Metanoia

nine.

There was a reason I dreaded Wednesday mornings. No, it wasn't because Wednesday was the middle of the week (not for the most part anyway), and no, it wasn't because the cafeteria served flaky and sloppy soup on Wednesdays (they did that every other day of the week too). So the real reason, you ask?

Two words; maths class. Or simply put? Hell. Only in this version, the villain was much less pleasant. Behold our teacher, Mr Clark, an awfully passionate balding man, who spat on students for fun during class, starring as Satan. And then there's yours truly as the sacrifice.

Ok, so maybe I was just exaggerating. He probably didn't mean to spit on his students. Hell, he probably didn't even realise he was doing it. But it still didn't make the experience any better. Not to mention that his breath stank like a ten year old rotten tuna can.

So in case you're coming to my school any time soon, here's a pro tip. Never ever sit in the front row when your teacher is Mr Clark.

I pushed the doors open and my glance searched across the room for an empty seat. Anywhere but the first row. However, my class was apparently too smart for me and only the front and back row were empty. Everyone knew to not sit at the back. These seats were reserved for the popular clique only. Who knew what would happen if you do happen to take one of those seats. I shuddered at the thought.

I spotted Abigail sitting in the middle row and I glared at her for not saving me a spot to which she responded with an apologetic look.

Traitor.

Obediently, I took a seat in the front row next to the teacher's pet, Poppy. She grinned at me, flashing me a glimpse of her braces. The bit of lettuce stuck between her bottom front teeths caught my eye and I sheepishly smiled back, before turning to the front.

It was quite sad, actually. To avoid the prime seats for catching Mr Clark's spit with your face every ten second, everyone made sure to get to class at least an hour early. At half an hour earlier, I was just a bit too late.

Soon, Mr Clark stood up from his seat signalling that class was about to class and I grimaced, awaiting the torture that's about to come.

Call me over dramatic or whatever but believe me when I say it's a horrific experience getting spotted on every ten seconds. I wonder for a while how Poppy does it but my thoughts were diverted when the first drop of spit landed on me.

Eek.

The lesson went on for a ten minutes until all of a sudden, the door slammed open and I jumped in my seat. Instinctively, I looked to the door to find the culprit.

Tyler.

His eyes scanned across the room before his eyes landed on me. My cheeks involuntarily reddened. The last two times I had seen him, I had been crying my eyes out. For someone to see that side of me? Awkward.

I felt sorry for him for an instant when I realised that he would have to sit in the front, and get spat on but then I realised that he was popular. That was the thing about being popular. You didn't have to ruin your beauty sleep to get a good spot in class. They were automatically reserved for you. It was like an unspoken rule.

Tyler was practically the Justin Bieber of our school population, only much less hated, and a lot more attractive. So imagine my shock when he walked next to the seat next to me and sat down.

I internally screamed.
Tyler? Sitting next to me? With the risk of being spat on
Curious glances came our way

Or maybe not

Analogy
No, it wasn't because Wednesday was the middle of the week, and no it wasn't because the cafeteria served sloppy soups on Wednesday's (they did that every other day of the week as well). The real reason? history class. In other words, simply put hell. only mr pine starred as Satan, and yours truly, the sacrifice. I sat at the front the prime seating if catching me pinesspit on ur face was a hobby. Unfortunately I didn't have a. Choice the good seat for popular ppl.So Imagine my surprise when bad boy Tyler come sit next to me keep in mind he was the Justin Bieber of our school only not as hated and not engaged