2 Ms Hudda-Ribosome?

I sprint to class, panicked and utterly flustered. I rush to my seat, bored eyes staring at me as I take my seat.

"Now, If you all did last night's homework you'd know that William Shakespeare got married at age 18: Who can tell me who he got married to?" Ms. Hudda-Ribsome asks the silent class, they all avoid eye contact, write in their books; careful not to get picked.

My mind turns to mush as I try to piece together what I just experienced in the hall not even 5 minutes ago; heart palpitations and my scatter brain as witness, and the crowd of people cheering of course.

The grip the bus boy had on me was firm, I can barely make out what is being said. There were yelling and monotone remarks before the two bulky footballers released their grip on me as I fell into the arms of this random boy.

Sighing in relief, the boy turns to me as I'm carefully placed on the floor. His lips are moving, but I hear no words come out.

"Pardon?", I gulp, shaking my head as if the nerves from what the whole situation could fall out of my ears. And out of nowhere my his hand is on my wet cheek, directing my gaze to his as he studies for what I assume are injuries;

"I'm sorry, I said 'are you okay'?" he repeats, smiling warmly. Now that I get a good look at his face I can see he's being genuine, and not only his question, but his face; genuinely gorgeous.

"um, pardon?"

He coughs, my hand slaps into my mouth so fast as I attempt to compose myself; I meet a dude who doesn't visibly gag at the sight of me and I tell him he's gorgeous? I might as well propose.

"I'm- I nearly got my arse handed to me not even two minutes ago; so I'm like a ten." I deflect, scratching my collarbone.

"Yes Jane, I know you know the answer. You always do: I'd like someone else to give me the answer." Mrs Hudda-Ribosome explains, exasperated; her German accent, broad and fluent. I snap myself back into the present as I raise my hand; there's an awkward, tense pause.

"Did anybody even do the homework?" She turns to the rest of class, nobody replies, but their silence speaks loud and clear.

"I know miss." an American accent replies, I turn my head to see an absolutely stunning brunette: Her long wavy hair is in a loose, voluminous ponytail and her smile is sweet and genuine: She must be new.

"New student? I forgot to introduce you-" Ms. Hudda-Ribosome looks distracted, scrambling to get her laptop, nearly falling on her chair, she scrunches her face in concentration.

As she does, I hear a snigger. Two students are in silent hysterics, I glance to see what's so funny, looking in the direction of their points is Ms. Hudda-Ribosome making the most inhuman facial expressions as she tries to type on the computer, she scrunches her face; even picking her nose at times.

"It was Anne Hathaway right?" one girl suggests.

"Well, I thought she was an actor? Wait; she's a time traveller?" another girl gasps in realization, thinking she's the smartest person in the room with this discovery.

I manage to hold in my laughter, by biting my tongue and thinking of Ms. Hudda-Ribosome in a bikini, there we go.

This all may seem utterly stupid. But stick yourself in group isolation for 13 years, 7 hours a day; you'd find anything funny.

But, In no time at all, the whole class has been notified. The majority are turning purple, never daring to even breathe in fear of disrupting her. Even I, the most serious person you'll ever meet is about to crack. This doesn't last long, however- I need to stop this.

In one fluid motion I raise my hand, my peers' eyes turn to follow my movement, as I open my mouth to speak a few of my classmates are giving me death glares, daring to pounce at me.

"Ms," I call out, in spite of everyone's sudden anger and annoyance. She flinches, looking up at me with a grimace mixed to a wide smile.

"Skitzo I tell you." I hear someone whisper, Ms. Hudda-Ribosome's eyes avert to that particular student, I turn to see who it is- The new girl.

"Excuse me! What did you say!?" Ms. Hudda-Ribosome booms, standing up; her wrinkly eyes are wide and bloodshot behind her pink-framed glasses. "Just because you are new it doesn't mean I can't- punish you!?" she's at a loss of words, her hand gestures could whack an unsuspecting onlooker. But nonetheless, the new girl is calm; maintaining a serious look.

"I apologize- Ms. Hudda? Was it?" she smiles sweetly, I gape at her- ready for Ms to scream like the orangutan she is. "By the way, I love your glasses, they match the shade of your blouse", She points out sweetly.

Ms. Hudda-Ribosome's expression looks like she got hit by a bus but feels honoured; said bus is this new girl.

When Ms. Hudda-Ribosome finally gets her paperwork and laptop together she raises her head slightly and clears her throat. "That's very sweet Ms. Connors, now- would you come to the front of the class and introduce yourself?" and just like that the sweet old Ms. Hudda-Ribosome returns,

"Hello, grade 11 English, period 6-classroom 2, block B. I am Amy Connors: I just moved here and I just wanted to mention that you guys are amazing. And of course Ms. Hudda, you are my absolute favourite teacher." She grins sweetly, she curtsies and returns to her desk with a sashay.

A quick glance around and it's obvious; the class is stunned. The other girls look challenged and the guys look like their pants just dropped.

"Well, Thank you, Amy-Now let's get on with the class."

...

"No, I really insist, I can take you to the nurse?" I snort, wiping the beads of sweat from my forehead with my collar. The bus boy managed to find me after class and hasn't given up on helping me.

"Yeah, no. I'm not injured so I'll be going-"

I quicken my pace, he matches it, I slow down, he does so too. I am careful not to look at him as I dodge my peers in pursuit of the exit.

"Uh, sorry I should have introduced myself. I'm Elijah; Eli Connors", I stare at his outstretched hand in silence, then back at the floor, we come to a stop as I turn to him and grin exaggeratedly.

"And I'm going, bye." I adjust my skirt and brush my eyebrows before I trudge out of his sight. He seems nice enough, I could've been nicer and shook his hand, or at least gave him a mediocre smile.

Letting the tinge of guilt guide me, I turn my head but as I'm about to sing out I see that he's not alone; next to his nest of brown curls rests a familiar blonde head. I sigh in satisfaction, at least he's given up on being the saviour.

"Eli." I mumble to myself, "not bad sir, not bad at all."

END OF CHAPTER