Betting With Love [On Hold]

Chapter Three: Cold Wars of Literature (Part 2)

yA/N: Dedicated to CrazyMoments :D Thank you so much for introducing Wattpad into my life :* Love you~

 

Took me a while, but hey! Its long! Meh.

~~~

[Kristen]

I knocked on the door, tracing my hand against the door frame. “Come in,” a voice called. I enter the room, and I turned towards the middle aged man standing in front of the room. He had spectacles like some old man, and he was in a tight suit. His beer belly bulged. Gross.

“My name is Mr.Tramp, and I feel important that all my students know me a little before taking any of my classes. If you asked me, he sounded kinda forced. ” He took off his spectacle and started to polish it. “I like daytime TV, and I like cheesy quesadillas. I do not… you know… TOLERATE LATELESS! Go sit down over at an empty seat-“He looked down at his notebook, “Kristen.”

I stumbled forward, and slipped in the first chair that was empty. A guy was busy jotting down notes, I sat. Who in the hell takes notes in literacy? I stared at the board, Mr.Tramp was looking for a piece of chalk, the moment he turned around, and a jagged edge poked me in the arm. I looked down; the spine of a notebook nosed its way into the crook of my elbow. A messy writing was scrawled on the top:

Hey ;) Didn’t know you were that serious about English.

 

I looked up at the guy, I gasped, and it was Preston! He was facing forward; his wavy hair was light brown against the sun. Someone as hot as that couldn’t have been interested in school. I was surprised alright, for such a douche bag, he actually cares about his education? Hmm… That’s a first. I grabbed out a pen and replied:

I am. So what?

 

I shoved the notebook back, and his wrist rolled around to read. Mr.Tramp was now droning on about emotions in poetry as the notebook made its way back to me and back to him.

So, still. No reason ;) How did you get in here anyways?

 

I applied for it. No biggie.

 

No ordinary people gets into enriched, what makes you so special?

 

I read the message, the freak? What makes me so special? I guess nothing much… I grabbed my pen, and begun to write.

I’m not-

 

“Kristen!” Mr. Trampy-pants called, and yes, he is indeed trampy. I fumbled, and looked up. “Y-yes sir?” I managed to choke out. Preston stifled a laugh; I made a mental reminder to beat him up in a dark alley.

“Since class participation is important, you will stand here and share your thoughts on what you believe is important in poetry. I’m praying that your previous professor had touched upon the subject,” the Tramp said. I smirked, I had just finished an entire unit on it, good thing I came prepared. Preston looked up at me, his eyes challenging me. Huh, two can play this game. I pushed myself out of the chair and walked to the front, Mr. Trampy-pants stepped aside, and I turned to look at the class.