Deeper Than The Skin

Chapter 2- Favourite Lyric?

///I updated because GoldGrace2  asked so nicely and made me smile///

Grace

School seemed to go far slower than it did back home.

It was strange, not having Zali and Damon by my side, joking and laughing and teasing each other and myself. It gave me a strange feeling, like I'd lost a part of me. I doubted I'd ever grow accustomed to it.

But throughout the entire day, I couldn't stop thinking about the boy who knocked me over. I could still feel his warm fingers on my forearm, see the exact brown of his eyes.

Needless to say, he rarely left my mind.

I throughly disliked my form teacher, Mr Dernald. He was a grumpy, old, bespectacled fart with a mop of white hair and a massive nose. Kind of reminded me of Flitwick from Harry Potter, but without the sense of kindness. And magic, of course. He was short and feisty, and I loathed him from my very first encounter with him, particularly because I asked to be excused so I could go and get my hands bandaged and he told me to - and I quote - 'pipe down and stop drawing attention to my petty scratches'.

Yeah.

I had English first period, and I managed to find my way there unscathed. My English teacher, a thin, short woman with a bun and thin glasses, was slightly more bearable. She kept cracking really lame jokes, but her writing was a horrible scrawl across the white board that none of us could read.

But it was in music (second period) when I found the special teacher I knew I'd clicked with.

I was sitting at the back of the class, fiddling with my necklace and trying hard not to stare at the beautiful guitars lined along the walls, when the teacher walked in.

He wore a Bring Me The Horizon band tee and black jeans. He had a brown Afro (not that large) and similarly coloured skin. Around his arm was several arm bands, and tattoos were visible all alone his forearms.

The classroom went silent. The teacher (who had yet to introduce himself) stood in front of his desk and held a finger to his lips. Then, without warning, he pulled a remote from his pocket and pointed it at a black box in the corner of the room.

The room exploded with rainbow lights and music. I stood up gleefully as I recognised the song playing as I Write Sins Not Tragedies by P!ATD, one of my all time favourite bands. The class burst into a sudden chatter of appreciation and the teacher turned it off.

This all happened in about five seconds.

"My name," the teacher began loudly, over the top of the confused chatter, "is Wesley Rogers. But you guys ain't allowed to call me that," he added hastily with a grin. "I'm Mr Rogers to all of you. At least whenever there are other teachers around."

A smattering of laughter echoed through the room.

"Okay, kids," Mr Rogers said quietly, almost whispering. "I'm not ordinary teacher. I have this kind of... Ability, per say."

Though it sounded childish, I knew he has grasped his class's attention.

"It is why I was hired for this job." Mr Rogers eyes were wide. "It is why I'm going to friggin' excel at this job, kids, and it's why you're going to friggin' love me!" He finished his little spiel with his eyes like saucepans and sang 'love me' like The 1975 song, earning him a few woohoo's. "Some people call it immaturity, this thing I possess-" a few people stifled giggles "-but I call it understanding." Mr Rogers grinned.