despite-the-protest
It wasn't as fun as I thought it would be, taking a class full of upperclassmen. I thought it would make me smart, the superior one of the bunch. But taking AP Calculus in freshmen year was ridiculous, and I'm pretty sure the gaping mouths were one outer source of astonishment as I breezed through the door. I had worn my rainbow colored stockings that day for good luck. I wore it every test day, and ended up with grades that even made my teachers grow silent.
As I took my seat, only then did nervousness surround me. I knew no one in this class. Sure, I hadn't known anyone in my former classes. Alas, there had been only another student with me when I was taking my Pre-Calc course in eighth grade. Some had called it ridiculous, since I was a mere middle-schooler and was not capable of memorizing and learning any of the theories. But I proved them all wrong by grabbing my elder brother's textbook and scanning all of his notebooks through.
I sincerely had to say, my elementary school years were the hardest. While the fourth graders were learning how to divide fractions, I was already starting on my Algebra I course. It had frightened the teachers to no end, especially since in my first year of elementary school, I was able to excel in everything. I was put into higher learning classes, and tested with photographic memory. Of course, that did not stop me.
Instead, I was fueled to learn more. My teachers applauded my works, my essays, my formulas. I even stunned my professors and my guidance counselor had quietly noted that I would have been able to graduate high school at the age of fifteen.
So having one complete year left till graduation, I slipped into my chair as I briefly smiled at Mr. Carch. He had greeted me before and we had become somewhat good friends. Going through middle school, I had learned the most basic rule was to be friends with your teachers. It would make the recommendation letter all the more sweeter.
"Ms. Waverly, nice of you to join us."
The upperclassman stared at me with unveiled disbelief. "Is that a freshman?" one dude hissed to his friend. Obviously they had thought being in AP Calculus was a great feat, especially if some were juniors. The class started to hum with excitement, the girls staring at me with fright. Was I that scary looking? I glanced down at my apparel - maybe it was my stockings . . .
"Class, settle down. We can discuss more about Ms. Waverly after class," he said with a small smile directed at me. The smile was certainly reciprocated. "Today we are going to start with some basic stuff. Mostly derivatives . . ."
.o.o.o.o.o.
"Is that a fucking freshman?" Walter hissed again, his usually composed eyes lightening with rage. He should have been listening to Mr. Carch, but he was more infuriated with the idea that some dumbass freshman could waltz her way into this AP class without a care in the world. He rolled his eyes when he saw her scribbling down notes furiously. Nerd.
"You're jealous," his even-more-so composed best friend noted, tilting his chair back slightly.
"I am not jealous, Elliot," Walter said, biting his lip to hold in the anger. "I'm just angry since this girl obviously will not be able to handle the class. Look, I'm valedictorian for the graduating class. I know this stuff is pretty damn hard and I don't think that some stupid fourteen year old will be able to figure out anything."
"You shouldn't underestimate her," the blonde said quietly, his green eyes still trained on the young teenager in the front. Mr. Carch was obviously pleased with her attention. "I've heard a lot about Morgan Waverly. She's been doing stuff that most kids our age couldn't dream of. I heard she aced one of Mr. Raiden's pop tests."
Walter was silent. If she had aced Raiden's test, be it pop or not, she should have been in his good graces. But he didn't feel like being kind to the measly freshman who happened to be smarter than anyone else in the entire fucking school.
He observed her. Her hair was frizzy. It was tightly pulled back into a ponytail, then braided down, but the hair was still majorly frizzy. Her eyes weren't seen, but he remembered her strangely boring dark brown eyes as she walked into the room. Her nearly unblemished face had the beginning of acne and her build was slightly chubby. She looked like an average freshman. But she was not in the least an average freshman.
"Fuck," was all Walter could mutter.
.o.o.o.o.o.
I had too many books. I hadn't expected for the Calculus book to weigh over ten pounds, and I certainly hadn't expected for my books to be piled so high that my eyesight was nearly blocked. But as I stumbled through the hallway, I knew there were many downfalls to being a smart girl. My fingers clutched on desperately to my notebooks, my mind secretly praying that my books wouldn't go falling. For one thing, I didn't want my books to get into the hands of another classmate. That was my books which I cherished. I was overly protective of my note-filled books, which meant the world to me. Secondly, if I dropped my books, it would most certainly stop the flow of the other students and cause them to glare at me. If it was one thing I hated, it was glaring.
The narrowed eyes, the upper protruding lip . . . I grimaced. I continued through my way, my heart nearly soaring when I saw my navy colored locker coming into view. Just a few more steps.
Obviously the obnoxious senior hadn't noticed me as he shoved past me, laughing loudly with his too big a group of friends. He didn't even stop as he strolled down the hallway, his toe-curling disgusting laugh still heard a good distance away. I sighed as my books littered the floor, causing the kids to groan as they stepped over my books. One girl even politely handed me my book, but I could tell she had to get to class, so I shooed her away. She shot me a grateful smile.
I had just got my books into my hands again when another person shoved me, making my back hit the lockers. I stifled a gasp of pain as I felt my back start to ache. I looked up to see who had shoved me and saw that it was the same, obnoxious boy from before. Except this time, he was grinning at one of his friends, barely a foot away from me. So he knocks into me, doesn't help me with my friends, and just stands there.
And what was he doing, making rounds around the school?
I examined the boy more closely to see who it was. The boy from my AP Calc class. Well.
I grabbed my books, tightened my grip immensely and then shoved past him, my grin widening as I heard a sickeningly painful thump as his entire body collided with the lockers. Beat that, bitch.
.o.o.o.o.o.
Their entire year had been of rivalry. Walter Bridgens would try beating Morgan Waverly, and well, sometimes he'd actually succeed. Morgan hadn't been completely familiar with the course when she had joined, so her intellect was high, but somewhat average when Walter was intact. He had never forgiven Morgan for that rough shove she had given him, and she hadn't bothered to mention that he had shoved her moments before. Besides, he would have probably been genuinely surprised. Oblivious prat.
Walter watched through hooded eyes as Morgan nearly skipped into the classroom. It was the day after the test, and she always had a bright smile on her face. It read: I really hope I don't fail! He rolled his eyes as she plopped into her seat, grinning at Mr. Carch before grabbing her books. She glanced behind her, meeting his eyes, before immediately spinning around and starting with her notes.
He hid a grin.
Sure, they were rivals, but she was so stupid. He knew she had a crush on him. He just pretended to think that he didn't know. And whenever he'd comment on something that could have been taken as perverse, he'd ask her what when he noticed her incredibly vermilion cheeks.
He did enjoy her presence more than before. In fact, they were good friends. They teased each other constantly, though they never admitted verbally that they were friends. They didn't smile at each other - besides some rare occasions - and they didn't eat lunch together. But if he ever saw her, ten years from now, he would with no doubt go up to her and greet her. Maybe even give her a hug.
.o.o.o.o.o.
The year ended faster than I expected. And my guidance counselor congratulated me, saying I had passed all my AP Courses. That noted, I had even did so well, I would barely have to do a thing in college. My applications for college had been sent out in early November, and I had applied to all of the following: Harvard, Cornell, Columbia, Princeton, Yale, NYU, and Brown. I had hesitated on making an early decision for Cornell, but then decided not to. Besides, I had joined the soccer team and done too many clubs to count.
When I received all of my letters, I brought them to school, all unopened. Walter, Elliot, and I had become good friends. In fact, they were the only friends I had. If I got in, I wanted to share this news with them. When I saw them loitering in the hallway, I immediately raced towards them, childish eagerness on my face.
"What?" Walter snapped, more known as the moody one.
My smile faltered slightly, but I pulled out my envelopes. "I got my letters back, and I'm too afraid to open them!"
"Retarded freshman," he muttered under his breath.
Okay, what was his problem? My smile had faded altogether. Elliot sighed, nudging Walter before smiling slightly, "So, you want us to open it for you?"
I nodded, handing him Cornell first. My curiosity was too great. He flicked the envelope open and his eyes widened. I was sure that they stayed wide for a good three minutes. Did . . . I not get in? "Oh," I said quietly, clenching my fingers. My first choice, down the drain. If Cornell didn't want me, then . . .
"Wait," Elliot said quietly, glancing at Walter. "That means . . ."
Walter's moody look suddenly disappeared. "You don't mean . . ."
They both smiled.
"You got in," Elliot congratulated, though his voice hid some mirth. He was excited about something. I couldn't tell what. They sure as hell weren't excited for me. Well, thanks. I flashed them a totally fake smile, which they hopefully didn't see through, and walked out the front doors. Assholes. I hate upperclassmen.
.o.o.o.o.o.
I made a face as I scooped up some ice cream. Maybe Walter had been happy that I wasn't going to the same college as him. I had a crush on him for a while now, and I hadn't liked to admit it to myself. But I had fell, fell hard for that senior who's dark black hair couldn't get out of my mind. I sighed as I rested my face into my hand, my eyes suddenly blurring. They could have been a little more excited . . .
"Morgan!"
I looked up with watery, brown eyes to see Denver Witty, my schoolmate, staring at me with wide eyes. "You got into college?" Seeing my nod, he gasped dramatically, "I didn't think you were that smart!" He chuckled, but he stopped, seeing my lack of response. "What's wrong, Morg?"
"Nothing. . ."
And sadly, Denver believed that.
.o.o.o.o.o.
"I can't believe she got in," Walter said, an astonished look on his face. "And I can't believe her first choice was there of all places."
"This is why I keep saying you both are destined for each other," Elliot said quietly.
Walter had first been embarrassed when he admitted his crush on the nerdy-looking freshman. In fact, she was so strange, he didn't even know why. But Elliot had showed his appreciation by grinning widely, and that action spoke louder than any words at all.
"Maybe I should go talk to her," Walter muttered. "We didn't even congratulate her. She raced off, before we could . . ." He stopped. "Shit."
Elliot grinned.
.o.o.o.o.o.
Walter found her basking in her third bowl of strawberry flavored ice cream. But she was certainly moping as well. Around her were sprawled the acceptance letters, and he watched as a boy her age slid out of the booth, shrugging. When he got a closer look, he saw that her eyes were red. He had been upset that she might have not gotten into college, and the distance would pull them apart. And more so, he had been upset that if she did get to college, they wouldn't be able to see each other. How wrong had he been.
"Morgan," he said quietly, making her spin around. She nearly fell, but he had to act fast. Grabbing her arms, he barely gave her time to breathe before forcing his lips onto her's. He didn't care that it was a public ice cream shop and that everyone in the town could see him making out with a girl four years younger than him. He really didn't give a shit. Her lips were frozen. Her fingers were trembling as he pulled her arms around his neck. She wasn't moving. She was inexperienced, fragile, naive, innocent . . . He loved that all about her.
"Kiss me back," he muttered, nudging her slightly with his cheek.
Her breathing was shallow. Her eyes were wide. And her dazed look was incredibly beautiful. "I . . . I can't," she whispered finally, her voice cracking somewhat.
"Why not?" he asked, somewhat hurt.
"No," she said, her lips suddenly twisting, "I mean, I can't."
"Oh," Walter said, feigning comprehension. "Are you telling me that the genius Morgan Waverly doesn't know to kiss, of all things?"
Her cheeks turned a darker shade of red.
"Well, isn't this interesting?" he asked, pulling her closer, uncaring of the kids who were staring at them with wide-eyed shock. All he could see was Morgan. She lowered her eyes, a tear threatening to seep out. As it did, he kissed underneath her eye. "It's alright," he breathed. "I'll teach you."
She raised her head slightly, her grin so beautiful that he couldn't help but draw their lips together in another kiss. He'd definitely have a fun time teaching this lesson.
A/N: I couldn't finish my geometry homework! I decided to do something totally silly and unbelievable! I hope that happens to me one day ;) Anyway, I just needed to get this out there, so excuse me for any mistakes or stupidity. Thanks!