The Princess of the Streets

Fourteen - Jealous! Who, Me?

This entire week went by quickly each day consisting of me slacking off on my homework, avoiding everyone aside from Ryder and Ethan during school while Chace got the the other two, and then me meeting Chace in the girls' bathroom to go take pictures. I had gotten pretty used to the odd outfits he set out for me (so far we'd gone through gypsy, '80s rocker, and an outfit so bright and preppy it made me want to throw up). 

The cool thing about this whole photography setup was that Chace always took me somewhere cool looking that matched the outfit perfectly somehow. We hardly talked on our little trips, but that never bothered me. That, and we were pretending like the other person didn't exist during school hours. It was peaceful. Or it was before today.

I was in English class sitting beside Ryder with my feet propped up on my desk. I was in the middle of a 'debate' with our English teacher, Mr. Lewis.

"I really don't see the need to read Romeo and Juliet again. Seriously, Mr. L, it's a waste of time. You could be teaching us something new," I told him.

"Waste of time? Olivier, Shakespeare is not a waste of time, it's art," he said heatedly as if I had just insulted his religion. Looking over the balding middle-aged man wearing a drab brown suit with a gold pocket watch chain sticking out of his pants pocket, and ugly old-style shoes that probably should have been buried with Romeo, I realized I probably had insulted his religion. "Besides, reading it in the eighth grade doesn't count."

My eyes widened. "Ohh, it sure does!" I said with wide eyes, dropping my feet to the floor with a small thud. I remembered that story perfectly, and I also remember hating every second of it. I couldn't understand half of it myself, and the parts I could understand made me so mad. It was about two idiot teenagers who died over their lust over each other. They hardly knew each other!

Ryder side kicked my ankle. "Tone it down," she mumbled sternly. 

I ignored her, stood up, and turned to face the class. Mr. Lewis sounded surprised when he spoke. "Olivier, sit down!" He didn't yell, but he didn't quite sound like the president of the welcoming committee either. Not like it mattered either way.

"Who in here wants  to reread that story?"

Some people looked hesitant and slightly scared while others looked excited about the prospect of no repeat homework assignments. That, or they were looking forward to the drama likely to unfold. Nobody raised their hands.

"Hmm, who would have thought?" I said sarcastically. I turned back around to face my teacher. "Try something worth our time, like, say The Great Gatsby, or Dante's Inferno. That, or we can hold a strike."

The back of the class erupted in cheers just as the bell rang. I kept eye contact with the tomato-red faced Mr. Lewis. He seemed to have trouble making his quivering jaw open to speak as my classmates filed out of the classroom. 

"Detention," was all he managed to utter out. It was only slightly scary. Nothing I couldn't deal with. I picked up my books. "Oh, darn," I muttered in my best fake upset tone before heading toward the door where Ryder was standing waiting for me. No need to tell him that I already had detention every day. Most of the time I served detention during lunch, but today would be an after school day if he was going to be the one holding it.

Once we were in the hall she socked me in the arm. "You idiot! You're supposed to be staying out of trouble," she chastised. 

I gave her a half-grin. "Don't act like you're not glad I did that. He was going to make us relive eighth grade. Is that what you really wanted, Ry?" I snickered remembering Ryder in the eighth grade with her short hair, oily skin, and braces. She was a class-A dork, though she still looked 10 times better than I did. I can recall that being her least favorite year ever.