Suicide // Haylor AU

Chapter 6

FRIDAY, MARCH 15
23 days left

Mr. Scott is tapping his foot on the linoleum floor like he's auditioning for a role in Waiting for Godot. The bell rings and he springs into his spiel. "Today is one of my favorite days of the year."
I look at the date. Pi Day was yesterday. I wonder what else could get Mr. Scott so geeked out.
He frowns as his eyes scan the class. We're all slouched at our desks, most of us trying to pretend like we aren't spending every second staring at the clock.
Mr. Scott sighs. "Doesn't anyone want to know why I'm so excited?"
"I do, Mr. Scott," Stacy Jenkins says. She flips her shiny auburn hair and gives him her token suck-up smile.
"Anyone else?" he prompts, and the class groans.
"I'm glad to see how enthusiastic the young minds of the future are." His attempt at sarcasm falls flat. We all continue to look at him with glossy blank stares, our mouths slightly open. I bet if someone filmed Langston High's classrooms and then compared the footage with film taken of mouth-breathing sea creatures, the similarities would be striking.
"What's going on, Mr. Scott?" Stacy coaxes. I don't admire many things about Stacy, but I have to admit it takes some ovaries to talk to your physics teacher like he's a puppy. Mr. Scott doesn't seem to mind, though.
"Today I assign my world-famous physics photography project."
The class groans again. Projects are the worst. "You'll each be assigned a partner."
More groaning. Scratch what I said before. Group projects are the worst.
"Oh, come on," Mr. Scott says, smiling. "My students always love this project."
"What do we take photos of?" Stacy asks as she twirls her pencil between her fingers.
"Patience, Stacy. I'm about to explain that," he says, and for the first time ever, I sense a bit of irritation in his voice. I wonder if Mr. Scott dreamed of being a physics teacher when he was our age. I doubt it. I bet he thought he'd land a fancy job at NASA or something. Poor guy. I can think of few fates worse than teaching the young minds of Langston, Kentucky.
Mr. Scott continues, "You are going to take five photographs in the real world that represent the principles of the conservation of energy theory. The photographs must be related to a theme of your choice."
"Theme?" Louis Tomlinson interrupts.
"Yes. Theme," Mr. Scott says. "In the past, I've had students use basketball as a theme. All of the photos were taken at a Langston High game. Other past themes have been amusement parks, dogs—"
"Like shopping could be a theme?" Tanya Lee volunteers.
Mr. Scott winces and then quickly returns to his neutral facial expression. "In theory, you could take all your photos at the mall."
Louis Bowen raises his hand. This is new, him raising his hand instead of simply blurting out whatever's on his mind.
"Yes?" Mr. Scott points at him.
"Do we have to take the photos ourselves or can we just pull them off the internet?"
Another wince. "Good question. You must take the photographs. A big part of your grade is going to be—"
"That's not fair," Stacy protests. "This isn't photography class." Stacy isn't as good as Kendall at masking her whines as valid arguments, but I'd still give her an A for effort.
"You aren't going to be graded on the quality of the photographs per se," Mr. Scott says quickly. "But I'm going to expect that you'll . . ." He trails off. "Hold on. I might as well pass out the worksheet that better explains the project before I continue rambling."
The class mutters, a mixture of groans and sighs. Mr. Scott's face reddens and he fumbles with the worksheets. "Does someone want to help me pass them out?"
No volunteers.
"Taylor?" he says in a pleading voice.
"Uh, sure." I stand up from my desk even though I would rather eat staples than interact with my classmates. I don't make eye contact with anyone as I pass out the worksheets. No one seems that interested in looking at me either. Every time I reach someone's desk, I sense the person stiffening their back, holding their breath, willing me to go away. Part of me wants to shout that they don't have to be afraid of me, but another part of me, the bigger part of me, holds it in because I'm not so sure.
Once I'm back at my desk, Mr. Scott continues explaining the project. He tells us that he expects us to mount our photographs on white parchment paper and then organize the photographs into a booklet. Each photograph is expected to have a detailed written explanation under it, describing the history of the principle and the formulas that correspond to it. We'll be graded on the clarity of our photographs, our descriptions, and our explanations of the physics principles involved. We'll also earn points for how well organized our booklet is and the creativity of our theme. Additionally, if we don't have access to a digital camera, we can borrow one from the library. Mr. Scott is leaving little room for excuses.
"So now all that's left is to choose partners," he says, clasping his hands together. "I think the most fair thing to do is pull names out of a hat."
As predicted, the class erupts with protests.
"That's totally not fair," Stacy says.
"Yeah," echoes Tanya. "We should get to choose our own partners. Especially since our grade depends on them."
Mr. Scott scratches the back of his neck, his eyes twitching. "In the years that I let people choose their own partners, I got unoriginal themes and uninspired photographs. In years where the partners were chosen at random, I got much more creative work. I think it has to do with pushing students out of their comfort zone."

The class continues to argue with him even as we all write our names on small sheets of notebook paper and hand them to him. He grabs the Cincinnati Reds cap he has on his desk and puts all the names inside it. As he calls out the pairings, the groans and sighs become louder.
I clench my teeth and wish I'd been smart enough not to hand in my name. Maybe then I would've gotten to work alone. Even better, I wouldn't have to listen to my partner throw the World's Biggest Fit once they find out they're stuck with me.
"Taylor Swift," Mr. Scott announces as he pulls my name out of the hat.
The class goes silent.
"Your partner will be Louis Tomlinson," Mr. Scott says cheerfully, completely oblivious to my social leprosy.
"Oh God," Stacy says. She reaches out to pat his shoulder. "I'm so sorry , Lou."
Louis' face darkens like someone just murdered his mother. I guess given my family history I shouldn't joke about that. I almost feel bad for Louis. I know that any association with me is bad news for him socially. But the thing is, our project is due on April 10, so in the end it doesn't matter.
I'll be gone before we have to turn it in.

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A//N : Sorry for the late update. My exams are starting from Monday so I need to study for them. Please forgive me. Please be active readers and vote and comment.

~CK

New A//N: You guys need to be active readers bcs I spend alot of time into writing this story.