Rocks In The Sea | on hold

-One-

Before we start:
This story will mostly be in Ethan's POV.
Also, they do live in a made up town. It's easier than doing a bunch of research on a town to make sure I have an accurate representation.
Happy reading!

Ethan

Thinking is something that I seem to be doing a lot. I can't walk past anything without thinking about it. I can't sit in one place without thinking of another. Do I ever open my mouth and verbalize my thinking? No. In all honesty, who would listen? No one, I can tell you that much. No one listens to me, no one even acknowledges me in a good light. So who would take the time and listen to my thoughts?

"Mr. Miller!" My dark eyes snap up to the teacher, glaring at me with her frosty green eyes that contrast sharply with her red hair. Mrs. Woods stomps over to my desk, heels clacking against the floor before she stands over my desk in all her middle-aged rage. Dully, I look back up her and wait for her to yell at me. Tell me again how much of a disappointment I am. "Why aren't you paying attention?"

I shrug limply, slumping further into my seat. That question is actually easy to answer: because there's no point in paying attention. How will knowing about whatever metaphor or hyperbole aid me in my future? It won't. Especially if my future is nonexistent.

"If you don't start paying attention, and turning in your work might I add, I'm calling home." She threatens, crossing her arms and raising an eyebrow at me. A scoff escapes me and a smirk follows it.

"Be my guest." I grumble, crossing my arms as well. A laugh comes from the far end of the class, but both Mrs. Woods and I ignore it. The teacher is furious now, the want to murder me prominent in her eyes. That makes two of us.

"Get. Out. Of. My. Classroom." Mrs. Woods snarls. She doesn't have to tell me twice. There's nothing more that I want than to get out of this god forsaken classroom. In one swift movement, I grab my backpack and stand from my desk, walking out and slamming the door behind me. I'll admit, it was unnecessary to close the door that loud. Who even cares anymore? And that's as far as that thought goes.

She told me to get out of her class, she didn't tell me where to go. I end up wondering around in the hallways, waiting for the bells to ring and signal class change. Something in me screams to just skip the rest of the day and leave the school entirely. That thought is quickly shut down and fear sinks in. To distract myself, I focus on the lockers. They're all tall, painted blue but the paint is chipping. They're cold as I run my tan hands across them. So many lockers that held so much over the years. Years and years they've been used over and over again by students. They're just used but overall they're empty on the inside. Before I go, I'll clean out my locker.

"Excuse me! Shouldn't you be in class, young man?" I stop in my tracks as a booming voice from down the hall calls my attention. Everyone knows that voice: Dr. Patrick, the freshman history teacher. We all had him, and we all hated him. He hated me immensely, as I never did my work or stayed awake during his class. He hates slackers. Another adjective to describe me. I sigh and then turn towards him, another blank mask sticking itself to my face. Again, I shrug. Dr. Patrick finds himself in front of me. His strong build is supposed to be intimidating, yet it doesn't work on me. I don't care anymore. Never have, never will.

"She kicked me out. Didn't tell me where to go." I say, my sentences blunt and staccato. Dr. Patrick's face is like a book that's easy to read. He wants to yell at me and drag me to the Dean's office to get my suspended, but instead takes a deep breath.