Status: updates whenever!
Just Another Love Story About Matt
A Pencil Was All It Took
The first day back to school. The first day of your senior year. 299 days, give or take a few, left in this shit hole before you're out of your parents house, out of this tiny shit hole town, out on your own.
You get out of your car, sighing as you sling your stained, worn out, pin covered bag over your shoulder and head toward the glass double doors of hell.
You collect your schedule and open your locker a few times, getting back into the old routine. People shout and laugh around you. You glance at your iPhone, seeing that first hour begins in four minutes. You look at your schedule. Accounting, room 206 with Mr. Schmidt. You begin to trudge down the hall and up the stairs finding room 206 with ease, you push the door open and walk into the nearly empty room. You choose a seat in the corner of the very back row, so you can slouch listen to your music, and go about unnoticed for the whole trimester.
As the minutes tick away the room fills, everyone sits around you, leaving at least one space between you and them.
The bell rings, signaling the beginning of class. Mr. Schmidt takes the front and begins talking in a monotone voice, a really bad comb over adorning his head, his pot belly hanging over the top of his pants and his tie slightly askew.
He is interrupted as the door flies open and a boy walks in.
The first thing you notice is his muscles. His arms are huge, straining against the sleeves of his Metallica t-shirt. There is a black OBEY SnapBack covering his curly brown hair, his pants are sagged, you can see his plaid American Eagle boxers. There's a Monster can in his right hand.
"And you are?" Mr. Schmidt asks, the attendance sheet in his hand.
"Matt. Matt Sanders."
"Mr. Sanders we have a strict attendance policy here, I'll let it slide today but make sure you're on time from now on."
Matt nods and turns, heading for the only open seat in the room, directly in front of you.
He sits, his bulky shoulders blocking your entire view of the front of the room. He pushes his chair back and stretches his legs out, bumping your table. He throws his head back and slams the rest of his Monster, then slams the can on his desk.
He turns around and gives you a dimpled smile filled with bright white teeth and topped with beautiful grass green eyes.
"Can I borrow a pencil?"
You get out of your car, sighing as you sling your stained, worn out, pin covered bag over your shoulder and head toward the glass double doors of hell.
You collect your schedule and open your locker a few times, getting back into the old routine. People shout and laugh around you. You glance at your iPhone, seeing that first hour begins in four minutes. You look at your schedule. Accounting, room 206 with Mr. Schmidt. You begin to trudge down the hall and up the stairs finding room 206 with ease, you push the door open and walk into the nearly empty room. You choose a seat in the corner of the very back row, so you can slouch listen to your music, and go about unnoticed for the whole trimester.
As the minutes tick away the room fills, everyone sits around you, leaving at least one space between you and them.
The bell rings, signaling the beginning of class. Mr. Schmidt takes the front and begins talking in a monotone voice, a really bad comb over adorning his head, his pot belly hanging over the top of his pants and his tie slightly askew.
He is interrupted as the door flies open and a boy walks in.
The first thing you notice is his muscles. His arms are huge, straining against the sleeves of his Metallica t-shirt. There is a black OBEY SnapBack covering his curly brown hair, his pants are sagged, you can see his plaid American Eagle boxers. There's a Monster can in his right hand.
"And you are?" Mr. Schmidt asks, the attendance sheet in his hand.
"Matt. Matt Sanders."
"Mr. Sanders we have a strict attendance policy here, I'll let it slide today but make sure you're on time from now on."
Matt nods and turns, heading for the only open seat in the room, directly in front of you.
He sits, his bulky shoulders blocking your entire view of the front of the room. He pushes his chair back and stretches his legs out, bumping your table. He throws his head back and slams the rest of his Monster, then slams the can on his desk.
He turns around and gives you a dimpled smile filled with bright white teeth and topped with beautiful grass green eyes.
"Can I borrow a pencil?"
♠ ♠ ♠
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