I balance my books in the crook of my left arm while juggling a stack of sketching paper and a coffee cup in my right hand. My shoulders ache from the heavy backpack that sags down my back. I dodge students quite clumsily, almost spilling my coffee twice before reaching the art room. As soon as I’m through the door, I sigh in relief and carelessly drop my books onto the first table I come across, setting my coffee down beside them. The sketches are still in my hands as I make my way across of the room.
Mrs. Boots doesn’t even look up from grading her students’ assignments this whole time but she does know that I’ve stopped in front of her desk. I toss the stack of paper in front of her causing her to look up at me with an amused twinkle in her eyes.
“I need your opinion.” I sigh, dropping to my knees beside her desk to rest my legs for a moment.
She raises a slim eyebrow. Her greying hair gets flipped over her shoulder before reaching across her desk to pick up the stack. Her mud colored eyes survey the first sketch for a moment before they look into my own hazel ones.
“What do you need exactly, Reese?” she asks airily. She almost sounds sarcastic, as if she wants to laugh.
“I really want to do one of the school murals this year.” I plead.
“Reese, you know I’m not the only one that chooses the painters for the murals.” She tells me while flipping through the papers, “I like this one.” She adds before continuing to flip through them.
“I know…but I was hoping that maybe you could put in a good note for me.” My request sounding more like a question
“I know you’ve been working very hard. You have been since you started school here two years ago, but the seniors are usually the ones who do the murals, not the juniors.” She says sympathetically.
“I was just hoping…”
“I know.” She says while handing the papers back. “They are very good.” She nods approvingly.
With a sigh, I stand up, and retrieve my sketches before turning away to get my things.
“Are you coming in during lunch, again?” Mrs. Boot’s voice follows me.
“I always do, don’t I?” I look over my shoulder, forcing a not-too-convincing smile.
She only nods before returning to her grading.
I stuff my sketches into my bag and pull the strap onto my shoulder. I replace my books in the crook of my arm and grab my coffee, letting it warm my hands while I step outside the classroom. As soon as I’m out the door, I get run over by a scraggly looking guy with long greasy hair, causing my coffee to spill all over me.
I stop in my tracks, mouth ajar and skin tingling from the heat of the beverage. My grey shirt now stained with the dark liquid that is dripping on the hem of my jeans. The guy doesn’t even bother to help or apologize, just continues on his way.
I feel my temper rise, my face redden, and my blood boil. I let out a strangled scream under my breath and throw my arms about in frustration. Luckily it’s still early in the morning and not many students are around the building. I take a deep breath and cross my arms to cover the stain while I walk down to the gym locker room. Embarrassed doesn’t even begin to explain what I’m feeling right now. First, I get my hopes crushed for the school mural and now I’m soaked with coffee. Quite honestly, I’m hot headed and it’s clearly evident as I burst into the locker room and start cursing up a storm.
I stalk to my gym locker and twirl the lock angrily, pulling out my clothes in a huff. It’s a good thing I keep a spare outfit for things like this, because this has happened more than once. You’d think I’d get the hint and stop drinking coffee all together, but being the moron I am, I continue on with it. I strip out of my coffee stained clothes and trade them for a simple green sweatshirt and a different pair of jeans. I stomp to the mirror to tie my auburn hair up into a ponytail, letting my bangs fall freely around my face.
Pausing for a moment, I examine my features. Nothing too special. I wouldn’t say I’m particularly “average” looking, because I’m not. Is there even such a thing as being average, anyway? I’m on the shorter side, thin with some curves, but not anything that would make a guys head turn. My jaw is on the stronger side, my cheek bones subtle. I have a small nose that is ever so slightly turned up and large hazel eyes hiding underneath eyebrows that teeter on the thicker side. My lips are my least favorite because my lower lip is rather full while my upper lip is thin with an exaggerated cupids bow. People might describe me as cute, but I don’t see it. I see strength and independence in my features, not helplessness and “cute”.
Sighing, I step away from the mirror and turn away towards the bench where I dropped my stuff. Feeling slightly calmer now that I’m dry, I pick up my backpack and head out of the locker room.
Now students are starting to arrive and the hallways are filling up rapidly. Shoes skid and squeak, and conversations get louder. I absolutely hate people. Well, not all people, but the majority. They have no respect for anyone but themselves, they ignore and irritate the teachers, and they are all nasty to one another. Actually, maybe I don’t hate people, just other teenagers. In fact, I hate the male population more than the females.Guys smell, they’re obnoxious, and their brains are the size of a walnut.
The only things I actually enjoy about high school are art and literature class. They get my creative juices flowing. I love it. I love paint, chalk, books, poems, pencils, paper—heck, give me the art department and lock the door. I’ll never get bored. There are just a few problems though. My art class is full of creeps but my literature class wouldn’t be so bad if it weren’t for Justin Knight.
Justin Knight is cocky, self-absorbed, pathetic, moronic, and simply gorgeous—and he knows it. He’s a heartthrob with his spiky brunette hair, grey eyes, and perfectly tanned skinned. It’s like he was a designer baby or something. He’s horrible, though. At least I think so. He arrives late to class, cracks jokes and ticks the teacher off, he hits on every girl he knows, and he happens to be in a band. He does everything from play the guitar, to writing songs, to playing covers of hit songs at a local modern café downtown. He and his friends named the band “Heartbreakers”. With a name like that you’d think the girls would avoid him like the plague, but no. They fall head over heels for the lead singer and get their hearts shattered into a thousand pieces. Shame. You’d think they’d know better.
I sit through algebra, history, and chemistry before slipping into Literature Studies. The room is always chilly and has the faint smell of yellowing paper. Miss Myers sits behind her desk clicking away on her computer. I shuffle over to my assigned desk and drop my backpack onto it, which causes the desk to groan as if in pain. I walk over to the front and lean over Miss Myers desk.
“We’re starting Anne of Green Gables, right?” I muse, nodding to the stack of worn green books piled high on top of her desk.
She swivels around in her sit and smiles brightly at me. Her strawberry blond hair catches light from the suns rays streaming in through the window. She’s in her mid-thirties but looks twenty-one.
“Aren’t you excited?” she gushes like a schoolgirl, “I even have a new seating chart. It’s like a fresh start after To Kill a Mockingbird.”
“New seating chart?” I’m getting a sinking feeling in stomach. Let’s just say that I have the best seat in the class. I’m surrounded by intellectual beings, it’s a nice environment. With a new seating chart, I could get thrown under the bus and kicked up next to someone who needs to ask to borrow my notes every day.
“Yes ma’am. Sorry in advance.” She says, her eyes softening before turning back to her computer.
I scowl and hesitate before turning back to my desk. Sorry in advance? What’s that supposed to mean? Am I going to be surrounded by the worst set of people imaginable? The people who fall asleep, ask pointless questions, throw paper airplanes as if we’re back in elementary school? Is this my fate? I set my backpack on the floor and sink into my seat. The bell rings a few seconds later and everyone sits down. Miss Myers practically skips to the front of the room.
“Alright, to get started I have a new seating chart. Everyone up.” She motions for us to come to the front of the classroom with her.
We all get up slowly and grumpily and go to the front. Miss Myers touches each desk while saying a name and the student moves to take their seat.
“Ben, Savanna, Jake, Hunter…” the list continues and the group narrows down. She gets to the very back of the classroom in the third out of four rows and calls my name. Back of the classroom? Not bad at all. I have Nicky on one side of me, a plump brunette with glasses who never talks, and a mystery person on the other side.
I take my seat and wait. The last person she calls is the mystery person that will be sitting on my right side. Problem is, there are no other students at the front of the classroom to take their seat next to me. So, who’s going to sit there? My question is answered with the classroom door flying open and a loud, obnoxious greeting.
“Hey, Jen! What’d I miss?”
Miss Myers turns on her heel, obviously flustered about being called by her first name. Her eyes instantly turn into daggers.
“Where’s your pass, Mr. Knight?” she asks, her voice dripping with impatience.
He holds up a bright orange pass and sets it on her desk, giving it a pat for good measure. He smiles sweetly at her then looks at the class in a confused fashion.
“Hey, something has changed.” He notes, stroking his chin.
“Yes, we have a new seating chart. Now please take your seat behind Arthur and next to Reese.” Her voice strains to keep calm.
I scowl at him while he walks up the aisle and flings his backpack under the desk and sloppily sitting down. He puts his feet up on the desk and winks at me.
I make a weird sound in my throat that sounds like a cross between a scowl and a deep sigh. I can’t believe my luck today.