I hated being around Michael Clifford. He was Daisy's "friend", and he liked to annoy me in all our classes.
Honestly, all of Daisy Garreths' friends were annoying. They were all obnoxious; they were just like her. The only difference is that they were all boys, which meant that the immaturity level was so much lower that it physically hurt. Daisy would never act that way. Hell, Daisy usually made sure that the two gremlins stayed calm for the seven hours of hell.
There was this huge problem with her being the only one to calm them down. Daisy Garreths had managed to avoid having the same schedule as both Michael Clifford and Calum Hood. Great for her, unfortunate for me.
For the last two years, Daisy had been there to tell them to calm the fuck down. Now she wasn't.
The two losers stayed drunk, stoned, or worse. Daisy never was. Hence, she was babysitter.
Now, the two losers basically ran rampant around the school unless Daisy saw them. They clinged to her, much like everyone else did. She was their life support. She was the gateway drug to a good time.
Without her around, they had nothing to do. Without Garreths, they were stuck entertaining themselves while annoying the hell out of everyone else.
This led to the whole class becoming a seemingly endless succession of Calum and Michael making awful attempts at pickup lines. Their targets always happened to be cheerleaders that were so far out of their league that I got secondhand embarrassment.
"Hey girl," Michael said, leaning over Willa Sommers desk, "let's play Titanic. You be the iceberg and I'll go down."
I cringed. My hand was poised over my paper, ready to finish notes, but I couldn't stop watching Michael and Calum's failed hookup attempts as the end of class neared. Ten minutes. I could do ten minutes.
I heard my name. I didn't have time to pretend that I cared.
"Hemmings!" Mr. Craft cried, "Daydreaming is not permitted, you know that." Fuck.
"I know, sir, I'm sorry... I ju-"
"One more slip-up and you've got detention, Hemmings." Shit.
That was the problem with asshole teachers. You try to apologize, you get straight screwed. You could never do anything right. Never.
"Okay," I replied, shrugging. The whole class sniggered as Craft stared at me with this look on his face that said "I just got away with murder."
"Now, Lucas, if you'd care to join us, could you tell m-"
"The answer to the problem on the board is 207, if you count the margin of error," I said, cutting him off. I was sick of his shit. I knew what I was doing. Calum and Michael were disrupting the whole class, but I'm over here with a near detention for saying sorry. I saw Craft frown. I fought a smirk.
"Correct, Hemmings," the old fart replied, "Can you do it without the deviation that causes the margin of error?" He grinned like someone who'd inherited all of Wall Street. I sighed.
"Yes, sir. The SD is only 2.736, so you'd subtract that and you'd have the original mean. From this, we take the SD and mutiply it by three, add it to the mean. Subtract from the mean. Bam. Confidence rate of nearly 96.5%."
Calum and Michael began laughing hysterically. I rolled my eyes, my lip ring getting pulled at with my teeth as I held back certain words. I wanted to punch Michael in his bleach-blond jaw. Calum could deal with one less shitty-looking highlight in his fucking hair, I think.
