After School With Mr. Obnoxious

Chapter 2

—Aaron

“Hey, Aaron. You forgot to text me good night again last night.” Nicole Smith, the hottest girl in town and captain of the squad—and my girlfriend—lightly poked my shoulder as soon as she settled in next to me.

She frowned when I didn’t say anything. “What’s up with you?” she asked.

Nicole couldn’t simply give me a break. I smiled at her again and to her three cheerleader friends who strutted cheerfully into the room.

“I was busy. My dad’s back,” I told her and nodded at Zack and Jasper, who both entered the room with Mr. Jacobs, my favorite art teacher. Other than basketball practice, his class was my second favorite part of my day. I sat straight as soon as I heard him clear his throat, his cue that the class was about to begin.

“Good morning—” He paused when the door suddenly swung open.

“I’m sorry.” It was Samantha Banks, catching her breath with strands of her brown hair going in different directions. She gawkily walked past me and took a seat at the back.

“Add an hour allowance to your alarm clock next time, Ms. Banks,” Mr. Jacobs said. Sam apologized again and assured him it wouldn’t happen again.

I smirked. “I think Mr. Jacob’s right, Banks. That should give you enough time to take a bath too.” And as I had expected, the class cheered. They loved my sense of humor.

“And I think you should, too, Lanter. I sniffed your immaturity all the way from the hallway,” Sam responded loudly.

I looked around when I heard two people snickered. And I shot Sam a look when I saw her staring at me. She already looked pissed. I didn’t care. I was glad I ruined the first period for her. That should teach her a lesson not to talk back.

“Can we start the class now? Or do you want me to send both of you to detention so you can continue this banter without distracting my class?” Mr. Jacobs said.

Mr. Jacobs looked like he meant it, so I apologized and shut my mouth. He asked us to get our copies of Gardner’s Art Through the Ages and picked up where we left the other day.

I listened attentively and took note of the important takeaways. The world of art and its history had me pretty occupied and very much involved that I actually felt somewhat disappointed when the bell rang. Nicole, on the other hand, was already on her feet and ready to leave. She looked totally uninterested.

“What a boring class,” she complained and left the room with Trish and Diana.

I slightly scowled at her attitude. I didn’t ask her to take AP Art, yet she was acting like I did. I would never ask her to take any classes for me. That’s not how I wanted our relationship to roll. She was free as a bird to do whatever she wanted.

But what did she want?

Nicole and I had been together for two years. It had not been an easy two years. Her interests were different from mine. She was always telling me that we should move to Paris right after graduation. But my plan was different from hers. And what would she do there? Shop until she maxes out her credit cards?

I went to my locker to unload two books before going to my next class when I saw Zack and Jasper already waiting for me there. Like Nicole, they couldn’t wait to get out of AP Art too. They disappeared as soon as the bell rang. What a duo of gorillas.

“We thought you were right behind us,” Jasper said.

“I wasn’t born to be a follower, bro. I was born to lead,” I replied. “Like how I lead you two idiots.”

They exchanged funny looks.

Did I offend them? I didn’t care and they didn’t mind. Had it not been for me, none of them could ever make to the basketball team. They obviously owe their popularity to me.

As we walked to our next class, we had amused ourselves by making fun of every student we met on the way, our hilarious daily ritual before entering Mrs. Seymour’s class, AP Literature.

“Remind me why did you take this class again?” Zack asked.

“Because I think it’s a cool class,” I told them.

I sounded so casual and cool that they thought it wouldn’t bother me if I failed the class. The truth was that I needed the extra credit.

They went to their boring classes, and I went to mine. Mrs. Seymour was already behind her desk, her nose stuck in a book that we were probably going to discuss for the next two weeks. Slumped in my chair in front, I listened to the giggles followed by shy hellos from every student who had entered the room. I ignored them and concentrated on the plan I had started to create in my head for the team’s practice later that day.

Mrs. Seymour promptly started the class and introduced to us the book she was reading earlier. In the next two weeks, we would be discussing an English woman named Jane Austen and her works.

While Mrs. Seymour drowned the class with her monotonous voice and Jane’s works, I was concentrating on more important things, like our team’s ranking in the division. If only Jasper and Zack were as good as me or if only everyone in the team could play as well as me, we would definitely bring home the bacon to Lediville High.

My stomach was already ready for lunch by the time the class was over. I grabbed my backpack when I heard Mrs. Seymour call my name.

“May I talk to you for a minute?” she asked. She didn’t look pleased.

“Yes, Mrs. Seymour,” I said, flashing her my famous, charismatic smile. “Is there anything that I can do for you?”

“Yes. Pass the class.” She handed me a piece of paper with my name on it. “You failed again.” She pointed at the huge D-.

I stared at it in horror. How could someone fail literature? There was no way.

“Why did I fail? Again?”

“Simple mathematics, Mr. Lanter. You either didn’t understand Ernest Hemingway’s works, or you didn’t care about him or didn’t care to learn about his contributions to American literature at all,” Mrs. Seymour pointed out. She took her job seriously and her books and “literature” even more seriously.

“I thought I had it in the bag. I perfectly get him.” I attempted to argue further. Honestly, I thought The Old Man and the Sea was an easy read.

“Well, you thought wrong, Mr. Lanter. You wrote something entirely different and shallow at that. You need someone to help you understand how to read and figure out what’s beyond in front of you. Get yourself a tutor. We have some brilliant minds here at Lediville High.”

“It didn’t take me hours to figure the story out. I mean, no offense to you, Mrs. Seymour, but I even thought that the story should be intended for seventh graders. I didn’t break a sweat.”

“Well then, maybe you should spend more hours figuring out and understanding what you’re reading, Mr. Lanter—” she paused and furrowed her eyebrows “—although, I’m a bit curious because I spoke to Mr. Jacobs the other day, and he told me you’re doing pretty good in his class.

My eyes lit up. “Exactly! There must be something wrong with your grading system.” She glowered. “I mean…well, I don’t exactly mean that. I mean, since I have been doing great with AP Art, I shouldn’t be failing AP literature. They’re one and the same.”

“There you go. You’re confusing things. Art is visual and auditory. Literature is purely texts. If you just try a little less being Mr. Popular and try a little more in my class, then we wouldn’t have this conversation. Get a tutor to help you understand and pass this class, Mr. Lanter,” she insisted again before shooing me out.

I smiled and courteously nodded. How did I get the story wrong? I had Santiago all figured out. He was a fisherman, and he needed a big catch. The marlin was obviously the answer to his dilemma. I continued reanalyzing the story and Santiago’s life all the way to the cafeteria. But as soon as I got there, the buzzing and clutter of students everywhere drowned my thoughts and shoved Santiago and his marlin back into the deep.

As usual, the place was jam-packed. But since I was Aaron Lanter, I already had one table reserved for my crew and me. Zack and Jasper, with few of the guys from the team, were already there, waiting for me. Ah, my cronies.

My stomach was already making gurgling noises. I looked up to see the menu board. My appetite withered when I read that we were having a double cheeseburger, fat fries, salad grapes, and corn soup that day. Already annoyed and hungry, I glanced over at Wendy, our overweight, middle-aged lunch lady and shook off the possibility of ending up like her.

I grabbed myself a tray and decided to feed myself an apple, corn soup, and two slices of wheat bread. Looking at the long queue, I scanned for a small window of opportunity where I could cut in line. I was done playing the role of Mr. Nice Guy with Mrs. Seymour, so I moved in front of a girl, who was all dressed in pink, as soon as I had the chance.

“Excuse me? Are you really that rude too?”

I turned to see Samantha Banks standing behind the pink girl. Why didn’t I see her right away? Then I noticed that pink girl was actually a couple of inches taller than her. I looked down at her shoes that looked even funnier. It was too pink, and the soles were too thick. Perhaps that was the reason she stood almost as tall as me.

“That’s okay, Sam,” the pink girl said, giving me a creepy grin. “That’s okay, Aaron. You look hungry.” She reminded me so much of Powerpuff Girls that my cousin used to watch a lot.

“No, it’s not okay,” Sam protested.

She was giving me the same look she gave me when I confronted her other day. I could have given her a real scare if Ms. Penny hadn’t interrupted us.

“Cutting in line is rude and unacceptable,” she continued.

I opened my mouth, about to say something to her when Powerpuff Girl assured me again that it was okay.

“Don’t mind, Sam,” she told me. “She’s just hungry. It’s not always rude, and sometimes, it is acceptable to cut in line.”

“Are you for real, Chloe? Why are you encouraging him?”

“Look, Banks, why don’t you listen to Powerpuff Girl here and drop it? I’m not in the mood,” I barked at her and went ahead to tell Wendy what I wanted.

I joined my friends and ignored them when they greeted me. Nicole came with her two best friends and joined us.

“Hey, babe. Wanna go for a swim at my house after practice later?” Nicole asked.

Her flirtatious eyes are boring into mine. I wanted to reciprocate, but Mrs. Seymour’s unhappy face and comments about trying to become Mr. Popular a little less suddenly invaded my mind and restrained me from responding to my girlfriend’s flirty gestures.

What did she mean by what she said? Did I look at her as if I were trying too hard to be popular? Was I not popular already? I was still trying to understand what she said when Nicole’s voice interrupted my thoughts.

“What was that?” I asked Nicole, totally lost in the conversation that I was supposed to be having with her.

She sighed, obviously annoyed. “Did you just space out on me again?”

Her friends, Trisha and Diana, stared at both of us. We had argued so many times before in front of them, even in front of the entire basketball team. They should be used to it by now and should just ignore us, but no, they loved a little drama.

“No. I was just thinking about our game next week against West Field High,” I lied. Lying to Nicole was my only way to avert situations from blowing up. And she never seemed to argue further when I talk about basketball or winning.

Her face lit up. “Lediville High will win, of course. You will win it for the team, for the entire school,” she assured me and planted a quick kiss on my cheek. That was what I liked about her. She never came short when it comes to boosting my self-esteem.

And my mind wandered back to Mrs. Seymour and the bitter words that came out from her mouth. Damn. The more I thought about it, the more pissed I became. I pushed my half-eaten apple and got up.

“Where are you going?” Nicole asked. Her eyebrows creased a bit.

I stretched my arms and pretended to look bored. “I gotta go see Coach Irving.”

“But we’re having lunch.”

“You are.” I pointed at the celery she was holding. “I am done.” I pointed at my empty bowl of corn soup. She was about to argue and make a huge fuss out of it, but I grabbed my backpack and said, “See you later, babe,” leaving them.

If I had to get a tutor and pass the stupid AP Lit, then I would do it. If I would have to get to breathe in and breathe out Ernest Hemingway and the rest of the dead writers and poets, then I would. I couldn’t let a stupid subject ruin my application at SAIC. There’s just no way.