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Chapter 18

"Okay, guys, settle down!" Mrs. Smith said.

About our entire class adored Mrs. Smith. She was my favorite teacher in this school. You could tell from her accent that she was foreign and from England. She was short, exactly five feet tall, so everyone towered over her when they spoke to her. Mrs. Smith was newly a grandmother. She taught health and biology. I really wished she taught physics and chemistry (apparently she used to, which made me sad), because I really don't like Mr. Howell and Mrs. Smith was such a good teacher. We had biology with her last year, and I was proud enough to say I had an 'A' in the class and I understood everything completely. She was very funny, but at the same time serious. Mrs. Smith had an elective, too: dissection. I took her elective in sophomore year, and it was the best elective I had ever taken. There wasn't a thing not to like about Mrs. Smith. In fact, the only problem with Mrs. Smith was that you couldn't understand her sometimes because her Geordie accent was so thick.

Our entire homeroom became quiet. I took my headphones off so I could here Mrs. Smith more clearly. Michael stopped playing some random game on his phone. Ashton wasn't here; he was next door.

"As you very well know," Mrs. Smith announced, "it is February now. That means that it's time to give you your packets for your trip this year. You lucky seniors; your fieldtrip is five days. That's five days of relaxing for me! I kid, I kid. Please have your parents fill out the form and give them to Steven Hathaway's mother. She's planning the trip after all. It should say when the forms are due on them."

I felt the tears prickling my eyes. I looked down at my lap, just so Michael didn't accuse me of crying. Unfortunately for me, Michael was good at reading people, and he could tell when I was feeling low. We've had our fair shares of "Are you okay?" "I'm just tired." I said the same thing to the lavender-haired boy every single time, and the both of us knew that he was a becoming a bit skeptical of my responses.

I knew that I wasn't going to get a packet. I didn't pay. Every year, it was a different thing. Freshmen went to one of the islands off the coast of California and stayed the night. Sophomores went to a different island and stayed for three days and two nights. Juniors went to an outdoor school for four days and three nights. Seniors went to a YMCA camp for the entire school week. I remember that Andrew went with me on the freshman trip. I went alone for the next two. I was really excited for this last trip because it would be my last one, but after Liz and Andrew found out about my grades, I knew I wouldn't be able to go, so I didn't even ask to.

Elliot Tate told Mrs. Smith he volunteered to pass out everyone's form. Everyone knew that Elliot was a kiss-up. Not even a teacher's pet was the right word—that would be a word to describe Jordan McClennon. Elliot would always raise his hand and ask to do favors for the teachers. They always said "No, thank you," but it was evident the teachers didn't like Elliot.

Elliot walked up to our desk in the very back of the class. He handed Michael his packet with a "Here you go, Michael," and a smile. Elliot stopped at me, glared at me, and simply tossed the packet on the desk.

"Queer," he sneered.

"Asshole," I said through clenched teeth.

Elliot growled and slammed his hands on my desk. He gave me a glare that could convince someone that looks could kill. He had a sneer on his face the entire time. I wasn't afraid of him, though.

"Listen here, you little piece of shit. You better watch your fucking mouth or I'll kick your ass. Got it?"

Michael got up and stood in front of Elliot. Michael was taller than him, and his new eyebrow piercing gave him a scarier appearance.

"None of that's happening before I kick your ass, so get the fuck out," Michael growled.

Elliot simply huffed and looked at me. "He can't protect you forever, queer. You better watch your back." He walked away and sat back in his seat directly in front of Mrs. Smith's desk.