GIF of Colton Haynes who would play Justin in a movie. -------->>>
Emma's P.O.V
It's last period and I walk into class, still thinking about how Justin knows my name. He never pays much attention to anyone except for the girls who put themselves out for him. I didn't ask him about how he knew my name but I should have. As much as I wanted to, I didn't. All I thought about at that moment was I couldn't stand to be near him, let alone talk to him. Why am I thinking about him? Like I said before, he should be the last person on my mind. I shake him away from my thoughts, making my way to my seat as everyone else settle into theirs.
Mr. Brown walks into the room wearing a purple silk shirt, and dress pants. He is quite a professional teacher. According to him, everything and everyone should act strictly professional. It was something he admired. Mr. Brown's tall and skinny frame made him look younger than his age. Though he wore round rimmed glasses identical to Harry Potter's, they fitted him perfectly. And his hair, a dark brown which is ironic because his name is Mr. Brown, but you understand the joke. In my opinion he was handsome but I wasn't like the girls in our class who hoped for something that just wasn't going to happen. Mr. Brown has a wife everyone is aware of so those girls were just hopeless romantics. Being a strict teacher, he expected his work to be handed in on time and no excuses were made for being late or missing homework.
I, on the other hand have nothing to worry about. I always have a reminder to turned in my homework on time and I wake up early so I didn't have to worry about being late either. It's all about keeping a perfect record, how else was I going to get into a great college?
"Class." He greets us formally. "Nice to see all of your faces. I want to start a project."
Groans are heard throughout the class.
"Yes, I know. Every class is starting one and you don't want to do work but guess what? This is High school. Get used to it. College is much more difficult." He continues.
"That is if you go to college." A student from the back laughs to his friends. He has jet black hair, shoulder length. His hazel eyes, filled with humor.
"What you do is your choice. I'll be sure to come by McDonald's to pick up a happy meal for my daughter." Mr. Brown responds, clearly hearing what the guy said. The class 'Oohs' at him.
"Whatever..." The guy with black hair mutters.
"Like I was saying, We will be starting a project. It is the middle of the semester and it's a good time to start. It can also bring up some of your grades, so this project is important. I will be assigning your partners and listen to me when I say this. You cannot change partners because you don't like them. We should learn to work in uncomfortable environments. One day you are going to be working with people you don't like but you have to make it work. So, let's get started!" He says, looking at his clipboard which I assume held the list of partners.
A new Biology project? This could be good.
I love Biology, it was great to do hands on stuff, mixing chemicals, dissecting frogs or birds. It was fun, not to mention educational. I wasn't sure what I wanted my career to be exactly but science fascinated me. I smile at the teacher, who soon returns the gesture. I listen to him as he assigns partners, curious to know who would be my partner. I don't want someone who will just dump the work on me. I already dealt with that mostly in middle school.
"Emily and Hunter, Trey and Danielle, Ashley and Erica..." I patiently wait for him to call my name. "Trevor and Melissa, Carter and Jenny, Michael and Isaac..."
I glance over to Jenny who is already batting her eyes at Carter. Carter smiles and pulls a chair up to her. I slightly gag at her way of flirting.
YOU ARE READING
The Bad Boy's Mystery!
Teen Fiction"Justin Manning is plain bad news." That's what everyone says at Springfield High School. He uses girls for his own benefit and he could care less about what people think but that's what's makes the girls swoon over him along with his three best fri...
