𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐬𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭, 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐝//𝐦. 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐤𝐢

1//undeserving

The very moment I walked into my chemistry class, I knew I was going to have an awful second semester. Irritated, I sat down in the chair that my teacher had assigned to me.

As far as I knew, it wasn't the class that was going to make this semester bad. It was my lab partner.

Before I elaborate any further, I must describe to you the personality that is Mischa Bachinski. He's this tall, hotheaded Ukrainian kid with a massive attitude issue. He was adopted by the Roswinns, the richest family in Uranium City, so I suppose that explained the ego problem he seemed to have. After moving to Canada, it was discovered that he had a natural talent for ice hockey. He joined the team and became the captain. Not because he was actually better than his teammates (although he was somewhat exceptional), nor because he was a good leader, but because his daddy's money paid for equipment and uniforms and travel for the team. Saint Cassian's ice hockey team was the pride of our small town and just about the only thing we had to offer. On top of this, he was also the section leader for the basses in our choir. He somehow made decent grades despite going to parties nearly every weekend. Like I said, tall, slightly muscular, dark and kinda curly hair, and grey-green eyes. As one would expect, girls were falling over themselves trying to get with him, which definitely fed into his aforementioned ego problem. Did I like him? Maybe. Maybe I did. But that was before I realized that he was a complete jerk. He dislikes me a pretty equal amount, so I guess it's fair.

And this very personality was the one that just so happened to be my assigned lab partner.

"Oh, this is just great," He looked up, just as irritated as I was. "I sit with the psycho control freak for the rest of the year."

"Looks like daddy's money can talk," I shot back.

Mischa opened his mouth to argue, but the teacher began the class, and everyone promptly shut up.

"We will finish conversation later," He whispered into my ear.

"I'm sure we will."

...

I had a meeting with the Junior Canadian Scholar's Association in the library after school. It was some organization that supposedly looked good on college applications. JCSA was basically a community service club where you got free SAT test prep materials in exchange for thirty hours of community service. First semester was based on community service outside of school. The last fifteen hours in the second semester was based on school service.

Mrs. Barings, the English teacher, was the sponsor for the club. She was one of my favorite teachers.

"Have you decided what you're doing for your community service to school?" Mrs. Barings sat down at my table.

"I'll probably go with tutoring," I shrugged.

"Just to give you a heads up, it'll take maybe two weeks for you to get assigned someone to tutor. You have to qualify for subjects before you can tutor, meaning you have to have an A in the class you tutor for."

I nodded. "Do I get to pick the subject I tutor for?"

"No," Mrs. Barings sighed. "It's just how it works. I think it's stupid, but that's just me. You'd be a great English tutor. You also don't pick your student that you tutor."

"Figured as much."

"Since you've picked tutoring, I'll send you your subject and who you'll be tutoring in about two weeks, sounds good?"

I nodded.

...

Chemistry was a living hell. Not only did I have to sit by Mischa, I would have to listen to my chemistry teacher ramble about calculating half-lives and decay rates while trying to scribble notes down. Mischa, meanwhile, would stare at the board, his face reflecting the vapidity of the content matter. In other words, not a thought was going through that little brain of his.