The Unexpected

Chapter 5

WARNING: This is completely unedited! Read at your own risk!

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Chapter 5

BRRRIIING!

The bell rang, bringing me out of my stupor. It scared me so bad that I nearly fell out of my chair, which in turn earned me a few weird looks from the people around me. The teacher shouted a reminder to the students already spilling out the door of the big test tomorrow; having to yell to be heard over the voices gossiping and making plans for the upcoming dance- the dance I already decided not to bother to go to.

I sighed and shut the cover of my notebook over the doodles that were supposed to be notes on the French Revolution. Having not heard a word the teacher, Mr Carter, said after 'Good afternoon class,' I don't have anything to study for tomorrow. Guess that's what best friends are for!

I caught Emma at her desk. "Hey Emm, could I borrow-"

Emma sighed and shoved the papers in my face. "Yes, but I need them back by tomorrow morning. I need at least one period to study."

Ha, that was a joke. My best friend was a genius and had the rewards to prove it. Although she didn't think so, Emma could ace this test without even taking the class itself. To say I was a little jealous would be an understatement. When we were little, I once tried convincing her to tell me her secret to passing every spelling test the first grade had thrown at us. She smiled and told me that before a test, she only ate broccoli and drank orange juice, two things I hated as a kid. Let's just say that week ended with a failed spelling test (ironically I had misspelled every word but 'orange' and 'vegetable') and my stressed out mom almost grounding me for life (who was a little more than confused when her six-year-old suddenly refused to eat anything except broccoli). When I questioned Emma about it, she laughed and told me she was playing a prank on me; she would never eat broccoli. To this day I was trying to get her back.

I trailed Emma to the door before I was stopped by the sound of my name being called. "Ricki?"

I stopped and turned around to see Mr. Carter beckoning me to his desk. I walked slowly to him, already knowing- and dreading- what was coming.

"Ms. Young, I am," he searched for a word, "concerned. I know that you are a smart girl, and I know you know that, too. If you wanted to, you could pass this class with flying colors- and that is what I expect you to do"

"Now," he continued, "the school provides after-school tutoring." I opened my mouth but he held up a hand. "I know what you're thinking, but tutoring is not just for trouble students or those who need extra help. A lot of your classmates come for a quiet studying environment."

Hoping he was done, I slipped the straps of my bag over my shoulder. "Okay, I'll try to make it."

I wasn't trying to leave because I didn't want to hear Mr. Carter's lecture, but because if I didn't go now I would be late to my next class. I would much rather be in tutoring after school than detention.

Mr. Carter nodded once. I took that as approval to go and turned to leave.

"Oh, Ms. Young?"

I turned around.

"Let me get you a note for your next class. Wouldn't want you to be late." He smiled at me and rummaged around for stationary. I nearly choked when he started writing with a pen.

A bright.

Red.

Pen.

I inwardly slapped myself for even having the thought. Hard.

C'mon Ricki, I chided myself. Like your favorite teacher- who is right now worried about your education- would be secretly sending you freaky notes and pictures.