I sit in AP Chemistry. Kids are throwing paper planes over desks and blowing spitballs at each other's heads. If you thought the top stream was going to be any less immature, you were wrong.
Alice Kennedy is leaning over to whisper in Howard Morrison's ear, judging by her expression, they're not the kind of things her mother would approve of her saying.
Gertrude McNuff is popping her pimples in the corner and it takes all my self control not to spew all over my desk. Gross. Conrad Jones is convincing his fellow brain dead comrades to egg the principal's car during period 5, as always. I glance over at my lab partner, Melanie Ford, who is scribbling away, completing homework that's due in literally 2 minutes.
I go to pull my tattered folder out of my bag, when a loud clang resonates around the classroom.
"What was tha-" Mel starts as we both turn to look at the front. There, flicking his hair back like some sort of self absorbed Hollywood actor, is the new kid. I watch as all eyes drift to him, the obnoxious smirk playing on his face, the curl of his hair, the deep blue of his eyes.
I just smile and wait for the usual drama to unfold. He's a golden boy.
That's when Mrs. Doole makes her grand entrance, slamming the door to the wall as she strides into the room. Her face slides into its usual 'these kids give me migraines' expression before plastering a fake grin over top.
"Good morning Juniors, I hope you had a good spring break." If sarcasm was rain, this class would've flooded years ago. "I'd like you all to meet Mr. Goldfinch," she glances at the new kid, "Marcus E. Goldfinch is that right?" Mrs. Doole finishes snakily.
"That's me," New kid fake cheers, "you can call me Marc."
"Ok Marc, take a seat." Mrs. Doole orders. Before this point, everything happening today has been totally normal. The disorganised class, grumpy teacher and even a new kid. But then this really weird thing happens, Mr. Golden boy Goldfinch beelines away from the girls pulling at his arms and guys giving him 'the nod'. He walks straight up to my desk, and sits down next to me.
He even looks a little nervous, strange 'cause before he was striding around like he owned the place. How can someone go from overconfident to awkward in a matter of 3 seconds?!
I breathe deeply, I am not ready to become a social pariah. No thank you. If you sit with me golden boy we are going to have a lot of problems, beginning with the 'it' girls.
"I'm afraid that seat is taken." I deadpan at him.
"I'm afraid that it is taken by me." He grins back. Huh, he's obviously not nervous anymore.
I sigh and roll my eyes, nope he's a cocky charmer, wonderful.
"Move it, they are plenty of other girls dying for you to sit next to them." Playing on a guy's girl senses usually works, note the usually. I mean c'mon there are plenty of attractive girls (that are glaring at me) in this room, why don't you want to sit by them golden boy?
"Well they're just going to have to wait. I like this desk." As if to assert his point, he drags his chair closer. Wow, creepy and cocky......bad combination.
"Personal space dude." I glare.
"I'm like....what.....30 inches away from you." Golden boy says. I look at the space between us and glare back at him as if to say, 'yeah no, piss off'.
"Look smartarse, what do you want?" I say, beginning to lose my patience.
"My name's Marc." He smiles devilishly.
"Whatever, answer the damn question."
"Nope." He says, popping the p, smiling defiantly. "Make me."
YOU ARE READING
Lost in Transit
FantasyChoose two they said, To love and to lose, To know and to forget, To rule and to fall. I know what I chose, Does he?
