The Rubik's Cube Champ // l.s.

5.0

"It's too hard," Louis complained.

"Oh, please. You can do it. It's really easy," Mr. Styles reassured.

"That's easy for you to say. You probably do this stuff all the time," Louis retorted.

"Any person can do it. Come on."

"But I'm such a people pleaser. I can't do this."

"Louis," Mr. Styles gripped Louis' shoulder firmly, "You can do this."

"Ugh, fine."

Louis' pen began to race across the paper, forming lines and loops along with dashes and slashes. He worked quickly in his craft; writing came easy to him. After a while he set his pen down and reached the paper out towards his English teacher.

The teacher began to skim across the paper, reading quickly and making mental notes of things, "Louis, this is what I would want to hear. I want to hear what you have to say. What comes to mind when you think of this question? What connections do you make to the question? A thing most authors will do is include parts of them in their writing. Try putting yourself in your writing to create a deeper meaning, you know?"

Louis nodded and re-wrote the question on the top of a new page. He began to answer in complete honesty. His hurt and pain became words that were structured in sentences and made into paragraphs. He let everything--well, most everything--out onto the paper. He almost didn't care that his teacher would be reading it.

"Are you done?" Mr. Styles questioned when Louis approached his desk yet again. Louis nodded and placed the paper on the desk. He retreated back to his own seat and began to fiddle with his fingers.

"Come 'ere," Mr. Styles motioned after a few minutes.

"Is it okay?"

Mr. Styles looked him in the eye, trying to make him feel worried, "It's exactly what I wanted from you. You put yourself into your writing and now you have a piece that someone else can connect to and it moves freely. Do you get it?"

"Yeah, I'm beginning to understand more."

"Now, I do have a question for you," Mr. Styles said leaning back in his seat, "Why do you interrupt my class?"

Louis shrugged.

He didn't know. He just knew his part in life. He had to be the funny guy that everybody was friends with. He had to play the role his dad expected him to play; the perfect kid who was the best soccer player on the varsity team.

"I know you probably feel like you need to fit in or whatever. And to do so you need to be funny at any given time. I get that. I was there once too, you know. And even though you kids seem to think I'm ages past my age, I'm actually quite young--"

"How old are you?" Louis interrupted.

"Interrupting again I see. If it's any of your business, I'm twenty-three."

"Wow, we have a five year difference. I mean, I'm seventeen, but I'll be eighteen soon. Are you really that young?"

"Yes, I'm fairly certain of my age," Mr. Styles laughed.

"Well, you could be lying to me," Louis pointed out, "So you're like, really young compared to the other teachers?"

"Yeah, I suppose you could say that."

Louis nodded along, "That's cool. You know...actually, never mind."

"What is it?" Mr. Styles asked curiously.

"I was just going to say that a majority of the girls in our class think you're really cute. Some even said you're hot," Louis explained.

"Well," Mr. Styles cleared his throat, "That's flattering I guess. Anyways, the paper. Great job! Excellent improvement. Now we just have to work on the whole interrupting thing and we'll be good--" 

"Do you think I'm cute?" Louis suddenly asked.

"Excuse me?" 

"Do you think I'm cute or attractive or whatever?" 

"Uhm," Mr. Styles began to blush, "Y-yeah, I guess so."

"You don't have to get all flustered, Mr. Styles. I was just asking. I think you're cute too."

"Well, now, back to that English homework."

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A.N. Oooooh! It's getting kind of flirty!

Thanks for voting, commenting, etc.! :) -M

QUESTION: What are your favorite ships? (Not related to the chapter)