How To Not Get The Girl

#10: Not Be Able To Speak Audible Words

Detention was the least of my worries. I just had to tell my mom I was staying after school for the second round of soccer tryouts (who knew if that was something the school did), and Matt and Carter would just be cheering me on since I earned myself some more time around Chelsea. I was more worried about how I promised a person named SteamPricey I met over Xbox Live to a game of Black Ops right after school.

I didn't bother neatly stacking my books in my locker and just threw them all in there instead. I was going to make a mess when I took them out either way, so what was the point? Once I shoved every binder and notebook that I would need to complete my homework in my backpack, I slammed my locker shut, barely avoiding the door crushing my fingers.

I turned around and waited for Matt and Carter. I figured they should at least know that I was not going home with them yet again because of a girl. 

I finally caught a glimpse of Carter coming around the corner towards my locker. His face was still bright red, and I was beginning to think he did get pecked by a bird again and was lying about it just being pimples. It was highly possible, given how he seemed to be the main attraction of anything and everything weird.

"Con-man!" he yelled down the hallway, grinning when Matt started laughing next to him. Everyone else in the hallway collectively turned their heads toward the target of the nickname: me.

I frowned and shook my head. "Do not call me that."

"Aw, why? Is Con-man embarrassed?" he asked mockingly, bringing his fists up to his face to wipe away fake tears of sympathy.

"No. Your face is embarrassed," I shot back. I started walking toward the staircase that led to room 215 and my friends followed after me, jogging to catch up.

Carter gasped dramatically, putting this hand over his heart like he was deeply insulted. "Don't you dare speak to my best friend like that ever again," he scoffed. He pulled Matt in for an awkward, exaggerated hug.

"Look at Connor, walking away from his buddies like we don't matter," Matt fake-weeped. He wrapped his arms around Carter tightly and pretended to loudly blow his nose. I just laughed quickly and walked ahead.

Those two honestly had the strangest ways to bond. I never bothered questioning it.

"Seriously though, why are you walking so fast?" Matt called, pulling away from Carter and running up next to me as we turned a corner.

"I ha-" I started.

Carter interrupted me immediately. "Is it because of us? Do you hate us because we called you Con-man?" he questioned, suddenly worried.

I chuckled and shook my head. "I doubt I could get myself to hate you guys."

"Then why are you actually exercising outside of gym class?"

"I'm just walking, maybe just quicker than usual," I pointed out. "I got myself detention from Mr. Evans. We walked up the stairs, me walking as quick as I was before while the other two slowed their pace, probably because they didn't plan on having to be taken to the hospital this way. It was a smart move, but I had no time to be smart.

"Okay... but why are you in such a rush to get to detention?" Matt continued his interrogation after we successfully made it up the stairs.

"God damn, you never run out of questions, do you?" I jokingly asked Matt. He nodded with a grin. "I just figured that if I got there earlier, I could leave earlier. I told SteamPricey I would play Call of Duty with him after school, but this happened."

"That's not how it works, dude," Matt laughed. "You're gonna have to stay there until 3:30 anyway."

I groaned. We approached the room, and I slipped in while Carter and Matt waved goodbye. This room was supposedly reserved specifically for after school detention, but it seemed like a regular classroom to me. There was a desk for the teacher, desks for students, posters regarding test-taking strategies (which I found to be complete and utter bullshit-- everyone just ends up panicking during tests anyway), a large closet in the back of the room, and very angry students sitting at a majority of the desks. Actually, most of them were either standing on or sitting on their desks, yelling across the room because there still was no teacher here. I, however, meekly rushed to the back of the classroom and sat at an empty desk.

Just as I sat down, Chelsea walked through the door with a guy who looked twice as big as me. He had a very square-shaped face with close-cut black hair, dark skin, a muscular build, and was very intimidating. He was probably a football player, so I wasn't really surprised when I saw that Chelsea was holding hands with him.

But I had to admit, my heart fell a little.

She walked to the back of the room with the guy following her, smiles on both of their faces. Unfortunately for me, they walked to the row right in front of me. The big guy sat in the seat in front of me while Chelsea sat next to him. The guy sloppily dropped his backpack on the ground; the zippers weren't even closed completely. He put his elbow down on the front of my desk as he turned to the side so he could talk to Chelsea. 

I stared at his arm on my desk for a while. It was like he didn't even know I was there behind him. I finally decided to speak up. I prepped myself to tap his arm and deliver a loud, confident "excuse me" but all that came out was a small squeak that barely sounded like English. But it did the trick. Both Chelsea and her friend looked at me. After a few seconds, she seemed to recognize me and waved. "Connor, hi!" She looked at her friend's arm, which I was still staring at. "Oh, Justin, move your arm," she told him gently. He looked at me, removed his arm, and gave me an apologetic smile.

"S'okay," I mumbled, and avoided both of their gazes as I reached into my backpack for a binder. Once I got it and put it on the top of the desk, I looked toward the door to see if the teacher was walking in. Still no teacher. I reverted my eyes back to my binder and opened it to the latest worksheet that I put in today. I tried to focus on the quadratic equations in front of me while everyone else was still yelling and talking. As if it would help me any better, I covered my ears with my hands. Not only could I not use my pencil that way, but it was also uncomfortable so I removed my hands. 

The first sound that I was greeted with, was the smacking of lips. I looked up, and Justin was still in his seat. This time, Chelsea was there too, sitting on his lap and pressing her lips onto Justin's. They weren't even trying to be subtle, which became clear when Chelsea wrapped her legs around his waist and they continued loudly smacking their lips together.

I told myself that they were just friends. Friends that hold hands and make out. Girls did that with people... right?