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The weekend flew by and it was Monday before I knew it. I was kind of scared to go to school, to be honest. I basically hung out with my math teacher on Friday night, and it definitely didn’t feel like he was my teacher. I feel like it’s just going to be a giant reality check on how I can’t ever have him.
My small crush has definitely developed into a slightly bigger crush on him. But, how could you not like him? He was nearly perfect.
I honestly tried not liking him, trust me, I don’t exactly WANT to have a crush on my teacher, but I can’t help it. I still know nothing is going to happen with us, but I can’t help but wish something could.
Scottie was filled in on everything that happened on Friday night, although it was nothing much. He saw us on the tire swing and demanded details as soon as I arrived home from the drive from hell.
Scottie and I got to school early for once, and we just stood by my locker until the bell ring.
Harry- I mean Mr. Styles- walked past me without so much as a glance in my direction. Ouch.
I rolled my eyes and turned toward Scottie who definitely noticed that as well.
He sent me a sympathetic smile and said, “Don’t worry your pretty little head,” before patting it and finishing, “He just doesn’t know how to act around you at school.”
I nodded, because yeah, I didn’t know how to act around him either.
The warning bell went off and Scottie and I parted ways, me making my way to Mr. Style’s classroom.
When I walked in, only half of the seats were filled and Mr. Styles looked up when he heard the door shut behind me. He offered me a smile, which I returned before going to my seat next to Cassidy.
“Hey,” I said plopping down in my chair and throwing my things on my desk.
“Hi,” she replied with a smile before the bell rang.
Class went by fast, with Mr. Styles subtly glancing at me. Every time he did so, I sent him a smile to which he returned.
I felt really happy walking out of class that day, although I still had no idea what was even going on in the learning part of it.
The rest of the day was uneventful, same old same old school. Nothing new there.
That night I went home and practiced my flappy bird skills because I only had until tomorrow to beat him and with my high score of 68 I was fairly certain that it wasn’t going to happen. Which means I’d have to spend two weeks of detention with Mr. Styles.
Maybe that wouldn’t be so bad though.
I still wanted the satisfaction of beating him, though, so I spent my entire night trying to. By the time 8 o clock rolled around, I had gotten to 89 but I had to do my homework. I took a break to finish that and then went right back to it, determined to beat his damn score of 127.
I fell asleep after I got to 102, happy that I at least got past 100.
The next morning, I woke up and got right back onto flappy bird. I’m not sure if he even remembers our little bet, but if he does I sure as hell wanna be the one who won.
I skipped getting ready by just changing my clothes and pulling my hair up into a bun. I also put on very minimal makeup, as I wanted to be done as soon as possible.
After eating an apple, I got right back into the game and was worse today than I was yesterday at it. I couldn’t even get past 60, which I was doing almost every try last night.
I was frustrated and then I looked at the clock to see it was 7:15. I groaned and got my keys to leave the house for school.
When I picked Scottie up, I threw my phone in his lap.
“Hey, can you get to 127 for me on that game, please?” I asked him as I couldn’t play Flappy Bird whilst driving. That’s illegal and very dangerous.
He laughed. Loudly.
“Mer, I’m still on 78, I can’t get to 127, are you crazy? Why do you need that much anyways?” He asked me, but he still grabbed my phone and played the stupid game.
“Just a bet I have with somebody. I need to get to 127 before today or I lose,” I explained, being very vague. I don’t know why I wasn’t telling him the full truth, to be honest, I think he’d make a bigger deal out of it then it actually is.
“What’s the bet?” He asked me, seemingly uninterested.
I was okay with leaving out details, but I didn’t want to intentionally lie to him, so I told him the truth.
“If I don’t beat it I have to sit in detention for two weeks,” I groaned while keeping my eyes on the road.
“Would this person you have a bet with happen to be a teacher?” Scottie asked me and I knew that if I were to look at him right now he’d be raising his eyebrow. I turned and sure enough, he was.
“Maybe,” I said, trying to get him to drop the subject.
“Oh my God! Miranda, he wants to hangout with you! Why else would he want you to go to detention for two weeks. Wait, does he watch the detention people or no?” He asked me and I simply replied, “Yeah, he does.”
“Oh em gee, that is so crazy. Fuck that, then, I’m not gonna try and get 127 for you. You deserve to spend two weeks in detention with Mr. Styles, why would you even want to win that bet? What do you get if you win?” He questioned.
“Extra credit, Scottie, which I reaalllly need. I have a feeling I’m gonna fail his class this year,” I said, completely serious. It’s only been a week and I’m already confused as fuck.
“I’m sure Mr. Styles will give you extra credit for something else,” He said suggestively and I groaned as we pulled into the school.
“But seriously, just ask him for help. He probably wouldn’t care, looks like he’s doing everything to try and spend time with you anyways, he might as well help you with your work while he’s at it,” he continued.
“No he’s not, it’s just a bet. We’re late though, so come on,” I pulled him out of my car before locking it and walking with him into the school.
During Mr. Style’s class we had a worksheet that I literally had no idea what to do on so I just sat there, doodling on the back.
A figure started blocking the light from my worksheet so I looked up and there stood Mr. Styles.
He flipped my paper over and noticed that nothing was on it. He flicked his head back, signaling toward the door before turning around and walking toward it. I wordlessly followed him and we walked out into the hallway. He sat down on the floor and leaned against the lockers, patting the spot next to him for me to sit down.
I did and then he said, “Shit, be right back.”
I laughed at his cursing, it sounded weirder when we were in school.
He got up and went back into the classroom before returning with a clipboard and pencil.
He plopped down next to me and said, “Okay, so are you confused by this worksheet or are you just lazy and don’t feel like doing it?”
“Both,” I replied with a smirk, and he returned one before beginning to explain number one to me.
I leaned closer to him in order to see the clip board and what he was writing down, and it made a ton more sense now that he explained it like that.
He told me to try number two, which I did, but I got the wrong answer.
“You missed that step right there,” he said, pointing his eraser at the first problem.
“Ohhhh,” I said, feeling stupid before grabbing the pencil and clipboard back to redo it.
The second time, I got it right and he lifted his left hand up before saying, “High five!”
I smiled and high fived him before continuing down the worksheet.
When I was finished, he looked over my work and pointed out the few mistakes I made, which I then corrected.
“Very good,” he said before setting down the clipboard and pencil to his left.
“I don’t wanna go back in there,” I muttered, playing with my fingers out of habit.
“Me either,” he admitted and it got silent again.
He turned to face me, “It’s Tuesday, you know,” he said, and I decided to play dumb.
“Yeah, and tomorrow’s Wednesday,” I replied, laughing.
He rolled his eyes and continued, “Tuesday, as in, today was the last day you had to beat my score at flappy bird. Did you?” He asked me and I didn’t know if I should just lie and say I beat him or tell him the truth.
I went with the first option, “Yes,” I said and he looked surprised.
“Prove it,” he said and I inwardly groaned. Of course he wants the damn proof.
“I don’t have my phone on me, but I beat it,” I stated, matter of factly.
He didn’t look convinced. He looked down at my pocket, and sure enough you could see the bulge of my phone sticking out of my front pocket. I inwardly groaned again.
Before we both knew it, he stuck his hand down my damn pocket, which by the way, I don’t think is allowed, and grabbed my phone. I tried getting it back out of his hands, but he was like a foot taller than me and his arms were unbelievably long, therefore I couldn’t get my phone back even if my life depended on it.
“Let’s see,” he mumbled to himself, opening up the Flappy Bird app and I rolled my eyes. He’s so annoying.
“High score: 102, which if I’m adding correctly, is 25 less than my high score. Meaning, you did not beat me. Which means that you, Miranda Groves, need to spend two weeks in detention with me,” he grinned triumphantly and I wanted to smack the stupid smirk off of his face.
I rolled my eyes, “I had 130 last night, there must be a glitch,” I tried, not willing to admit that I lost to him.
“Don’t be a sore loser, Randi,” he said tauntingly.
“Shut up,” I said, grabbing my phone back and shoving it into my pocket, “You’re gonna get me in trouble for having my phone out.”
“No I wouldn’t, I’d just tell whoever it was it was my phone. Teachers are allowed to have them,” He stated proudly.
“Cool,” I said sarcastically and he tried getting my phone out of my pocket again, “If that’s how you’re gonna act, I might just confiscate your phone myself,” he said, trying to stick his huge ass fingers down my pocket.
I squirmed, doing everything in my power to keep him out but I was unsuccessful, as he got it out easily and held it up in the air again.
Curse my parents for making me short.
I gave up and crossed my arms, “Whatever,” I stated as he started looking through my phone.
I prayed he wouldn’t go through my messages, as I’m 99% sure Scottie had sent me some very detailed text messages about a certain Mr. Styles yesterday.
“You got a text from Scottie,” Harry said and my eyes widened. Please, Scottie, for the love of God, choose today to send a normal text. “He said, ‘So bored in class, how’s Hottie Tamale’s class going?’” He turned to look at me, trying to hold in a laugh. “So, Randi, how is Hottie Tamale’s class going?” He mocked me.
I mentally slapped Scottie in the face.
I snatched my phone out of his hand, “For the record, I do not call you that. He does, so don’t give me that look,” I said, shoving my phone back into my pocket for hopefully the last time.
“Well, do you think I’m a ‘Hottie Tamale’?” He asked me and I groaned, smacking his arm.
“Shut up,” I said, and he broke out in laughter. He has such an attractive laugh.
I looked at the clock and realized the hour was going to end in less than 10 minutes.
I sighed and slowly stood up, leaning down and offering a hand to Harry so I could help pull him up.
He was heavier than I had anticipated and I ended up having to use both of my hands. Once he was standing in front of me, I let go of his hand and tried catching my breath. That was difficult.
He walked to his classroom door and opened it, gesturing me to walk in first. I did and he followed me.
Nothing really changed since we left the classroom, other than Cassidy wiggling her eyebrows at me.
I thanked Harry before making my way back to my seat, knowing that Cass would be asking me what that was about.
Sure enough, as soon as I sat down, she said, “What was that about?” Called it.
“Nothing, he was just helping me with the worksheet. I’m absolutely rubbish at this class,” I groaned, and the subject was dropped.
Cassidy and I talked about random things for the rest of the 7 minutes and then the bell rang. I was actually able to turn my worksheet in at the end of class, as it had been finished and all of the answers were checked by the teacher himself.
I smiled and waited for Cassidy to turn hers in before we both began walking to our next hour.