[ORIGINAL, UNCHANGED VERSION; COMPLETED]
DISCLAIMER: This story was written years ago and is not at its best.
Beau Jensen, a grievous mess that has only ever fallen in love once with the wild and absolutely charming Kendra Moore. Facing problems of...
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• CHAPTER FOUR • »—————«
SCHOOL IS HECTIC.
Overflowing with all sorts of people. The chaos is perfect in a way. Like we just walked right into a movie. I wouldn't go ahead and stereotype anyone here, but it seems like most people go out of their way to fit into a certain box. Cliquey girls, jocks, thespians. There are people trying too hard to be the characters they see on TV.
And then there's Kendra and I.
We made it to class five minutes late, but our history teacher, Mr. Daniels, had been facing the board and rambling on about World War two and hadn't noticed us slip in.
For the next hour or so, we discreetly pass each other smiles and pretend to pay attention to the lesson whenever he turns around. Kendra sits at the desk behind me, absentmindedly coiling strands of my brown hair between her fingers while I look straight ahead and pretend to be interested in whatever is being taught. She weaves tiny braids, then unweaves them, and starts the process all over again.
The lesson Mr. Daniels is drilling into our skulls doesn't settle, and he's not the least bit concerned that no one is actually paying attention to him explaining the conflict between Germany and the world. Every once in a while, someone raises their hand after an extreme episode of awkward silence and answers a question he asks. He's basically a robot running on morning coffee, spitting out words, and hoping that by the end of the month, he'll receive a pretty paycheck for nothing.
The first two periods continue that way.
Separating after history, Kendra heads off to math and I move on to English. I settle in my seat and watch the clock tick overhead, counting down the minutes until lunch and hopefully, the end of the day might come as quickly as I anticipate. Mr. Andreas waits for the clamour to die down and once the bell finally rings, he snaps the novel between his hands shut and walks around his desk to the front of the class.
"Is everyone ready to learn something today?"
A chorus of grumbles arises from within the class and swallows his laughter. Andreas is a nice guy, though I rarely speak to him when I don't have to. From what I could tell since my first day in his class, he's passionate about what he teaches, especially the Shakespearean stuff. I've never been a fan of Shakespeare's–he would have been better off an artist because there are too many feelings in his literature, so many things I'm sure he would have been able to say had he put down his pen and replaced it with a paintbrush.
"Othello!" He slams his book down onto the desk and grins. "Who was he?"
A hand shoots into the air. "Moor and general of the Venice army!"
"Correct." The students' pencils move furiously across the pages of their notebooks, but I lean back and absorb the lesson. "But there's a problem with Othello, and why is that?"
