Portrait of a Bad Boy ✓

Chapter 1: The Meeting

"Now class, this is your junior year. You must keep your head and grades up. College is not far away now." Blake glanced up at the scribble of notes across the whiteboard before he returned to his scribble of notes.

"This first test will be an exact copy of the very last test. The questions will be different but the subjects will be the same." The calculus teacher moved through the aisle, handing back various tests. "It would be in your best interest to go over and find out what you did wrong."

A stack of papers dropped into his desk. On top with a big red 25 with the words see me after class written in red. Sighing, Blake grabbed the test and shoved it into his backpack before going back to his doodling.

"You wanted to see me." Class had ended, leaving Blake standing in front of the teacher's desk. His new algebra teacher, a more elderly man, folded his fingers. "Yes, I wanted to talk to you about your grade."

Blake's jaw clenched but he nodded.

"As I stated before this is junior year. This and senior year are the times that matter the most." He folded his hands. "I used to be an advice counselor for seniors. You see colleges don't just take any grades. They only want the best from you and everyone else. Have you thought about a college you want to go to Blake?"

"Not really, no." His father wanted him to go to Stanford like him but that was a different story. "I don't think I want to go to college anyways."

His algebra teacher paused then did a double take. "Really? Are you sure? There's so many opportunities going to college can open up, especially when finding good jobs."

"Yep, pretty sure." Blake glanced at the door. "Can I go now?"

"No, Blake, I'm talking to you." The teacher's eyes narrowed. "You want to become a fast food worker or a barista living minimum wage? Is there no college you thought about?"

"Well," Blake started. He's not going to stop unless I say one isn't he. "There's a few art colleges."

"Art." The teacher nodded. "Interesting."

What does that mean?

"There are so many more choices though. Do you really wish to go to art school? I mean I can draw pretty well. I wouldn't go to school for it though." Blake's grip around his backpack strap tightened.

"Well, I'm thinking about going to school. Is there anything else you want?"

A knock snapped both their gazes to the door. A head peek through. "You wanted to see me sir?" The girl stepped into the room. Afro wrapped in a bandana, dark eyes scanned Blake before they snapped to the algebra teacher.

"Lyla," he waved her in. "Come in." The African American stepped into the room. "Blake, this is Lyla. She passed this class with an A-plus and has agreed to help you for extra credit."

"I don't need help." Blake's gaze snapped to Lyla. "I don't want help. Thank you but no thank you."

The teacher's eyebrow rose. "I have already done so much to help you Blake. You should be grateful."

"Grateful? Grateful? I never asked for you to set me up with a tutor. I don't need a tutor or want a tutor. It's literally the start of the school year." Without waiting, he stormed out the room. Heading down the hallway, he didn't notice the steps until a voice spoke.

"That was quite rude don't you think?"

Blake didn't stop. "Oh really? I haven't noticed." Reaching his locker, he finally looked at his annoying follower. His gaze took over her gray sweater and dark jeans before he turned back to his locker. "Well, the teacher wasn't too nice either."