"Hey," an annoying voice said. "Tell me what you got for number eight."
"Jackson, do it yourself," you whispered harshly.
Mr. Harris squinted at the two of you in the back of the classroom. He stood up from his desk and walked down the aisle. You tried your best to make it look like you weren't talking.
"Talking during a test is not allowed," Mr. Harris said irritably. "I'll give you a choice: either a zero on the test or detention after school."
"Detention," you answered quickly.
"Detention," Jackson rolled his eyes.
Almost as soon as Mr. Harris sat back down at his desk, the school bell rang, signaling the end of the day.
You walked slowly up to the front, handed in your test and walked back to your seat. Jackson did the same.
"Mr. Whittemore," Mr. Harris said. Jackson looked at him, and Mr. Harris pointed to the other end of the classroom.
Jackson rolled his eyes again, grabbed his backpack, and went to a different desk.
Mr. Harris leaned back in his seat. He didn't talk, or work on anything. He just watched you.
You looked at Jackson, who was twirling his pencil, and then up at the clock.
"Detention ends in an hour, Ms. [Y/L/N]. Looking at the clock every two seconds won't do you much good," Mr. Harris said.
You sighed and put your head on the desk, staring out the window at all the kids leaving school.
Mr. Harris' phone rang, promoting you to look up. He pulled his phone out of his pocket and answered it, seeming very concerned.
"Excuse me," he stood up. "I'll be right back."
Mr. Harris walked hurriedly out of the room.
Jackson turned around and looked at you. "Hey," he smirked.
"Don't talk to me. He might come back," you said.
"He won't," Jackson said.
"What makes you so sure?"
"I was just texting Danny," he held up his phone. "I told him to leave the sink on in the teacher's lounge, and all the janitors are off duty today."
"You're nasty," you said.
Jackson stood up and plopped himself down in the desk next to you.
"Is that what you think of me?" He asked.
"Yes."
"Do you know what I think of you?"
"I don't want to know," you said.
"Okay, fine." Jackson stretched out his arms, put his hands on the back of his head, and leaned back. You looked at him inquisitively.
"Actually, tell me," you said.
"I think you're hot," he told you.
Your eyes widened. "You do?"
"Don't act so shocked. You probably hear that all the time."
"No, I don't."
"Oh."
You and Jackson sat in a long silence. He continued to twirl his pencil. You looked nervously up at the clock.
"Do you want to know what I think of you?" You asked.
"Sure," Jackson said, not looking away from his pencil.
"I think you're hot too."
"I knew it!" He said loudly, slamming his hands down on the desk. "I'm everybody's type."
Jackson stood up, in front of you. He cupped your face in his hands, and kissed you as hard as he could.
