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Chapter 3, Part II
Ever since that one time, Sam started sitting next to him in Biology class. Inartè didn’t mind, not really. While it had been nice having an empty desk next to him to dump his extra crap on, Sam was a pretty decent guy and hell, he could be sitting next to Jacob the Nose Picker instead.
“Oh, I see you did your homework this time,” Sam commented as he sat down in his new seat and started pulling out his binders and his pencil case. “I think I have a gold star somewhere. Want it?” Inartè stared at him weirdly for a moment before the other teen cracked a grin and said, “Joking. Don’t take me so literally all the time.”
“I dunno.” Inartè held up his essay on water molecules and squinted at it. “Maybe I would’ve been better off if I had just copied off of you instead. I seem to end up with better marks that way than if I actually did my own homework.”
“Hey,” Sam said, pulling out his own essay from the front of his binder. “Learning is an active process. Copying off of someone will get you nowhere in life. If you want to learn, then you have to do your own work.”
Inartè glanced over at him wryly. “Did you try that on Josh as well?”
“Yeah.”
“Did it work?”
“Considering he phoned me last night at two in the morning, sounding as if he just got home from some sort of party, begging me for my History notes...” The bell for the start of class rang and Mrs. Sharpain fluttered in. She glowered at the class and seemed, to Inartè’s horror, more like a banshee than the human she actually was. “I’m going with a no.”
Their small talk died down when their teacher started ripping last minute essays from the class’ hands, and Inartè almost, almost gulped when she looked down at him over her semi-circle glasses. “Mr. Black,” she began, her voice carrying what Inartè suspected must be the result of either a shrivelled mummy granted life or thirty years worth of smoking, “what is this?”
She waved his essay in front of his face. First Josh, now her. Did people think he was blind?
“Uh... my essay?” he tried.
“It is,” she began again, punctuating each word with a small shake of his fully-completed-on-time-without-cheating-thank-you-very-much essay, “written in
pencil.”
No s**t. He wrote the damn thing. “So?”
“
Mr. Black no doubt you think you are very funny.” She slammed his essay down on his desk and Sam, beside him, winced. “Well you are not. Do you not remember the criteria I have set out in the beginning of this year? About how I only accept essays and formal assignments in black or blue ink?
Do you?”
“I, uh... well...” His lips felt dry. “No. Not really, no.”
“I see.
I see.” Okay, so she could see from her bulging eyes. He
got it. “You, Mr. Black, are a prime example of what I would call –”
Oh no. Please no. Not again.
“– The downfall of society due to –”
Inartè plugged his ears. That may had not been the best course of action.
“That is
it!” she screeched, jabbing a boney finger in the direction of the door as she did. For a moment, he almost thought that she would spontaneously combust due to her rage. “Get out!
Get out now you ungrateful and unsociable little –”
“Mrs. Sharpain?” Sam asked timidly, interrupting her rant. “Can I say something?”
There was a moment of silence where the world as humankind knew it skidded to a stop before she turned to him, and suddenly, she was all smiles. That’s right. Mrs. Sharpain
smiled. “Why yes, Mr. Irving, what is it?”
Inartè felt his jaw drop. Did Mrs. Vulture just do a complete one-eighty from when she had been screeching at him to when she was talking to Sam? No. ********. Way. Why was life so unfair?
“It’s... it’s my fault,” Sam said, lowering his head and biting his lips. “Inartè asked me yesterday night if it was okay to do it in pencil and I thought it was so I told him so. I completely forgot about the rules you mentioned in the beginning of the year. Please, blame me. If I wasn’t so forgetful all the time...”
If his jaw had not already dropped...
“Oh Mr. Irving,” the previously known as the school’s most feared teacher said in a disturbingly sympathetic voice, “it’s not your fault. Yes, if it was anything, I should have made it clearer! Don’t blame yourself for such a silly thing!”
“Really?” How the hell could Sam do a better kicked puppy expression when Inartè had been taking drama for three years, he’d never know.
“Of course, of course. Isn’t there a Walk for Cancer event that you are organizing next week as well? Such small lapses of memory are common under times of stress so please, Mr. Irving, don’t you worry about a thing!” Then she turned to look at Inartè and all the warmth in her eyes shrivelled up and died a slow and painful death. “Mr. Black, in the light of Mr. Irving explaining the situation,
this time I will take in the work. Do
not repeat the same mistake again.”
He blinked just make sure what had just happened
had just happened. “Yes, ma’am,” Inartè finally said, and gave a mock salute for good measure. She, on the other hand, gave him another glare before moving on.
After a bit, the class returned to normal though there were still quite a few hushed whispers of ‘teacher’s pet’ circulating around the room. No need to guess who that was directed at. What Inartè was still puzzling over was what exactly had just happened. The school’s pride and joy, Sam Irving, just saved his a** by lying to the teacher.
“Did you...” he whispered, “did you just... lie to a teacher?”
Sam scratched his cheek in embarrassment. “I... well... I thought it would be unfair if you got into trouble for something as small as that. I mean, you at least did the work all on your own and finished it on time.”
He was still flabbergasted. “You... you’re...”
Sam gave him a small, hesitant smile. “Did I overstep? Sorry.”
“You’re
apologizing to
me? You –”
“
No talking!” Mrs. Sharpain yelled suddenly and they both went back to their notes, a little awkward.
They spent the rest of the class in silence with Sam actually paying avid attention to the lesson and Inartè feeling... Well, he didn’t quite know what the strange, twisting feeling in the pit of his stomach was but whatever it was, it couldn’t be good.
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