Wolfe

one

Bear in mind, writing of a 13-14 year old here. I was a terrible human being back then *shivers* my writing was atrocious, but I feel like's worsened over time. 

Media: "Bermuda Triangle" by Zico ft Crush and Dean.

"Wolfe?"

I opened my tired eyes. My brow furrowed. There was a ringing in my ears, annoying and a high pitched squeal. I squinted my eyes against the bright lights which flooded my vision. Something cold was under my cheek, yet my body heat didn't make it startling, but comfortable. Like sinking into cold sheets on a hot, humid, summer day.

"Wolfe? Mr. Wolfe, are you with us? Or do you need more time?" A nasally voice asked from my right. I cursed under my breath, before lifting my head up from the wooden desk.

You know that pissed off feeling you get when someone disturbs you from a nap? Not the rested feeling you get from a long night's sleep, nor the feeling of dejection when you wake up at 5 in the morning with only three hours of sleep.

I felt like that.

"Have you decided to be with us now, Mr. Wolfe?" I tediously looked up at the short, scowling teacher. Her glasses were perched on her bony nose, with her eyeglass retainers laying limp behind her neck.

I groaned inwardly. "Well, Mrs. Langton, I suppose I have no choice but to join the harsh reality of Calculus."

A couple of students in the class snickered at that. The old woman's cheeks reddened at the comment. "My office, after school, Cassel." She pushed her glasses up to the bridge of her nose.

I rolled my eyes at that. I had better things to do than listen to an old woman who can't even teach Trig right scold me for falling asleep.

"You have so much potential! You would have gotten into a good university if you had actually had good conduct! You understand the material, how I don't know since you don't come to class or spend your time not even paying attention, but why don't you try? I could've had your grandmother here at a moment's notice, if I wanted to. She's in my knitting club--"

I love my Grandmother, I really do, but she knows she can't control me and if I go to class or not.

"Well, since Cassel here decided to wake up and enter the harsh reality of, excuse me, the real world"-- real world, my ass, there was no relevance of hardcore Calc in the real world-- "let's turn to page 205 of the Module. Alison, tell me what is relationship between the mean value theorem and Rolles theorem..."

The twenty minutes of class went by like quicksand-- stuffy and not quick at all. I hunched over my Trig textbook, fingering the obsidian ring my grandfather had given me on my sixteenth birthday.

My back pocket vibrated. Making sure it was safe, I inched towards my back pocket, and take out my phone.

You're being watched.

Unknown number? I frowned. I had gotten these before, especially from the guys my dad used to work for, so this wasn't new.

No, seriously, you are. Trust me. They're there.

"Hey man!"

I blink multiple times before turning my gaze to the figure at my right. I bit my bottom lip, and hastily shoved the phone into my bag. A broad arm wrapped around a shoulder. A grinning blond faced me. "Dude, the bell rang like an hour ago. Why are you still here?"

I stared at the quarterback of our school's football team. Jake Crosby was the total opposite of me-- all American sports jock with a ton of friends and no trust issues at all. He could talk a mile a minute or be quiet and appreciate the silence I surround myself with.