Love Over Shakespeare

There was something about doing illicit activities in the dark that excited me.

Maybe it was the way our feet crunched loudly against the frosted grass. Maybe it was Joey and Ryan whispering in front of me. Maybe it was the feeling of the cool can of black spray paint in my hand.

Whatever it was, my body had thrills running through it.

The night air was cold so I zipped my sweatshirt up to my neck and looked behind me. There were no lights on in the small town and I quickened my pace to catch up with my friends. It wasn't long before we reached the four-way intersection that housed the government building and county courthouse.

It was the perfect target.

"Okay," Ryan said, stopping next to a small tree, "You know where the cameras are, Joey's going down to the corner to keep watch. Be careful."

Wind whipped down the lonesome road and I watched my tall best friend walk to the corner. I turned back to my other friend and watched him gaze worriedly at the brick building. I tugged up my hood and shook the paint can, smirking.

"Don't worry. I'm always careful."

I stepped into the lights that lit up the front of the building. Truthfully, it was a beautiful display. The glass window set in the brick was my exact destination, 'Orange County Courthouse' and a maple tree emblem etched into the front. I pulled my hood around me and stepped up.

I bit my lip and listened for noise. When I heard nothing, I shook the can and raised it up to the window. I kept myself calm but I could already feel the adrenaline of my friends from the street. I spaced the letters evenly and made sure they were large, making my message clear.

I held onto the can as I ran back to Ryan, him giving Joey the signal. We waited for him to get to us before we took off down the sidewalk. We hadn't been caught but it was time to go. As we ran through the piercing wind to the car, I couldn't help but laugh.

We'd actually gotten away with it. Adrenaline pumped through my veins as we reached the car, sitting in a parking lot down the street. We dove in and Ryan started it up, peeling down the street to drop us off at our houses. As we drove by the courthouse I checked out my handiwork.

In big, black letters were the words:
"Punk is not dead."

*

"He's doing it again."

Joey nudged my shoulder, causing me to look up from my phone at him. I followed his gaze across the classroom and found myself staring into the eyes of Blake Harrison. I rolled my eyes and gave him the finger, earning a snort from my friends in the class.

"When isn't he though? He stares at me in government and somehow manages to do it in math too, regardless of the fact that we sit right fucking next to each other," I explained for the thousandth time the whole year.

Blake obviously had some kind of mental disorder. Along with just being a complete idiot, he took on the role of our high school's token idiot. We'd always been stuck together over the years, our last names managing to land us next to each other. He haunted at least three of my classes a year since seventh grade, as if the guidance office was trying to punish me for my outspoken nature.

His lame jokes and offensive words were constantly challenged by myself, as I could never keep my own big mouth shut. Blake had been a complete ass to me for a large portion of my life, starting in middle school and only ending with our sophomore year. Junior year had left him with this never-ending staring problem and had left me more aggressive and eager to stand up for myself. When he left me alone, I decided to help defend the few he did bully.

No matter what harsh words I flung at him, Blake never flinched along with never giving up his one-sided staring contest. Now that it was March of my senior year and I'd been enduring it for a year and a half, I'd gained more of a tolerance for it. I didn't like it but I no longer hated the attention that Blake Harrison had been giving me, undivided, for the past 14 months.

I slipped some hair behind my ear and returned my gaze to my phone, scrolling through whatever social media I'd had on it before the disturbance. It didn't last long though, as my English teacher (and favorite woman in the world), waltzed into the room.

"Mia, your phone is now an illegal object in this classroom," she said in her dreamlike tone as the bell rang, signaling that everyone in the hall was now late. I smiled up at her and nodded, tucking it into my bag on the floor. I never cared about being reprimanded in her class.

"Delinquent," Jeanine Whitmore hissed from behind me. I turned in my chair with a raised eyebrow, smirking lightly at the girl who couldn't stand me. I'd been born with troublemaker in my blood, at least that's what my grandpa always said, and there were some people at school that didn't really like me all that much. Jeanine was one of them, constantly making comments on whatever I did, whether it was something that warranted a comment or not.

In fact, Jeanine Whitmore had been on my case ever since Blake Harrison had gotten off it. She never got tired of calling me a "no good punk" or telling me that my life was "drugged up and pointless." She also enjoyed telling anyone who would listen that I would (probably) "drop dead on some Kurt Cobain coke trip after burning out as a shit punk musician." I laughed at that one along with anyone who would listen to her.

The girl was the opposite of me, all well-rounded, sickly sweet, and delicate, and she prided herself on pointing out that she was nothing like me. I knew I was different and that was fine. Most people didn't care about my differences. I just hung out with a lot of guys and spent my spare time at a skate park with them. I had a reputation that may or may not have been warranted based on previous arrests.

If Jeanine didn't want to be associated at all with a girl who was known to be a friendly partier, as well as a bassist in a punk band, than I didn't want to be associated at all with a girl who was known to be a churchgoer, as well as a grade A bitch.

"Is there something you'd like to share with the class Ms. Whitmore?" my teacher, Miss Grandolfo, asked. My smirk deepened before I turned to face the front of the class. I'd seen the blush on Jeanine's pale face, the excessive pink powder already brushed on made her cheeks look ridiculous. I watched her tuck some strawberry blonde hair that had fallen out of her braid behind her ear before she answered.

"Of course not, Miss Grandolfo."

"Then why on Earth were you speaking while class is going on?" Grandolfo pressed, making my heart soar in immediate satisfaction. My English teacher would never have harassed me like this. I was her favorite and by all means, it was very rare that a teacher took a liking to me.

"I, um, it was nothing Miss. I was just saying that Mia always disturbs class and it's not fair to all of us," she stumbled her way through an explanation. There was a light chuckle around the room, since it was true, and I laughed loudest of them all.

"I'm not sure if your mother taught you this Jeanine but I always taught my kids that if you have nothing nice to say, keep your mouth shut," Grandolfo said, cocking her head and smiling her serene smile that everyone thought meant she'd let one too many tabs of acid dissolve on her tongue. I knew her better though. She was a true sophrosyne, in only the Greek sense of the word.

I smirked, Joey nudging me from his desk right beside mine. I smiled over him before looking across the classroom. I found Blake Harrison's eyes on me yet again, but this time I just stared before Grandolfo started talking about our next assignment.

"Alright, now since this is the last semester of your senior year and also, the last bit of Shakespeare you'll be forced to read in high school-" her speech was broken by a general outcry of joy, led by none other than Blake Harrison himself. "Yes Blake, you in particular should be thrilled. As I was saying, we are reading Hamlet this semester, with minimal work to be done other than worksheets and one partnered project."

I smiled easily at Joey, already knowing that my thin, red-haired best friend would be my partner. He was always my partner, at least since we were six, whether it be in school or crime. My parents blamed him, along with my other friends, for my wild behavior. I had girl friends, but not many and they mostly lived in the town over from us.

"However," Miss Grandolfo continued, walking up and down the aisles now, "I will be picking your partners for you. I'm sorry Ms. Hardy and Mr. DeVito but unfortunately, you are not partners this time around."

The two of us groaned simultaneously, along with everyone else in the room. If Joey and I weren't working together, then there was no hope for anyone getting to be partners with friends. Miss Grandolfo stopped walking, tucking her hands into her skirt's pockets (she always had long, flowing skirts which she always sewed pockets into), and waited for us to stop complaining.

"I think this will be better because it will prevent laziness. I'll be partnering you in pairs of someone with higher than a B average in the class and someone with a lower grade, in hopes of motivating those of you who are already daydreaming about prom, graduation, and your summer."

It was obvious now why Joey and I wouldn't be working together. Joey was a super senior, meaning he was supposed to have left a year before but he'd failed too many classes to graduate. He had an A- in this class, mostly because he sat next to me and did homework with me. Now he'd be put with someone with a lower average and left to fend for himself. I snorted at the panicked look on his face.

Grandolfo tucked her thick, red hair behind her ear and leaned against her desk. The papers she held in her hand trembled along with her unsteady hands. I worried constantly over that, knowing that my grandpa had Parkinson's Disease made me concerned over any slight shake in an adult I admired. Her eyes flashed over us all as we waited to hear the partners read out.

She began reading names off of the list and I leaned my head in my hand. Joey got partnered with a quiet boy named Mike, whom I never would have guessed had a low grade in his life. My best friend didn't look thrilled though. He enjoyed more lively, energetic people. I waited patiently for my name to be called.

"Mia, you will be paired with Blake..." came the verdict and as easily as she breezed over the last few names, my mouth dropped open. Joey was already doubled over his desk in silent laughter, as were Blake's two friends in the class. I groaned, leaning back in the desk and crossing my arms.

Blake was smacking his friends and laughing, while I let mine indulge himself in my misery. The blond boy smiled over at me, instead of his usual stare and I let a cold smirk flash across my lips. I wasn't sure what Blake's problem was but he'd bullied me for years. If he was expecting me to be nice now that he wanted to be, he was wrong.

"Alright now, who can tell us a little something about Hamlet...?" Grandolfo asked when she finished the list and though I could tell her a lot of something about Hamlet, including reciting his soliloquies line for line, I kept my mouth shut and glared at the floor for the rest of the class.

When the bell rang, everyone jumped out of their seats and scurried out the door. Everyone ignored Grandolfo's suggestion of finding their partner for meetings and her pleas for overdue papers. She sank down behind her desk and removed her glasses placidly. I approached her desk and, as I did so, she called out Blake's name so he wouldn't leave the room.

He walked over, leaving his mostly empty backpack on his desk and stood next to me. Blake wasn't too much taller than me, as I was only two inches away from six feet myself, though he was definitely in better shape comparatively. It was early spring but he was wearing short sleeves that showed off his lean, somewhat muscular arms. I glanced up at him as he looked down at our teacher.

"Now I can only assume Mia was about to try and achieve a switch in partners..." she began, piercing me with her light blue eyes, "Which I would say no to, of course, as I put you two together very specifically."

"But why?" Blake asked, before I could. His voice was one I usually only heard when he was making a joke in class. He rarely ever actually participated and anything he said wasn't highly valued by most teachers. It was the same silky, arrogant voice that had called me stupid and ugly in middle school and labeled me a virgin in the two earliest years of high school.

"Mia won't mind me saying it, and I do hope you forgive me, but Blake, you have the lowest grade in my class right now," I didn't hide my snort and he glared down at me, "And Mia has the highest, though she also seems to have a superiority complex I didn't know about."

It was his turn to snort and I blushed, looking down at her desk. It was littered with fantasy novels, as well as almost every work by Shakespeare. There were candles and incense as well, the heavy scent reached my nose and I smiled sheepishly at her as she put her glasses back on.

"I don't care," he said dismissively, "I just don't get why us."

"It's fairly obvious Blake," I huffed. He stared at me blankly and I rolled my eyes. "She wants me to bring your grade up! Since I have the highest grade and you have the lowest, obviously we would work together."

"Deductive reasoning works wonders," Grandolfo agreed lazily, leaning back in her chair and wrapping her shawl over her shoulders. "I also want to extend an extra credit opportunity to you Mia, which is that if you tutor Blake over Hamlet as well as doing the project with him and your grade is still your consistent 98, I will give you a 100 for the semester."

I knew this would be perfect for me. I wasn't going away to school, or even going to the community college, right away. Instead I was taking a year off and travelling with my band, trying our hardest to make it in the music industry in the time all of our parents had agreed we could have off to do it.

I was bad at math but I did know that a perfect grade would bring up my overall grade quite a bit, seeing as I wasn't doing too horribly in my other classes. My parents would be happy with it when the report card came in and, if the band didn't get signed, colleges would hopefully be happy with it too.

"Fine, I don't see why not. I need the grade anyway," I said passively, shrugging as I went along. I didn't really want to tutor Blake, and god knows the guys would give me such shit for it, but I also didn't really mind. Shakespeare was a second nature to me. I wouldn't mind teaching it.

"So what? I have to have a tutor?" Blake asked stupidly. Miss Grandolfo took it in stride, standing as most of her next class entered. We'd both be late to our next class, which we shared, but it didn't really matter. "What if I don't want one?"

"Then you will most likely fail," Grandolfo answered, "And your mother seemed to agree wholeheartedly on the phone this morning that a tutor would be very effective for you. Now, I'll write you both passes to your next class but it's up to the both of you to figure out when you'll meet up."

We gathered our books as we waited for her to write the single pass for the both of us to math and then, without saying goodbye to her, walked out of the room. I knew Blake was going to be difficult for me to teach, knowing the grudge I held. I was more annoyed than pissed off though.

"I need to go to my locker really quick," I explained simply. He nodded and we turned left down the senior hallway instead of going right and taking the staircase to our mouth class. Our lockers were right next to each other as always, and he leaned on his as I opened mine.

"When d'you wanna meet up?" he asked leisurely, eyes focused on me as constant as always. I was squatting in front of my locker, getting my math books, and I looked up at him. He offered me a small smile as I grabbed the book and stood.

"I have band practice on Monday and Tuesday..." I trailed off, "Any other time is fine, unless we're playing a show on the weekend or something. We could meet up for like an hour on Thursdays?"

"I have work on Thursdays," he explained, the two of us walking towards our class together now, "What about Wednesdays? Or maybe on Sunday afternoons?"

"How about we meet for an hour on Wednesday and on Sunday afternoons? You'll probably need more than an hour a week if you're gonna pass the class, what do ya have anyway?" I asked.

"I think it's a 60," he answered nonchalantly. I raised my eyebrows and we both paused outside of the door to our classroom. "I only need five more points to pass."

"You're an idiot," I informed him. He laughed easily at my hostility and I rolled my eyes. "Okay we'll meet Wednesday, in the library I guess. On Sundays it has to be late afternoon, like three, because I have to visit my grandpa after he goes to church. Maybe you can just, uh, come to my house those days or somethin'."

"Okay, whatever's good for you," he breezed confidently, flashing me a bright white smile. I wondered idly what his plans for after high school were, considering he obviously didn't care about his grades. He handed me the small blue paper pass. "I'm skipping, don't tell."

"I'll tell," I told him. I wouldn't have, though Blake always brought out my argumentative side. He shook his head as he stepped backwards away from me slowly. There was a rumbling laugh building in him and I glared.

"No you won't Mimi, you know you like me deep down," he teased. I recoiled from the nickname he'd branded me with from the beginning of middle school. No one had ever had the audacity to call me Mimi, aside from Blake, and when the high school population saw how I reacted to it, no one had the guts. The blond boy was gone then, his footsteps rushing down the stairs.

I stepped into the classroom, my teacher already standing at the chalkboard and writing equations down. Math was a subject that I hated deeply, along with science and government. I'd always preferred English and History, as well as any art electives.

My math teacher looked, sounded, and taught more like an army drill sergeant than a teacher. I constantly butted heads with him and always got threatened with "a phone call home" that he never made regardless of my "inconsiderate and inappropriate behavior."

When his hateful eyes narrowed at me and he accused me of not having a pass, I stepped forward with equally fiery energy and sneered, in my most insolent tone of voice:

"Here's my pass. Blake Harrison told me to tell you he's skipping."