Well...Not Anymore.

Well...Not Anymore: Chapter 1

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"Ms. Brown!" is what wakes me up from my middle of class slumber, making me jump up from the plastic of the desk and then have to squint my eyes at the sudden brightness of the classroom. I'd been having such a good dream-something about a Mr. Johnny Depp and an isolated island-and now I have to look into the irritated red face of my Calculus teacher, Mr. Rochester. Yes, like the romantic hero in Jane Eyre. But this man is far from a charming, romantic man. He is fat and rude, and he is also my arch nemesis at this school. 

I'm not the type of girl who the cheerleaders hate or who the drugged out kids think is a nerdy know-it-all. I just simply don't exist.  People pretty much avoid me as much as I avoid them. I'm the quiet girl who usually just falls unconscious in the middle of class yet manages to make superb grades. My teachers all love me because I never make any noise, but can make them look like a good teacher with my pristine grades. 

Well...all of my teachers except for Mr. Rochester. He's always been out to get me and even though I find it somewhat amusing at times, right now it's nothing short of irritating. I haven't been getting sleep at home due to the consistent screaming of my parents, and Calculus is my favorite class to sleep. He's got one of the most monotone voices on the planet and the desks are big and new-the best ones to sleep in. 

But the moment that I find a pink slip with his familiar scrawl being slapped down onto my desk, I'm completely awake. "What?!" I demand from him, ignoring the amused looks from the students sitting around me. "I wasn't making any noise!" 

Looking even more irritated that I've called him out, that I'm not going to be silent about my detention, he harps at me, "Ms. Brown, I am sick and tired of only seeing the top of your head in class. I am aware that you make good grades, but this is enough." 

"Sleeping is totally harmless, Mr. Rochester," I point out, wondering what on earth I did to this fat man to make him hate me so much. 

His voice slowly starting to escalate, he responds, "Sleeping is meant for your bedroom, not the classroom! Now if it's a personal issue, you may take it up with the guidance counselor." 

As soon as the words escape his mouth, I can feel Lucas Hamilton's eyes turn towards me and start to burn a deep hole through my back. He's the only one who's ever known about my home life, about how there's the constant sound of adults yelling or sobbing, and how sleep is a very rare occurrence for me.

I'd always thought that he'd completely forgotten when he threw me away like I was yesterday's old produce, but now I guess not.

Now, his concern just pisses me off.  

"But Mr..." I go to start in response to his statement, but he cuts me off with a wave of his SmartBoard pen.  

He tells me, "Enough of this, Naomi, you're interrupting my class. Go to the office and get it straightened out." 

"This isn't fair," I mutter underneath my breath as I pack my belongings up, knowing that the bell is soon going to ring for the next period to start. Ignoring the fact that everyone is staring at me in shock because I never talk in class, not ever, I sling my book sack over my shoulder and then head towards the classroom door. The pink slip is clutched firmly in my hands, my fingers wanting to squeeze the life out of it.

It's as I'm opening the door, that I hear Mr. Rochester's voice call out to stop me. He says, "Wait a second, Naomi. Mr. Hamilton, will you please escort her to the office?" 

"I don't need a babysitter!" I unintentionally snap at the teacher. How dare he make me suffer an awkward walk to the office with that douche bag?  

The pulse on his forehead throbbing, Mr. Rochester yells at me, "Enough! I am sick of your disrespect for me, young lady. Maybe Mr. Hamilton here will be a good influence on you..." 

"Oh my God, gag me with a fucking spoon..." 

It was meant to come out as a thought, a simple and mute flash across my brain, but judging by the snickers starting to echo throughout the class and the way that Mr. Rochester begins to puff so hard it looks like his pants are going to fly open, I know that it didn't stay in my mind. It came out. I vocalized that. 

Shit. 

But before he can start screaming at me or any of the nonsense that I know he wants to do, I feel a grip at my wrist tugging my body out of the classroom. Before I can even blink, the door is shutting behind me and I am standing in one of the blue and orange hallways of the high school. 

And with one quick look in front of me, I realize that I'm standing in the hallway with the boy who is solely responsible for about three weeks of nonstop tears and two years of nonstop hatred. Yes, standing in front of me is Lucas Hamilton, the school's own golden boy, and the boy who shattered my heart into little pieces almost two years ago. 

Immediately tearing my eyes away from his frustratingly handsome face, I get a good hold onto my book sack strap and start down the hallway, hell bent on making sure that not one word escapes either of our lips. I refuse to talk to the boy that gave up years of friendship on one little bitch of a girlfriend. I'm not going to do it. Not even the promise of a brand new black Ferrari would do it. 

Well, maybe that would... 

But I'm getting ahead of myself.  

We walk all the way into the hallway in which the main office resides in total and complete silence, thank God, but the moment that we have to go outside to get there, his voice sounds from behind me. He asks me, "How are you?" His voice sounds a bit worried, as if I might bite his head off or something. He really has always been a smart boy. 

Fury immediately rises up in my system. How dare he think that he can ask me how I am, can pretend that he gives a crap about me, after everything that he's done?! How dare him! In one of the meanest and coldest tones I can even muster, I snap at him, "Bloody brilliant." 

I know, I know...I'm not British. Due to my obsessions with the Harry Potter movies in my childhood and my new obsession for the Pride and Prejudice movie with Keira Knightley, I've always somehow managed to use angry British words. I don't even really think about them when I say them, they just come out. Lucas knows all about this, though, seeing as how I would call him an arse hole every time we bickered during our friendship. 

He chuckles from behind me, actually chuckles, and says, "You're such a funny lil poppet," in the exact same voice that he did back then. That was always his retort to my foreign outburst and every time he did it, I found his British accent too darn adorable to continue being mad at. 

But that isn't exactly the same case now. I have pent up resentment for two years and there's no way in hell that a nice voice is going to change that. 

Stopping on the middle of the sidewalk and whipping my hair around to face him, I sneer, "Don't even try."

He's not going to act like everything's all hunky dory right now, not ever. What he did is inerasable and I'm never going to forget it. He obviously cares nothing for me, not even a shred of something, and I'm not going to let him act any differently. Not after all that he's done. 

He holds his hands out in the air as if he's putting up a defense. He says, "Sorry, God..." 

Once I realize that he realizes how truly unhappy I am with him right now, how much I truly despise him and the words that he speaks, I turn back around and stomp through the doorway of the main hallway. I don't want to think about the blonde guy walking behind me, probably thinking about his amazing girlfriend and their amazing sex all of the time. 

What I've said means nothing to him and I'm not going to let myself forget that. I've fooled myself once...there's no way I'm going to fool myself again.