cool » l. hemmings

vii.

I rushed through the hallways, pushing past groups of rebellious teens who didn't care if they were late or not. Normally I was one of those kids, I didn't care. But my mother did. The other day she'd told me that she knew I skipped the day I met Luke and Ethan. I'm still not sure how. If I did it again she'd take away practically everything I own; including my The 1975 record. She knew how much I cherished it. She's evil.

"Ah, Michelle. Welcome to class before the bell rings. Weird, isn't it?" My chemistry teacher, Mr. Renolds, jokes. I was still breathing pretty heavily, I just let out a large breath and nodded.

Out of all of my teachers, Mr. Renolds was probably the most tolerable - I mean, as tolerable as someone can be in your least favorite class. He's probably in his sixties, judging by the amount of white hairs he's tried to hide. Every time I spoke to him I just about broke my neck, being five-foot-four and standing next to a man who's a whole foot taller than you was not an easy thing to do. Without his growing hunchback he'd probably make me feel even smaller.

"Look who made it." The usually dressed-in-black Luke now had some color to him. He wore a loose gray pullover today. What a difference, let me tell you. He carried himself like such an unsure guy, yet every time I saw him he was smirking like he knew something I didn't.

"Ha-ha, Lucas," my eyes rolled, taking my chemistry notebook out of my beat-up Vans bookbag. "It's not like I wanted to be this early."

"Oh, look at you. Too cool for school," he laughed tiredly, breaking into a yawn right after.

The bell rang, causing the immense amount of loud gossiping to stop when Mr. Renolds welcomed the class. Luke sat at my table, occupying the chair next to me.

I couldn't be bothered to pay attention. My cheek leaned against my closed fist as I aimlessly doodled on the cover of my notebook. I heard a girl from beside me giggle. God, preppy girl giggles are quite possibly the fakest things I've ever heard.

Before Michael dropped out last year, we'd always sit at lunch outside and find those good girls turned bad. You know, those goody-two-shoes kinds of people from elementary (or, as these non-Americans say, primary) school who started with the wrong crowd once they hit sixteen.

There were a lot more than you'd think. We became friends with one of them, for a while. Her name was Brooke. She was alright, I guess. Her and Michael dated, though it really wasn't dating. More like arguing twenty-four-seven.

But that's none of my business. Man I wish I had a cup of tea to do that with.

"Psst," Luke poked my side with a pencil. I turned to look at him, confusion written on my face while I move a piece of hair out of my face. Mr. Renolds was going on about a project now. "I have a question."

I nodded in acknowledgement, looking toward Mr. Renolds so we wouldn't be called out for talking in the middle of 'something important.'

"Does your mom know that your grade dropped?" I could practically hear the smirk he was wearing as he asked the question. I've told him that she's been pushing me harder to get a tutor. And now that I'm doing quite horrible in more classes, this gives her the perfect opportunity to not leave the decision up to me.

My arms dropped to the table and I lay my head down on them. "Please don't bring it up. I'm going to die," I mumbled. I've never been so worried in my life about my schoolwork. My mother was a scary woman. Especially when one of her children refused to listen for the past sixteen years of her life.

I heard Luke chuckle quietly, while Mr. Renolds started calling names in pairs. I guess I should've been listening.

Eh, I'll ask later.