You Are the Shell to My Tortoise | ✓

1

"Psst!"

A hiss came flying my way, and I turned my head in the direction it came from. Ashley was looking impatiently at me, nodding her head at the sleeping boy seated in the table adjacent to mine and in front of hers. "Come on, Chelsea. Wake him up. Mr. Jameson looks ready to kill."

I fought the urge to groan and throw my hands up. Why did I always have to be the one to wake up Mr. Grumpy in class? Then again, the fact that I was his table partner probably had something to do with it. I hated this pairing system in the classrooms.

"But he's going to give me that terrifying death glare." I tried to wiggle my way out of it, giving my best friend my best pleading puppy-dog look. Unsurprisingly, she wasn't falling for it.

"Just do it! He's right next to you," she said, gesturing at him wildly and pointing to the front of the classroom as inconspicuously as she can. "And just look at Mr. Jameson! He looks like he's going to pick up that horrific tome to throw it at him again. I don't know about you, but I'm sitting right behind him, so I definitely don't feel like getting hit."

"You talk like I want to be clobbered with one of his dumbbell worthy books," I said, annoyed.

I gave our fuming teacher a hesitant glance and wondered just how it was possible for him to look so unbelievably hot even when he was hopping mad. His smooth brown hair was gelled back today, and it made his chiseled jaw look even stronger... And then I shook those thoughts away; this was not the time to daydream about my attractive English teacher. Reluctantly, I lifted my left hand and shook the sleeping guy's arm.

His head was lying face-down on table, with his face buried in his crossed arms, and I resisted the urge to roll my eyes at the way some of the girls audibly sighed when he stirred a little. Give me a break! None of you would be drooling over him this much if you had to wake him every time!

"Hey," I said tentatively, "wake up. Mr. Jameson's going to throw stuff at you if you don't."

This guy was the legendary antisocial jerk in school. His name was Nolan—or at least, I was pretty sure it was—and he despised social interaction. Gym was a class you'd never catch him in, and that was pretty much all I knew about him. Classmates who tried to wave at him barely got a passing glance out of him. A lot of people around school didn't like him because they thought he was arrogant—but, frankly, I hardly thought anyone who went around in (admittedly high-quality) denim jeans and black zip hoodies over black T-shirts could afford to be that judgmental. To me, he was just an oddball.

An oddball I really wished wasn't in so many of my classes.

The weirdest part was sometimes overhearing girls gossip about how attractive he kind of was. Nolan was pale and skinny, and there was no visible arm muscle definition to speak of considering he never showed up for gym and he was always covered up otherwise. The only possible attractive characteristic was his height; he was tall, I'd give him that. Stick one of those swooning girls in my seat for a day and treat them to one of his death glares and all the attraction would die off in an instant.

A low growl exited his mouth as I shook him for the fifth time. Startled, I jumped back in my seat.

Whipping around, I threw Ashley a desperate look. "Help me out here!"

She opened her mouth, but before she could get anything out, Mr. Jameson's smooth but deeply aggravated voice traveled across the classroom. "Nolan...you're always, always..."

He trailed off then, and I turned around, almost shaking in fear. Our handsome teacher had lifted a bulky-looking book with an orange hardcover jacket, and he was looking beyond livid. This scene had happened far too many times for me not to know what was coming next.