Flowers & Bruises

Chapter One

Chapter One

I'm sitting in class, repeatedly tapping the pencil in my hand against my desk as the teacher at the front of the class drones on. I tune him out while he talks about obtuse angles and the importance of geometry, focusing my attention on the clock above his head. Three minutes until class is over. Thank god, I'm dying of boredom. I continue tapping until my phone vibrates in my pocket. I pull it out and notice a text from my best friend Malcolm, who is sitting two desks away from me in class. I stop tapping, and hear a kid near me rejoice that I finally stopped. Oops.

I took geometry class sophomore year, so I already know all of this material. But because of a screw up with my schedule, I'm stuck taking it again. Luckily, Malcolm is suffering from the same issue. Realistically we should both be taking calculus with the rest of the seniors, but why not retake a course I did well in the first time, and still get credit? As long as I get an A, I could care less what class I'm taking. 

I open the text from Malcolm, happy to have something to do.

From: Malcolm

If you keep tapping your pencil like that all of these sophomores are going to band together and gang up on you! :P

I let out a small laugh and look up briefly to make sure the teacher didn't hear me. I hurriedly type back a reply.

To: Malcolm

Whatever! I'm their elder they have to respect me :P Quit texting in class you're going to get into trouble!

I tuck my phone away and start packing up the rest of my things. Another vibration in my pocket makes me turn to shoot a glare at Malcolm. He shrugs innocently and smiles in return. I pull my phone back out to read his text.

From: Malcolm

Take your own advice Charlie!

Malcolm is too funny if he thinks I need to take my own advice. I don't ever need to. 

To: Malcolm

Oh, please! I never get in trouble and you know it!

It's pretty easy, really. I don't give my teachers a solid reason to want to punish me. Sure, sometimes I will text in class or take longer coming back from the bathroom than I need to, or get caught chatting with those around me. But, I do my work, I pay attention during lectures, I ask questions. If I get called on randomly, I'll most likely know the answer to the question being asked, or I'll at least try to come up with something. They just want to know that you're putting in effort,  engaging with the teachings, and that their job choice wasn't a bad one. If they know you're trying, more often than not, they'll go easy on you. 

Almost like clock work, or maybe me jinxing the situation, Mr. Jones shouts my name, silencing the whole class.

"Ms. Parker!" I look up at him, bewildered. He insists on addressing his students by their last names, and I'd be lying if I said I will ever get used to that.

"Yes, Mr. Jones?" I say sweetly.

"You are texting in class, and you know that's against school rules. Phone, please." He gestures with his hand to bring him my phone, while using his other hand to push his glasses up. I rise from my seat when an idea comes to me. I halt in place, and the whole class is looking at me expectantly.

"Ms. Parker, please-" I hold up my hand.

"Wait, Mr. Jones. Just, 5 more seconds."

"I don't have all day," he says, confused by my hesitation to walk the 6 feet over to his desk. Then, the bell rings loudly overhead, dismissing our class period. Teachers have to return phones at the end of the period, but Mr. Jones' burning passion for geometry must have distracted him from the time.