Teachers Pet

1: Macaroni Fiasco

        The bell rang for first period, causing students to rush to their classes. I was still rummaging through my locker, trying to get the paperback I needed. Old assignments and overdue books were carelessly strewn every which way. I knew I should organize and clean out my locker, but I kept putting it off.

       "Come on." I scowled at the paperback. I already had the hardcover in my arm. The paperback was lodged between my history book and a thick novel I've yet to finish. All three books were weighed down by the meaningless miscellaneous I can't seem to get rid of. I swore under my breath and tossed my hardcover to the ground to rip out my paperback. In doing so, I managed to tear the cover off.

       "Seriously," I hissed to myself. Mostly it was to the torn page sticking out of my locker, inanimately mocking me. Thanks to these unnecessary books, I was late to Art. I wasn't even sure why we needed to learn the material in these pages. It would never benefit us in life and it was unequivocally boring. Perhaps other students found Mr. Banks assignments and never-ending lectures interesting, but I absolutely loathed them. It wasn't the subject I hated, I loved art. No, it was Mr. Banks himself. He had nothing to offer me in that class. He was a terrible teacher and was wrong for the position. He's the only reason I'm retaking this damn class. Because he didn't take the time to understand my final last year, I failed. Granted, I did turn in a single piece of macaroni pasted to a piece of paper, but I know my final was "A" worthy. If he'd just given me the chance to explain.

       Now Art was the only thing holding me back from walking across the stage next year with everyone else. This time around, I wouldn't let anything derail me from passing every assignment Mr. Banks throws my way. I'd be on my best behavior and I'd keep my mouth shut when he pushes my buttons. Of course, I suppose being late on the first day of school wasn't the best start.

       I slammed my locker door, hearing the clutter inside fall over. Ah, a problem for later. As I tried to bend down to pick up my hardcover, I felt a harsh tug at my sweater followed by a tearing sound.

       "Fuck." My sweater had gotten caught inside of my locker, leaving a rip at the seam of my right pocket. This was the only sweater I had. I've had this thing since seventh grade. Thankfully, it still fit. It was a bit snug now, but it was all I had really.

       I quickly turned the dial on my locker trying to free myself, but when I tried to open my locker it wouldn't budge. Trying a second time, the same thing happened. I slapped my locker door as my frustration only grew.

       "Everything alright?" I couldn't hold back my annoyed sigh. My first day just wasn't going very well already.

       "Dandy. I'm just- " As I turned to unintentionally glare at the other student, I instantly regretted the harsh tone I'd given him. I didn't really know who he was, only that he was a transfer, I think. He was the brown haired boy that always sat in the back of the class. He never rose his hand, never got called on, never participated in anything, actually. Teachers never seemed to look his way. He was just the quiet, messy haired boy with the brown messenger bag. Almost nonexistent, except I always seemed to notice him. I've never spoken to or been near him. I wish I had though.

       "Just stuck?" As he approached me, I couldn't help but take all of him in. I don't think I'd ever get an opportunity like this again. He was always a curious person to me. I wanted to know his name, why he was so quiet, why he never involved himself in class...

      With him standing only a few feet away, I realized his hair wasn't just brown. It was more of a bronze color. And it wasn't messy, but styled that way for preference; tousled by choice. But those eyes... they were just as fascinating up close as they were afar. In my head, I'd always compared them to early autumn leaves; Green with light traces of brown.