Hi, guys! I hope you like my new chapter... :) It's dedicated to ShowYourInnerDORK for being my first reviewer! You rock, Oreo!
So... here's Chapter 2!
Chapter 2: Math is FUN
Mondays. I hate Mondays.
Is that cliche? Yes. Is it true? Absolutely.
This is what I’m thinking as the first bell rings for first period. Math books in hand, I’m making my way through the dimly lit school hallway lined with putrid green lockers on either side and packed with herds of teenagers who really should purchase this amazing invention I've heard of. I think it's called deodorant.
The hallway is filled with twenty different conversations at once, and a sharp laugh wafts up into the air from behind me. A shout cuts through the symphony of voices.
“Lollipop! Lollipop! Wait up!”
Crap.
There's only one person who calls me Lollipop, and her name is Cleo Redman.
I stop, exhale slowly, and swivel around on the heel of my boot. A few kids heading off to different classes grumble as I push against the tide of people so I can stop and talk to Cleo. Having spoken to this girl before, I know there’s only one way to stay away from her, and that’s to give her what she wants first.
“Hi, Cleo,” I mumble, and a super-short girl with bright red curly hair and a voice recorder in her hand skips cheerily over towards me, seemingly oblivious to the sweaty teenagers surrounding her.
“Hi, Lollipop.” She flashes me a big, white smile. And then, suddenly, I have no idea what she’s saying. Her speech is slurred together, like she stuffed a wad of paper in her mouth. “ThanksfortalkingtomeIwaswonderingifyoucouldgiveastatementtotheschoolnewspaperaboutlastfridaysartgallery?” Cleo is talking so quickly and excitedly, she’s literally jumping up and down. I smile and nod dumbly.
“Um, it’s Gum,” I try butting in as she continues to ramble on. She’s so wrapped up in her own world that she’s probably oblivious to the fact that I have a pulse, or am breathing, or am actually, you know, alive.
Cleo hits the pause button on her talk-a-thon to look at me weirdly, her toothy grin replaced with a small frown, looking at me like I have something in my teeth. “Sorry, what?”
“My name. Or, my nickname, at least. It’s Gum. Not Lollipop.”
“Oh, of course. So, um, will you do it?” She looks at me expectantly, green eyes wide.
I honestly have no idea what Cleo is talking about. “Sorry, what?”
If Cleo looked at me weirdly before, now she’s looking at me like I belong in an insane asylum instead of on my way to algebra. But luckily, this means she slows down her speech.
Like, really slows down.
“The. School. News. Paper. Will. You. Give. A. Statement. About. The. Art. Gallery?”
“Oh…” My stomach flutters at the thought of last Friday night. I spent the better part of my weekend trying to forget allabout the Art Gallery. So far it’s not really working out for me that well. “Um, why do you want to know? Do people really care?”
“Of course. I mean, now that Berkeley’s threatening to cancel prom…”
“What?!”
“Yeah. Duh. Were you not even paying attention at the early student assembly?”
Whoops. Seems like oversleeping really is a bad idea.
“No…”
Cleo rolls her eyes dramatically. “God, Twizz-“
“Gum.”
“Sorry, Gum.” Cue eye roll. “Okay, so will you give me a statement or not?” God, this girl can’t make up her mind about who she wants to act like. She’s just now gone back to Jumpy McGee mode.
I frown, trying to appear like I’m contemplating Cleo’s offer, but to be honest, my mind is buzzing worriedly about what she said before. Berkeley threatened to cancel prom… Maybe that’s good. I mean, that way, the vandal might actually come forward. But it’s also bad. Very bad. For the art geeks, at least. If Berkeley really is going to cancel prom… we’ll be to blame. It may not have been our fault, but it was our art show.
Oh God.
“Um… no, thanks, Cleo,” I answer, still distracted.
Cleo’s freckled face falls dramatically. “Are you sure? Because-”
The second bell rings for first period, and I realize while Cleo and I were talking, almost everyone cleared out of the hallway, save for a girl in a hot pink tube top making out with her boyfriend (God, I do not need to see that. Oh, God. I think I just threw up in my mouth.) and a tall, gawky guy whose books are on the floor. I walk over to help him and Cleo trails me like an obedient, hyperactive puppy on steroids.
Yep. Jumpy McGee it is.
“Please, Gum?” she whines, and I take the guy’s math book in my hand and hold it out for him. Dropped Book Boy gives me a weak smile, and I try to return it.
“Fine, Cleo,” I consent. I mean, she did just get my name right.
Cleo lets out a little squeal. “Yay! Thanks, Hersh-”
Never mind. Ha ha. LOL.
“Gum.”
“Right. Thanks, Gum.” She holds out her voice recorder expectantly.
“Wait. Right now?”
“Obviously.”
“Fine,” I say, and a high-pitched beep follows, accompanied by a small, blinking red light on the side of the tiny voice recorder. “I think what happened to the Art Gallery was awful, and it never should have happened. I hope they find the culprit and don’t cancel Prom,” I say, my voice dripping with boredom. I honestly don’t care if what I say is lame, as long I don’t get detention for being late to algebra. Again.
Cleo is unimpressed. “Is that all you have to say?”
“Look, I’d love to stay and chat, but I’m late for math.”
Yeah. I just used math class as an excuse to be antisocial. Never thought that would happen.
She sighs halfheartedly and grumbles, “Fine. Thanks.” Cleo stashes the voice recorder into her jeans pocket and trudges off down the close to empty hall.
I begin to walk towards algebra, past rows of closed classroom doors. God, Dad will kill me if he ever gets wind of how many detentions I’ve gotten from Mr. Halbrooke this year. My dad and I are close… but some things are better left unsaid. The amount of algebra-related detentions I’ve received being one of those things.
That’s when I realize Dropped Book Boy is walking behind me. He’s actually taller than I am, which is surprising, because I tower over most of the girls and guys in school. He has dark hair cut really short, and dark tan skin, and big, shy brown eyes that make him look kind of like a puppy.
“Hey, I wanted to say thanks for, um, helping me with my books,” he says.
“Oh, no problem,” I say awkwardly.
I try to pick up my pace and make it clear that I’m not interested in talking. If you haven’t guessed already, small talk is not my specialty.
Dropped Book Boy, I say, trying to send him a mental message. I read about people doing that one time in a book… but maybe those people were werewolves or something, I can’t remember. Anyway, Dropped Book Boy, I’m antisocial. Please leave me alone…
He doesn’t get the message.
“Hey, I’m Marco, by the way.”
“Um, I’m Gum.” We’re standing at the door of the algebra room now, but not going in. I reach for the doorknob, but he grabs my wrist.
“I know.”
Stalker much?
“Actually, I heard you talking to redhead over there.” Whoops. I guess I said that out loud. “Gum McFadden, right?” Marco continues.
“Uh, yeah.”
"Look, I was wondering..."
Oh, God. This isn’t happening.
He is not going to ask me out.
I try to take the defensive. “Hey, you seem nice and all, but I just met you, and I have a boyfriend.” Okay, that's not true. I had a boyfriend when I was in preschool, though, so that kind of counts, right?
Marco chuckles. “No, that’s not what I was going to ask.” He pauses for a second. “You are the president of the Art Club, right?”
Oh. So he really wasn’t going to ask me out. I feel my cheeks flare up.
“Yeah, how did you know?”
"Every one’s talking about some Art Gallery.” I cringe. “Anyway, look, I’m new here, and I have a thing for pottery, and I was wondering… I was wondering if I could join.”
I study Marco for a second. Had he even been to regular school before? Because you didn’t just knowingly condemn yourself to unpopularity without really loving something.
“You like pottery, huh?”
“It’s, like, my life.”
I smile, deciding that I like the guy. “Okay. Meetings are every Wednesday and Friday.”
Marco grins. “Awesome. Thanks, Gum.”
We walk into the algebra room, but not before he whispers, “I would’ve asked you out, by the way, but I’ve got a boyfriend back home.”
I smile. “Awesome.”
“Yeah,” Marco replies, “So no tension, right?”
I laugh just as Mr. Halbrooke catches wind of the two of us.
“Ms. McFadden. Something funny? Ah, and our new student. Already late on his first day, I see. Not a very good start, young man.”
Luckily, Marco speaks up, “Actually, Gum was helping me. I got lost and-”
“Very well, Mr. ...” Mr. Halbrooke looks down at his clipboard. “Santos. You’re excused. As for you, Ms. McFadden…” Halbrooke makes a big X on the sheet of paper. “Detention. After school, please.”
The class erupts into snickers, and Marco tries to protest, but I stop him. No use, anyway. Oh well.
I take my seat in the very center of the classroom.
Apparently this spot is the best one in class, or some crap like that. I don’t know. Most girls would consider this seat a gift from God, and when Mr. Halbrooke set up the class seating chart and placed me here, you wouldn’t believe how many dirty looks I earned from every female within fifty feet.
It’s not actually that great of a seat. The desk has been vandalized more times than I can count, and one of the legs on the chair is shorter than the other three, so every time I sit down or move in any way, the chair wobbles dangerously against the scuffed linoleum tiles. And I’m right under this weirdly high-power fan, so I’m on the brink of becoming hypothermic every time it’s turned on.
The “great” thing about my seat is Miles Walker. I don’t know, I guess girls think it’s fun to watch the back of his head during class or something like they’re in Mean Girls, but the back of his head isn’t all that interesting when you watch it day after day as your math teacher rambles on and on about quadratic equations.
Don’t get me wrong. Miles Walker is freaking smokin’. Think chiseled jaw, beautiful blue eyes, and rippling muscles. Basically, take the most cliché hot guy you can think of, and you’ve got him.
That’s the thing that bugs me. He’s just so fricking cliché. I mean, you’ve got the hotness factor, the quarterback-ness, the supreme popularity, and the swooning girls. It’s like he was plucked right out of a chick-flick and plopped into the center of Lincoln High.
Mr. Halbrooke cuts through my reverie. “Ms. McFadden, while you were slacking off, we were just preparing for our test.” Wait, we have a test today?! “Mind telling the class what the square root of 729 is?” Crap crap crap crap crap.
You know the saying “Saved by the bell"? Well, I wasn’t saved by the bell. I was saved by the PA system.
The nasal voice of our school secretary cuts through the silence as I rack my brain for an answer. “Gum McFadden and Miles Walker, please report to the office. Immediately.”
To be honest, the first though that goes through my head is, Dear God, even the school secretary calls me Gum. What is going on with the world? Then I think, Wait, did she just say I was supposed to report to the office? With Miles Walker?
I feel my heart stop.
Miles is looking around the classroom wildly. Of course he doesn’t know who Gum McFadden is. Why would he?
I stand up and walk to the door, not waiting for Miles.
I didn't even do anything wrong.
Right?
My heart beats wildly in my chest.
Dad is going to kill me.
Hey, guys. Okay, I know it took me FOREVER to update, because I kept waiting for ten votes... Yeah. You can tell I'm new to Wattpad. But the good news is that this story already has over 100 views!! I'M SO EXCITED!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
*fangirling*
Anyway.
I hope you enjoyed this chapter! If you want to, and if you like this story, vote, comment, add it to your library! You can even follow me if you'd like. I'd like to get 15 more votes and 15 more comments. If we reach those, I'll update sooner! But don't worry, I'm not going to wait as long...
Thank you for reading! And thank you to everyone who voted and commented last chapter! You guys are the best!!
xoxo Grace Ivy