The Player's Weakness | ongoing

TPW// chapter fourteen

I MISSED HAVING EM TO CHAT TO. I missed her humour, despite it being a little sardonic at times.

Need some company after school? -Ash. Maybe I'd get her some soup to help her feel better.

PLEASE I'm dying of boredom here -Em, came her quick response. I chuckled as I turned my phone off and slid it into my bag.

My face still hurt considerably and a look in the girls' bathroom mirror showed a large cut through my lip. It had taken most of first lesson to stop the bleeding, most of the time me needing to hold a tissue to it.

Stacy was less lucky. She'd been taken to the nurse's office, although I doubted he could do much for her.

Rebecca had taken off. Yet, it did not take long for her to be caught and rumour has it she'd been expelled. Some say they heard her howls and pleas not to tell her parents.

It was one of those days where I didn't want anyone to touch me or talk to me. I had next to no attention span and my capability to not snap at people was struggling.

I just wanted to go home and sleep. I missed my bed and ability to be as lazy as I wanted to.

Before our second lesson began, the majority of the class sat on the tables and simply chatted. It was here that I'd heard various scraps of gossip, which Emily had been able to piece together.

As I've probably said countless times, Emily is the queen of gossip and there are no rumours which she doesn't know- no matter how... unusual.

Now, however, nothing other than people sharing their excitement for the upcoming holidays was being discussed. People bragged about their trips to destinations all around the world that they would be going on.

That was only a few, though. Others simply chatted in little huddles with friends.

Another reason to love books (other than the obvious ones): people think that if you are reading, you can't hear them. Just because they can't multi task, doesn't mean I can't. Like I've mastered the art of reading whilst walking, so listening while reading is child's play.

"Ok everyone, settle down," the teacher attempted to command, unsuccessfully. Mr Clarkson- a man of little back bone with no coordination. Shown perfectly by nobody listening to him as he failed to gain our attention.

It was cringe worthy as he fumbled about with the papers on his desk, seeking his remote for the projector.

His short, lanky figure was almost hidden from us by his desk. You could only hear occasional thumps as he disturbed the clutter concealing his desk.

A sympathetic girl strode over to him, whilst most other people continued on with their conversations.

"Would you like any help, sir?" She inquired, peeking over the desk at the small man who was still endeavouring to organise his scruffy desk. Over the top of my book, I observed him squinting up at her like a rabbit caught in headlights.

I pitied him.

High schoolers can be so mean; students had relentlessly picked on him because of his slight stutter. He seemed like a decent person and I don't see how a stutter could warrant such harsh taunting.

Luckily, no one in this class appeared to be so childish.

With a little help and encouragement, Mr Clarkson ceased his faffing. It took a wooden block he kept on his desk to slam against a table for everyone to finally be quiet.