A Boy too Strong to Break my Heart

Chapter Two: Second Glance

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Chapter Two

The next day at school, it was normal. Not "just as normal as it could be," or "normal other than the hot new boy." Completely normal, like every other day. Well, here's where I contradict myself. It was not normal. It was my life.

Basically, I rode the bus, aced some tests, ate too much for lunch, drew a picture, did some homework, got called a slut by many boys who knew very well that I wasn't, saw Taylor in the hall (I only smiled retardedly and said absolutely nothing), threw a book at a boy I hated, left before everyone else because I'm a perfect angel, and had CC practice.

Just about the same happened the next day, only I passed Taylor between four classes, and after lunch. He's stuck locked out of the room right across the hall from the room I'm locked out of waiting for my half-blind and three-quarters deaf home EC teacher.

The same didn't happen the next day, because after school (I have to wait a half hour before CC practice starts), the janitors turned off most of the lights that they always leave on. So, I could not do my homework under the light over my locker like I usually do. I sat in the middle of the hallway. It's not like I was in anyone's way-the hall is pretty wide. But apparently I was In the way of my evil teacher, Mrs. Swite.

"Corey, may I ask what you are doing in the middle of the hallway?"

"There's no light above my locker." It almost sounded like a question. Jeez, I sounded so blonde, which I was.

"Then go home or go to the lobby." The lobby is an area with tables and chairs and benches and a bunch of trophies and plaques from like thirty years ago that no one looks at anyway. It also has a concession stand, but they didn't have food right now.

"OK," I whispered. She scared me. I got up and headed down the hall.

"Oh, and Corey?"

I turned around. "Yeah?" I sounded like I had done something wrong. I always do when questioned by someone with power over me that I don't like.

"I would go check with Miss Waters to make sure that's dress code appropriate." She pointed at my cutoff t-shirt and Soffee's.

"Oh, well my coach is okay with it, and I'm not the only one who wears cutoffs." Dress code is a touchy subject with me, especially if I'm stuck talking about it with a teacher who doesn't have any sense of style. And I don't mean following the latest trends.

"Okay, Corey," she said with an attitude. She reminded me of a three-year-old girl. Or my old teacher, Mrs. Naranja, who just about called me a slut once because I was wearing leggings with a regular shirt that didn't cover my butt. Oh, well. That's what the leggings are for. "Whatever. They've never allowed that in volleyball before."

"I'm not in volleyball. Actually, I-" She cut me off and kept talking.

"The volleyball coaches never allowed anything like that before." Okay, now I hated her. She refused to acknowledge that I wasn't in volleyball, just because all but three eighth grade girls weren't in the prissy sport (no offense to anyone in volleyball). She didn't acknowledge that CC was a sport, something that most people also do. It annoyed me. Usually I'm very respectful to teachers, but she had just pissed me off.

"I'm not in volleyball. And if it bothers you so much, go tell all the other junior high and high school girls that do it, and all the shirtless football boys outside that they're breaking dress code rules. I don't think that they apply after school hours."