[6] This Has Got To Stop Happening

Why.

Why me.

I'm a good kid. I get good grades, I volunteer on occasion, I listen to my parents. Why do I always have to have Jack Summers ruining my day, literally physically blocking me, stopping me from continuing on with my day.

I don't know. I do know that I'm annoyed about it.

I don't know why I'm annoyed when a pair of hands is placed on my chest as Jack somewhat roughly pushes me away from him.

Why is he always so rude?!

I hate him, he is an awful human being and I will not give him the satisfaction of any type of apology for running into him or response to his actions.

Then why am I standing in front of him?

I don't know.

For some reason, I can't move.

I'm paralyzed.

He looks concentrated, looking me up and down in a way that makes it nearly impossible to not squirm and look away from the intensity of those hazel eyes.

But I'm determined. I've planned for this.

...kind of.

I meet his gaze straight on.

He now has a smug look on his face that makes me want to slap it right off of him. He crosses his arms, the lean muscles in them tightening.

"Tsk tsk." He grits his teeth together, giving me a disapproving look of disgust and hatred. "Just my luck, getting rammed by Hastings, again." The words rumble from his mouth in a low growl, coated in arrogance. It makes my hair stand on end.

Every part of my body is warning me to stay away from this boy. The erratic thumping of my heart, the shiver that goes down my spine, the goosebumps that rise like mountains meant to create a physical barrier between me and him.

But like I said, I can't move.

I don't know what could be so powerful that it would keep me standing here, despite all these warning alarms blaring through my brain.

Before I can find out, he rolls his eyes, turns on his heel and swaggers away to sit down.

As I also move to go take my seat, I decide I have to strategize. There's no way in hell that I'm going to let Jack Summers get the best of me or the final word in anything. Time to put on my game face.

The bell rings and the slam of the door being shut brings my eyes to focus on what my ears just heard.

My first impression of Mrs. Aspen is her lawyer-like appearance.

White silk blouse and black business attire contrasting with her red-rimmed spectacles, long thick curls bouncing wildly with each click of her pointed black heels that accompany every step.

Mrs. Aspen's first impression of me is of my game face. Whatever my game face is.

Probably not the ideal first impression.

Her eyes scan every face before her in the room. She barely even pauses for a moment to complete the action, yet her authoritative presense is so powerful it causes the students to straighten their backs. She has this aura about her that makes it seem as if she could reach out and catch a fly in her hand while still staring at us straight on.

She's only been in here for 10 seconds. She's that good.

The room is quiet. Most of the class is sitting, wide-eyed, oggling up at her. It's like they've been put under a spell.

She clears her throat and sits behind her desk. "First order of business: attendance."

As we continue, I begin to understand more and more about my new, slightly scary, advisory teacher. Mrs. Aspen teaches business classes and despite being quite young, seems to have lived 20 lives. She has been out in the corporate world, which explains a lot. Surprisingly, she's actually a really great advisory teacher. She decides to skip the purposeless parts that advisory teachers always do every year, like, for example, going over rules that we have already been told a million times throughout our elementary and middle school years. She keeps in the important stuff though and cracks a few dry jokes along the way. She doesn't beat around the bush. She means business. It's refreshing.

Advisory is always with classmates in your grade, so we're all seniors. I recognize most of the faces around me and even see a few friendly ones.

After going over the minimum credit requirements a senior must have to graduate, she heaves a big sigh and props her feet up on the wooden desk in front of her.

Normally, this would seem a lazy, unprofessional thing to do. Normally, it would put a teacher in a position of vulnerability to their students, but Mrs. Aspen isn't normal. She does it with such confidence that I see a few people flinch. We all tense.

"You're all seniors. I'm gonna give it to you straight."

She uncrosses her feet and places them on the ground again, then gets up from her chair and stands behind her desk. She places both hands on the desk and leans over, peering at us over her red-rimmed spectacles.

"Due to..." she ponders her word choice carefully, "...efforts set in place to stop the current mob of angry parents that are protesting the new high school by choosing to vandalize and/or TP the houses of our school board members..."

"you didn't hear it from me, by the way," she adds quickly, then continues, "...you lot will be part of a district-wide initiative to create a friendly and welcoming environment for new students."

She's up now, pacing the front of the room slowly.

"Basically, you've gotta suck up to the freshies so they don't go crying home to mommy and daddy, whining about how much they hate being away from their friends due to this new high school separating them."

Now she's pacing through the room, weaving inbetween the rows of desks.

"We want them to go home babbling on and on about how freakin awesome and overall superior their new upperclassmen friends are in comparison to those dweebs they used to consider their friends."

We all chuckle a bit.

"So, every senior will be assigned a freshman to become friends with and to mentor and guide them as they navigate high school. The numbers work out so that there will two seniors assigned to one freshman, in some cases, three. This is to keep each other accountable when it comes to completing the responsibilities we assign to you."

She flashes a big smile, "Mission accomplished."

"Wellllll... not quite. Allow me to elaborate. Our school is desperate. Very desperate. We've already had enough PR scandals and can't afford to take another blow with this high school."

Mrs. Aspen has a point, after all the bad press with our former principal using school facilities for personal use, my school has not been in the limelight for any positive reasons as of late.

"We're up against an army of middle and high-class suburban moms who have nothing to live for except for their daily wine gossip with their other mom friends."

Another nervous chuckle spread the room, but I can tell she is serious about this. I can tell why. Suburban soccer moms are a force not to be reckoned with.

She relates the levity of the situation to those that aren't understanding that this is actually serious. "They moved here because the schools are good and so their kids would get the best quality of education available within a 500 mile radius. We cannot disappoint. If we do, well... we are one public forum away from the city being forced, legally, to hold a vote on whether or not tax dollars will fund the new school."

We all now knew what was really at stake here. The multimillion dollar project that would finally allow enough parking spots to be made available so it's more than just the seniors that get them. The multimillion dollar project that would have such state of the art facilities that big tech companies, such as Apple, would be hosting their student initiative tech event there. It promised jobs, attention, and a slice of silicon valley fame.

I can see how it's a big deal.

"I strongly suggest you take advantage of this desperation."

I notice some puzzled faces around me and Mrs. Aspen must have as well because she explains further.

"The truth is: this isn't just a mentor program-"

She looks at us straight on.

"...It's a competition."

A slight hush goes over the room. Good lord is this dramatic.

-I'm loving it.

"And a competition isn't a competition without an incentive, a prize. But I'll get to the prizes later."

She scoffs with amusement, "But let me tell you, you do not want to risk losing this opportunity."

We believe her.

"You do well, you win... you get rewarded...

-big time."

A pained expression crosses her face and itt appears as though she's exercising a great amount of self restraint. "I'm not supposed to get to the exact details of what you win yet, but I will soon."

I'm intrigued, but I'm more concerned about potential problems completely unrelated to prizes. I'm wondering if she's going to address the elephant in the room. The elephant and I are both very anxious for her to do so.

"We grouped mentors together at complete random...then separated people we knew were friends. This was a necessary precaution. We do not need mentors that let each other slack off. We need competition. We need a rivalry. Remember: you are competing against this person."

The elephant and I are only more anxious.

"Without further ado..." she presses a button on the wall, "the moment you've all been waiting for" the projector screen lights up. "Your competition."

She has a smirk on her face. A lot of people seem surprised she's so weird and intensely invested in this. I'm just surprised she isn't a drama teacher.

I scan the list.

Now I'm kind of wishing the elephant had stayed home today and not been addressed.

As I glance over the list one more time to confirm that my name next to Jack Summers isn't some type of mistake, I declare in my head with determination to myself:

Time to put my game face on.

---

AN:

Ayeeee I've rewritten this like a billion times but it never feels quite right. Oh well. I hope it got the point across and made enough sense.

This is the obvious turning point in the plot, which means it's gettin JUICY!!

Anyways, is your school anything like this one?

Mine is lol.

Love y'all and sorry this is relatively unedited and being published at 3am

Love,

Leah