Enjoy!
Neely's POV:
Making it through the hellish first three classes of the day, I sighed as I sat down in fourth period and was dreading lunch. As Mr. Horan droned on about the transcontinental railroad, I felt Lucy tap my shoulder.
"Where'd you get that shirt? You have a new bae you haven't told me about?" she whispered with a smirk. "Is it Colby's? I know how much y'all like to tease each other. You finally hit that?"
"If you don't want me to bring up your real name, shut up," I laughed. She went by Lucy but her real name was Lucius. I know. Don't say anything.
"Okay, okay, but you've gotta tell me what hot boy you snagged that shirt from at lunch."
"Girls," Mr. Horan called. "I'm sure talking about Kim Kardashian is a lot more fun than this, but I need you to pay attention or at least pretend to."
"Sorry," I sighed, looking down at my paper and continued writing.
"Don't worry. We were actually talking about you and how you're a wonderful teacher," Lucy replied with her signature sarcasm that usually got her in trouble.
"I'm sure." Rolling his eyes as he continued with the lesson, I stayed quiet and continued to copy notes until announcements came on. Hearing Principal Malik's familiar voice, I tried to listen for anything that applied to me.
"Girls basketball pre season conditioning has begun. You must have a physical to participate. Any girl interested can stop by Coach Styles' room, room 942 to sign up. Tryouts will be the first week of November," he announced and I saw Colby move in his seat to look at me.
"You trying out?" he smirked.
"Obviously," I snapped, rolling my eyes.
"You're not gonna make it, you suck. Hey, Rex!" he laughed. "She's trying out." Him and Rex both laughed together.
"Shut the fuck up, Colby. You're only reflecting your insecurity about being short onto me and you play shitty church ball." The bell finally rang and I got out of my seat, eagerly walking to the door and feeling Colby poke my arm.
"Don't fucking touch me," I snapped, punching his shoulder and walking out of the class. Colby and I had been arch-enemies since first grade. I don't think there was a day that went by that he wasn't an asshole in some shape or form. He left me alone after my parents died, but now he was messing with me again full force. Walking through the lunch room, I spotted Coach Payne with a salad in his hand and he was arguing about something with Coach Winston. Coach Winston was a global studies teacher, and asshole extraordinaire. Everyone in the school hated him because he was always a bitch about giving homework over the weekend and projects as well.
"Neels!" Someone shouted and I turned around to see Lucy walking toward me with a plate of fries.
"Tell me where you got this amazing shirt," she gushed as we walked toward her usual table.
"From a friend." It was only half a lie, I didn't want to make it seem like there was something going on with Coach Styles because there wasn't.
"What friend? You don't do friends."
"You're my friend."
"I'm an exception. Now spill."
"I got it from Collin," I lied and she began squealing like a five year old at Disney World. Collin Stapleford was the hottest boy in our school and a varsity basketball starter for three years in a row now. If I had really had his shirt, half of the student body would've probably trampled me for it.
"I knew you two had something going on! Do you guys hook up? Was he a good kisser? Is he 6'8 everywhere?"
"Oh my God," I laughed, blushing a bright red. "A true lady never kisses and tells."
"Neely Elizabeth Cavanaugh. You better tell me or I'm gonna punch you," she giggled.
"I went to Collin's party last weekend and ya da, ya da, ya da, I have his shirt now." Shrugging my shoulders, wishing I could eat something, I cleared my throat.
"You mean ya da, sex with Collin, ya da."
"It wasn't sex per say."
"Did you give him a blowjob?" she asked quietly.
"Ew. No. That's so disgusting."
"Did he like, finger you?" she whispered.
"No, we just made out and it happened to turn into some groping and undressing but no sex happened."
"You didn't do the sex?" I couldn't help but laugh loudly at that one.
"No, we didn't do the sex." Rolling my eyes, I sniffed the collar of the shirt and tried to hide my smile. He smelt like Chanel mixed with laundry detergent and I fought the urge to just keep my nose in the shirt the entire day. Making it through lunch with minimal cravings to just eat the entire plate of fries Lucy had, I made it back to class and fought off the fact my stomach was growling for the rest of the period. Every once in a while, I could see Colby looking at me and I'd flick him off.
"Miss. Cavanaugh," Mr. Horan sighed. "I know you and Mr. Richardson enjoy looking at each other, but if you could try not to flip him off so much, that'd be wonderful."
"Sorry," I muttered, blushing slightly.
"That's okay. I'm sure he did something to deserve it," he teased and looked back at the board. The bell finally rang dismissing us to our next class and I anxiously walked up the stairs to Coach Style's room. Walking in, I saw Louis standing there and they were both laughing.
"Hey Neely," Louis smiled with a little wave.
"Hey," I chuckled. "What are you doing here?"
"I'm the new math teacher."
"Oh, really? I have you seventh period then."
"For algebra two, right?"
"Yeah. It was horrible with the last teacher. Maybe I'll actually learn something this time."
"Awesome. Well, I have a fifth period, so I better go. Wish me luck," he sighed.
"Bye," I laughed and turned to Coach Styles. Noticing what he had on for the first time today, I was slightly taken aback. He looked amazing. His hair was pushed back with a greenish head scarf, he had on a black button down that was tucked into his black pants and sleek black dress shoes on. The shirt seemed to stick to his torso, accentuating the fact that from it, you could assume he had V lines.
"You excited for conditioning today?" he smiled widely.
"Sure," I shrugged. In reality, I wanted nothing more than to be at home, curled up in my bed, and sleeping. I'd have to wait until Wednesday because my stupid uncle. Walking toward my seat, I plopped down and took out my notebook, hoping he finally graded our writing prompts he had given us. The bell rang as the last few students scurried in the room and scrambled to get to their seats before he shut the door.
"Alright," he smiled widely. "I have your prompts graded, I'll be handing those back today. I have a new prompt and a new idea I want to try that will basically be your midterm grade." Scattered groans were heard throughout the classroom and he chuckled.
"We were going to have a test on parts of speech and grammar rules today, we could just do that," he shrugged, walking toward his desk. No's flew from all across the desks and he laughed.
"That's what I thought. See? I'm so nice to you guys," he sighed, opening his filing cabinet and pulling journals from it. Oh no. I hated journaling. I thought it was the stupidest thing on earth. Even stupider than Kim Kardashian. Yeah, I hated it. Why would someone ever write down their feelings in a book where it could be found, read, and used against them in the worst ways?
"These journals are going to be your midterm exam grade. I know midterms are months away, but that's the point. This is a cumulative assignment and I'll be checking periodically to see you're actually writing something besides gibberish." Watching as he handed each of them out with our names already on them in his perfect cursive, I sighed, not wanting to write in this stupid book.
"What are we supposed to write?" Kat asked, adjusting her glasses.
"I'm getting to that," he chuckled. "Everyday, there will be a prompt, word, or picture on the board and I'm gonna give you thirty minutes to write about it. Fridays are our free write days so, today you guys are in luck. You can write how ever much you want about anything you want to and at the end of class, you'll give them back to me and I'll put them in my cabinet. Are there any questions?" The class was silent as he looked around the room.
"Okay, start writing," he beamed and walked back toward his desk, grabbing a stack of papers. I rolled my eyes and opened to the first blank page. I honestly didn't want to write. If he'd given us a prompt, I would've been fine. There's nothing personal about a prompt. You can write from someone else's shoes and be completely removed. For today, he wanted something personal and I was terrified to put anything out there. Looking up as he passed back what I assumed was our prompt from Wednesday, I sighed and looked back down at the paper.
This was going to be harder than I thought.