Shifting without looking up I spoke low over the worksheet I was attempting to complete, "Tug my hair one more dam time, and I'll tell your mother who really stepped on her beloved petunias."
The pressure on my hair immediately ceased, Kris shifting in his seat leaned over close enough for me to feel his breath by my ear causing those strange shivers, "Tell me you love me and I'll never annoy you again," he smirked into my hair.
Huffing, I folded my feet into the desk in front of me, "Just let me finish the freaking worksheet, Jesus Christ you need a hobby." My favorite pen scratching out the wrong answer on the two multiple choice questions at the bottom of the page. John Adams was definitely not on Mount Rushmore. Throwing a glance up at the other students in the class who had already broken into small chattering groups, I wondered why we were getting a substitute in the middle of the week. It was rare enough for Mr. Jackson to be late from his never-ending bore-fest of a history class, but one could always count on him to be punctual. I heard Kris move to stand- my mouth opened for another sarcastic comment when suddenly tawny beige muscled arms shot to my left and right, my entire desk being picked up and rotated, as I squeaked out, "What the hell, Du Boue?"
His forever stuck smile shined, "Now I get to see my favorite human all up close. The sub did say we can work together you know," he remarked pointing to his blank worksheet and my half started one. Returning his bulk back to his desk, I glared playfully at him, the smile at his antics curving my lips upward. The real reason I didn't want to work with him is because it was getting harder not to notice. Notice the smooth outline of the biceps that had caught her every time she almost fell out of the treehouse they built, notice the scars that told stories of their childhood together, notice that fact that "sleepovers" had an entirely different meaning now, notice how empty her room felt when he wasn't there, notice how his nose would fit perfectly with her own if only he would kiss- stop it Mia, her face warmed.
"Yeah, but when have you done anything that remotely looked like work," throwing up my natural sarcastic defense against his beautiful brow eyes. Eyes that I had a crush on since the day I first met him, eyes that came along with butterflies in my stomach, and a heart wrenching emptiness the summers his dad took him to leadership camp. "Senior year and you still barely give a crap if you pass art," flipping my hair behind me," I mean come on Kristopher, it's art! Like minimal effort, some maximum bullshit, and Mrs. Rogers would totally give you an A." I teased him as a distraction from the glorious sight of his jawline, a perfect contender for his dads.
"Who needs art when I get to stare at a masterpiece all day?" He questioned, with that permanent stupid smirk.
"Ugh, just do the back while I do the front," I huffed pointedly deciding to end this conversation, leaning over to flip his worksheet.
Ignoring his mumbled "Thought you'd never ask," I focused back on the black print words on the paper. Knowing Kris was about two minutes from giving up and googling the answers to the worksheet, I scratched in the answers to both sides, sent pictures to him, and then walked up to the adult who's name I couldn't remember.
"I have a library pass, may I be excused please?" I inquired in that fake nice voice I used for most teachers. The beady eyes hidden behind wiry thin glasses lazily glanced in my direction, over the brief note left on the desk and back up to me, with my books held in my hands. I could see the thoughts of one less student making noise enter his mind, as he gave a shrug of sure.
I flipped around nearly running into Kris's tall frame that snuck up behind me. Use to his strange antics of trailing me like a puppy I headed to my favorite place in school. The butterfly tingles had not left my side, indicating his constant presence. As much as I hated my continuing reactions to his transition from adolescence to adulthood, I was comfortable with his touch, his voice, him.
YOU ARE READING
One Shots
RomanceHere lie chapter long imaginaries of some of the fandoms I love, and some of imaginary characters I may or may not write actual stories for. I am above the age of twelve, and can form decent sentences and hold a dear place in my heart for the oxford...