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"And who do we have?" I inquired.
"It's Mrs. Williams, the history teacher," Greg answered.
"Ugh, not another dull history lesson," I muttered quietly.
I can't believe I have to kick off this midterm with the most dreadfully dull history class. Frankly, I'm tempted to just skip it altogether. Unfortunately, my dad is pretty strict about my grades, so that's not really an option. Excelling academically has always come easily to me. It's not too difficult to maintain my position at the top of the class. All it takes is a thorough study session with the entire book before each exam. Simple as that.
The last time I attended Mrs. Williams' class, I found myself nodding off and slipping into a dream. A dream starring the most incredibly beautiful woman to ever grace this earth. Of course, I'm talking about Skye. I'm sure you're already familiar with her enchanting name.
"We don't have many classes today. We have a lot of free periods. How do you plan on spending your free time?" Greg asked.
"I'm not sure, I'll just go with the flow," I said as we continued walking.
"Any ideas on what that might entail?"
"Whatever comes to my mind!" I said, my words dripping with impatience.
"Are you headed to practice?" Greg asked, swiftly changing the subject.
"It's a possibility..." I replied, intentionally vague.
"Is that a yes or a no?"
"Well, it could be one of those options..." I continued, my tone laced with a hint of annoyance.
"I thought you were planning to come for practice during the break, but you never showed up..." Greg brought up, disappointment evident in his voice.
You know, I was supposed to be at football practice during the brief mid-term break from Rosedale Academy. That practice was important, because I needed to train for my upcoming match against the Eagles team. It's not something I can just brush off, but damn, my present circumstances have made it impossible for me to be there. And you wanna know why? It's all because of this girl who's got my mind spinning, making it damn near impossible for me to focus and think straight.
"Well, I had other things to take care of..." I retorted, my words holding a touch of defensiveness.
"The Dax I know always takes practice seriously. Remember, if we don't put in the work, we'll never beat the Eagles team!" Greg emphasized.
"I'll see what I can do..." I conceded. Just then, Tresa appeared, strolling deliberately towards me with two friends trailing behind her.
The saccharine assault of Tresa's voice hit me like a poorly-timed confetti cannon. "Hey Dax!" she chirped, her hips swaying in a rhythm that belonged more to a Vegas showgirl than a high school hallway. Every second, her falsies blinked like malfunctioning Christmas lights, drawing unwanted attention to the painted-on drama that was her face.
"What do you want?" I growled, my voice sandpaper against her chirpy melody. Friendliness was a foreign language in my vocabulary, especially when it came to Tresa and her posse. My reputation in this school was carved from steel and barbed wire, and she was just another flimsy ornament trying to hang on.
"Just wanted to say hi!" she chirped, her voice dripping with an innocence that could curdle milk. I knew better, though. Tresa's sweetness was a carefully constructed facade, a flimsy mask hiding a viper's tongue.
"You're blocking my way," I snarled, my finger stabbing towards the narrow path leading to the school's hallowed halls. Classes were about to commence, and Tresa and her entourage had chosen that precise moment to stage their impromptu traffic jam. "So move aside," I demanded, my voice low and dangerous. A shove, I contemplated, a firm but decisive nudge to send them scattering like startled pigeons.
"Rude!" Tresa shrieked, her carefully constructed persona cracking for a moment. Her voice, usually a syrupy drawl, now held a tremor of hurt and frustration. Her eyes, usually glinting with manufactured mischief, flickered with something genuine, something I couldn't quite decipher. "I just want us to talk," she pleaded, her voice dropping to a whisper, searching my face for a chink in my armor, a sliver of understanding.
"There's literally nothing to talk about," I spat, the words stinging the air like acid. Tresa's voice, that sugary syrup I used to tolerate, now grated on my nerves like fingernails on a chalkboard. This charade, this desperate plea for reconciliation, was starting to piss me off.
But Tresa, bless her naive heart, wouldn't take the hint. Her gaze, usually plastered with a mask of manufactured cheer, flickered with a stubborn defiance. "Come on, Daxxy," she persisted, her voice a pathetic whisper against the thunder of my annoyance. "There's gotta be something we can discuss."
My jaw clenched. "We discussed it, Tresa. We discussed it when I told you we were done. Kaput. Finito." My words were blunt instruments, designed to break through her delusions, to shatter the fragile world she'd built in her head.
But she, bless her stubborn soul, clung to it like a drowning man to a life raft. "But… but we were good together," she babbled, her voice cracking. "We're still…"
"Not dating!" I roared, cutting her off before she could weave another one of her reality-altering spells. The frustration boiled within me, threatening to spill over. This girl, this leech, just wouldn't let go.
It was true, ending things with Tresa had been a Herculean task. Her possessiveness, bordering on psychotic, had made the whole affair feel like an escape from a hostage situation. But somehow, she'd twisted it in her mind, reimagined it into a love story with a tragic ending, an ending she was determined to rewrite.
And yeah, I knew why she was so hung up. I wasn't blind to my own damn charms. The swagger, the charisma, the way girls like Tresa flocked to me like moths to a flame – it was intoxicating, even for me. Who wouldn't fall for a guy like me?
