Not Your Cinderella

Chapter 3 : Let The Revenge Games Begin

I sit absent mindlessly, carelessly twirling a lock of hair around my finger. My chin is firmly wedged onto my palm, my wrist having gone dead about half an hour ago - fifteen minutes into Mr Withershaw's detailed analysis on the use of oxymorons. The English teacher's white moustache hangs proudly under his crooked nose whilst his round stomach tries its best to pop the tiny white buttons off his green shirt one by one. The little hair he has is standing up right as if he has been severely electrocuted and the frame of his glasses have evidently been taped back together with Sellotape. I slump further down in my seat and start tapping my pen in time to the ticking of the seconds hand on the clock. An annoying sound for anyone, however, upon looking around my class its clear to see I am not the only one tapping my pen out of boredom.

The door to the classroom swings open with a cringe worthy squeak. Glad to receive a break from the monotonous lecture I stare down at my book where a collection of flower doodles is beginning to mount in the corner of the page.
"I got transferred to this class."
The male voice catches my attention instantly and my eyes snap up to see Satan's child standing casually in the doorway. The sleeves of his black V neck jumper are rolled to his elbows and he quickly becomes magnet for every single pair of eyes in the room. I look beside me to see an empty chair. My heart drops as far as the basement of the school.

"And why is that Mr Russo?" Mr Withershaw asks in a hoarse voice.
"Well wouldn't you like to know," Alex retaliates, crossing his arms with a smirk. "Now can I come in? Or would you prefer me to continue standing here," he pauses, "Sir."
A look of shock flashes across Mr Withershaw's face before he manages to recollect himself.
"Thank you for being so entertaining Mr Russo. Do we have a spare seat?" He begins to scan the room.
I bend my head down and cross my fingers under the table that he doesn't choose the currently vacant seat by myself.

"There's a seat by Miss Steele."
I make no attempt to hide my dismay as I slump, defeated in my chair.
"So onto Juxtapositions," Mr Withershaw carries on his lesson regardless of the lack of attention students are paying him. Before, everyone had their eyes on the clock at the front of the room. Now, everyone is fixated on the latest class member.

Alex slides carelessly into the seat next to me and crosses his arms looking directly ahead. Having previously enjoyed the extra room being the only one sat at a table provides, I slowly begin to move my stationary from Alex's half.

"Are you going to get your book out or do you not fancy joining the lesson today?" I hiss quietly, so not to be heard.
"Why should I make notes on this lesson when all of the information is on the internet?" Alex replies with a bemused smile, "Besides, it really looks like it's been a riveting lesson with the amounts of notes that you have made," he nods towards my floral creation. The familiar feeling of heat begins to rise in my cheeks.
"I suppose that's fair," I manage begrudgingly.
"You see Princess, even you agree with me," He beams smugly, taking one of my pens and spinning it between his fingers.
"Seriously, what is it with you and taking other people's things," I whisper yanking my pen back out of his hand.
"Be careful Princess, people might start to think you care about me getting that close," he leans towards me the caramel flecks in his dark eyes glinting with laughter.
"Well a Cinderella would care for her prince," I begin, deciding to play Alex at his own game, "And I suppose you did declare that I am in fact your Cinderella."

Alex sits back, slightly startled by my comment.
"I was drunk."
"And I had to forcibly remove you from my house!"
"Which wasn't very nice of you," He retaliated, his confidence rising once more, "You know some girls would have been much kinder to me, maybe helped me, got me water." Alex widens his eyes, "But no, not Rowan, she just throws poor Alex out."
I roll my eyes at the ludicracy of his words, "You are such a jerk."
"Girls love a jerk," He responds quickly.
I go to argue back when a cough from the front of the classroom interrupts. My eyes follow the source to find Mr Withershaw staring straight back at us.
"Is something the matter?" He asks. His nose twitching with irritation.
"No sir."
"Alex?"
The boy's shoulders shrug as he shakes his head and folds his arms.