Two
The minute hand on the clock ticked slower and slower as I sat alone inside an empty classroom that was usually designated for study hall and waited for the unlucky teacher who got assigned to detention on the first day of school.
I tapped my fingernails against the desk, waiting impatiently for the teacher to arrive.
I hunched forward in my seat, slouching as I rested my chin in my hand.
How could a teacher be late to their own class?
Did the fifteen-minute rule apply when it came to detention?
If it did, only six more minutes left until I could leave.
Reaching inside my bag, I pulled out my journal, laying it flat on my desk.
I creased open the spine as I stared down at the page.
Clarke’s Guide to Winning Prom Queen . I frowned at the name.
Kinda lame . I shrugged away the thought as I focused on the seventh step of my plan— Cheer like my life depends on it, and always strive to be the center of attention .
Attending tryouts this Friday is just what I needed to kick-start my journey to win that Prom Queen.
“Ah, you’re here. Good to see you didn’t decide to skip out on detention, Ms. Taylor.”
I snarled when I heard the sound of Mrs. Hawthorne’s voice as she strolled into the classroom as though she wasn’t the one who was late. The wrinkles on her forehead deepened as she stood at the front of the class. Of course, she was assigned to look over detention, because why wouldn’t she be?
“Yeah. I’ve been here since four.” I shrugged.
She narrowed her eyelids until they formed thin slits, her gaze penetrating mine. “And you’ll be here until four forty-five, so here’s your assignment to do in the meantime.”
“Assignment?”
“Did you think you were just going to sit here and twiddle your thumbs for the whole time?”
Uhhh, yes?
“Of course not.” I hastily put my journal away before palming the paper and sliding it toward me.
When I read the instructions, I couldn’t help but groan.
Write a five-paragraph essay about one goal you have during your senior year.
“Get started. You only have…” She pulled her sleeve back and glanced at her watch. “Thirty-two minutes left.”
I plastered a sickeningly sweet smile on my face. She did the same.
Looking down at the worksheet, my face morphed into a scowl. I reached down to grab my purse off the ground and rummaged through the hoard of crumpled papers and textbooks buried deep in my bag until I found a pencil. My focus shifted back to the assignment as I tapped my foot.
Should I say I wanted to become valedictorian? No, I can’t risk someone seeing that.
What about cheer captain? No, that’s just a cop-out. I’m already the captain .
Making lasting memories? Nope. Too cliché.
Welp, that settles it . Becoming Prom Queen, it is.
“Sorry, I’m late to the party. What did I miss?”
The tip of my pencil snapped with a loud crack, leaving nothing more than jagged wood behind. When I looked up at the doorway, none other than Elliot Keller was standing with his backpack thrown over his shoulder as he leaned against the door frame.
Does he always pose like an Abercrombie & Fitch model?
“Mr. Keller, nice of you to finally bless us with your presence.”
He gave a one-finger salute as he walked into the classroom and tossed his bag onto the ground, landing with a loud thunk . What the hell was in that thing?
“And we meet again,” Elliot greeted.
“Sadly.” I huffed.
“There will be time for small talk later. Here’s your assignment, Mr. Keller.” She gave him the same piece of paper she gave me. “If you finish it, I will consider not punishing you for being late.”
Great . Not only was I stuck here with the teacher from hell, but Mr. Bad-boy Douchebag was also here. What the actual fuck? Was the universe trying to conspire against me?
Mrs. Hawthorne sat at her desk and pulled out a book, her eyes immediately glossing over when they connected with the page as though she forgot we were still in the room.
Glancing over at Elliot, his brows were furrowed.
With one hand, he rubbed his forehead while the other was white-knuckling his pencil.
The tattoos on his arms were just barely peeking out beneath his partially scrunched-up sleeves.
A glint of light on the side of his head caught my eye.
That’s when I noticed the diamond stud and a small black gauge in his earlobe. How had I not noticed that before ?
The sound of a hollow clank emanated through the room. My pencil had fallen onto the floor. I looked down at the pencil and then back up at Elliot. He was staring at me. Fuck. I shifted in my chair uncomfortably.
“You good?” he whispered while reaching down to retrieve my fallen pencil.
I nodded because apparently I’d lost my ability to speak.
There was a slight flutter in my chest as the heat rushed to my cheeks and spread across my skin.
Crap. He caught me ogling him… annnd I was still staring.
Before embarrassment swallowed me whole, I stretched out my hand and took my pencil from his hand.
Our fingers touched briefly, eliciting a jolt of electricity to shoot through my hand.
If I didn’t know any better, I’d say he just shocked me, but I doubt that’s what it really was.
Jesus, get a grip, Clarke.
Bowing my head, I began scribbling nonsense on my paper to try to avoid suspicion. The hairs on the back of my neck stood at attention. He was still looking at me. I shivered. Five poorly concocted sentences later, and I could still feel his eyes on me.
I swung my head in his direction. “Can I help you or something?”
He arched his brow while shushing me and pointing a finger at Mrs. Hawthorne, who was lost in whatever the hell book she was reading. I squinted, trying to make out the words on the cover. The Doctor by Nikki Sloane. Wasn’t that an erotic novel?
In a hushed voice, he asked, “So, you can stare at me, but I can’t stare at you?”
“Just shut up and do your work.”
“Whatever you say, Princess.”
God, of all people, why did I have to be stuck here with him? I guess he was being honest when he said that getting detention was an art form to him, because how the hell did he even manage to get in trouble so fast anyway?
“Psst! What are you writing about?”
“My goals, dude.”
“Cheerleading goals?”
“No.”
“Then what?”
“None of your business,” I said quietly while shooting a glance at Mrs. Hawthorne.
“Just tell me.”
“Shh. Do your work.”
He leaned his torso toward me, pulling his upper body close to my desk as he lessened the distance between us and squinted down at my essay. I wrapped my arms around my paper in an attempt to form a barrier between him and my work.
“Oh, come on,” he whined, scooting even closer to me.
My annoyance was at an all-time high, and before I was able to bite my tongue, I instinctively shouted, “Knock it off!”
Mrs. Hawthorne’s neck snapped up, her seething glare forcing us into silent submission. “Hey, you two!” she snapped. “Quiet. This is not a gossip session! Do your work. This is your only warning.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Sir, yes sir.”
I almost choked on my own spit. Did he just call her, ‘ sir? ’ The space between her eyelids thinned even more as she stared at Elliot.
I bit my inner cheek.
Man, this lady may be old and small, but damn she’s intimidating.
“Is this a joke to you, Mr. Keller? Because if you need another round of dentition to wipe that smirk off your face, that can easily be arranged.”
He zipped his lips shut with his hands, twisting his wrist to signal a locking motion and throwing the invisible key into oblivion.
Even though I had only met Elliot twice, I could already tell he rarely ever took anything seriously. We both turned our attention back to our assignments.
After a few minutes had passed, I couldn’t help myself as my eyes drifted to the side again.
Elliot wore a strained expression on his face.
I could practically see the gears turning in his head.
How could a simple essay be stressing him out so much?
Just think of a goal— literally anything .
Or make something up. That’s what most people did, anyway.
It wasn’t that hard. Actually, judging by the pulsating vein bulging from his forehead, maybe it was that hard.
“Psst!”
You’ve got to be kidding me.
“Do you have a death wish?” I hissed.
“Stop being such a goody two-shoes. Just let me see your essay.”
I squinted at him and gestured to our surroundings with my hands. “Goody two-shoes? I’m literally in detention.”
“Whatever. Just show me what you’re writing.”
“Hmm, let me think about it.” I tapped my chin. “No.”
“Stop being such a Princess, Princess.”
“Stop being such an ass, ass.”
He pursed his lips. I saw his eyes dart down at my paper and then back up at me.
“Don’t you—” He interrupted my words by snatching the paper off my desk in one swift motion. “Dare.” I rolled my eyes, finishing my sentence a second too late.
Hearing the crinkling of papers, Mrs. Hawthorne abruptly looked up at us. Thankfully, we didn’t sit at the front of the class, or else she definitely would’ve noticed that I no longer had a paper on my desk. I scribbled miscellaneous doodles on the desk to make it seem like I was still writing.
2+2 is fish.
Poo Poo Pee Pee.
F is for friends who do stuff together.
Honestly, I was just jotting down whatever came to my mind. Anything to appear busy. When I looked up again, Mrs. Hawthorne was flipping through another page of her book. Thank god for this blind and deaf old lady. Who else could be so oblivious?
“Give that back, dickhead.” I reached out my arm to grab the paper.
Elliot’s eyes were wide, his face red. The palm of his hand was covering his mouth. Before I could ask what his problem was, he burst into laughter. He stood from his desk, clutching his stomach, causing Mrs. Hawthorne to promptly move toward us.
“Your goal is to be Prom Queen? How cliché are you, Princess?”