The next morning, Belle tiredly exits from her car. "You look like shit, Belle." Fletcher is standing right in front of her, staring at her with a frown.
He glances at her attire, black leggings and large grey sweater. He grimaces at the socks and nike slides adorning her feet. "Thanks, Fletcher. You are such a sweetheart," she sardonically remarks.
Fletcher chuckles, "I am just as tired as you are but I still managed to pull myself together. Look at me, I'm fucking fabulous!" He recieves a slap to the back of the head and a harsh glare.
Last night, they attended a Panic! At The disco concert and returned home at two in the morning.
"You're fucking wierd. We only got four hours of sleep and you're still a pain in the ass. Leave me and my tired self to wallow in post concert depression," Belle whines.
"Don't be upset that it's over, be happy it happened and that you were spitting distance from Brendon Urie's sexy ass self."
"He is pretty sexy, huh?"
----------
The bell rings, signalling that its time for lunch. Belle gets up from her desk and slings her bag over her shoulder. She trudges towards Mr. Styles's room, dreading the next hour she has to spend with him.
Mr. Styles is standing at his door, "I'm glad you actually remembered to come. You will sit in a desk and do nothing but eat your lunch."
Belle walks right past him, not daring to make eye contact, and sits in the back of the classroom. She pulls out a brown paper bag with, Enjoy your lunch, Belle!, written neatly on it. The corners of her lips twitch up in appretiation that her mom took the time to write that message.
Mr. Styles scowls, "Miss Peterson, come sit right in front of my desk, where I can moniter you properly." Without a word, she picks up her things and moves to the front. She sits down and empties the contents of the brown bag on the desk.
Mr. Styles seems to notice her silent behavior. He seats himself behind his large desk and stares at Belle, his eyebrows furrowed together in confusion. Belle doesn't notice at first and takes a small bite out of her PB&J sandwich. She looks up, "Why are you looking at me?" Belle breaks the silence.
"The way you are acting is strange." Mr. Styles comments. "You find me being quiet strange? I'm just trying to serve this detention as fast as possible." Belle retorts, rolling her eyes.
Her eye rolling is noticed. "Did you just roll your eyes at me, Miss Peterson?" His gaze is angry and intense. "No, the demon possessing my body did it."
A scowl finds its way onto his face, "I am your teacher and you will talk to me with respect! Do I make myself clear?" He states in anger.
"Clear as a mirror smudged with fingerprints, sir." Belle comments with a smirk playing on her lips. Mr. Styles begins to open his mouth to scold her but gets cut off by his cell phone ringing.
"Yes, Brianna?...Now is not a great time, baby...I'm holding a detention right now, please don't speak that way...Be in our bedroom ready for me tonight...Yes, bye." He hangs up the phone, hoping that the hushed tone he was speaking in was enough to keep his student oblivious to what he was saying.
Belle looks down at her sandwich in shock, "Holy fucking shit," she whispers quietly. She pretends to look occupied so her teacher doesn't know that she heard everything. Mr. Styles looks at her and huffs, returning to grading papers. The two sit in silence until the end of lunch.
---------
"You're not serious, are you?" Fletcher questions Belle with an amused expression.
"Oh I'm fucking serious, Fletch. He told her to be ready for him in their bedroom." Belle chuckles, taking a bite from her strawberry ice cream.
