Trapped in School (Watty Awards 2012 Nominee)

Prolouge

A/N-- So this idea came to me when I was on Google looking up cute pictures for no real reason. I hope I'm not being too cliche. But I thought it would be fun to try something light and fluffy, opposed to my Holocaust story I have been working on as of late. Please vote and leave a comment!!!

“So yeah, in order to find the volume, just use the stoichometric equation,” I said, taking the pencil from George’s grubby fingers.

“What’s dat?” he asked. He bit his lower lip, running his tongue over a piercing mindlessly. I held back a sigh.

“That. Not ‘dat’--that,” I said. George glared at me, so I decided to drop it. “I wrote it right here. PV equals NRT. Just make sure you substitute the constant for R.” With his dull pencil, I managed to write .08206 in curly writing that stood out in a backdrop of boyish scribbles. George scratched his goatee and looked up at the ceiling, as if thinking that I hid the answer there. Finally, he spoke.

“What’s substitute mean?” he asked.

Oh dear God.

The bell rang at that moment, saving me from high levels of stupidity that threatened to melt my brain like it was in a microwave. George snatched his spiral notebook, that really did not have a spiral but a gnawed piece of wire holding it together, and lumbered out of the room, pulling up his baggy jeans as he walked. I picked up binder off the lab table, hopped off the stool, and lifted my Black Butler purse up off the ground. I bid goodbye to Mr. Jacobs, who had been watching over the tutors for two hours now and looked ready to fall asleep in his chair.

The hallway smelled fresh in comparison to the antiseptic-meets-vinegar smell of the chemistry lab. I checked my Death Note watch and found that I was ten minutes late for my violin lesson down in the band room.

Thanks a lot, George.

My combat boots made smacking sounds against the linoleum that vaguely reminded me of a scene from Ouran High School Host Club, and I had to shake my head to snap out of it. I still had a violin lesson, vet training, volunteering at the soup kitchen, and three hours worth of honor’s class homework left to do before the day was over. The last thing I needed to do was fantasize about anime.

I crashed into a wall of muscle.

We both fell to the ground, my purse sliding down the hallway and his pencils clanking after it. My nose hit against the floor. I could feel my boot kick someone in the gut as I struggled to pull myself up, clutching my nose and hoping it wouldn’t bleed, since I was already late enough for band. When I finally sat up, I was face to face with Lucas Reynolds.

As if this day couldn’t get any better.

“Oh, look who it is,” he snickered. He ran a hand through his ginger hair, leaning back on his elbows as if striking a pose. But last time I checked, the hallway floor wasn’t a photo shoot, and Lucas wasn’t a model. So I made a point by adverting my eyes.

“Leave me alone, Lucas. I’m not in the mood,” I said. I stood up, tugging at my plaid skirt and making a beeline for my purse. But before I could even bend down to pick it up, Lucas was already there. He swept my purse up off the ground and went running down the hallway laughing.

Way to be mature.

I went running after him, praying to the time gods that I wouldn't miss my violin lesson.