were all like little kids that'd just gotten a new, shiny toy.
I shook my head and tuned them out, gazing out the window. It was unusually windy today, causing the trees in the distance to rock back and forth. The weatherman had predicted a storm with high winds, but I thought that'd include rain, not just tornado-like winds.
Suddenly, everything went silent, dying down to quiet murmurs. I looked at the front of the room and felt my eyes widened.
There stood our new teacher. Or, at least, that's who I thought he was thanks to the way he positioned himself at the front desk, like it was his desk. After setting down the roster, he stepped in front of it, unbuttoning the buttons on the cuffs of his sleeves.
"I'm Mason Carter, your new English teacher," he said in a thick accent, smirking at the attention he was getting, "Originally, I was planning on assigning something for you all to do, but seeing as how I was so late, I guess we'll start with something more clichéd. Like introductions. Anyone have any questions?"
Okay, so I had to give Miranda her credit; his voice was amazing.
I watched as he ran a hand through his dark brown hair, tousling it even more, and stretched out his legs in front of him, bright eyes searching the class.
The girls giggled like airheads and raised their hands.
He pointed to one in the middle row, "You."
Ashley stood up, her teased hair looking pretty rough, "How old are you?"
His smile was breath taking, "I'm 23."
"Are you single?" she asked.
He shook his finger, a playful smile on his face, "Nu-uh. Only one question per person."
Her eyes widened and she melted into her seat with a wishful sigh.
Almost immediately, Tiffany raised her hand, "Are you single?" she repeated.
He chuckled, amused, "Yes, I am single."
Tiffany sat back and crossed her legs, looking too triumphant.
What? Did the whore think she was going to get him?
"What's your favorite thing to do?" a girl with greasy, black hair asked, leaning on her desk and revealing way too much cleavage.
He put his finger to his mouth, thinking, "I would have to say I like swimming."
She leaned back and pouted, unsatisfied with her attempt to woo him.
"No more questions?" When no one raised their hands, he said, "Okay, then it's my turn. I heard there's a junior in here; is she here today?"
I sunk in my chair as everyone turned to me, giving me away. Reluctantly, I stood up, sighing, "That's me."
He eyed me up and down, analyzing, and I pulled at my sleeves unconsciously, "And what's your name?"
I cleared my throat, ignoring his scrutinizing gaze, "Deserae White."
"Ms. White, can you tell me what your favorite type of literature is?"
Well, that wasn't what I was expecting. "Uh, I like Greek mythology, I guess."
"Greek mythology?" he repeated, "Like what?"
"Like the Odyssey," I explain, "or stories about the different Gods."
"Interesting opinion," he mused, thinking, "Thank you, you may sit down now."
Thank god! I plopped back in my seat and watched as he questioned a couple other students.
Without warning, a piece of paper flitted on my desk.
I looked around and saw Tiffany and Ashley smirking. With a manicured nail, she pointed at it and motioned for me to open it.
You know, it's really sad when the new teacher has to take pity on you. Quite pathetic, actually. Don't get cocky just because you won the last fight, freak. Next time you and your friend won't be so luck.
I snorted, crumbling the paper up. I'd like to see that disease-infested girl touch me.
"What's that in your hand?" Mr. Carter was suddenly beside me, looking at the note.
"Um..."
"You're not supposed to pass notes in class, Ms. White," he grabbed the note from my hand, shaking his head, "This better be the last time." To Tiffany's horror, he placed it on his desk, leaning against it as he addressed the class, "Now, at the end of the week, I would like all of you to have at least an idea of what Shakespeare's play Hamlet is about, understood?" The bell rang, "It as nice meeting you all today. Have a good day."
Everyone hurried out the door, waving to Mr. Carter as they passed.
"Wait a minute, Deserae. Can I talk to you about something? Mr. Carter asked just as I was about to leave.
I groaned, but bit my tongue, "What is it?" I asked, trying to sound patient.
He waited until everyone was out of the room before he asked, "This note," he held up the threat from Tiffany, "who's it from?"
I shrugged, "Who knows."
He studied me for a minute and got up, "I know you know who sent it to you," he said, his voice low and tempting as he stood directly in front of me, "Who?" His hot breath brushed my face.
This guy didn't play fair!
Stubbornly, I looked away, "I said I don't know. It doesn't matter anyway."
He didn't budge, attempting to break me. When he realized I wasn't going to crack, he sighed, "I can't help you if you don't tell me."
I gave up trying to be nice, eyes tightening, "I can take care of myself, thank you very much," I snapped.
He blinked at the sudden change in my voice and smirked, "Definitely interesting," he murmured, amusement dancing in his blue eyes.
The agitation crashed at the simple compliment and I stumbled over something to say, "I-I have to go," And with that, I practically ran out of class.