A Picture Can Speak a Thousand Words (Peterick)

Mischeif

Pete's voice pierced the silence of the art class, quickly followed by a loud crash. "Shit," he muttered. I turned to him, now floor bound, and covered my mouth to hold back a giggle. He glared up at me, a crimson colour taking over his cheeks.

"Oh Petey, do you need some help?" I chuckled. A wide grin spread across his face, making me the one to blush.

"Petey?" He whispered, clearly amused. He collected his chair up from the floor and set it upright, staring at me as he did. I felt more embarrassed by the second. Petey was the name I called him in my head whenever I thought about him, which was too damn much. It must have accidentally slipped out.

"Y- yeah. Sorry. Didn't mean to call you that," I stammered. Oh dear, this doesn't seem believable. What the heck have I started?

Pete snorts, obviously not believing me. "It's cool. I call you 'Trick in my dreams." I choke on the breath I'm taking, dropping my paintbrush on the floor. I get a couple of odd looks from the rest of the room and shrug it off. He's grinning at me, the asshole. I pick up my paintbrush, but instead of going back to my painting I launch it as accurate as I can at Pete's head. It doesn't miss.

"Ouch! Patrick!" He shouts, making sure Mr Way hears from the front of the room. He looks over at us to see me wide eyed and Pete rubbing his head, it's not hard to make out what had happened.

"Both of you, detention tomorrow in here," he says, monotone and scripted.

I turn to Pete and glare, now definitely pissed off at him.

Now he's just getting me into trouble for no reason.