The Dork and The Devil

The Dork is a smartass

"This is stupid."
"No, this is basic history. You on the other hand.." I trailed off before feeling a small thump against my head, hearing it's fall against the tiled floor.

"Hey don't be a smartass." She hissed.
"Maybe if you didn't throw pencils at me I wouldn't be, besides I can't help am smarter than you. I have no idea how you even got into my class if your this-" I was cut off by the familiar thump and falling sound.

"Stop doing that!"
"Maybe I would" she began in a high pitched pixie voice. Disgusting. It sounded to much like Sophia's. "If you weren't such a pain in my ass!" She finished, switching out the annoying voice for her normal smooth yet raspy one.

Not having much to reply I lamely rolled my eyes, a habit I normally would never do, but in her presence there wasn't any pressure to act a certain way or to plaster on the fake interest I was bred to use when something was in my favor. Besides the point was mute, she's the type to see threw that sort of thing.

Sighing I closed my history book, ducking it back neatly into my bag to exchange it for my printed notes. I never found the need to take notes but I did have some main points saved on my laptop I knew might come in handy one day. In other words, because of Kendall.

Flopping the papers on top the desk her boots were perched, I caught the subtle sound of her lightly tapping the eraser ends of two pencils against her knees. Shock ran threw me but I kept a straight face, it pissed me off to no end that I knew the song she was tapping because I knew she had to love it, otherwise she wouldn't be tapping it.

That song. I know that song.
---
"Mr. Blanch! If you can't get every note correct then there's no point in me teaching you how to play!"

My violin teacher of two years screeched out between her pacing and temple rubbing. I suppressed the tempting urge to throw a tantrum or worse break down into tears, but I remained a blank face expression.

Remembering the furious yelling that had erupted the night before in my instructors guest room, my mother had over heard my playing for enjoyment.

She was greatly displeased.

So much so that her yelling echoed throughout the mansion, not that there was many people staying to begin with.

I started playing. Until I hit every note correctly every string, the rasin on my bow gliding effortlessly. It was perfect.

When I finished my piece I lifted my gaze to meet her soft green eyes, the look in them made me snap.

Her eyes.

"I know you can do better than that, do it again but do it right this time."

Her eyes.

Her eyes widened and her mouth formed an 'O' shape as the look of absolute horror struck her face.

"William don't!" Her voice quickly tumbled out redundantly, because her words were drowned out by the sound of the ever so polished wood of my violin shattering against the marble flooring.

Before another word could escape her red lipstick covered lips I ran out of the house as fast as my little legs could carry me, I eventually made it out of my posh neighborhood and into a different type of community.

Pictures covered walls and people dressed in whatever way they pleased, not in any bad kinda way or "getto" type of way. One more like the pictures weren't graffiti like my parents would call it, but beautiful murals of people and flowers. The way the people dressed ranged from overly colorful to barely any color at all, spiked hair and pink green eyeshadow. Flower print skirts or leather dresses. Every girl every boy and some I couldn't even tell. And I loved every second of it.