Spoiler
This is a rewrite of something I did a long time ago. Nearly all of it had been cut out and only a few original elements remain. 
On the first draft of 42 I got some comments about the poor dialogue and wooden characters (Which, when I look back upon now, were painfully accurate D:) so I decided to really put some effort into those areas. I've also tried to make the characters seem to have good 'chemistry' but I don't know if that was successful x3 Anyways, enjoy your read. Part 2 of 2 will be up shortly, it is written and ready to rock
On the first draft of 42 I got some comments about the poor dialogue and wooden characters (Which, when I look back upon now, were painfully accurate D:) so I decided to really put some effort into those areas. I've also tried to make the characters seem to have good 'chemistry' but I don't know if that was successful x3 Anyways, enjoy your read. Part 2 of 2 will be up shortly, it is written and ready to rock
42
The relaxed chatter of the other pupils didn't die down as Mr Bynes skipped into room 42, a chromatic selection of acrylic paintings on canvas under his arm.
He slammed the paintings down hard on the desk, causing his table to quake for a few moments. Silence quickly followed and twenty pairs of eyes turned to face him. I rolled my own deep brown pair as he smirked, tilted his head, and bowed to his afternoon class.
Mr Bynes was one of a kind. The only way to describe him, is totally, utterly, and completely insane. I was used to it by now; five years of yelling, standing on tables and signing Christmas carols in the middle of June become the norm after a while.
"Buenas tardes, la clase!" he greeted in a strange, sleazy attempt at a Spanish accent, turning to the cabinet behind his heaped desk. He cleared his throat, flinging the doors open dramatically with a tinny ring of metal hitting the wall, his arms spread wide.
“Oh God… He’s scaring the transfer student.” I shook my head, unable to stifle the grin that started to curve my lips. Pierre, the French student that was staying with another of the class, looked like he didn’t know what to think. He stared at the teacher flatly, his expression a mixture of fear and possibly confusion.
“Poor guy.” Mike leaned over the desk, propping himself up on his elbows. “You’d think someone might have warned him.” He grinned and tousled his sandy ash coloured hair, something he did when he found something amusing.
“Like he’d understand. I was talking to him in the cafeteria yesterday. He just nodded and said ‘yes, yes’ over and over again,” I said, my voice dropping to a whisper as Mr Bynes whirled around, adorning his paint stained lab coat that he usually wore. Mr Bynes may have been fun, but he had a deadly temper. The last lunch period he’d a scrap with the PE assistant, accusing him of stealing his spoon. Why someone would need a spoon to eat fish and chips is beyond me, but hey, it provided a good lunchtime entertainment for all.
Mike’s cerulean eyes lit up with amusement as Mr Bynes whipped around suddenly, with a fistful of stiff paintbrushes in one hand, and some dusty pencils in the other. Bristles from the old brushes exploded into the air and a nearby student began a violent sneezing fit in the corner. I made a low snorting noise as I tried not to laugh.
“I can honestly say I love this class. You know you want to laugh, Peyton.” Mike eyed me with his usual wry grin, and I struggled to maintain my calm expression.
“Art is a medium that one should take seriously, young Michael,” I began in a mock impression of our favourite art teacher, tucking a strand of my auburn hair behind my ear. “It is one of the few outlets where one can truly express one’s self…” A poke to the ribs caused me to break into a silent fit of laughter.
Mr Bynes set the pencils and brushes down, and they rolled off his abstractly shaped desk and clattered to the floor noisily. He took no notice, and instead snapped his gaze to us. He paused and shrugged, “We’re here to do art. And if you two lovebirds want to…” He paused, stroking his chin and waving a finger about, “Do that, then I suggest you get a room.”
“Sure. Can we have the keys to the store?” Mike said, leaning back in his chair, grinning my favourite joker’s smile. The class broke into nervous laughter. I felt a flush creep up by face, pinching him hard on the knee as my eyes watered from laughter.
Mr Bynes considered the request. I blinked giddily at the thought of a Seven Minutes in Heaven kind of scenario involving me, Mike and the empty art store. I was kind of wishing he’d say yes. Meanwhile Mike twiddled a pencil in his hands, waiting for a response from the teacher. I slapped him on the arm.
“Ah-ah-arr… only joking sir.” He rubbed his bicep and attempted to jab me playfully in the ribs. I caught his finger just in time and held it there, grinning at him.
“Then stop paying footsies with young Peyton here under my table.” I wished I had the bravery to say something, but instead I wheezed, trying to stem the laughter that Mike had brought on. Reluctantly I dropped his hand, feeling a tingling sensation where our skin had touched.
Mr Bynes lost interest and jumped onto his chair, ruler in hand, standing over us. "Can I have your attention, ladies and gentlemen, other assorted zoo animals…” he began in a loud and cinematic voice that echoed through the room.
"You have coursework due for tomorrow, year thirteen. This side shall paint," he gestured to Mike's and my side of the classroom. "And this side shall produce a tonal drawing. The theme is ‘Special.’ Rapidementé!" He clapped his hands and rubbed his palms together, grinning boyishly as if enjoying a private joke.
The sound of chairs groaning against the floor filled the room as the class rushed into the art store. I sighed and give Mike my best puppy-dog pout, slumping my shoulders. “I’m so tiiiirrred…”
“Typical lazy woman,” he shook his head, sliding out of his chair and flicking me in the back of the head, disappearing into the throng.
“I’m not lazy, I’ve just got you well trained,” I shot after him, swivelling on my chair and lifting an abandoned art apron from the ground. I slid it over my neck, getting out of the chair to tie it behind my back, sighing impatiently as I tried to undo the tangled mess. I jolted when I felt his presence behind me as he reappeared from the art store.
“Oh, you’re hopeless. Damsel in distress needs her apron tied up for her…” he chuckled as I felt his fingers brush against my lower back through my school shirt. As usual, his touch sent a light shiver down my spine and left me lost for words. I could hear a smirk in his voice as with a final tug be finished the knot, sliding into his chair, totally oblivious to the effect he had on me. I took my place next to him in my chair, blinking faintly.
We were friends since childhood. I’d been close Mike all my life, through thick and thin. So that would mean he loves me as a friend… right? Probably. Mike Greenwood was the man all the ladies wanted. With bags of confidence and gorgeous, boyish looks, I knew I was in way over my head.
I arranged the paints Mike had brought on the desk, watching Mr Bynes throw paper at people from his desk. It didn't work of course; instead the thick paper performed an extravagant arc in the air, before whizzing back and attacking him in the face. He forced the French student to hand them out instead, following him around the room, leaning his tall frame down to natter endlessly in his ear about how poor his paper giving-out skills where.
"So," Mike began, as he got a pencil out of his blazer pocket. "Any plans for the weekend?"
"My mum is having a house party for my cousin's eighteenth," I informed him with a smile. If there was one thing I loved, it was having a mad party with my equally crazy cousin.
"Cool, I expect you’re gonna get totally blocked like last time?” He looked up from the rough lines he had been sketching, his lips curving into a teasing smile. I blinked and huffed quietly, memories of the last house party we’d attended struggling to return to me.
“I was not drunk…”
And so the class went on in an endless but light-hearted debate. I insisted that I was totally sober, and that Mike was so out of his head that he imagined carrying me home. He denied being drunk as well. In the end we decided that Creepy French Boy had drugged his ‘lemonade’ (Yeah, right) and made him deluded enough to think it had happened. For whatever reason that he would want to do that, I don’t know. But we have our suspicions.
With a roll of my eyes I eagerly turned my attention to the blank paper again, turning my head to observe Mike’s finished rough sketch. I gawped for a moment as he slid his pencil behind his ear, smirking at my empty page. “Someone’s going to have a lot of homework tonight…”
Just then, the shrill scream of the bell interrupted us before I could return any of his banter, informing us that school was over for another day.
"Class is over, peasants. Now get out of my classroom," he said crisply, as the class filed out the door while Mike and I got tidied. He strutted past our desk, hands clasped behind his back. I lifted a palette from the cupboard. I needed to get my own paints to take home.
"I'll come too, I need to fetch some stuff," Mike said, allowing me to enter the room 42 store first, before following behind.
I flicked on the lights, and shivered slightly; the room was ice cold.
The store was more of an eccentric staff room for the art teachers, really. Paintings hung crookedly on the wall and every available surface was covered with coffee mugs and biscuit wrappers.
In front of a squishy, bedraggled sofa, a little wooden table stood, with an old fashioned TV set on top, sitting on a battered VCR. There was also a kettle somewhere among the chaos; some days class were allowed to make themselves coffee if the class was long.
We headed to the bench and squeezed some paint onto the palettes, as the door was closed behind with a conspicuous click.
I shot Mike a look, and he looked back to the door, raising an eyebrow.
"Did that door just…?”
"I think it did," I replied nervously, as Mike crossed the room and pulled on the door handle. The door remained rigid. Mike pulled the handle a little harder, but it stood vigilant. Mr Bynes was grinning through the glass pane in the door, his green eyes shimmering with triumph behind his multicoloured glasses.
“Sir?” I blinked, my forehead furrowing in confusion.
“Well, you kids have fun. As your amazingly kind teacher I have provided ‘The Room,’ that Mike just begged me for,” he said spiritedly, his voice muffled through the glass.
Mike dissolved into laughter behind me as my face paled. “You can’t be…”
“Serious? I’m never serious Miss O’Connor. I’m sure the cleaner will let you out on Monday morning. Well then, tarah!” He bowed his head and ducked out of view.
---
Uh oh
I'm glad you say you like my writing style, because I've been wondering if it was enjoyable to read or not. Oh, and just a little tidbit. I do in fact write fantasy fiction xD I'm working on a fantasy novel at the minute. I like romance too though, I'm a sucker for a good little romantic read. x3