MICHAEL'S POV
I was walking through the school's corridor to find my first class. Then I looked down at my watch as I see this. F*ck. It was ten pm. "I'm late" I mumbled to my self.
I contiunued my way. "Economy class...economy class...WHERE THE HELL IS THAT DAMN F*CKING CLASS ?!?" . Oh wow. I just cursed a lot. If my ma was here with me, she would be busy for kicking my ass. Well, my cute asses, I think.
Finally I arrived in the corner of the corridor. I held both my knees as I was breathing heavily. Then I looked to my right. There was a door with a name on it.
ECONOMY CLASS
Mrs. Christine
"Praise the Lord !" I yelled as I was imitating my mother's choir group in church. I walked in.
My eyes widened.
This class look like a hell.
"No phone, no texting... No cheers... And no kissing. In my class, please !" . First I got my feet on this class, I've heard a woman, who supposed to be Mrs. Christine I think, was yelling toward the class. She held her head with her hand. She took a deep long breath, then...
"EVERY SINGLE OF YOU WHO WANTS TO SPEND YOUR WHOLE WINTER HOLIDAYS IN COMMUNITY SERVICE, KEEP THAT DAMN NOISES, UP !!!!!!"
She screamed from the top of her lung, out loud. And when I said it 'out-loud' , I meant it.
Everyone in the class finally stopped their business. I jumped back a little.
"Good". The women finally mumbled. Her voice was softed again. The class was quiet awhile, then they pointed their view to me, who still standing there, backed the door. I smiled nervously. Mrs. Christine noticed it and walkind towards me, and smiled lightly.
"Mr. Jackson?"
"Yes?"
"Oh good" , at this time, she turned her sight to the class. "Class, this is Michael Jackson, our new class member. He was moving from Indiana to California...blah..blah.." . I wasn't paying attention on her speech. I was too busy to flirting with a bunch of sexy cheerleaders at the right side of the class. Well, the girls did it first. Not me, tho.
"Mr. Jackson?". I winked to the girls. "Mr. Jackson !". This time she tapped my shoulder and cleared her throat.
"Did you hear what I've just said, Mr. Jackson?"
"Huh? Oh, y,yes I did."
"Then, what was it about?"
"I...uuh...you want me to..sit?" . I smiled innocently. She sighed heavily.
"To the right side of the class, please."
I nodded and said thanks to her. And went to my chair. I sat down then put my bag down. As I let my self try to be comfort with my new chair, I was looking around my new class. Then suddenly, this girl got my attention first.
She was skinny, well, not too much. She got her long black straight hair, with two black eyes. And white-complexioned skin surrounded her body. She was listening to her ipod. She wore this-what-I-called hard-rocky style. Ripped jeans, black tanktop, and military boots on.
I have no idea what kind of decent this rocky girl looks like. Did she come from india or something? But she have a tatoo with an arabic calligraphy on her arm. So I think she's from...Saudi arabia? What ever. Why would I care?
I turned around and saw two boys were talking. The blonde one is look like a prince in a tale story. What's on earth he thinking about? Dude, this is a highschool, but he wore a...TUX? I sighed loudly. Oh well, if dunk (my lil sister, janet) was here, she would sream as loud as hell and say "it's the prince! He's here to save Rapunzel from the dark castle..." This and that.
Don't judge me. I would never see, or read, or watch a tale story. Never. Just EECK.
"Hey, may I sit here, right next to you?"
A girl voice was waking me out of my mind. I looked up to her. A brunette, well a little sweet brunette who has those to bright green eyes was smiling at me.
"Helloooo?" She asked once again. Politely.
"Uhm...yes." I said coldly. Don't mad at me. I've been tried to act nice to everygirl around. But if she's not...well, ehm!, if she's not sexy enough, I'm not interested.
Plus, I DO NOT dating a child. And this brunette's look like she's a fifteen years old. Yeah, yeah. I know I'm still sixteen years old too. But I'm a REAL MAN in the outside and inside. You'll admit it if you see me. What a jerk. But I tell ya. It's a human nature.
She sat up right next to me. She furrowed her eyebrows to me. Like something in my face.
"What?" I said a little bit annoyed.
"Excuse me, but I think I should tell you about some thing.."
"Shoot." I replied. Wanst facing her face.
"This is about. This chair even not yours. It's mine. I've been sat on this chair since I got my feet in this class."
"What-so-ever. Mrs. Christine asked me to sit here. Soo..."
Then she walked away and put my bag on the other chair. She smiled innocently.
"I'm so sorry, but I think even your dirty-skanky-adidas-sport-bag don't want you to sit here"
I felt my blood began to race up to my head. I turned my head slowly, to held back my anger.
"Look, little susie, you can---"
"---Stand under my umbrella ! Ella , Ella , Eh ! Eh! Under my umbrella, Ella, Ella, Eh! Eh!" She sang it. My eyes widened. How dare you barbie brunette ! My thought was running. So was my blood.
"I swore to my self since my lil sister was born, not to hit any chickas just like you... So, let's just make that promise will be long last, okay? Ever! After! Do you---"
"Mr. Jackson, is there a problem with miss Zloavavic?"
Suddenly, Mrs. Christine heard my angry voice and scolded to me. I sat back.
"Uhm..no, no, Mrs. Christine. Everything's okay" I said nervously.
I glanced over her (who supposed to be this 'Miss Zloavavic'). She was holding back her laugh. I held back my anger. She's little bit like Janet. I stretched my neck muscle, and mumbled. I wanna do my boxing exercise after the school, just in case to release my anger. Or maybe I can try it RIGHT on her face. HA.
Author's Chapter Notes:
Please review, this is just the begining. Case is on the way. So, your review is important. I told ya ;)
Chapter End Notes:
This story is in the thriller era. But Michael is 16 years old in here. I know. But this is a fiction. So, everything's possible.
Sorry, I'm not that good in english -____-
Please review. Your comment matters
Sorry, I'm not that good in english -____-
Please review. Your comment matters