vớ vẩn 3

1: Picking Up Where...

When the bell sounded he was dragged out of his thoughts forcibly, almost as if he had been doused in freezing cold water or someone had tipped his chair and caused him to nearly fall to the floor. It was a jarring sensation for even though he was wide awake it felt almost like he wasn't. He had been daydreaming and yet when he tried to figure out what he had been thinking he couldn't: he was as blank as a slate. Jungkook pulled his eyes away the window to glance across the classroom for a second before turning back to it. The view outside from the third floor window was the same thing that he had seen all year around, the large grey asphalt square of the yard ringed by chain link fencing and the small patch of grass to the side in which nothing more than straggly shin-length grass and a single oak tree would grow. It was a boring sight and yet a great deal better than the one of the mounted board across the room. Jungkook dropped his gaze down to the open book in front of him, seeing both pages filled with his own neat print save for just a few lines of space at the very bottom of the right page. He saw a faint smear of ink on the paper and when he lifted his hand he saw a matching blue smear on the side of his hand, the soft curve from his knuckles down to his wrist, on the actual knuckles of his left and ring finger. Looking at the stain made an image flash into his mind suddenly, the sight of a slash of white on a sea of black: a certain chalk pastel piece. He could even smell the scent of the chalk and something else that was certainly cheap beer. It was enough to make a chill run down his spine, a frisson that caused the hairs on his arms to positively stand up and-

Something connected with the back of his head and the impact was hard. He couldn't help making a surprised noise and out of the corner of his eye he caught sight of a pen flying past to hit the window. Someone had tossed it at the back at his head and he knew exactly who it had been, not only because it was used to it by now but also because he could hear the obnoxious sniggering of the other boy from across the room.

"How many points would you say that was, huh?" Minho asked him, wide grin on his face that showcased his braces. Right now, with the sunlight coming in through the windows the metal practically gleamed at him.

"Zero," Jungkook retorted as he shifted to look for the pen. He located it within his reach on the floor so he leaned down and stretched to pick it up. "I'm not giving points to you for anything."

"Speaking of points," a more than familiar voice called out from the front of class. Jungkook sat back upright with the projectile pen in his hand just in time to catch Miss. Ahn slipping a file into her tote bag. "Keep throwing objects Kim and I'll have to give you some points in the form of detention."

"But there's a week of school left!" Minho announced in a faux exasperated voice. "You wouldn't give me detention right at the end of the year, would you Miss. Ahn? After all, just another week and you don't have to worry about flying pens ever again."

"Of course I do, I'll get a new class with more pen throwing boys in it," she retorted, making a few of the students laugh at the remark. Jungkook was just in the act of slipping his friend's pen into his shirt pocket when she said his name and he paused, nothing more than the tip of the pen inside the pocket. "Jeon, also less of the daydreaming. I think you've spent the best part of half an hour staring out of that window. Have you even finished your work?"

"Yes Miss. Ahn," he replied in his most teacher-friendly tone. "I've finished all of it, see?" Jungkook slipped the pen in his pocket and then lifted his exercise book to show her. He was aware of the fact that this act could be construed as cheeky, perhaps disrespectful but it was a big change from the usual. If his teacher thought that pen throwing was bad behaviour then she would have been mortified to have taught him last year. Not only would she have not gotten the completed work but she would have likely been ignored too, on a good day. On a bad day he would have probably gave her a biting retort that would see his ass being sent straight to detention; where it had been more often than not in the past.