Damned if I Do Ya (Damned if I Don't)

As much as I tried to pay attention in class, I found it to be rather difficult, what with me sitting next to Faith. She was chewing her gum, and rather obnoxiously, I might add. Unfortunately, I seemed to be the only one to notice that. My leg bounced anxiously; I was ready to get out of that classroom. As tired as I was, I’d rather be lounging in my room than sitting in a classroom. I wouldn’t mind if the teacher was a little more energetic, but sadly, I was stuck with Mrs. Lowman, who quite frankly, spoke in a monotone.

If only it was high school again. I’d be able to take a nap and maybe get away with it. On the other hand, Maryland was completely different from Michigan, where I originally came from. Maybe here, they actually expect you to listen. Or maybe it was just a college thing. Either way, I wasn’t getting anywhere with her. You’d think that at a school like this, they’d have good teachers, but I guess every college had its terrible professor. In this case, Mrs. Lowman was that professor.

A piece of paper whizzed by my head and landed on my desk. My eyebrows furrowed as I glanced down at it. Who could it be from? I looked beside me at Faith, who was still chewing her gum loudly while her head was turned to the front. Nope, not her. I meticulously opened the folded note, not knowing what kind of content I was supposed to expect, before slowly reading the note.

You look bored as hell.

I hadn’t realized I looked that uninterested. Well, there was no identification on the note, so I had no way of figuring out who had tossed me the paper. Cautiously, I glanced around the classroom, one-by-one at each student. As soon as my eyes met contact with a pair of brown ones, the smirking person winked at me and just barely nodded his head towards the note in my hands.

Jack Barakat had just sent me a note.

I was surprised, to say the least. I hadn’t even known he knew I existed, let alone, taken any notice to my lack of enthusiasm for this class. Then again, I wasn’t about to complain about it. Sitting only a few seats away from me was Jack himself, still smirking in my direction. My eyes widened almost immediately; I was staring. I had just realized this and I still hadn’t looked away. Smiling to myself, I quickly titled my head down, my blonde hair falling in front of my face and making a curtain between me and the rest of the people as I scribbled down a reply, tossing it onto his desk again when I finished.

With a teacher like her, it’s surprising that anyone ever listens, what with that monotone she has. Besides, you don’t look like you’re exactly into the lesson either. What’s your excuse?

In a way, this reminded me of high school again. Back in Michigan, we used to pass notes all the time, and even in my senior year, when I moved to Maryland, everyone used to pass an endless stream of notes to one another during class, and they weren’t ever lesson notes, either. But here, I hardly passed notes, if ever. It actually made me a little nostalgic for home, strangely enough. But I snapped out of my thoughts, because in a matter of seconds, I had gotten a note back in reply to my note.

The teacher’s a fucking snore and the lesson’s boring.

I stifled a snort and a bit of laughter; I hardly knew him personally and I could already tell that this was most likely typical Jack behavior. I shook my head lightly in a disapproving manner, before casually glancing back up at the teacher. She wasn’t even looking in my direction, and even with those large spectacles, her old eyes probably wouldn’t see much anyways. I don’t even know why she hasn’t retired yet. Quickly, I scribbled down an answer, slipping it back onto his desk.

That’s not a good excuse.

Within a minute, I’d gotten another note from him with his response in his hardly legible mix of print and scribble that he called his handwriting. It was a miracle that I could even read it to start with, but somehow, I must’ve had some sort of gift or something in order for me to figure out what he had written. Either that, or there had to be another logical reason.

Neither was yours.

Damn it! He had a point. I thought to myself. I scrawled a single word as an answer for him, passing it over to his desk.

Touché.

“Class dismissed,” Mrs. Lowman bellowed. Wow, that’s the most interesting she’s been all year, I thought to myself. Faith and I left the room, though before we could say anything, I felt another presence beside me.

“Hey Caylie, hey Faith,” Stunned, I looked beside me. Jack Barakat was actually talking to me. Huh. Never thought I’d see the day. Faith glanced over at me with a secretive smile and a look that ordinarily wouldn’t have meant anything, but at this moment, I could classify it as a “go seduce him” look. I inwardly rolled my eyes at her.

“Hey Jack,” I replied.

“Hey. I have to go now to talk to Richelle about my daily smoothie calorie intake, sorry. Bye!” Faith told us chirpily, fleeing from us as soon as she could. Damn her. I could see right through that plan of hers. Daily smoothie calorie intake my ass, I thought to myself.

“So, is there anything I could help you with?” I asked, receiving a smirk. From what I knew, Jack was sweet, but he was still just as horny as every other college guy out there.

“Well—”

“No, I’m not going to give you a blow job,” I cut him off, glancing over at him. By this time, his face had contorted into a pair of feigned sad eyes and a fake pout, which caused me to roll my eyes.

“Why the hell would you think I was going to ask that?” he asked, though I only glanced over at him expectantly.

“Let’s face it; you’re a fucking famous musician that for some fucked up reason, decided that while him and his band members all decided to take a hiatus from the music business, that he would come and go to a fucking college. And you’re as oversexed as they can get. You’ve been here for like, what, a month or two? Yeah, and you’ve already gotten almost every girl wrapped around your finger. Honestly, you should do yourself a favor and go back to sleeping with the members of the unofficial “I Hate Jack Barakat” club without them knowing that you’ve slept with all of them once before already,” I explained. I wasn’t trying to be rude or anything—I was just being blunt. No need to beat around the bush.

“You know about that already?” he asked, and I figured he was talking about the point about him sleeping with his anti-fan club. I snorted. How unladylike. Then again, I couldn’t care less.

“We’re not all idiots, Barakat. I have my resources. I just don’t get why they parade around and pretend that they hate you when as soon as the curtains are down, you’re all over them and they don’t even bother to protest as much as they do in front of everyone else.”

“I can’t help that I’m sexy,” he replied, waggling his eyebrows at me.

“Whatever helps you sleep at night,” I answered with a shrug.

“What if I said that you helped me sleep at night?” he asked, and I resisted the urge to roll my eyes, although, I hadn’t expected that response from him.

“I’d say that you’re a horny bastard who should keep it in his pants and not have wet dreams about me if he knows what’s good for him,” I replied simply.

“Ouch. Don’t you think that’s a little harsh?”

“Nope.”

“Damn. I’d get punished for being a sexy face,” he answered, and I rolled my eyes.

But secretly, I did agree with him on one thing.

He sure as hell was a sexy face.