Change | E.D

Thirty One

Charlotte

"Hey Charlotte?" I hear a voice whisper to me in class, and when I look over and see a familiar pair of brown eyes look at me, I can't help but feel a little ping of annoyance.

Isaac hasn't talked to me since he ran off of my porch because I wouldn't make out with him. That was the same night my dad hit me, the same night that I needed someone there. And although that someone was Ethan and it ended up making our relationship much stronger, I still would have liked for him to be somewhat supportive.

And he wasn't. 

"What?" I ask him, darting my eyes to the front of the classroom to make sure that the teacher isn't paying us any attention and that I won't get into any trouble. When I see the bald man scribbling on the board about Napoleon Bonaparte, I feel much better and then turn back to meet eyes with Isaac.  

Leaning over in his desk so that he can speak softer, he says, "I want to talk to you. After class."  

"I don't think so," I immediately snap, not even really thinking about it. I guess being rude to assholes is just second nature to me.

Looking a bit taken aback by my snappish reply, he takes a second to respond. When he does, he says, "Come on, I'm sorry about the whole ditching thing. But seriously, I really want to talk to you."  

"No," I say again, in my most finalised tone, and then sink back in my desk chair, cross my arms over my chest, and then watch the teacher finish jotting down the notes on the blackboard.  

For the next five minutes, Isaac is consistent. He keeps whispering my name, softly yelling at me to turn around, even once offering me frozen yogurt as a payment.

But I don't relent. I'm still angry with him deep down for treating me like a pair of lips and not a human being. But when I feel a piece of paper hit me in the head, I cannot help but react.

"What?!" I screech, momentarily forgetting that Isaac and I are not alone but instead in a crowded classroom with a teacher who just loves giving out detentions.  

"Ms. Parker," the teacher booms from the front of the room, making my heart pretty much stop beating. Slowly I raise my furious gaze from Isaac and instead switch it to the teacher, making sure that I don't look quite so pissed off when I do so. That'll only make my punishment worse.  

"Yes?" my voice comes out as a meek whisper, and if it weren't for the quiet tittering of the rest of the class, I would have wondered if I'd even been heard. 

After practically slamming his chalk down onto the little metal place holder, he makes angry eye contact with me and says, "Care to share the reasoning for your little outburst?"  

While in my head I am silently bashing into Isaac's head with a pick-up truck, outwardly I can't even begin to think of what I should do or say. If I blame it on Isaac then the teacher will most likely give us both detention and I can't be stuffed in a room with him.

Or even worse, the class will call me a tattle-tale like we're in fifth grade and make me feel even worse. I really don't like either of those possibilities.

"Ms. Parker!" the teacher shouts, making me jump just a little bit inside of my desk. Damn it. I really need to stop with this whole zoning out thing. It's making life increasingly difficult. And it's even worse that my face has the attention of every single person alive and breathing in this classroom.  

"I threw a piece of paper at her head," Isaac says easily, as if he's used to doing such childish things and then telling the teacher on himself when the teacher looks like he's one step away from blowing steam out of his ears.