His knee was scarped. Crimson dripping from the wound, "Oh shit!" he fell for her.
"Need some help with that." And she used her love to heal the mess of a lover.
BAD EDUCATION
(Mitchell x Fem OC)
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The school bell made the ginger cringe. Ray sat on the tough table, next to Joe Poulter, her school jumper irritating her freckled wrist. The teen was munching on some toast she had brought from breakfast, she loved the taste of the warm butter soaking through the bread, it was a classic treat. "Can I have some? I didn't have food this morning before I left." Joe appealed.
"No, piss off. It's mine." Crumbs sprayed as the Ray gave the boy a nasty look. She shoved the rest in her mouth, then went to her bag for another treat when the teacher that had all been waiting for finally arrived, and looking drowsy as ever.
"Morning, class." The man grumbled, slouching in his chair.
"I have taken the liberty of doing the form resistor for you." Jing handed the teacher the paper.
"Shh, shh." Mr Wickers waved his hand at the girl.
"You're a pathetic excuse for a teacher." Jing fumed in chinese.
"Jing, your language is very beautiful," Sir whispered, "but means nothing to me."
"Parents evening tonight, Sir." Chantelle flirted, leaning her hands on her desk and pushing her elbows together to create more bust to her chest. "You get to meet my mum. Everyone says she's a milf."
"Chantelle, have you not got a class to be preparing for?" The man brushed her off.
"Maths. We're doing fractions. Apparently twenty-three won't go into fifteen. Mrs Morrison says it's impossible." Chantelle urged closer. "We'll see about that."
"A banana and a boost, Sir." Ray jumped off the table, hunted through her bag then gifted the man the items. "Perfect hangover cure. You know where to find me if you need more."
"This is why you are respected, Ray." He gratefully took the goods. "Do have any school books in your bag, or is it all just food?"
The ginger just shrugged then threw herself back to her former position on the table, that when dumb and dumber entered. "Rem Dogg, why are you late?" Mr Winkers interrogates.
"Wheelchair." The boy sassed.
"And you, Mitchell?"
"Well, this thing don't push itself, does it?" He pointed to the wheelchair.
"Look, please, it's Monday morning. I have a hangover." The teacher grovelled. "Joe, can you just go and see if that first aid box has got any berocca in it?"
"Yes, Dad." Joe began to arise but paused mid-way noticing his mistakes, as the class rang out in laughter.
"Oh, my Days!" Mitchell taunted. "He called Mr Wickers Dad! What a helmet!"
"Shut up, Mitchell." The man stood. "At Least he knows who his dad is."
"Ohh." The class erupted, the red-hair letting out a rowdy snort laugh.
