Another one that isn't hard at all. If you want to not be called on while you're not paying attention, just pay attention. Or at least pretend to so that way the teacher picks someone else who looks like they aren't paying attention. This is the easiest way to not get called on in class. Also if the teacher is looking around to choose someone, don't look away, look right at them. Ideally they'll move onto someone who isn't looking at them.

═

Mr. Young begins class and begins talking about the amazing Shakespeare. Of course the first lesson is about Shakespeare, I begin dazing and drawing in my notebook to pass time. I feel a pair of eyes on me, I look up to the desk where Lacey and her minions were at. Blue eyes meet mine.

It's the new kid, he surprises me when he doesn't look away after I meet his eyes. He continues to make eye contact with me, I frown at him and he smiles back. He runs his hand through his curly brown hair and I mouth "what". He just shakes his head and then looks back at Mr. Young. I roll my eyes and continue drawing in my notebook.

"Ms. Rivers?" I pop my head up and Mr. Young looks at me. Great, why do teachers always pick on people who aren't paying attention, for fucking hell, pick someone else.

"Yes?" I raise an eyebrow at him and he points to the board where he's written a question.

"What is significant about Shakespeare's plays?" I say it out loud and everyone stares at me, let them stare, what the hell? Who gives a flying fuck, I know I'm hot.

"The only thing that's the same in all Shakespeare plays is that they're all cliche, but they are the original cliches. Star-crossed lovers- Shakespeare, a full circle- Shakespeare,  love is blind- Shakespeare and happy endings began with Shakespeare. Although I don't agree with all of them, they're all his and they're all cliches."

"Which ones do you not agree with?" Mr. Young asks me, I shrug, "Love is not blind."

"Yes, Mr. Ainsley?" I turn to see blue eyes looking at the front with his hand up. For fucks sake.

"I disagree, I believe love is blind. Love is a feeling that a person gives you, love is forgiveness, love is wanting to be with someone no matter their faults. It shouldn't matter whether you can see or not. You should be able to love that person if you were blind. If you can't, it's not love at all," the new kid proclaims and I swear I can hear a sigh from the girl sitting in front of me.

"Well no wonder everyone gets divorced on this planet," I mutter under my breath, "everyone falls in love with looks, not a feeling. Which is why you should be careful of who you love."

Somehow the new kid heard my muttering under my breath and he thinks for a second, tapping his finger on his lips. Mr. Young opens his mouth to continue his lesson but he's cut off.

"Shakespeare once said, "Wear your heart on your sleeve." Blue eyes winks at me and refocuses his attention to the front of the room where Mr. Young is now writing down all of the Shakespeare cliches.

Well Shakespeare was stupid to say that.

Who even is this kid? Where did he come from? He turned a question into a discussion for absolutely no reason. He basically argued with me, got the last word and then he winked at me. I hate him already and I don't even know his first name. I hope it's something like Bartholomew or Sue. If I have him in another class I'm going to mess up his perfect face.

Mr. Young continues his uninspiring lecture about Shakespeare. He talks about his insults, his wording, his specific language and a bunch of other irrelevant bullshit. Who the hell remembers this Shakespeare shit anyways?

I slip on my shades and slump down in my chair. I focus on Mr. Young's words and his rhythmic voice. I close my eyes and dip my head down into my chest. I feel my breathing relax and Mr. Young's voice drowns on, lulling me to sleep.

"Teagan!"

I slowly raise my head to meet eyes with Rowan, who looks slightly amused. Her green eyes twinkle finding my discombobulated state funny. People are rushing to the door of the classroom.

"English is over, babe," she tells me. I put my notebook in my backpack and zip it up. I stand and hook arms with Rowan. We walk out of the class and into the hallway where students are rushing through like water in a river.

"I'm going by my locker," I tell her, "want to come with me?"

"I have to stop by mine. Maybe our lockers are close together?" She pulls out her crumpled schedule and looks for her locker number.

"206," she tells me and I look down at my own schedule.

"719."

I sigh and salute her as she walks of in the direction of her locker. I walk the opposite way, teenagers crowd the halls and stumble over themselves to get to their next class. I don't get it, we have enough time to walk and not bump into other people.

I finally get to my dingy, blue locker. Something has been scratched on it, I squint my eyes to read it. I'm so focused I don't notice that many people have disappeared into class and the hall is quiet.

BAM

The sound of a locker slamming shut makes me jump, nearly out of my skin.

What the literally fuck, who is trying to kill me?

I turn around to see where the noise came from and across the hall. Leaning against a locker and watching me with amused eyes is the new kid. His brown hair falls in his face and he moves it, while in a staring contest with me.

"What the fuck?" I cross my arms and glare at the boy in front of me. He shrugs and walks over to my side of the hall.

"It's the only way I could get it to shut."

"Don't you have a class to get to, Mr. Perfect?" I ask him and spin back around to my locker. I drop of my English textbook and grab my History because that's my next class.

"Yeah, so do you." He stands a couple feet away from me now as he begins walking backwards to wherever he's going.

"No groupie?" I ask and he shakes his head.

I start walking in the same direction and he turns around to walk with me. We walk in nearly complete silence, my shoes squeak and he hums under his breath. I wonder what class he has? Oh god, please don't have History. We pass multiple doors, we turn a few corners and the more we walk the more my dread increases. Finally I see the door to my history class and I increase my pace, ready to get away from him. But he beats me to the door, opening it and gesturing for me to walk in.

Oh my god. God hates me. I'm going to fucking hell.