Defile Me

twelve: mustard shirt

MYLES

"MR. CROWELL, pay attention." The teacher circled our lab table once again, suspicious of my part of participation in the lab.

I threw my head back, I hadn't bothered to involve myself in the assignment, it was nothing more than putting objects on a scale.

My assigned partner was gracefully doing all the work. She jumped at the opportunity to, as she put it, 'serve me'.

It was 8 in the morning and I had nowhere near enough energy of sleep for this. It was too fucking early.

"Myles.." The pessimistic voice of a nuisance barricaded my ears.

I looked over, my eyes heavy-lidded. "Hm?"

"I think I did it wrong."

My eyes retracted to the scale. This was one of the easiest assignments we could've been given. All we had to do was get the mass, and find the volume and density. Piece of cake.

It was child's play — yet for some reason, the girl who jumped up to make sure I didn't lift a finger, was incapable of middle school-level work.

Looking at the sight of all the scribbles she'd drawn over the paper, no work in place, I huffed, standing from the stool. I would've finished the assignment, it was the more plausible thing to do but I couldn't care less about being 'plausible'.

I was close to leaving class already and she pushed me to the point where I suddenly needed a cigarette.

I wanted to get out of this class. Aside from my partner — whose strong suit was clearly not science — I've had enough of my teacher redundantly circling my lab table as if I hadn't contributed any work to the assignment.

If anything, I did most of the work, which if you told anyone else would be surprised.

I grabbed my bag, whilst leaving my partner calling out my name in such high reverence.

The teacher — now known as Ms. Rile, who was recently divorced and had only given us this lab because she was far too exhausted to teach this early in the morning as I was too tired to be in this class — stomped up from behind me. "Where exactly do you think you're going, mister?"

"For a smoke."

"Hey! At least return the lab coat!" I found myself outside the classroom before another word could leave her mouth that stenched of her coffee she walked into the classroom with coming in late.

My nose scrunched, my head laid low to retract my tired, sensitive eyes from the excessively bright light. I was hardly still awake, it took everything in me to not stay in bed this morning.

I groaned in anticipation, my eyes squeezed shut for a moment to refrain from what happened to practically be indistinguishable from the sun right about now.

I heard the slam of a door, my forehead creased, presuming that it was a teacher coming my way and going to ask me 'Why aren't you in class?'.

The figure was made visible, coming from around the corner. I watched from the bottom up — black Dr. Marten shoes, contrasted with black stockings coloring her slim perfect legs, drawing up to her flattering skirt.

It had been so clearly obvious who it was.

She was drawn into whatever was so fascinating on her phone, she failed to notice me.

I didn't even have to make a sound for her to notice my presence. In few seconds, she paused in her steps, her eyes averting from the screen.

Ivy blinked, like the sight of me being on school grounds — especially during 1st period — was a rarity, clicked her phone off, and slipped it into her pocket. Her eyes scanned my body as mine did hers just a few seconds before yet she struggled to be subtle. "You're not in class."