Once Upon A Time, Back In Highschool

A couple months later I was sitting in Chemistry. I yawned, pushing my head down onto the desk and snuggling into my large black knotted scarf. It was snowing heavily outside and the science department was freezing. We were supposed to be doing an experiment but Mr. Haven had turned on all the Bunsen Burners, wanting to heat the classroom.

Instead of work everyone sat shivering in their coats. It wouldn’t have been that cold, only somebody had opened the windows the night before, leaving the classroom to freeze for first lesson. Luckily, I had art next. Hopefully Mr. Way would have radiators. Once the bell had rung everybody sluggishly left the room, ignoring the calls from Mr. Haven saying we had homework to complete. I’m sure the old man would freeze in his classroom before we gave homework in.

A1, A2 -Once again I was first to the classroom. I pulled the sleeves of my long grey shirt over my hands clutched them to my palms. The door suddenly opened and Mr. Way stepped out, looking anything but teacher like. I chuckled at his choice of outfit, usual black corduroys, black shirt, a dark green and maroon jumper and his pin striped jacket.

“I know, I know my fantastic style has once again wowed you,” he chuckled, letting me into his room.

“No, no. It looks very…” I stopped and tried to think of the word to describe it, “Uh… Vintage?” I laughed, he drew his middle finger up at me but chuckled to show he was only joking.

“You can’t talk. What're you doing with you’re shirts? You got about three on there,” he joked. I had put on a long sleeved grey shirt, a short sleeved Beatles tee and another open chequered button shirt, “You have on the whole bloody t-shirt shop,” he chuckled.

“It’s cold out,” I shrugged. Mr. Way rolled his eyes jokingly and pushed the switch on his coffee machine. He had recently gotten one in his classroom to save him going to the staffroom during lessons, I had always quickly reminded him that he usually sent some one to get it for him, so he didn't really need one.

Three other people came in, snow sticking to their hair and eyebrows. I chuckled lowly and placed my folder on the desk, opening it and flicking through an issue of ‘EmilytheStrange’ that was tucked inside. I hated her comic, she was going to be used as my negative comic points. I had HellBoy, The Crooked Man as my positive comic points.

“I love that comic,” Mr. Way suddenly said from behind, making me start and grab my chest as if to try and halt my heart, “Sorry I didn’t meant to scare you, I was just reading over your shoulder,” he laugh truthfully, taking the crumpled comic from me, “What’s you favourite box?” he asked, flicking through it himself.

“The one about Miser Witkins, definitely. The picture is amazing. It’s genuinely scary for a comic. Like the Evil Dead series, it scared me even though they were pictures,” I told him, swallowing as one of the other boys leant there chin on my shoulder. I guessed it was Ricky, he was always doing that, leaning his chin on people’s shoulders. It was annoying at first and I’d tense every time his prickly cheek came in contact with mine but I grew used to it. Even if it did annoy the hell outa me.

“It’s cold,” Ricky stated, his voice vibrating against my ear.

“I would have never have guessed it,” I told him, jumping when he blew in my ear.

“Smart ass,” he grinned. I knew he was only kidding, so I didn’t mind. I shrugged and grinned at him, sending him the finger when he poked his tongue out at me. Mr. Way hitched himself up on my desk, letting his feet rest on the side of my chair. He was deep into HellBoy, his eyebrow’s furrowed and his lips pursed in concentration –shading the fact he hadn’t shaved that morning. I begrudging flipped through EmilytheStrange, writing a note at the side of one of the pages ‘Should use colour.’

“Yeah you’re right there,” Mr. Way said, I looked up to see him looking at the notes on my page, “Pretty crappy if you ask me. They should have just made it a magazine. Or T.V Show or something,” he sighed, tucking HellBoy into the cellophane pocket of my folder.

He clasped his hand and only then did I notice he was swivelling a wedding ring on his finger. I looked at it for a while. I don’t know why but I couldn’t imagine Mr. Way being a family man. I couldn’t imagine him going home to a regular house, eating a home cooked meal from his pretty wife then going up stairs to read a story to his kids. It didn’t match him.

He looked up, noticing I was watching his hands, he shoved them in between his thighs. I glanced over my shoulder, he obviously didn’t want me seeing it, and I wasn’t about to make it clear I was staring.

“Family heir loom thing y’know?” he laughed nervously, “Friggin’ hate it.”

“I-I have a ring, from my grandma back in London, my mum likes me to wear it. She died in the fall, so it’s kinda sentimental,” I explained, trying to shield my self from the awkwardness.

“Oh really, well I’m sorry. My grandma died way, way back. I hate it when some one dies, I never know what to do you know? I’m no cryer so I just stand there patting peoples backs for the whole time. I think I probably looked like a feeling-less sod at Grams funeral,” he chuckled scratching his head, “What’s the ring like?” he asked, I brought my hand up to let him see.

He took my hand, and, for some reason I felt goose bumps suddenly run up and down my arms, then cascade dow my back, like a river of something good. I wanted to feel it forever. His fingers weren’t calloused but his hands were dry, like he washed them a lot. They were warm despite the harsh weather, and I could feel the bump of a small blemish in his middle finger.

“That’s gorgeous. Opal, yes?”

“Yeah, an Opal. That was her name, Opal.”

He smiled and let my hand drop into my lap. He then stood up and clapped his hands slowly three times to steal everyone’s attention. The chatter slowly died down, Mr. Way opened his mouth and began to explain how he wanted us to capture the art of caricature. He wanted us to draw a caricature of ourselves then hand it in too him at the end of the lesson.

He began handing paper, letting mine drag until last before he once again perched himself back up on my desk, crossing his legs childishly. One of his hand hung from his knee whilst the other was propped in his mouth, chewing at his thumb nail.

“Haven’t had breakfast, sir?” I asked him in amusement, not taking my eyes off the paper.

“No, I haven’t actually,” he laughed, I took a mental note of his lopsided grin when I glanced up with him.

“I’d say you could have my lunch but I forgot –again. Mum always tells me off, I‘m constantly leaving it in the kitchen,” I chuckled, continuing to roughly draw out a sturdy, square jaw line.

“I forgot my lunch as well. I didn’t forget actually that’s a bit of lie. I forgot to make it. I got up late. Forgot to do loads, shaving being one of them,” he chuckled, “My lunch was the main thing though, I’m terribly shitty when I don’t eat,” he laughed, “I’ll most likely take a walk to corner shop at lunch,” he said. He paused, tucking his hair behind his ears, “You can come along if you like? I’ll buy you a coffee from Starbucks, or a sandwich?” he offered.

“No, really it’s fine-“

“Chocolate muffin?” he grinned, “Come on, we’ll just get it and come right back to school, teachers won’t mind. Hell, they won’t even know. Go on,” he grinned.

“Okay… I’ll meet you at the school gates?”

“Sure.”