Six weeks holidays were over. First day back at school was here. My mood; depressed. After dragging myself out of bed I sat at my dressing table eyes closed afraid of witnessing the horror that is my face pre-makeup.
I opened my eyes cautiously, "Urgh," I sighed as I reached for my tangle teezer in an attempt to manage my frizzy mane. Quickly giving up I headed to the bathroom to wash my face. Being a girl is so difficult, especially when you're over protective mother demands you have a scincare routine at the age of 16 to 'prevent wrinkles and skin damage'. After applying what felt like 50 lotions and potions to my face, it was time to make myself look hot. It's totally a girl thing that everybody who's ever been to high school understands that the first day back is where you make the most effort. You do it for your enemies, you do it for the boys, you even do it in case of any potential new boys. You basically use a load of new makeup you bought in the summer holidays to trick people into thinking you got hot over summer, when really you're still the same as before, but with a longer lasting foundation and high end lipstick this time round.
I walked into the kitchen to my shirt, skirt, blazer and tie neatly ironed and hung over the door, knowing this would be my ensample for the next two years of school made me die a little inside. And every year my mum buys me the same skirt that comes just below the knee. She was a teenager once, surely she knows I'm gonna fold the waist over about five times as soon as I've left the house. But the skirt wasn't the real problem. The real problem was whether I should wear skin colour tights or black tights, I suppose it all depended on whether I was going for slighty tarty or slightly classy. Hmm. Skin colour, definitely skin colour.
The front door knocks as I'm putting the finishing touches to my face and I knew exactly who it was, I race downstairs in excitement to find my best friend, Hanna waiting outside for me. It's become a tradition that we walk to school every day together. Hanna's nuts, she's gorgeous, cheeky, smart, confident but not cocky and just great. We've been best friends since year 7 and out of our 'group' she's the only one I actually like and will probably talk to way after school.
"AMELIA!" She screams at me, giving me a hug, we haven't seen in each other in 3 weeks so our level of excitement is completely justified. "MAC ruby woo on your lips? She asks proudly.
"You know it!"
We laugh, I grab my black leather backpack and head for the door. "Bye, mum," I shout running out the door before she talks me into a first day back photoshoot.
"So, what's going on with you and Ryan? I ask wearily.
"Nothing, he finished it with me. The funny thing I think he thinks I'm really gutted, but I'm really not." She says unconvincingly. "Anyway, what about you? You know you can't dwell over James forever."
Ah, James. Many times did I fall for this guy over the course of the last year. We spent six months together, inseperable from each other, for it to just end three weeks ago on the basis that 'he got what he wanted and didn't want it anymore', well from me anyway. The thought of him repulses me and the way he treated me makes me want to kill. Him mainly.
"I'm not dwelling, just pissed off, wouldn't you be if a guy spent half a year with you, then at the end tells you he was just using you?" I say aggresively. "This is way too intense for a Monday morning," I say in attempt to change the conversation.
We arrive outside the school gates, unwilling to go any further. I see going to school equal to handing yourself over to the devil. The sadness in our eyes says it all. We head to our form, luckily Hanna and I are in the same one. We spend an hour here finding out what lessons we have on what days, what classes we're in, what teachers we have. This is probably as exciting as it gets, although putting my sarcastic tone aside, it's impossible to deny that heading to your classes for the first time and seeing who's in your lessons is exciting. Until you find out you hate them all, then, not so exciting, more depressing.
Form over with, and first up double French with Hanna. If this wasn't our first day back you could gurantee we'd already be on our way to Hanna's to spend the next two hours. Nobody enjoys foreign language clasess, nobody. We're on time for the first time since school began, we take our seats and await the arrival of our new teacher. New teacher's are always the best because they have no idea how to discipline a glass and eventually they give up and let you do what you want so they get an easy life.
Ten minutes pass and the teacher hasn't even bothered to show up, newbie's probably lost somewhere in the Science block the other side of the school. Hanna and I agree to wait five more minutes before leaving. Four minutes pass and we start getting ready to leave, just as I pick up my backpack from the floor and push my seat out to get up, the classroom door opens. I feel my eyes rolling instinctively and sit back in my seat.
An outrageously attractive man, with every so slight curls in his scruffy dark brown hair walks into the room carrying a bag of books. He had just the right amount of stubble and a smouldering look in his dark seductive eyes. Although he looks a little mature, he must have been a new guy. Not wanting to take my eyes off him I catch Hannah checking her makeup in her tinniest of mirrors out the corner of my right eye. Although unsaid, we both knew this would turn into a competition.
"Why is he just standing at the front reading his book?" Whispered Hanna.
"I thnk he's nervous, maybe we should invite him.." A deep voice with a faint French accent interrupts me.
"Good morning, everybody." Said the outrageously attractive man at the front. My face dropped, hot new guy wasn't hot new guy, he was hot new teacher.
"Dammit." Murmures Hanna. We look at each other and laugh.
"At least we have a reason to come to class now" I say jokingly. We share a giggle.
"Is something, Madame?" Say the hot French teacher. I stare blankly, shaking my head, trying to refrain from laughing. He had completely flustered me. I was like a little kid trying not to giggle. Holding eye contact with me he demanded I move to the front of the class, unwillingly I ablidged. His eyes followed me as I made my way through the tables to get to the front. I was completely alone on a row of my own. Regardless of how hot he was, he had just embarrassed me completely in front my class, and I was starting to develop and dislike towards him.
"I apologise on behalf of miss..." Gesturing his hand towards me, waiting for a response.
"Thompson," I say fiercely with a blank expression. He moved infront me, looking over me at the rest of the class. I couldn't help but feel picked on. What was his problem? Did he think we were laughing at him? I don't know, and I don't really care.
"Finally, we can begin." He said, intiating the delay was my fault. I wasn't the one nearly fifteen minutes late. "I'm Mr Fournier, I will be teaching you French for the next two years. I expect a level of repect when I teach in which, if recieved, will be given in return." He rambled. Although an utter moron, his voice was ridiculously sexy.
The next two hours were spent re-learning the basics of French, that everybody already had knowledge of since year nine. It was pointless. What was even more pointless was that he asked me to stay behind after class to 'talk about behaviour'.
He kneels down infront of my table, our eye levels meet. "I do no appreciate being laughed at, Amelia. And I certainly will not tolerate it from a child who is here to learn from me." He said. Completely fixated on his face, I almost ignoring him completely.
"I. Er. I'm sorry, we weren't laughing at you, it was a personal joke between me and my friend, it won't happen again," I say politely.
"No it won't because this seating arrangement is permanent. For the next two years you will walk into class and sit in that seat, unless I say otherwise. Don't be fooled by me, I may look like a young, new teacher who doesn't know what he's doing, right? Wrong." He gets up off his knees, and walks over to his desk where he sits and starts reading. He looks up from his book with a smug smirk on his face. "You may leave now," he says in a patronizing tone. I gather my things together, and leave the classroom. Ignoring texts and incomng calls off my friends asking me to meet them, I head straight to the girls toilets to fix my makeup. I stare at my reflection and can see the confidence he has just knocked out of me. What is his problem? I was livid. Nobody makes me feel that small and gets away with it. Not even an extremely good-looking French teacher.
Dammit, why's he gotta be so good looking?
