Status: I salvaged this story from a user on Youtube a few years ago. She deleted it and I saved all of the chapters ahead of time. Thus, this is not my original work, I am just sharing this other person's work.
Jonas High School
Chapter 5
After taking Aiden's advice to move on past the 'hating-the-popular-boys-and-girls' phase and try to teach the worlds' stupidest boy on how to write a decent composition, I walked down the Nick's house and knocked the overly large white wooden door that stood in front of me.
"Wow. Aurora Addison. At my door. What did I do to deserve such a pleasant surprise?" Nick asked, flashing his pearly white teeth at me.
"Don't act like you want me here. You and I both know that this tutoring thing sucks. So, to make it easier, I bought this for you." I handed him a book called: Journalism for Dummies.
He took it and stared at it, "THIS is how I'm going to learn?! That's not fair!"
"Actually, it is. Mrs. Breton spoke to me after class, telling me I could do whatever it is I had to do to get you to learn. This book is the easiest one about writing compositions and typing articles and such. Just look through it, do a couple of exercises and you should be fine. Now, I must go, so, have fun." I would've walked away then and there, when I was picked up by my waist and carried into Nick's house.
"WHAT THE HELL?!" I screamed at him after he let me down next to the dinner table.
"You're going to teach me. Not this book. YOU."
"But I don't want to!" I whined like a six-year-old.
"Sit." He put his hands on my shoulders and sat me down on a chair.
I sighed and laid my head on the table.
"Do you want anything?" Nick asked me from the kitchen.
"Yes. A time machine." I answered.
"Why?"
"Because then I could go back in time to Mrs. Breton's class and poison her coffee with sleeping pills so that way she'd fall asleep, be taken home, and then I'd burn every test we ever took so that way she would have no record that you would be in need of a tutor."
Nick came over and sat next to me, "This isn't bad. Really, would you rather tutor someone else?" he pouted.
"Yes."
He frowned, "Well, tough luck. You're stuck with me." He smiled and opened the textbook.
"Well, let's get to work..."
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"NO! NO! AND NO! The assignment is to write about a time when you felt happy and amused; making out with your girlfriend is not an appropriate subject!" I screamed at Nick, while trying to make him comprehend the concept of the assignment.
But it was hopeless. This kid was clueless.
"Aw, c'mon! It was one of the greatest moments of my life!" he said.
"Yeah, I'm sure it wasn't hers..." I mumbled.
"What?"
"Nothing." I smiled innocently.
"You said something."
"No, I didn't." I replied, while writing in my notebook like I wasn't paying attention to him.
"UGH! FINE!"
I hid a laugh. He really was clueless. But it's kind of cute.
"Just please, think of another time." I begged.
He sighed, "Fine. A time when I felt amused... oh, I know. When Mrs. Breton made you my tutor."
I looked at him, "How could that amuse you?"
"Because," he scooted closer, "you're cute when you're mad."
I shivered and moved away from him. "I think we're done for today." I said, standing up and putting everything back into my bag.
"Sick of me already?" he asked.
"Um..." What was I supposed to say? 'No, I'm not sick of you; it's just your flirting that's making me strangely uncomfortable.' WRONG!
"I told my mom I'd be home by 7. And she worries." Eh, not such a bad excuse.
"Then call her. Tell her you're tutoring me and I'm just so stupid that you have to stay longer." He said, handing me his phone.
I looked at it. I didn't want to stay. Why could he see that?! I handed him back his phone and grabbed my bag, headed for the door.
"What's with you? Why are you in such of a hurry to leave? You have something important to do?" Nick asked, following me to the door.
"Yes."
"Like what? Nothing could be more important than this."
"What's that supposed to mean?" I turned around, facing him with my hand on the doorknob.
"You're tutoring me." He replied like this was the most amazing event that could happen to me.
I couldn't take it anymore. I cracked.
"I can't lie, so I'm just going to say it. I don't want to tutor you! I don't like you! Any of you! I'm sick of all the jocks thinking they can get any girl they want because of a sport they play! And then there are their brain-dead cheerleader girlfriends who aren't much better. They think since they 'roll' with you, they're the queens of the school. Some may agree, but that's always because they're mind-less wannabes who listen to anything anyone tells them and do anything to be cool. And then, there are guys like you. You think you're Gods and can never associate with anyone of the lower class. And even if you do decided to actually talk to another person different of your society, it's only to make fun of us, ridicule us, or make the girls believe that you're interested in them and then a week later, say it was all a joke. This is high school, not the Old Ages when they had rulers and kingdoms. So, do me and the rest of us 'freaks' a favor, jump off your horse and realize that nothing revolves around you!"
"Wow. Aurora Addison. At my door. What did I do to deserve such a pleasant surprise?" Nick asked, flashing his pearly white teeth at me.
"Don't act like you want me here. You and I both know that this tutoring thing sucks. So, to make it easier, I bought this for you." I handed him a book called: Journalism for Dummies.
He took it and stared at it, "THIS is how I'm going to learn?! That's not fair!"
"Actually, it is. Mrs. Breton spoke to me after class, telling me I could do whatever it is I had to do to get you to learn. This book is the easiest one about writing compositions and typing articles and such. Just look through it, do a couple of exercises and you should be fine. Now, I must go, so, have fun." I would've walked away then and there, when I was picked up by my waist and carried into Nick's house.
"WHAT THE HELL?!" I screamed at him after he let me down next to the dinner table.
"You're going to teach me. Not this book. YOU."
"But I don't want to!" I whined like a six-year-old.
"Sit." He put his hands on my shoulders and sat me down on a chair.
I sighed and laid my head on the table.
"Do you want anything?" Nick asked me from the kitchen.
"Yes. A time machine." I answered.
"Why?"
"Because then I could go back in time to Mrs. Breton's class and poison her coffee with sleeping pills so that way she'd fall asleep, be taken home, and then I'd burn every test we ever took so that way she would have no record that you would be in need of a tutor."
Nick came over and sat next to me, "This isn't bad. Really, would you rather tutor someone else?" he pouted.
"Yes."
He frowned, "Well, tough luck. You're stuck with me." He smiled and opened the textbook.
"Well, let's get to work..."
-------------------------------------------------------
"NO! NO! AND NO! The assignment is to write about a time when you felt happy and amused; making out with your girlfriend is not an appropriate subject!" I screamed at Nick, while trying to make him comprehend the concept of the assignment.
But it was hopeless. This kid was clueless.
"Aw, c'mon! It was one of the greatest moments of my life!" he said.
"Yeah, I'm sure it wasn't hers..." I mumbled.
"What?"
"Nothing." I smiled innocently.
"You said something."
"No, I didn't." I replied, while writing in my notebook like I wasn't paying attention to him.
"UGH! FINE!"
I hid a laugh. He really was clueless. But it's kind of cute.
"Just please, think of another time." I begged.
He sighed, "Fine. A time when I felt amused... oh, I know. When Mrs. Breton made you my tutor."
I looked at him, "How could that amuse you?"
"Because," he scooted closer, "you're cute when you're mad."
I shivered and moved away from him. "I think we're done for today." I said, standing up and putting everything back into my bag.
"Sick of me already?" he asked.
"Um..." What was I supposed to say? 'No, I'm not sick of you; it's just your flirting that's making me strangely uncomfortable.' WRONG!
"I told my mom I'd be home by 7. And she worries." Eh, not such a bad excuse.
"Then call her. Tell her you're tutoring me and I'm just so stupid that you have to stay longer." He said, handing me his phone.
I looked at it. I didn't want to stay. Why could he see that?! I handed him back his phone and grabbed my bag, headed for the door.
"What's with you? Why are you in such of a hurry to leave? You have something important to do?" Nick asked, following me to the door.
"Yes."
"Like what? Nothing could be more important than this."
"What's that supposed to mean?" I turned around, facing him with my hand on the doorknob.
"You're tutoring me." He replied like this was the most amazing event that could happen to me.
I couldn't take it anymore. I cracked.
"I can't lie, so I'm just going to say it. I don't want to tutor you! I don't like you! Any of you! I'm sick of all the jocks thinking they can get any girl they want because of a sport they play! And then there are their brain-dead cheerleader girlfriends who aren't much better. They think since they 'roll' with you, they're the queens of the school. Some may agree, but that's always because they're mind-less wannabes who listen to anything anyone tells them and do anything to be cool. And then, there are guys like you. You think you're Gods and can never associate with anyone of the lower class. And even if you do decided to actually talk to another person different of your society, it's only to make fun of us, ridicule us, or make the girls believe that you're interested in them and then a week later, say it was all a joke. This is high school, not the Old Ages when they had rulers and kingdoms. So, do me and the rest of us 'freaks' a favor, jump off your horse and realize that nothing revolves around you!"
♠ ♠ ♠
Whoa there. That was one hell of a freak out.