My Mismatched Socks

Chapter One! Room Sixty Nine 

I grinned to myself as I read the last page of my book, full aware of how geeky that is,  and closed the front cover with a resolute snap. I sat back in my chair, thinking. That was a great book.

Charles Dickens never gets old.

I looked around the classroom, observing how my classmates were wasting their study hall time by renewing their makeup, making childish airplanes, and seeing whose pencil can land in a girl's shirt first.

My upper lip curled in disgust. They don't know how to spend their free time.

As I was thinking of something else to do, a note flew onto my desk. I looked up and saw Casey Mcknight, a ditzy cheerleader, smiling at me.

I opened the note and snorted when I saw what was inside.

"You're hair looks really pretty today. Do you mind if I copy your answers for yesterday's trig homework?"

Yeah, sure my hair looks pretty. I rubbed a strand thoughtfully. No, I decided, my hair couldn't actually be pretty- it looked like a bushy squirrel's tail that just had a bad perm.

I sighed and crumpled up the note, not afraid to chuck it at Ms. Popular, causing her spray tanned face to scrunch up in anger and spin around in her seat, pissed.

I smiled slightly. This is what a so called nerd has to go through.

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After school, I went to Mr. Hershey's room, where all the tutors met with their students. I was tutoring a normal average boy named Bryce today, and apparently he couldn't understand Shakespeare. It's gotten so bad that his mother called his teacher, asking what he did to make her son bawl at night and repeat, "Thee, thou, art, Romeo."

Still smiling from when Mr. Traise told me the distressful story and begged for me to tutor my peer, I sat in one of Mr. Hershey's desks and waited for Bryce to show.

When he finally came, all the other tutors came and collected their students already. He was fifteen minutes late, and looked like he just got out of bed. I guess Mr. Traise neglected to mention that this boy needed help in more subjects other than English.

"Bryce?" I asked, deciding to play netural.

He put up a hand. "Ey."

I stood up and straightened my beloved overalls, which were finally starting to show some wear and tear, as sad as that was. I bent down and tied the shoelaces of my converse, just to stall for time. I never worked with a delinquent before.

As I was straightening up again, the door opened, and Mrs. Ranket's familiar prim voice said, "And this is where the tutors and their students meet- Ah, our best tutor and her current student is actually here to meet you, it seems like!"

Mrs. Ranket stepped into the room, but the door still hid the new student I was assuming she was giving a tour to. "This is Mr. Hershey, head of the tutor committee."

"Hello, Mr. Hershey."

Bryce and I looked at each other and then together turned to stare at the door. The voice that spoke was like a low thrum, masculine and authorative.

"Pleased to meet you...?" Mr. Hershey said, sticking out a hand.

"Oliver. Oliver Sanchester." the voice spoke again, a tan, long fingered hand taking Mr. Hershey's and shaking it firmly one, twice.

"And this is Maxine Walters and her student-"

"Bryce. His name is Bryce." I said quickly, wanting the attention off of my name.