Frustration -SERIES- [Part 1] [boyxboy]

Chapter Two

Monday rolled around more quickly than appreciated and I found myself sitting in Languages just before lunch beside Rachel, making sarcastic comments about Josh just to get a reaction.

'Well he's a good kisser, I can tell you that for sure,' I said offhandedly, looking at her out of the corner of my eye as I pretended to be busy taking my books and notepads out of my bag.

'What?!' she practically shrieked in surprise, and I snorted.

'I'm joking Rach. Calm down.'

'Not that I care anyway,' she quickly back-pedalled, flustered.

'Uh-huh. Sure.'

My eyes followed Conor as he walked into the room and past our desk to the back row.

'What are you looking at, queer?' he demanded as he passed, smirking, and gaining a high-five from Daniel as he sat down.

Rachel rolled her eyes, her jaw set. 'Just say the word...' she muttered, and I raised my eyebrows; it was a touching sentiment and all that but she was tiny and not exactly a threat to somebody with a body like Conor's.

'Yeah, go for it,' I said sarcastically, as Mr Price walked in, setting his teacher's satchel on the desk and moving to wipe the blackboard clean of the maths equations the last teacher had left there. Mr Price is a H-Dip, meaning he's in his early twenties and one of the coolest teachers we have.

'Okay people,' he said, turning around and making shushing motions with his hands, 'settle down.' Order was restored and Mr Price took a book out of his satchel. 'As many of you may recall from the test you all failed,' he began, 'we have finished up with studying Spanish for this year and are now moving on to...?' He waited for a response, got none, sighed, and completed his own sentence, 'French.'

There was a collective groan. Each year we spend a third of our Languages classes on Spanish, a third of French, and a third on German. French was the least popular.

'Sir,' Conor's voice called from the back, and everybody naturally turned to look at him. He was leaning on the two back legs of his chair, his own legs crossed at the ankle on top of his desk.

'Yes, Mr Archibald?' Mr Price said wearily. Conor seemed to never run out of smart-ass things to say.

'Sir, French is totally gay.'

'I didn't realise languages had sexual preferences, Conor,' Mr Price replied wearily. 'Which is odd considering I've been studying them in Oxford for the past four years.'

'Sir, it's so girly. We'll do German and you can teach French to the girls and Tyler.'

Blinded by anger, I can't say for sure how it happened, but suddenly my chair had fallen backwards on the floor and I was standing up, Rachel standing in front of me with her hands held up to my chest, trying to block my path to Conor.

'Tyler, sit down,' Mr Price said assertively. 'Conor, apologise immediately. Homophobia will not be tolerated in my classroom.'

'I don't want to speak directly to him sir, it might be catching.'

Rachel didn't even try to stop me as I pushed past her towards him, and suddenly Conor was on his feet too. We were nose to nose, and not in a romantic way.

'Come on, faggot,' Conor said provocatively. 'Let's see what those puny girl muscles can do.'

A feral noise came from the back of my throat and then Mr Price was in between us pushing us away from each other. 'Detention, both of you,' he said. 'You can take yours for a week, Archibald.'