The Janitor

Chapter 2 - Meet Alex

After lunch, I started to head to my student elective: fine arts. This past week we have been working with oil paints on canvas. I have taken a liking to painting but I know that I am more talented at sketching. I have sold a few sketches to friends and family, actually.

Anyways, today in art, my teacher had me start a completely new piece since the one I was already working on wasn't "school appropriate." He told me that painting the nude female body was offensive so I told him that his face was offensive. Childish, I know, but I was pissed. I can't believe that I have to start all over again! Today keeps getting worse and worse. I want to fucking quit high school.

After art class was American History. I was scheduled to do my oral report on the Civil War today but Mr. Lundgren changed my scheduled time to another day. Again.

A bunch of angry thoughts raced through my head. I tore the corner of a piece of notebook paper off and scribbled something on it. Then I crumpled it into a tiny ball and threw it at Mark Widman once the teacher turned his back. The note said to meet me at my house after school.

I knew he wasn't going to come but I invited him over anyway. He probably already had plans. I haven't talked to Mark in a while, and he has a girlfriend now. Mark and I were childhood best friends but grew apart once high school started. We were as close as friends could be, like siblings. We used to hang out everyday and we would talk about everything together. He was the only one I really trusted. But then I told his girlfriend that she was ugly and Mark hasn't talked to me since then.

I looked at Mark again and this time we locked eyes. He was shaking his head at me. Fuck. I didn't really know why I invited him over in the first place but I guess that doesn't matter anyways.  I groaned in frustration and shot him a glare. He turned back around until I was staring at the back of his head.

I raised my hand. "Mr. Lundgren? May I use the bathroom? I'm having," I paused dramatically, "feminine problems." I smiled at my teacher and he widened his eyes.

"Um. I, uh, yes, Ms. James. Go on ahead," he replied quickly, turning red.

I put my hand over my mouth, stifling a giggle as I hurried out of the classroom. Everyone knows that Mr. Lundgren gets embarrassed easily. Bringing up something embarrassing is an effective way to get out of his class; I learned it from my older sister who had Mr. Lundgren back when she was in high school. She's off in medical school now, studying neurology.

I continued to walk to who the hell knows where when something, or rather, someone, caught my eye. He was dressed in a maroon t-shirt and jeans and was holding a mop. Is that our new janitor? I wondered. He can't be any older than eighteen. Damn, he's hot.

The mysterious boy was whistling some tune while he was mopping but heard my footsteps coming closer. He stopped mopping then he looked me up and down. He smirked. I felt my cheeks turn red. The fucking janitor just checked me out for Christ's sake! Well, at least he's more attractive than our last janitor, who was a forty-five-year-old Hispanic man fired for trying to sell pot on school grounds. I turned even more red as a dirty thought crossed my mind, having to do with me, the new janitor, and a broom closet. I nodded at the boy and scuttled away, slipping on the wet floor and falling right into the janitor's open arms.

"Woah, be careful! You don't want to hurt yourself," he said, chuckling. He had a deep voice and beautiful hazel eyes. "Here you go," he said as he stood me back up. "I should have put up a caution sign or something, sorry about that." He smiled apologetically and scratched the back of his head.

"Don't worry about it," I replied awkwardly. I thought about telling him that I'm just clumsy but thought better of it.

"I'm Alexander Curtis, the new janitor. My friends call my Alex though," he winked. I smiled, already liking him.

"Hi, Mr. Curtis. It's nice to meet you," I breathed out. I hadn't realized that I was holding my breath.

"Oh there's no need to be so formal. You can call me Alex. I'm only a few years older than you anyway. I'm nineteen. I'm assuming you're fourteen or fifteen or something. Sorry, I'm rambling," he said, averting his eyes in embarrassment.

"I'm sixteen, a sophomore," I offered. When he cocked his head, I told him that my birthday didn't hit the cutoff so I was older. "Ah, so yeah, it was nice to chat with you Mr. Cur-Alex. I have to get going though. So. Uh, bye!" I walked away without waiting for his reply. I heard him start to whistle again.