As the bell rang, I looked up to see everyone else get up and shuffle towards the door. The cute blonde looked over at me again, her face set in what looked like apology. What did she have to apologize for? I was the idiot who couldn't keep my damn mouth shut. Rebecca's waving arm caught my attention, her hands motioning that she would call me later, probably to hear me rant about just how much of a tyrant Mr. Hastings was. I nodded at her and turned my attention to the teacher sitting at the desk at the front of the room.
If I was honest with myself, he wasn't an unattractive man. And it wasn't like I wasn't exactly into dudes, I was just way more into chicks. Chicks had things like soft curves, soft lips, and tits. Mostly it was the tits. Like the ones that blonde had; what was her name? Lucy. Yeah. Lucy had fucking Tits with a capitol T.
Mr. Hastings, though, did not have tits with a capitol anything.
He dressed pretty plainly, a white, short-sleeved button up shirt with a red tie and dark brown slacks. His hair was kind of spiked up and messy, like that metrosexual style or whatever it was called. His wire-rimmed glasses sat perched on his nose, and as I noticed that, he looked up from his desk to stare right at me.
“You will clean that doodle off your desk, Mr. Miles, and then you will write on the board 'I will not doodle on desks.' one hundred times before you may leave.”
“What?” I shot back. “Look, I'll clean up the mess I made, but I'm not in grade school. I don't need to copy something on the board a hundred times just to remember it.”
Mr. Hastings raised an eyebrow. “If you are going to do something so juvenile, then you will receive an appropriately juvenile punishment. Might I suggest that you start working. I do not want to be baby-sitting you all night, Desmond.”
I was torn. I wanted to shoot back another complaint, but the way Mr. Hastings said 'Desmond' instead of 'Mr. Miles' made my face heat up. I dropped my gaze, walking to the front of the class to pick up the bottle of cleaning solution and a rag the teacher obviously set on his desk for me to use.
I kept my back to Mr. Hastings as I scrubbed at the ink on my desk. It was weird; the teacher never used anyone's first name. It was always 'Mr. Miles' or 'Ms. Crane,' but never 'Desmond.' I turned my head, looking over my shoulder him as if he would answer my mental question. Instead, Mr. Hastings was staring, pretty obviously, at my ass.
Re: Detention (2/?)
If I was honest with myself, he wasn't an unattractive man. And it wasn't like I wasn't exactly into dudes, I was just way more into chicks. Chicks had things like soft curves, soft lips, and tits. Mostly it was the tits. Like the ones that blonde had; what was her name? Lucy. Yeah. Lucy had fucking Tits with a capitol T.
Mr. Hastings, though, did not have tits with a capitol anything.
He dressed pretty plainly, a white, short-sleeved button up shirt with a red tie and dark brown slacks. His hair was kind of spiked up and messy, like that metrosexual style or whatever it was called. His wire-rimmed glasses sat perched on his nose, and as I noticed that, he looked up from his desk to stare right at me.
“You will clean that doodle off your desk, Mr. Miles, and then you will write on the board 'I will not doodle on desks.' one hundred times before you may leave.”
“What?” I shot back. “Look, I'll clean up the mess I made, but I'm not in grade school. I don't need to copy something on the board a hundred times just to remember it.”
Mr. Hastings raised an eyebrow. “If you are going to do something so juvenile, then you will receive an appropriately juvenile punishment. Might I suggest that you start working. I do not want to be baby-sitting you all night, Desmond.”
I was torn. I wanted to shoot back another complaint, but the way Mr. Hastings said 'Desmond' instead of 'Mr. Miles' made my face heat up. I dropped my gaze, walking to the front of the class to pick up the bottle of cleaning solution and a rag the teacher obviously set on his desk for me to use.
I kept my back to Mr. Hastings as I scrubbed at the ink on my desk. It was weird; the teacher never used anyone's first name. It was always 'Mr. Miles' or 'Ms. Crane,' but never 'Desmond.' I turned my head, looking over my shoulder him as if he would answer my mental question. Instead, Mr. Hastings was staring, pretty obviously, at my ass.
Wait, what?