Unexpected (UNFINISHED)

Chp. 7 : Not Even Surprised

Is it so much to ask for 200 views?! *Sniffles* *Dabs eyes*

So while I was writing this chapter, I totally blanked on Blake's last name. I had to go back and read the whole book, and it's only mentioned once in one chapter. Who remembered without looking back?

I'm really sorry these updates are coming in so slow, it's just really hard to meet my standard of 1,300 words per chapter when I have major writer's block, and a full schedule. I'm also balancing this book and Midnight Remedy. :-/

So this person that read my book asked me if there was a theme to my chapter names. I asked if she was retarded.

Enjoy the new chapter!

-

I was let out of detention early on Wednesday, and Sam was told to stay, by a very red, very fat teacher. It was all I'd been hoping, praying, dreaming for. Things were going my way.

Not to jinx myself, since that was very possible with my luck, but this really couldn't of been any more successful.

There was a teensy tiny moment of absurd weakness when I felt a teensy tiny bit sorry for Sam, since he let me sit with him, which was quickly killed by Sam's middle finger.

Talk about rude. Not that I was expecting him to address me with anything close to gratitude, but the harshness level is real.

And, I have to say, ever since the afternoon of the detention, which was yesterday, I'd been throwing nervous glances over my shoulder. At home. That's what a guy with the physical strength and the hatred drive can do to you. Intimidation.

Thursday morning was slow. It was still early in the fall, so I felt "summery" enough to attempt a romper. I think I pulled it off, even if my stubble was visible all day. I plopped my backpack down onto the floor beside my locker, quietly putting in my combo and swinging my red locker door open.

I heard the click of heels behind me, wincing as they sipped behind me. With a sigh I turned around. At least I knew it couldn't be Sam, since there's a good chance he will never wear high heels to school. That left one other person.

"Hey, Blake," Charlotte said, dragging out her "hey". She was wearing skinny jeans and a tank top, her heels being small ankle boots.

"Hi, Charlotte," I said. "Need something?" I would hope she'd have come for more of a reason than to say hello.

Charlotte shook her head with a smile. "Just came to say good morning!" She glanced over my outfit. "And by the way, nice crotch crawler," she said with a wave at my romper and a smirk.

Crotch crawler? What the hell Charlotte!

She sauntered away with a swing of her hips, her black nail polished hands swinging. What a headache that girl is.

Before Charlotte was too far away, she paused and turned around again. "See you first period," she said with a grin and a little tiny wave.

I picked up my things as the bell rang, hurrying to Mr. Teller's first-period, disastrous class. The-class-where-things-go-wrong, as I liked think of it. As far as I'm concerned, it's a very accurate name.

I kept my eyes down, deciding to sit in the front of the class, as close as possible to Mr. Teller's desk if Sam attempted to assault me. That wouldn't be completely justified, but he'd probably do it in a heartbeat.

I didn't care to look around the room for Sam. I knew he was there with the sixth sense that I'd developed, telling me when someone close to me was watching me, or in this case, cussing me out mentally.

Mr. Teller glared at my late arrival. I've decided he hates me. It's easy to assume. I mean, teachers that like you don't give you looks that scream "death threat". It's common sense.

I wriggled in my seat as Mr. Teller's lecture began, fishing notebook paper for notes out of my binder. I shifted in my seat to pull down my shorts.

Goddamn! These things are crotch-crawlers!

The-class-where-things-go-wrong decided to live up to its name.

"Blake," Mr. Teller said sternly.

"Huh?" My "huh" came out sounding like some hill-billy.

"I asked you a question, and I addressed you," Mr. Teller said sternly, his brow drawn together in a scowl.

"Right," I said, not having heard anything he said to me.

Mr. Teller made a sound almost like a growl before pacing towards me. "I asked why on earth you seem to be running a marathon in your seat. Is there some sort of earthquake I'm unaware of?"

I gulped nervously. I guess maybe my movement hadn't been subtle? "No, sir. There isn't."

From the back of the classroom came a cough that suspiciously sounded like "crotch crawler", and suspiciously sounded like Charlotte's voice. Huh.

"Enlighten me, Ms. Patterson as to why you're doing such a thing if the ground is not shaking, and you're not having a seizure," A heated Mr. Teller demanded.

"My, uh, my shorts were, um, riding up." I stumbled over words, trying to speak low, but speaking accountably louder than I meant too.

The class shared chuckled and sneers. I squeezed my eyes shut, pretending I was still on the trip to Mexico my mom and dad took me on in sixth grade. The warm summer breeze, the incredible tourist attractions, no classmates with much to say about your outfit.

I guess fall isn't a great season for rompers.

~

In seventh period we didn't work in the projects, and Jonathan rarely stared at me. Rarely. He glanced at my romper a few times, along with other people. Freshmen news spreads like wildfire. Particularly my humiliation.

I almost wished I'd been able to talk to him, though I've no idea why. It's not like I like him. I mean, sure he's cute and sweet, and he makes my heart skip a beat, (cliché I know!) I don't like him. Not even a little. Actually, maybe a teeny tiny bit. Teeny tiny!

I slunk into the detention room, careful to take note that Mr. Fat-man's name was actually Mr. Travis. Just in case Sam tried to assault me. Just in case.

Sam walked in to the room with a scowl on his face. His brunette hair was In a fo-hawk with a bit of gel. As he passed me he gave me yet another death glare, making me gulp. He slammed into my shoulder. I mean, it was possible he was slightly provoked, but he doesn't always have to be such a douche to me!

I mean, get a hobby.

He sat in the seat as far away from me as possible, still scowling. My superpower let me know that he was giving me unhappy gestures. Gestures at the least.

And then, something extraordinary happened. Detention came and went with no disruptions, and an almost peaceful atmosphere. It was actually successful. For detention.

As soon as we were dismissed, Sam darted for the door, being sure to slam it in my face as he left. As my hair flew up in a rush of wind from the door, I wasn't even surprised.

-

Yippee! Update time before Paint_Splash_ hurts me!