'Cos I'm Not Fine At All || Lashton A.U.

-Chapter 1-

[Luke's P.O.V.]

I gazed lazily towards the blackboard at the front of the classroom, barely even paying attention to whatever the teacher, Mr. Bonder, was saying.

Actually, let me rephrase that. I wasn't paying even the slightest bit of my miniscule attention span to the curriculum. Especially since this was maths class.In fact, I couldn't give two shits about what we were learning in here. How do I pass my classes, you ask? Well, let's just say that one of my best friends, Calum, was also my guardian angel. Every day after class ended, I would just copy whatever notes he took down. For now, I acted as though I was somewhat interested in the topic of x and y variables, absolute values, and some crap about imaginary numbers and stuff. Stupid math.

Being the complete and utter annoying brat that I am, I decided to have a little fun with my other best friend, Michael.

"Psst. Mikey," I whispered, tapping the red hair-dyed boy sitting in front of me while chewing on my mint-flavored Orbit gum. I had met Michael just a few years back, unlike Calum who had been my childhood friend for who knows how long. Michael was one of those kids who thought of themselves as "punk-rock", which obviously wasn't true, since he still screams like a sissy wherever there's a spider. He did look the part though, with piercings, a small tattoo and spiky hair.

Michael turned around, glaring at me with annoyance.

"What is it, Luke?" he hissed. Before I could reply, he quickly added, "Unlike you, I'm actually trying to learn some shit. Is this important enough that it's worth my time?" Wow. That's a first. Usually, Michael was just like me, if not worse. He's probably only acting like this because his mom flipped the fuck out when she saw how low his grades were getting. She even threatened to smash his PS4 and his Xbox 1, and that's saying something. In his eyes, Michael's gaming consoles were the worth and equivalent to children. If there was any way to keep them safe and sound, he did it, even if that included actually paying attention in class.

I kept silent.

"Pff. Thought so. Whatever it is, tell me after class." He huffed and turned around in his chair. Talk about rude. I'm pretty sure I was glaring flaming daggers at the back of his head. Well, there goes my fun.

I glanced back towards the blackboard to see if anything has changed drastically. Nope. I sighed.

Don't get me wrong, I do try in school... sometimes. I just had a hard time comprehending numbers and words, and then writing down answers to questions about them. Anything really educational, to be honest. I mostly focused my energy during art and music class. Those two are my easy A's, which was pretty good compared to my C's and D's in my other subjects.

Music was one of my favorite hobbies that I pursued, considering that I had at least four different guitars at home. Two acoustic, and two electric. Michael would often come over, and we would record ourselves playing covers of songs we enjoyed listening to, especially that of our favorite bands. Basically, anything punk rock, rock, and even the occasional One Direction or Justin Bieber.

Art however, was a whole other ballgame. I loved graffiti, and I'm surprised it hasn't gotten me into trouble yet. The colors that came from the spray can we're so vibrant and unique, and I felt like I could put life into pictures with it. Michael wasn't a big fan of it, surprisingly. He said the paint smelled like chemicals mixed with ball sweat, and that it took so long to make something. Eh, pretty accurate. I say he's just jelly because whatever he tried to draw ended up looking like a messed up car accident. But I still loved it.

I must have fallen asleep, because the next thing I knew, the bell to dismiss class had rung. Finally. As I gathered my stuff, Mr. Bonder signaled to me, saying, "Mr. Hemmings, please come see me." Shit. That's what I get for playing Halo at 5:00 in the morning and eating no breakfast.

I walked towards his desk, trudging my feet along behind me. Really, I was in no mood for a lecture, and considering the tone in his voice, that was probably what I was going to get.

"Mr. Hemmings, I noticed that you weren't exactly, paying attention, per say. Is my class a bore to you?" he asked, clearing his throat and looking me in the eye questioningly. I gulped.

"Uhm, no sir, I was uh, just... tired?" I said hesitantly. He narrowed his eyes.

"Well, since you are tired, and feel the need to fall asleep during my class, I'm sure that you won't mind taking the rest of the day to wake up. That's why I will see you at detention after school." I gaped. I'd never gotten detention before, ever. Yeah, it seems like I should have, but that's only because I'm a master of not getting into trouble. Well, I guess luck was not on my side today. Damn, I knew I should have worn my Niall Horan bracelet; that Irish leprechaun could have saved me.

"Yes sir," I replied, grabbing my books. He gave one last glance at me before waving his hand in dismissal. I speed-walked my way out of that living hell-hole, catching up to Michael who was at his locker. He turned to face me, a somewhat apologetic look on his face.

"Look man, sorry for snapping at you earlier, it's just that I really need to start upping my grades, or else my mom's gonna turn my life into shit," he sheepishly said. I gave him a knowing look, telling him it was fine. I also then told him about my little run-in with The Bonds (Mr. Bonder), and that I had detention. Sadly, this meant that I had to cancel our jam session after school. That sucked, because we were planning on posting another video on YouTube later, considering we haven't in a while.

Fortunately, he understood, and we said a quick goodbye. I jogged to my locker, exchanging my math textbook and notebook for my foreign languages ones. Great, I just love learning French. (Insert major sarcasm here).

~~~~~

The rest of the day flew by, if anything too fast. As I was about to leave, I internally groaned, remembering I had detention. Fuck. I texted Michael, reminding him that he didn't need to pick me up, and that I could just walk home today. My house wasn't even far from school; maybe an eight minute walk, tops.

As I was on my way to ugh, my head turned when I heard something being slammed against the lockers. Scratch that, someone. I decided to go and check it out, not caring the least bit that I might be late to Mr. Bonder's room. As I got closer, my ears picked up the pained sounds of the person being shoved. Turning the corner, my eyes widened when I saw Sawyer Bridgeman and his pack of varsity friends beating up a short, curly haired boy with a grey hoodie and skinny jeans. The boy didn't seem to be fighting back; it was like he expected this to happen. Sawyer and his best mate Clark were calling him names like "faggot" or "prissy", and that just made me feel so bad inside. About two minutes later, with me still being a stupid bystander and doing nothing, Sawyer and his pack went their way, presumably to football practice (soccer in Australia). I hesitantly walked towards the curly-haired lad who was clutching his knees to his chest, crying silent tears.

As I got closer, he spotted me and immediately stood up. He began slowly walking backwards, as if I was some sort of danger or threat to him. "Wait, I just want to help y--", I started, but I stopped when he just sprinted off towards the other exit. I scratched my head in confusion, and a hint of worry. Whoever this boy was, I was going to find out. And I was going to help him.