The Hart Gets What the Hart Wants [YouTuber AU]

The Hart Gets What the Hart Wants

One thing I can't stand about this place is the teachers and the way they think it's acceptable to treat students. Each day, they feel like it is right to talk to us like we're about five during the learning, and then trow us into the hard work with no preparation. Maybe it's all a metaphor for the adult world: something I dread to experience.

As the final bell for today rings, I glance at the door and wait for the old bat to let us leave. Teachers like to play the game where they keep you in the classroom for as long as possible, seeing who they can agitate and give a detention to before they finally let us flood out of the door.

"Just let us leave you f-"

Turning around expecting the girl to be the extremely intelligent one, I notice that she's silent, bent over her phone. Instead, this pretty rebellious girl she's friendly with is yelling out, cussing at the brain dead teacher. Of course she knows that she's letting herself in for detention, but it may be worth it to talk to a teacher with no restraint. I've never tried it.

The girl on her phone looks straight up at me. I wouldn't say we're the best of friends, but we've had our fair share of conversations and I always enjoy talking to her. She's one of the kids who knows everything, has a sense of humour and she's really damn attractive, yet she doesn't do anything with her life. Often more than not, I see her on her phone or bent over a fictional book or doodling when she could be acing her classes.

Maybe it's the pressure of being moved up a class. She has to fit to us because the school decided she was too smart for her age group. Which I think is somewhat stupid, if you ask me. She didn't even get a choice in the decision.

Her mouth turns upwards slightly as her eyes lock with mine. Blue, like the sky that hasn't been around Lincoln Heights Academy for so long. It isn't a full smile, but more of a smirk. This little dimple forms; it's ever so slightly, but it's enough for me to notice.

She then dips her head, looking back her phone. Her fringe flies downwards, covering her ave and concealing the screen once again. Her fingers type furiously, don't stop as she continues to walk through the room as her friend receives the dreaded lecture from the Japanese teacher.

One thing I know about the girl is that she's good at Japanese. Really, really good. Like, I don't get basic Kanji and I'm only in the class because it's compulsory to study a language for a year here. This girl gets it though - and the reason she's in my year is evident through her test scores and essay results. Straight A grades across the border. One time I got a C and I was satisfied for about a week and a half with that grade.

On the way out of the classroom, I see the girl look up at me with this curiosity on her face; she scans the room for a while before connecting eyes with me once again. We lock, just staring as we both move out of the room. For a second, it feels as if she's trying to work something out, but then I know that it's much deeper than an analysis.

Tearing my eyes away from hers, I can't help but feel stupid for making eye contact with someone for so long, trying to think that they actually want to talk to me. Classic me though, trying to see if I can pull a friend from a completely irrelevant situation.

Looking down at her phone, I notice that it is filled with words. Not like a webpage though, or a text message. She seems to be on a notes page, typing away furiously about something. Maybe it's how she records all of her work. Maybe I'm just being judgemental when I call her out for constantly typing away.

My mouth dries as I look up again, only to see her looking at my feet. What's so interesting about my feet? I'm not even sure what size they are - all that's recognisable is the Converse label on the side of the footwear, bold amongst the red. They aren't that exciting. I have to say something.