Darker Than Love | ꪜ

Darker Than Love | 2

Michelle's POV

"So can anyone tell me the answer?" He stopped for a beat, his eyes trailing over the classroom, looking for his next victim before they unexpectedly fell upon me. "Michelle." I snapped my head towards the teacher and groaned inwardly when his dark eyes lingered on my stoic face.

I hate that man so much.

I have no clue what so ever about the topic. I've been in my own world for the past hour, looking out the window and thinking about this morning with Tristan and how I should make it up to him. Not paying attention in class was such a shocker, but I did it regularly, not that anyone knew. I was the good girl. "Uhh. . ." I trailed off blankly as I sat upright in my chair and placed my fingers against my chin, feigning that I was thinking.

When in reality I was just letting time slip through my hands till he calls someone else up and save myself further embarrassment.

And plus, not because I'm rich and supposedly prestige or I'm the good girl means I'm intelligent, I just have everyone fooled with the occasional pair of glasses or maybe it's the fact that I do ace all my exams and I just can't bear with the fact that I'm maybe a nerd.

"The answer is Mass sir, not that Michelle might have known since she dozed off to la la land," Tristan exclaimed loudly and my eyes widened a fraction. I curled my lip into my mouth and harshly bit down on it. 

Relax Michelle.

I swivelled my head in his direction, only to see a smirk lingering on his devilish face. That little son of a–ugh! Tristan had this thing where he would always step in for me when I was in predicaments like seconds ago, but today I think he got a thrill out of doing it rather than just being my help. "Thanks," I snapped before averting eye contact with him and letting my eyes find comfort in my book.

The sound of the intercom static erupted around the classroom. The awkward screeching made my teeth grind against each other as I glared at it in annoyance.

Then suddenly the voice of Mrs Santos, our school's beloved principal filled the classroom. Her overly excited voice made me believe that she was probably announcing good news. . .boy was I wrong.

"Michelle White, please come down to the main office, Michelle White, the main office." Well, there it is. As if this were your typical high school movie: the class erupted in oohs and I didn't hold back from rolling my eyes.

What is this, middle school?

I shot up from my seat, tossing my book into my bag and zipping it up hastily as I tried my very best to dodge the judging stares from everyone. They–nor myself–didn't even know why I'm being paged to the office, and they already took it upon themselves to judge me. Says a lot about high school.

I knocked on the door to the main office after arriving there in record time and Mrs Santos's voice of approval had me slowly stepping into her office, a nervous smile etched on my face, "you wanted to see me?" I asked.

"Yes Michelle, have a sit dear," she said, motioning towards the chair that sat before her, a very horrifying smile on her face. Well, I was right about her being excited about something, but why?

I sat down slowly and warily, fiddling with my sweaty fingers as I tried digging deeper into her expression, she's usually your happy loony bin but today. . .no something's up today. "Do you remember the program you signed up for some months ago?" She suddenly asked as she flipped open a manila folder on her desk, her eyes concentrated on it.

"No, ma'am I can't recall."

She peered up from the file with that same lingering jokeresque smile and then she frowned when the confusion on my face was clear. "The juvenile delinquency program that you signed up for." She said.