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Whoever made my schedule should be decapitated, because now I have to sit through trigonometry first thing every morning.
To be truthful, it isn't really the subject that bothers me; it's the class. The classroom is always deathly quiet, filled with uncomfortable, pin-drop silence, and our teacher, Mr. Andersen has the most annoying voice I've ever heard. He's so old that it looks like he might collapse into a pile of dust any moment. It takes him three minutes to move from his desk to ours, and his words come out so long, slow and stretchy that it physically hurts my ears.
I'm sitting in first period one morning, decaying away in my seat and watching Mr. Andersen chalk out something in unreadable handwriting--yes, this man still uses chalkboards--when the door swings wide open.
"Um, is this Room C178?"
The whole room turns their attention towards the front of the room, and there, in the doorframe, stands a girl.
First of all, she's not just any girl. For starters, she's Indian, which is very rare to see in this large high school. I doubt there are many Indians at all in this school, besides me, Rohan, Sara, and half of Ally. Secondly, this girl looks brown but has the loudest, fakest white accent I've ever heard someone put on, which makes me cringe. And lastly, well, she looks--and sounds--like trouble.
Again, I acknowledge that I'm judgemental, but it's literally a gut feeling. Something about the way she stands there, twenty minutes into first period yet entitled as hell, smirking as if she owns the ground below everyone's feet, and her obnoxiously loud tone of voice tells me to stay far, far away from her.
"Young lady, you're late," Mr. Andersen says, squinting at her.
She tosses her curled hair over her shoulders and adjusts her very short denim shorts and insanely thin, almost invisible spaghetti straps, which have now gained the attention of the three back rows. I look away pointedly, because the last thing I would ever want the troublesome new girl to think is that I'm checking her out rather than staring into her soul and wondering why she just had to interrupt the lesson.
"Well, I'm new," she snaps in a very high-pitched voice, her lips puckered, as if that solves everything.
I was wrong. Mr. Andersen's voice isn't the most annoying one I've ever heard. This girl's is.
My trigonometry teacher sighs, and I actually feel a little bad for him.
"I think the reception mentioned there was a new student today," he croaks, beginning to look around for something.
The girl rolls her eyes and storms in, slamming the door behind her and sidling up to the front of the classroom. She scans the class with a bored look on her face, occasionally giving a fake, sweet smile, followed up by another eyeroll. But then, her eyes widen, stopping suddenly.
At me.
She looks at me once, twice, thrice, and then a slow smile creeps onto her face. I stare at her blankly, shaking long strands out of my eyes and running my hands through my hair before turning back to the notes in front of me. I didn't know girls could be creepy, but she makes me uncomfortable.
After a minute, Mr. Andersen finds what he's looking for and holds up a clipboard with shaky hands.
"Ah, yes," he says. "Are you possibly Miss...Suhasini Goel?"
A few scoffs arise, and 'Miss Suhasini Goel''s eyebrows furrow immediately.
"Call me Suha," she says, still irritatingly snappy.
YOU ARE READING
UNO Cards
Romance"I know nothing about loving anyone." "Nor do I..." "If you know nothing and I know nothing, perhaps together, we know something." Their story began when they were children, one scarred by fresh tragedy, crawling into a dark void filled with fear an...
