The Day You Left

Author's Note // This is a love story (it might sound pretty cliche, but I mean for it to be :D). There will probably be curse words and maybe... intense... scenes... So read at your own risk!

Chapter 1

My phone vibrated, waking me from my trance. I was in English class with my teacher, Mrs. Benson looming over me. She stuck her hand out. I took my cell phone out of my back pocket and put it in her hand. That call/text better have been important, I thought.

Walking away, Mrs. Benson said, "You will get your phone back at the end of class, Evelyn." My teacher put my phone on her desk and continued her lecture on God knows what.

After class, Mrs. Benson returned my phone and I left. Kirsten, my best (and probably only) friend waited for me in the hall. She smiled when she saw me. She saw my phone in my hand and then frowned.

"I am so sorry for calling you while you were in class. I butt dialed you," Kirsten said.

"It's fine. Mrs. Benson would've found another way to yell at me, anyways," I replied, and we laughed.

The first day of the third week of my junior year of high school, and a teacher already hated me. I was known in previous years to be the teachers' most hated student. It was probably because all of them were bitches, and I wasn't exactly good at keeping opinions to myself.

"You're probably right. What's our next class, again?" Kirsten asked. Most of our classes were the same. A few seconds later, she answered her own question, "World history? Yeah, room one-oh-eight." Don't get me wrong, Kirsten's amazing, but she could be a little air-headed sometimes.

I sighed and ran my hand through my red-orange hair. "I hate world history," I muttered.

"You hate every school subject."

"Yup, that's the point."

We got to our next class and in our seats right before the bell rang. My seat was in the front of the class--second row--right in front of the teacher, Mr. Farleigh's desk. He took roll and then started on the lesson. He talked about the Korean War, but I (as usual) tuned out. Luckily, Mr. Farleigh didn't do what most teachers did, which was calling on students not paying attention to answer questions. On the first day of school he made it clear that if we didn't pay attention and fail our exams, it wouldn't be his fault.

When the lecture was over, he told us to open our textbooks to page 194 and complete the questions with our own paper. I sighed and started to work on the questions. Mr. Farleigh sat at the computer in the back of the room to check his emails. Teachers should know that when they do that, kids act up.

The boy who sat behind me, Riley, passed (well, more like threw) notes with his best friend, Derek. I knew Derek since fifth grade. We never got super close, but I liked to say I knew the real him. We fell apart around seventh grade when he became "popular." (I blamed his older brother, who I guess threw some awesome parties.)To everyone else, he was the hot basketball player, who could get a girl with the snap of his fingers. When I knew him, he was nice and smart. Riley just followed him around.

One of them accidentally threw the note-ball and it landed on my desk.

"Evelyn, throw it here," Derek said. I shrugged and threw the paper ball to him, to the left by what seemed like a mile, but he still caught it. He smiled a thank you, and I returned to my barely started paper.

"Three minutes left," Mr. Farleigh announced. Crap, I thought. I had three out of ten questions answered. I quickly scribbled down answers for six more of them when we were told to turn our papers in.

The rest of class consisted of Mr. Farleigh grading the questions as we read more about the Korean War silently. When class was over, he asked for Derek and I to stay after class. I smiled to Kirsten, and told her to leave me and get to her next class.

"Evelyn," Mr. Farleigh said, "how many questions do you think you got right on that paper?"

I shrugged, saying, "Seven?"

"One."

"Oh," was all I managed to say.

Mr. Farleigh nodded. "I have been looking through my students' files and I came across yours. You haven't gotten an A since sixth grade. You also barely passed social studies subjects last year and the year before. We have only done seven graded assignments this year so far, and you failed three of them." I wasn't comfortable with him saying this in front of Derek.

"To get to the point: Derek has been an outstanding student, and I want him to tutor you," he continued. A tutor! What did he think I was, a six-year-old? "You can study on your own terms, but there will be a test on the Korean war next Wednesday, and I want you to get at least an eighty."

That wasn't what was happening. I was getting a tutor, and Derek of all people! When did I screw up my life enough to deserve this?

"Now, it's lunch time for me, but here are two passes for your next class, and lock up in here when you're done," Mr. Farleigh said. Derek and I both nodded, accepted our slips, and our teacher left the room.

"Can I have your number or something I can reach you at?" Derek asked me. That was one thing I thought would never come out of his mouth, directed at me. If anyone saw this happening they would laugh at us and Derek would become a disgrace to this school and his brother because I am an invisible teacher's pest.

Derek handed me his phone, and I typed my cell phone number in his contacts and added my name as 'Evelyn the amazing.' I wrote it like that for everyone (not that a lot of people ask for my phone number), and they could change it if they wanted.

A second after I gave the phone back, my phone beeped. It was a text from a number I didn't know. It said,

1056 Orange Grove Ln. After school today.

After reading it, I looked at Derek. He was grinning, seductively. I added the number to my contacts as 'Tutor.' I then replied to the message with,

Right back at ya, tutor.

We left the classroom, locking the door, and went to our next classes.