I glare furiously at the pink slip in my hands as I walk down the hallways. I raise my eyes and scan the walls to my right as I stomp furiously.
Here we are.
Well time to have fun, right? My stupid ass substitute teacher gave me a fuckin' detention for talking when we weren't supposed to. I know we weren't supposed to talk, but I was trying to help the teacher. My classmates were acting like dicks to the sub— disrespecting her and not listening to what she was saying, so I said, "Can you guys please be quiet?"
And then, BOOM.
I get a detention.
Everyone in my class was shocked when the teacher said my name for the detention, because I wasn't doing anything wrong— I was helping.
How in the hell did she not realize I was helping her?
What a dumbass.
So, due to my substitute teacher from eighth period, I have to go to detention today, even though I have very important plans after school— which is work. My boss is going to be pissed, especially since I don't even have a cell phone to call him and tell him I can't make it.
I stop in my tracks— and my mental rant, and stare at the door as I take a deep breath and knock on it.
"It's open," comes a familiar muffled voice from the other side of the door. I place my right hand on the knob and twist it open.
As I step into the classroom, I can't help but notice that everyone is staring at me. I realize that I'm not the prettiest girl in the world, nor am I the most girly, but none of that gives you the right to stare like I'm a caged animal. I scowl wider than I was before as I hear a few snickers and see a few smirks from my fellow classmates. I hear whispers and such, and I have to calm myself down before I go up to the bitch and tell her to shove it somewhere. Not only that, but I also feel self-conscious as I walk towards the detention teacher, who I recognize to be my science teacher from last year, Mr. Yates.
"Nami? What are you doing here?" he asked, shock clearly written all over his face. I wouldn't blame him. I was shocked myself.
I shrug while giving him a small smile, "I don't know."
"Well, it's obviously a mistake! I refuse to believe this— you're an excellent student!" he announces, his hands lifted in the air. I hear a few snickers from the back of the class. Oh, Mr. Yates, you're a great man, but you were always way too loud.
"Do you at least know any reason as to why you're here?"
"The sub's retarded," I blurt out.
It was obviously bad that I said that since there was laughing from the other kids in the room.
"Nami!" Yates exclaims, his eyes nearly popping out of its sockets. "We do not say words like that in school!"
I don't normally talk back to teachers, but I hate false accusations, unfair treatment, and bullshit. Therefore, I can feel my expression twist into once of those 'are-you-kidding-me?' faces. "What? How is it that the one time I say retarded in school, I get in trouble, but when other kids say words a lot worse, they just get a shrug!" My anger is boiling, if that's even possible. It's like coming off of me in waves.
Mr. Yates' eyebrows furrowed, "Now I see why you have a detention. Go sit down."
"What!?" I exclaim once more, a little too loud, using the same unbelievable reaction as before.
"Go sit down," Yates' orders, gritting it out through his teeth.
"Oh my God..." I groan, clenching my jaw from how pissed off I am. I exhale a deep breath in order to calm myself before turning around and glaring at the snickering kids. I walk down the classroom to an open seat in the back and raise an eyebrow at the other kids, mentally asking why no one sat in that one seat all the way in the back, but all the other seats around it— it was weird. But, nonetheless, I sit down in the empty seat all the way in the back, and in unison, everyone gasps.
My eyebrows shoot up.
What is this, High School Musical?
How the fuck did everyone just gasp together?
Not only that, but they all stare at me in panic or wonder or something and turn to one another to whisper things. The jocks were giving each other worried glances, the cheerleaders smacking their gum and glaring at me, the punks just... staring. And if it makes a difference, I guess their face shows some...slight emotion? Whatever. It was all very confusing, and it doesn't help that I keep hearing the same thing over and over again.
"She's sitting in his seat!"
"What is she doing?"
"We should tell her to move!"
"He'll be here any second!"
Okay, that last one was totally uncalled for, but everything else got me curious— and slightly scared. Pfft, I chuckle mentally. Yeah, right. Who is this he they speak of anyway? I am not going to be afraid of some prep bastard that thinks he rules the school.
That asshole cansuck it. I don't know what, but he can suck it.
I roll my eyes at the overreacting morons in the classroom and stare at the front until the sexiest guy to ever grace the country walks into the room. Alright, this guy had to be a model or something because he is tall and pretty damn attractive.
He has messy black bed hair and probably some gorgeous fucking eyes, because damn he's hot. He's tall, really tall— I'd say like 6'4 or 6'5, and is obviously ripped— okay not really ripped, but he's obviously got to look even sexier without that white beater and leather jacket and baggy black jeans.
The guy up front gives Mr. Yates' a smirk and says, "Nice seeing you again, Irwin. How's the baby?"
Mr. Yates just rolls his eyes though, "Go sit down."
"Yes sir," the model grins, turning around to face the seats and freezes— and stares directly at me.