Nobody Told Me That I Would Be Learning To French Kiss HIM in French Class! [`o3]

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"Well as for your group assignment," Mr. Curtis said, ruffling through some papers rather clumsily. I crossed my legs and chewed on the end of my pen. "Do you guys want to pick your own partners or...?"

Mr. Curtis knew he need not to finish this question. Partially due to the class suddenly exploding into hoots of agreement. My friend, Belinda and I exchanged happy glances. Mr. Curtis got up and straightened his tie.

"Too bad."

Silence.

Belinda looked in front in disbelief. Mr. Curtis smiled cheekily, his black eyes twinkling mischievously. "You all remember what happened last time I made you guys pick your own group. Only 2 out of 15 groups even sent in their assignments."

I snorted. Accidentally.

I remembered the day when only two partners send in their complicated assignments. It was so complicated that even I couldn't make it on time. Plus, to be perfectly honest Belinda and I spent time sipping smoothies rather than doing any work.

I knew I should've take on something other than French. I couldn't believe I fell for Belinda's "French is a very sexy language" act.

"If the front row students would just turn around and face the students behind you, you'll have yourself your partners. Except for you guys--" he said, motioning to the jocks sitting in the middle of the class. "--do you think I'm a moron?"

But I didn't care what he was saying by that point. My arm instantly shoot up, punching through the air and waving around frantically as if my life was depending on it. "Mr. Curtis!" I exclaimed, in a high-pitched voice.

"Can't we just turn around to the...left? Or right?" I asked pathetically, knowing very well that on my right was a solid wall. Some students sneak a glance towards the wall to my right and sniggered. Mr. Curtis raised his bushy, copper eyebrow.

"Then your partner would be Miss Hernandez."

Crap, Belinda.

Feeling as if I was in a horror movie and if I turn around, I would be killed or...gobbled up by a lost soul or something. And with a gut-wrenching feeling, I realized that a lost soul would probably be better than what I would be seeing in 3...2...

...1.

"Howdy partner."

"You have a horrible Texan accent," I said, cringing. He shrugged. "Wouldn't kill me to try."

"You're not going to ruin my project."

"Our project," he snapped impatiently.

"Your task would be to build a landmark that you could find in Paris and write an essay about the history of said landmark. In French."

People were groaning in frustration.

"Due date is in a week."

Another wave of groan.

"And have fun people."

The bell rang. Right on time.

I swear Mr. Curtis had an insanely good sense of timing.

And the students in this class must had some sort of a new, limited edition Nike sneakers. With jets attached to the sides. These people could move out of the class like a tornado, I swear to god.

Just as I was gathering my text books and stuffing my stationery into my pencil case, Matthew walked in front and slammed his books on top of my table. I looked up and glared at him. "What is your problem?!" I hissed, trying to hit his arm away because he was blocking my exit.

He brought his face close to mine. "I didn't get the thanks I should have."

"The only thanks I'm willing to give you - whole-heartedly - is my horribly manicured finger. Buried somewhere inside your eye socket."

There's an Internet lingo wasn't there? Something like "do not feed the troll."

Yeah, that was easier said than done.

"Zachary," I spat out angrily. "I'm going to be late for Chem. Get out of my damn way!"

"Make me."

I punched him.

It just happened before I even realized it. My fist cut through the air, and connected to his nose. Matthew staggered a few steps back, clutching his nose. And I realized, with a sickening feeling, that I heard a faint cracking sound when I punched him. I didn't know if it was my knuckles, or his nose.

Self-consciously, I moved my fingers.

Oh my god, it was his nose.

I cursed loudly as I got up in a hurry. "Oh my god, I didn't mean to-- I mean, I'm not in trouble am I? Oh god I'm so sorry," I blurted out. I heard that last time a girl punched a boy, she was placed in an anger management class for the rest of the year.

He shook his head. Blood was trickling down his nose. Not THAT many but there was a bit of it starting to make its' way to his upper lip. "The hell are you apologizing for?"

"Pardon me?" I quipped, my voice shaky as my imagination took me to a place where people would call me the Incredible Hulk or something. "Hannah, when you punch someone like that it's not because you're doing it for fun."

Who the hell would punch someone in the face for fun?

I ignored him as I reached for a tissue in my pocket. Dammit, I left it in my locker...

Taking this as a chance, Matthew grabbed my wrist and twisted it behind me. I could tell that he was capable of doing more than that, because his grip didn't hurt at all. It's just the shock that got a gasp out of me.

"Watch it, dragonfly. You don't want to do that again."

"You're going to harass me for the rest of my life because of this aren't you?" I sighed, feeling deflated. "Don't consider it as harassing, Miller. Consider it as me trying to ask you to be my friend."

Now, that caught me off guard.

"Well Zachary, what a weird way to make new friends."

"I already saved your panda from the evil clutches of...the...evil boy."

Stupid panda. I knew it was cursed somehow.