Topping the Jock

Chapter Five

A.N. I've cast Jake Hold as our darling Oliver McMullen, mainly bc ginger and fit lol. V and c if you enjoyed reading. Xoxo.

CHAPTER FIVE - REMY'S DARLING P.O.V  

After we arrived at the class, we had to line up outside of the room like we were in kindergarten, waiting for Ms. Charles to show up. 

"Okay, you malignant worms," Ms. Charles croaked, hobbling down the hallway with books in her arms, "get in the classroom one-by-one. The new seating-chart is on the door. Find your place and sit in it. No exceptions. Just do as you're told." 

"Bitch," I muttered under my breath. God, I hated her. Not as much as Milo, but she was pretty far up on my list (and yes, I'd made a list) of the most hated people in the world to me. Let's call it Remy's List of the World's Most Basic Bitches. It went a little something like this: 

1. Milo Young: my hatred for this one should be self-explanatory at this point. 

2: Kanye West: what he does cannot be called rapping, and that hag he is married to makes me queasy. 

3: All blonds everywhere: also self-explanatory. 

4: Ms. Delilah Charles, teacher of English at Shitterton High: one of the world's most horrid, basic bitches. Let me make an introduction. 

Meet Ms. Delilah Charles. Rude, harsh, and more strict than my parents (which was saying something). But not only that, she absolutely hated me. I mean, more so than everyone else. She disliked everyone else, but she absolutely loathed me from the deepest depths of her blackened, empty heart. 

So when I saw who I was sitting beside on her new seating chart, I knew the bitch had done it on purpose. Just like I knew she kept me in detention two days ago knowing Milo and his gang would grab the opportunity to get me alone and kick the shit out of me. 

And I was not being paranoid. That was exactly what she did, I swear. Why would I lie? You saw the list yourself. 

I took my seat by the window miserably, waiting for him to come and sit beside me. Usually, we couldn't sit farther from each other, but recently, it seemed like fate wanted Milo and I to work stuff out, and apparently the only way for fate to do that was to sit us beside each other in a class that already made me want to puke. 

I didn't know how I felt about that. I mean, I was fine with Milo and I burying the hatchet and ignoring each other's existence, but I would never actually be his friend. Not again. I hate him too much. Fate can fuck off. 

"I'm not sitting next to Rimjob," Milo protested as he stormed his way into the room, his blond hair waved up today. He never usually wore his hair that way. It looked... nice? It shaped his face better, I guess, and gave easier access to see those cold blue eyes. Plus, he had a widow's peak. I don't know. I like widow's peaks. Especially on him. 

Shut up. And stop giving me that look, fangirls. I am a respectable member of society, and I do not deserve your trash. 

His eyes were cold like ice, as in like the iceberg that destroyed Titanic, ripped Jack and Rose apart and left me sobbing with endless stacks of used tissues on my living room sofa, screaming out "Why couldn't Rose just share that floating door with him? WHY CAN'T MY HEART GO ON? ONCE MORE YOU OPEN THE DOOR AND YOU'RE HERE IN MY HEART AND MY HEART WILL GO ON!" followed by me blasting Celine Dione while blubbering along to the lyrics. 

So, yeah, that was basically a casual Saturday night for me. And that was my thought process every time I looked into Milo's cold, iceberg-blue eyes. 

"Mr. Young, as much as I agree with your distrust of Mr. Rutherford, you will endure him or I will send you to the principal's office and have you suspended for disobeying me," Ms. Charles replied gently, settling behind her desk. "Now, all of you pathetic monstrosities will collect a copy of Great Expectations, sit, read, and make notes while I catch up on my magazines," she said quickly, before whipping out the latest copy of Vogue.