Next On

Chapiter 2:

Miss O'Hare made the one hour and twenty minute period of math feel like an eon. She kept going on about things he had no hopes or cares of understanding.

Halfway through the class, he must've fallen asleep. He woke up alone in the classroom.

Alone except for Miss O'Hare.

Her beady green eyes stare into his frightened blue ones.

Their face off lasts a couple moments until she speaks, breaking the fragile silence.

"Is my lesson too boring for you to waste your time over?"

He simply stares at her at a loss of words.

"Because I can assure you Mr. Osborne that my lesson is worth your time. Especially since you're failing it. That's right, you're failing. How important does my lesson seem now, Mr. Osborne?"

She sneers at him, causing him to flinch. Her gaze seems to burn through his soul, in a fiery, fierce way. If he was ever afraid of her, he's now absolutely and utterly terrified of her.

"You require at least a fifty to pass this class. You currently have a thirty-nine. Is there any reason I should find this acceptable? Can you name one single thing?"

She looks even more furious at his silence.

"I'm going to give you two months Mr. Osborne, that's around when you get your report cards. If you're mark isn't above above a fifty by then, I'm going to have to fail you. I suggest you find yourself a tutor. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes, Miss O'Hare."

He mutters, trying to avoid her eyes, deep pits of raw anger.

"Pardon me? Look me in the eyes and tell me you understand."

Lane stares dead at her and states in a seemingly calm, yet internally shuddering voice.

"Yes Miss O'Hare."

"Good. Don't fail me, or I'll be forced to fail you."

With those words, she was gone. Then Lane was alone. For real this time.

He grabbed his math book and left the stuffy classroom, with silence clinging to the air, like a distressed child to a parent.

"You're failing this class."

Darn.

That had hurt him.

It burned more then a punch to the face.

He would know, he got one of those everyday.

He kept walking until he reached his locker. It was a tall, beige, metal locker. It was once beige at least. Now it was rusted into a blend of browns and dusty reds.

Once there, he turned the dial on the front of the lock.

"Don't fail me, or I'll be forced to fail you."

64-2-32

He knew she could, and would live up to her words.

He quickly ditched his math book for his social studies one, and closed his locker. He flipped the lock close and shut it, to keep unwanted pests out. With that, he was on his way to social studies.

Even though it was just as long as his math class was, it went by in a matter of minutes. Even though Mr. Lewis had been reading directly out of the book, his tone of voice and enthusiasm made it seem like he was telling a story.