The Makeover

8

Curse my bad drawing skills

Edited

"That risk that you're afraid to take, could be the one that changes your entire life."

Kylie Francis

"What?" I whispered as I felt a light tap on my shoulder. My head stayed resting on my crossed arms, too comfortable to move.

The tap came again.

"What?" I whined; my voice muffled by the fabric of my sweater. It had taken me a while to stop changing my position every few seconds and the fact that someone else wanted to ruin the peaceful state I was currently in, almost had me saying some crude words.

I yawned quietly and tried to go back to my happy place. My mind desperately wandered to the few things I had accomplished in life – the most important one being the time I lessened my addiction to skittles. It hadn't been much of a choice, really. The braces restricted me from eating a lot of my favourite things and my mother had cut my allowance for a few months.

But that's not the point – still an achievement.

I let out an annoyed groan at that moment as a soft and polite voice filled the room. "Thirty more minutes, students. Hang in there." The reason for Mr Taylor being so nice despite the room of delinquents he was addressing was beyond me. It also managed to make me feel worse that I was here in the first place.

I, Katie Waters, was in detention and I was clearly not made for this place. Teachers barely noticed me in class enough to acknowledge my presence; yet, Mr Grayson had to be the one to go out of his way to make me feel noticed – and I could now say that I was far happier when I was just the weird, quiet girl.

It had all been completely fine until we had reached this heart-crunching classroom. Jake had been distracting me from the matter at hand by telling jokes, causing me to laugh louder than the chatter in the halls. He had also managed to make my cheeks turn, what seemed like, crimson from the number of innuendos he had been throwing out.

The minute I entered the class, though, I had immediately felt sick. Partly because it smelt like dead fish and partly because Jake had removed his hand from around my waist.

It was as if the ability to move disappeared completely. Reality had crashed down on my frail body and had pushed me to the floor, leaving me as if I was a piece of ground that belonged there.

Yes, I'm aware. Really dramatic.

I almost had my second panic attack when the teacher asked for my detention slip, but Jake had placed his hand on the small of my back, and after that, everything had felt a little bit more bearable.

He had coaxed me with soft words; so soft that I was the only one to hear them. When I turned around, he had still been there, his hazel eyes smiling in encouragement.

But as I felt his fingers tap my shoulder every five seconds, I was beginning to regret sitting next to him. Ever since I had taken my seat, he hadn't spent a minute not annoying me. Every. Five. Fu- Fudging. Seconds. That was enough to push, even me, off the edge. No. He wouldn't have to push me. I would jump, willingly.

I would do anything for him to stop. I would sell all my books. In my language, that's equivalent to an athlete giving away all their trophies.

I gave in, and my eyes only focused on him once I had blinked a good few times. His messy, brown hair and olive-tanned skin seemed to stand out in the dull classroom. He looked to be amused.