Mr Cliché.

two.

[the above picture is Kara Mallory]

S C E N E
2
___________

Mr cliche
Got
Sonnets..
___________

Armani's thoughts..
~

I sigh walking to my third class.
The thought of school drains me.

"School kills artists"

A phrase I read on a shirt I looked up on Pinterest.
Or I think it said that.

I walked up to the class. Number 12 in gold letters on a green wooden door.
Mrs Dupuis.
English class.

The class had a vanilla with a small contour of medical pills scent.
I walked in viewing the few early learners to then make my way towards my usual seat at the back.

Getting comfortable; I took out the novel I had been reading (the last testament by James Frey.) In the previous class.
I found the piece quite intriguing.

I turned the pages ever so gently in search of the page I last read.

The class began to slowly fill as my thoughts were engulfed by pure literacy.

"Morning class, today we'll be dabbling in the arts of sonnets, does any body care to share their knowledge on sonnets, or better yet explain what a sonnet is?"

Mrs Dupuis asked. Her grey mane was put together in a semi neat bun while she settled on a simple long sleeved green turtle neck, followed by an ankle length skirt that was beige in color.

the turtleneck was a silent yet loud green; lime perhaps. She liked colors, loud ones especially. I took one last glance at it, before attending to my novel.

Definitely lime. Definitely loud.

The class murmured to themselves, like clue less babies, unable to answer Mrs Dupuis current question.

"Anyone?"

She asked once more. Her voice had this.. mature tone, which contoured well with her British accent.

The class remained silent, not answering her question once again.
I rolled my eyes at their lack of knowledge, then spoke up with lowered eyes.

"A sonnet is a highly structured poem with a specific rhyme scheme and a specific meter or rhythm, which is often about love-"

My words are cut short when a voice spoke over them. A male voice, a familiar one at that. Lifting my gaze, I found the interrupter. Sebastian; walking freely into the classroom as though he had been here the whole time.

I guess it was his turn to speak over me.

"Or hate, war and pain. There are two types of sonnets, the Italian sonnet divided into an octave and a seset-"

Irritation began, like a puddle it lay. Small, but with more water it'd be a river.

I shut my novel, and spoke up. Like a match, i cut his words short, and spoke over him.

"And the Shakespearean Elizabethan or English sonnet divided into three-"

He then interrupted once more cutting me off. Like a debate he continued, while making his way towards his seat.

"Quatrains and couplet"

He says, ending with a smirk as his eyes met with mine.
Like a game of chess, it is done. Checkmate.
I glared at him as the class remained silent.

Since when did the man participate in academic activities?

Is this some kind of game? A get back for calling him cornstarch?

"Very good, Wilson and Andrews, even though you are late Sebastian"

Mrs Dupuis spoke, ending the tension between Sebastian and I.

"My apologies Mrs Dupuis"

Choosing not to entertain his childishness, I turned back to my favorite novel.

I will got give him the satisfaction of my reaction.

"Since we're now familiar on the topic of sonnets, I want you to read more on them and pick one that catches your attention, after that I'd like for everyone of you to present it in class"

Majority of the class groaned at the information Mrs Dupuis had just spilled.

"Actually ma'am, would it be okay if I said one now?"

Sebastian asked, looking at Mrs Dupuis for confirmation. That question caught me off guard, so I turned to face their direction and find that Mrs Dupuis was too surprised.

"Mr Andrews..you..want to present..now?"

Sebastian shrugs,

"Yes, if that's not too much to ask"

In a matter of seconds, he makes his way towards the front of the classroom.

Mischief is the only theme he presents, even when doing the most innocent of tasks.

His eyes stare directly at me as he began.

"My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun; Coral is far from red than her lips' red; of snow be white, why then her breasts are dun; if hairs be wires, black wires grow on her head.
I have seen roses damasked , red and white,
But no such roses see in her cheeks;
And in some perfumes is there more delight
Than in the breath that from my mistress reeks.
I love to hear her speak, yet well I know
That music hath a far more pleasing sound; I grant I never saw a goddess go;
My mistress, when she walks, treads on the ground.
And yet, by heaven, I think my love as rare as any she believed with false compare."

I kept the eye contact, till the very last sentence.

He really thought he ate?

I let out a scoff, looking elsewhere but feeling his oceanic stare engulf me in their tides. I stood my ground though, and those tides only brushed at my feet.

"Sonnet 130 (1609) by William Shakespeare. The sonnet that develops an argument through three quatrains. The conclusion"

He says before his gaze leaves me and directs itself towards the whole class; like a professor teaching.
He continues;

"To the argument is in the rhyming couplet at the end. Shakespeare parodies the sonnet conventions of his time, instead of idolizing his mistress, he describes her in sincere terms. Ultimately though, he proclaims a devoted love for her. So basically instead of him talking about the clichés he mocks them by telling the truth about the appearance of his mistress and making her seem as though she was not like the fairytale goddess every writer would dabble about"

He ends, the class amazed slightly while
Mrs Dupuis exposed a shocked expression while a fair amount of girls presumably fanned over him. His words, his charms and his now ever so 'romantic' Shakespearean tongue.

Great, now he's a Shakespeare genius.

"Well, that was splendid Mr Andrews. Very impressive, thank you"

Mrs Dupuis complimented.

"My pleasure"

He stated before walking back to his seat.
Though I was quite stunned, I again; didn't' bother giving him the satisfaction.

"The rest of you can present tomorrow"

Mrs Dupuis adds before the sound of the bell emits.
Finally.

I get up and collect my books, making my way towards my next class.

"Still aren't going to tell me your name?"

A familiar voice pipes up from behind me.

I turn to see Sebastian standing against the door frame of the classroom.

I smirk then ignore his question, walking to my next class.
It'll take more than poetry to even consider him a character in my life's story.