Half Empty
I leaned out the window, risking a what-would-happen-if-you-had-fallen-out speech from the teacher for a breath at the cool and moist afternoon air; quite refreshing after four hours of being trapped inside listening to an exceedingly boring lecture on trigonometry.
My classmate Haden Wilson sighed from an area behind me, no doubt surrounded by her group of high-classed posse. “Honestly,” she said loudly in a crisp Irish accent, drawing the attention of most of the class. “We can read all this in textbooks. Why do I even pay to come here anyway?” A few grumbles from somewhere deep inside the many groups in the class agreed with her, drawing a satisfied grin onto her elite-looking face.
Me, I scoff at her snobby tone, not even bothering to hide it. I could hear the wind through her tightly gelled curls as she whipped her head around. I pulled my head in and turned slowly, leaning my elbows against the metal windowsill and facing her venomous look.
“Oops, I keep on forgetting there’s a commoner from the slums here, who can’t even pay for her own tuition bills,” she practically spat, her head twitching a bit in what she might think as an intimidating manner, but only made her look like a cross between a comatose and a bobble head.
I laughed loudly, and then retorted in the same accent she was speaking in, “Yes, because that commoner actually has the brains to earn herself a scholarship to come here free of charge, unlike a certain prissy high-classed hard-to-please madam who has to ask their rich daddy for money to come to this prestigious high school to earn a degree she don’t give a God damn about, am I right?”
She snarled, but truly living up to her position, she didn’t have the brain cells to come up with a decent comeback, only whipped her head around to face her posse once again, sending me death glares out of the corner of her contact-colored blue eyes.
Then, the bell rang, signaling the end of my long-awaited, and now long-gone, freedom.
“Class,” the teacher Ms. Wilson starts, walking into class. “We have a new student to join us temporarily for the day. This is Giles Jensen.” At her words, a tall, lean, muscular, and handsome boy walked in.
The boy had nape-length blonde hair and a strand of platinum-highlighted bangs hung in front of his pale face, covering one of the pair of sapphire eyes. He was real tall, a lot taller than my 5 feet 7, which is saying quite a lot, since I haven’t met a boy that tall in… well, since my brother disappeared. On his lips was an alluring yet cold smirk, drawing the breath from everyone, even boys, in the class in one existing moments, everyone except me.
I groaned, recognizing at once the all-too-familiar demeanors of one of them. Thank goodness God spared me a drama moment of him having to sit next to me of all places. This would be one of the few times I actually appreciate the high-classed uberbitch sitting next to me.
Throughout class, I shifted constantly in my seat, distressed by his presence a few seats next to mine as I tried to hide any air of my existence completely. When the bell finally rang, I grabbed my already-packed backpack and ran out the room before anyone even stood up.
It was lunch, and the cafeteria grew noisy as more and more students entered. But I knew where to find him.
I stomped up to his table, all my belongings on one arm and his on the other. “Walker!” I hissed, slamming my hands flat against the plastic tabletop, drawing attention not only from him, but also this group of friends. “We have to go immediately!”
He didn’t seem surprised, only a dark film crossed his famous mind-boggling cerulean eyes. Without a single word, he stood up and flipped over the table, sandy blonde hair slightly messed up, yet keeping a stylish look behind one ear. The two of us walked across the half-rubber cafeteria floor swiftly, earning both longing and loathing gazes. But how would they know they’ll never see us ever again?
We were half way out the gates before he, Giles Jensen, stopped us with two other FBI-looking older men behind him; a very intimidating sight. I could feel adrenaline pumping through my body as my whole body tensed. In one swift motion I was in front of Walker, right hand outstretched in a protective stance.
“Walker Roux and Ialu Massri,” he muttered, the aforementioned smirk no longer in place. But in its place was a menacing growl.
My classmate Haden Wilson sighed from an area behind me, no doubt surrounded by her group of high-classed posse. “Honestly,” she said loudly in a crisp Irish accent, drawing the attention of most of the class. “We can read all this in textbooks. Why do I even pay to come here anyway?” A few grumbles from somewhere deep inside the many groups in the class agreed with her, drawing a satisfied grin onto her elite-looking face.
Me, I scoff at her snobby tone, not even bothering to hide it. I could hear the wind through her tightly gelled curls as she whipped her head around. I pulled my head in and turned slowly, leaning my elbows against the metal windowsill and facing her venomous look.
“Oops, I keep on forgetting there’s a commoner from the slums here, who can’t even pay for her own tuition bills,” she practically spat, her head twitching a bit in what she might think as an intimidating manner, but only made her look like a cross between a comatose and a bobble head.
I laughed loudly, and then retorted in the same accent she was speaking in, “Yes, because that commoner actually has the brains to earn herself a scholarship to come here free of charge, unlike a certain prissy high-classed hard-to-please madam who has to ask their rich daddy for money to come to this prestigious high school to earn a degree she don’t give a God damn about, am I right?”
She snarled, but truly living up to her position, she didn’t have the brain cells to come up with a decent comeback, only whipped her head around to face her posse once again, sending me death glares out of the corner of her contact-colored blue eyes.
Then, the bell rang, signaling the end of my long-awaited, and now long-gone, freedom.
“Class,” the teacher Ms. Wilson starts, walking into class. “We have a new student to join us temporarily for the day. This is Giles Jensen.” At her words, a tall, lean, muscular, and handsome boy walked in.
The boy had nape-length blonde hair and a strand of platinum-highlighted bangs hung in front of his pale face, covering one of the pair of sapphire eyes. He was real tall, a lot taller than my 5 feet 7, which is saying quite a lot, since I haven’t met a boy that tall in… well, since my brother disappeared. On his lips was an alluring yet cold smirk, drawing the breath from everyone, even boys, in the class in one existing moments, everyone except me.
I groaned, recognizing at once the all-too-familiar demeanors of one of them. Thank goodness God spared me a drama moment of him having to sit next to me of all places. This would be one of the few times I actually appreciate the high-classed uberbitch sitting next to me.
Throughout class, I shifted constantly in my seat, distressed by his presence a few seats next to mine as I tried to hide any air of my existence completely. When the bell finally rang, I grabbed my already-packed backpack and ran out the room before anyone even stood up.
It was lunch, and the cafeteria grew noisy as more and more students entered. But I knew where to find him.
I stomped up to his table, all my belongings on one arm and his on the other. “Walker!” I hissed, slamming my hands flat against the plastic tabletop, drawing attention not only from him, but also this group of friends. “We have to go immediately!”
He didn’t seem surprised, only a dark film crossed his famous mind-boggling cerulean eyes. Without a single word, he stood up and flipped over the table, sandy blonde hair slightly messed up, yet keeping a stylish look behind one ear. The two of us walked across the half-rubber cafeteria floor swiftly, earning both longing and loathing gazes. But how would they know they’ll never see us ever again?
We were half way out the gates before he, Giles Jensen, stopped us with two other FBI-looking older men behind him; a very intimidating sight. I could feel adrenaline pumping through my body as my whole body tensed. In one swift motion I was in front of Walker, right hand outstretched in a protective stance.
“Walker Roux and Ialu Massri,” he muttered, the aforementioned smirk no longer in place. But in its place was a menacing growl.