Academic Rivals to Lovers in a Boarding School
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"You wanna know the really dumb meaning behind my name?" He muses and I walk ahead of him. "Nope."
"Basically, it means the transporter of goods by cart or wagon, it's from an old french word I be...
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Carters Pov .....
I pull down on Milas arm for her to dodge the spitball that Harrison shot at us and Bentley practically falls off his chair laughing.
"Hughes, c'mon now that's basically bullying." Rob pats him on the back to turn around before Ms Hart strolls into the class, thirty minutes late no less.
"God he's annoying." Mila mutters while passing me the pink fluff pen. I've grown quite attached to the scented bobble on the top of it.
It's become our routine in every class that we sit next to each other, which is every class because I made sure of that at the start of the school year.
Ms Hart begins to talk about some old poem that has Mila totally entranced with every word that leaves her mouth. I'd rather sleep but I suppose watching Mila's face for the past hour wasn't totally boring.
After class Blair and I planned to study together, which again, sounds utterly boring and energy draining. Which it will be.
I grab her hand and start drawing little hearts up and down her arm with the l pink pen. She watches the teacher and me, looking between the two of us while smiling.
"Okay guys, for the last hour we will do a quick test on your conclusions from last week. This is a test to see your abilities, not for me to criticize." Ms hart gives them all out before setting a timer.
"You have exactly fifty-nine minutes to do this so don't waste any time." She goes back to her desk and lets us all begin.
I had studied this from last week after Blair had notified me that we needed to know this, except when I look over to Mila, she clearly hadn't.
I drop the pink pen on the desk and put my left hand on her bouncing knee, she side eyes the movement but doesn't make a move to stop it.
I look at the four lines she's written and the eight lines that I have. Sixty percent of me shouts at me to keep writing, achieve the percentage I want but that other forty percent of me? Well that belongs to Mila, so I scribble out six lines of my paragraph.
At the end of class I hand it up to her and Ms Hart frowns when she sees how little I've written, I see Mila's tiny smile forming before it disappears.
As I'm putting away some books in my locker, she taps on my back. "Carter. We need to talk."
"About...?" I muse and she rolls her eyes. "Carter. You know what I mean."
"Do I? Remind me again? My brain gets so crowded sometimes." Her hand interlocks with mine and she practically drags me out of the school, not stopping for a breath until we reach the boys dorm floor.
