It was fifth period, History. There was a test going on, it was half your grade and it was the final semester. You’d normally finish the test in a breeze with confidence. …except you had a huge D-, almost an F in the class. You chew on the end of the pearly pink mechanical pencil, tapping your fingers against the paper, all you had was your name and the date. You scan all around the room, everyone else were writing and some were even finished, you look over at the teachers desk, Mr. Styles, was grading classework.
He notices you staring and smiles, pointing at the paper at his desk, signaling you to get back to work. You nod in an understanding manner, the person next to you poked your side. Looking over, you see they have notes for the test, which was prohibited. You remember the teacher saying you’ll get a weeks worth of detention if you cheat. But you needed an A and had absolutely no idea what the hell you were doing. You take the notes from the girl, hiding it on your lap, writing down the answers to questions one through six. Suddenly an large white hand snatches the notes off your lap. Looking up, you see your teacher, crumpling the lined paper
Shit. He takes the test paper from your desk, walking to his desk and throwing them into the recycling bin, he sits, grabbing a small orange slip, and began writing viscously. Everyone was looking at you, your face was bright red, you kept your eyes on the brown desk top beneath you. You could hear the clicking of his shoes, it stops right next to your desk. He slips the orange paper onto your desk, you look at the black inked words on the orange paper. “Be here after school, we need to talk about this.” He whispers, leaning against your desk.
You look up to meet his green eyes, but instead his back is facing you, walking back to his desk. The bell rings, everyone launches out of their seats, handing him the papers. “Alright everyone who didn’t finish, visit me after school tomorrow, today, i’m busy.” Mr. Styles says, eyeing you. You give him a dirty look, picking up your books and binder you leave class. Definitely not looking forward to staying after school. You’re now in sixth period, the last period of the day. You actually liked this class. Your drama teacher, Mrs. Lee enters, you guys were doing a huge project involving the school play.
The class went by quick, because the bell rings just as you were begining to have fun. You’re at your locker, getting your history textbook out. “Hey, Y/N wanna come to my house party tonight?” Your friend asks, handing you a card. You smile. “Sure, I’d love too, but I have detention and I don’t know if my parents will allow it, but I’ll try.” He shrugs, putting his hands in his pant pockets. “That sucks, Who do you detention with?” “…Mr. Styles.” “Oh? The British guy? He’s new right?” “yeah, well see you later.” You mutter, slamming your locker. “Bye.” The halls were empty and quiet, but you could faintly hear the sound of the janitor mopping the halls and the teachers and staffs footsteps. You enter your history class. Mr. Styles was no where to be seen, so you decide to sit in the spot your assigned too in class.
You sit there, knocking your feet against the tile flooring, tapping your fingers against the desk. The sound of familiar footsteps could be heard, and you knew it was him. “Ah, Y/N, there you are.” Your history teacher perks up as he sees you, acting cheery. You roll your eyes at him. He sits at his desk again, you observe him, you often hear from many of your friends and even girls you aren’t close with, that Mr. Styles, was indeed, bangable. You check him out, he was typing on his computer, his green eyes following what ever he was writing. You look at the time, 2:56, school ended at 2:25. You sigh, he wasn’t doing anything but sit there and type! The sound of his fingers against the keyboard annoyed you. Suddenly, he stops, startling you slightly. “Alright, Y/N, we need to have a little talk.” He says, getting up from his chair, straighting his cream colored button up. “Look, before you fail me, please, i didn’t know what I was doing! The test was so hard.” You whine, you knew you sounded utterly pathetic and you hated it. “I didn’t ask for an excuse, cheating is cheating, you don’t just accidentally do it.”
