Princes

Second

"Mrs. Harper?"

I walked into room C03, wringing my hands. Her room has brick walls and a broad, neon purple stage with wrinkled maroon curtains that were currently drawn over the stage, dangling an inch above the stage.

I walked through the maze of tables with benches to Mrs. Harper's desk. Bernadette Harper had smooth, coffee colored skin, almond-shaped russet brown eyes, a toothy, white smile with full lips, coated with crimson lipstick. She had smooth dreadlocks always tied into a ponytail. She always wore bright colors, and always walked like she was prepared to burst into dance.

"Hello, Levi Blackwell!" She always called people by their first and last names, and always insisted that we do the same with her name, which I always thought was kind of odd, but then again, everything about Mrs. Bernadette Harper was odd or quirky, in the best way. "And that's Mrs. Bernadette Harper. After all, if you don't know your full name, how do you know your full potential? Take a seat."

I could've repeated the rather pretentious spiel myself, but I bit it back. Mrs. Harper's 20 year old daughter, Blossom Harper, stood next to her. Unlike her mother, she had wide eyes and simple hair that was straight, and just grazed her shoulders, with perfectly even bangs. She was mixed-race, her skin just balanced at a smooth light mocha. She wore a leopard print shirt, that she tried to conceal her wide belly with, but didn't need to. Mrs. Harper always talked too much in class, always talked about Blossom. Always talked about her insecurities, even though she definitely shouldn't be.

She always talked about how Blossom was insecure about her weight, about how she was half-black half-white, and I honestly didn't understand. I mean, obviously Blossom is a bigger girl, but that's nothing to be ashamed of. I thought Blossom was nothing short of beautiful.

"Hey, Blossom." I called, taking a seat.

Blossom grinned, her teeth pearly white, just like her mother's. It was evident that she was a hygiene-freak. "Hi, Levi."

I sat by fellow sophomore Caroline "Carrie" Pike. She was basically a high school version of Wednesday Addams, long black hair and shockingly pale skin. I would bet a million dollars that she was auditioning for Maleficent.

I greeted her with a low wave, subtle, because I was kind of terrified of her.

"Now, I'm very glad you all decided to drop by today, I know I didn't specify a date on the flyer," Mrs. Harper said, walking to the front of the class. "But I just would like to notify you th--"

The door slammed open. Everyone's head collectively clocked to examine the late visitor.

"Hold up, teach!" Came an all-too-familiar voice.

Shit.

Wes walked in, one hand in his pocket, with the thumb overlapping the edge, and other arm wrapped around Tiffany. Tiff was attached to Wes like a glamorized growth.

"Ah, welcome Wesley Grant and Tiffany Davidson." Mrs. Harper said, through clenched teeth. B.H. was about as welcoming to jocks as I was. "And do not call me 'teach'. I would prefer you call me Mrs. Bernadette Harper."

Wes shrugged her off, "Whatever you say, teach."

Mrs. Harper's eye twitched, in an odd way I'd never seen before. She calmed herself, though she looked like she wanted to snap Wes' neck, not that I'd blame her. "Listen, Wesley Grant, I have kinds of guys like you all the time. They call me pretentious, a kook, a good-for-nothing n-word. I've heard it all, from all the meat heads, and I will not take it this year, Wesley Grant, so I just suggest that you end it now."

Wes put his hand in front of his mouth and feaux-whispered, "Someone's PMSing."

Blossom audibly sighed tiredly. "Don't waste your time, Mom, kick him out."