Making Art With The Bad Boy

Chapter Two

History passed by dismally. The documentary was studying anthropologists and their discovery of a 1600's sunken ship. It would have been far more fascinating, if the people in the movie didn't have hideous bangs and crappy audio systems. I understand that most educational movies are at least a decade old, but it's really not that difficult to find a more highly defined source of information, like a DVD or PDF. I had no patience for bad quality movies unless they were classics and "Underwater Excavation: La Salle's Shipwreck " was not a classic. 

I was gathering my things, the school bell signalling the end of fourth period ringing, when Mr. Hamilton called Noah to his front desk. He sauntered over, his arrogance evident in each stride, and planted his feet in front of the desk. 

"Noah," Mr. Hamilton whispered, barely audible for me to hear, "Your marks are beginning to worry me. They're steadily decreasing and I know for a fact it's not a product of low intelligence." 

"I've been busy." Noah answered, his voice almost angry. 

"You'll need to make time for your studies, son. I could recommend a tutor?" He hedged, his eyebrows raised, awaiting a response. His eyes met mine and Noah noticed, turning around to glare at me. I had stopped piling my things and was standing still beside them, eavesdropping their conversation. I flinched from their stares and whirled back to my pile, mentally pleading that Mr. Hamilton wouldn't make me tutor Noah. 

"That's unnecessary." He replied, and I got that feeling he was wishing the same thing I was. 

Mr. Hamilton sighed, nodding his head, and went back to organizing the sheets at his desk. I glanced at Noah who turned to glare at me once more before stalking off, his bag swung over his shoulder. 

I looked after him as he left before Mr. Hamilton cleared his throat, ushering me to leave his finished class. I quickly swiped everything into my arms and sped-walked out, my feet subconsciously taking me to my locker. 

I met Naomi and Cassandra along the way. Naomi's physics class was downstairs on the first floor and Cassandra was at the library, also on the first floor, so naturally they met half way. 

"Hey ladies, where's B?" I asked, joining their synchronized walking. We always walked like quadruplet robots when the four of us were together. It wasn't intentional, just unavoidable. 

"Bridgette's asking Mr. Finnigan for extra help." Cassandra replied, waving her phone screen at my face. Bridgette's name was placed above a couple of her recent texts. 

I sighed, not as a reaction, but out of exhaustion. School always drained me of energy by the end of the day. All I wanted to do was go home, change into pajamas, and read something other than my assigned English book. I loved reading, but whenever teachers assigned a book for the class, I found myself avoiding it like the plague. It was probably some deeply-rooted problem with authority figures I harbored. Or maybe I just really hated homework. 

"Are you guys going to the game?" Cassandra asked, her blue eyes focused on her phone, her painted thumbs dancing on the screen. 

Naomi snorted, an obvious no, and I shook my head before realizing she wouldn't see, "Nah, I'm just going to go home." I replied. It was November and the school's hockey team was preparing for their best season yet. Coach Clark was working the boys extra hard, and they were often offered class-leave a couple minutes before class ended to get their equipment early. I knew the majority of the boys on the team, but not well enough to call them friends. I also knew Noah was a star player. The announcements would always congratulate him when they'd state each players wins, and his name was called nearly every time. That was also why I tended to avoid the arena, even though it was right beside the backfield.