Hypothetically, Of Course

Chapter Numero Dos : Life's Assessment.

"Lance!" Isla's brown ponytail bounced gently as she broke away from her small group of friends and jogged the short distance across the courtyard.

Lance watched her, a slow smile creeping across his face as he admired this ridiculous amount of energy she always seemed to possess. Like the Trix rabbit – on speed.

He held up a tanned hand as Isla opened her mouth to speak, "Wait, let me go first."

Isla laughed, and silently nodded her head in agreement.

"Last night at the party—I really had a lot of fun. You're really funny, and really energetic and really cute," Lance dramatically inhaled the fresh air, and tucked his hands into the pockets of his letter jacket and flashed his signature smile/smirk at her before continuing. He could practically see Isla's heart jumping out of her chest. He loved flustering the girls—All of them. Such a thrill.

"And I think that over the break, when we get back to the city, we should totally hang out." He finished.

Isla smiled, consciously being as calm as she could to savor the moment. "I think that I'm totally cool with that."

"I was hoping you were." Lance leaned down to kiss Isla's cheek, significantly close to the corner of her mouth. "I'll call you?"

Isla laughed at his obvious suaveness and nodded her head again, "Yes, you will."


Lance dusted his hands off in an attempt to rid his pale skin of the marks that the dry erase marker had left, and then adjusted the Kangol Ivy cap on his head, while running his hand over his face. Taking a sip of his French Vanilla Starbucks Macchiato, he smiled to himself as he remembered why he was so exhausted in the first place. The new, hot little television anchor, Sandra, he'd met on a lazy Saturday afternoon at Trader Joes while he'd been searching for apple slices.

He'd noticed her out of the corner of his eyes as he made his way to the frozen section. Brunette, cute little pug nose, and a ripe ass that would be great for – what a phenomenal fucking Saturday it had turned out to be. And ever since then, they'd pretty much been inseparable (in bed, anyway). He'd never known anyone with energy and sex drive better than Sandra's. Except for—

Lance growled under his breath, draining the paper cup of the last of its beverage, and pitching it towards the trash. He always wound up thinking of Isla at the wrong moments. What was it with him? That was fifteen—no sixteen years ago. Reign in your horses, old boy.

Hearing the low chatter of the first set of students entering the hallway, he glanced up at the old clock on the wall, realizing that his third period students would be bombarding themselves into his room soon. With the 'Do Now' already on the board, Lance relaxed and sat back in his desk chair in a lasting attempt to get his thoughts together.

Glancing into his pitch black computer screen, he removed his cap, and ran his hands through his hair in a final attempt to look less tired. His bright, emerald green eyes, impossible brown hair and plump pink lips stared back at him, and he shook his head in disapproval. "You look like shit, Holland," He whispered to himself, just as the first student walked in.

"Hey, Holland," Lissa, his most interested student, gave Lance a big smile and a small wink before taking her seat at the desk closest to the window. "How was your Vacation?"

Lance sighed at Lissa, used to subliminal advances and replied as blandly as he could. "Great, Lissa. Do Now is on the board."

The rest of the students had begun to pile in by then, and Lance moved towards the door of the classroom. "Do Now is up, people, get started."

Lance began to absentmindedly close the door as the last person scampered in, and was startled as he felt resistance on the other side. Lance pulled the door open again, and raised his eyebrows as he found an unfamiliar face on the other side. "Are you…in the class, or something?"

The pretty, green eyed, brown girl stared back at him incredulously. "They didn't…?"

Lance shook his head, no, impatiently. The girl shoved her school schedule into his hands and leaned against the door frame, awaiting his recognition. 'Global Relations, Period Three. Teacher: Lance Hollands'

Lance shrugged his shoulders, and opened the door wider to let her in. "Well then, welcome, Lea—is it?"

Lea nodded her head quietly and looked around the room for a seat, pretending not to notice that she was being stared at. She finally found one, in the front of the room, near the wall. It made her uncomfortable, she didn't like having her back turned to people, they could be saying anything.

Lance got through the lesson just as the fourth period bell rang. Clapping his hands together, he called to the students as they rushed out of the classroom, eagerly. "Your homework is on the School Website tonight; it's an assessment. No excuses; get it done."

Lance called Lea to him as she made her way to the door. Lea turned around slowly, picking her head up, and made her way to his desk.

"Do you have lunch next?" He asked, sifting through the file folders in his desk.

"Yea," Lea grumbled, "Which is retarded, cuz' who the hell eats anything at 10:30 in the morning ?"

Lance chuckled as he drew some papers together in a packet to give to Lea. "This is some light reading that might help you catch up—,"

Lea cut him off, "I was already past The Golden Age in my old school."

Lance glanced up, surprised as he caught a hint of an attitude. Finally, he took the chance to actually look at Lea and stopped short of breath as he looked into her eyes. They were like mirrors, and he'd seen them before. They were so familiar, and—

Lea sighed, "Look, I'll just do the assessment thing you assigned to the class, it's not a big deal; I'm capable."

Lance smiled slightly at her tone, shaking his head. "I didn't mean to insult you; I'm just doing my part of the job."

"Yea," Lea said, softly, readjusting the thick strap of her knapsack on her shoulder. "Thanks, though."

Lance watched as Lea turned away, and a very relevant thought crossed his mind right before Lea had reached the threshold. "What's your last name?" He asked, his voice clear.

"Floret," She called over her shoulder, her loose ponytail swinging out of his vision, as if taunting him.

Floret. He'd only known of one other Floret in the world.

"Damnit, they've got the same hair." Lance slammed his clenched fist against the mahogany wood of his desk, running his hands through his hair, once again.

Come on people, you gotta reveiw here ; It's the only way I'll keep the momentum going.