The Distraction Trilogy: Distraction Part 2

I quickly text Riley.

Eloise: Where are we going?

Riley: Thought we could hit Ranger's arcade?

I quickly respond to Garrett.

Eloise: Meet us at Ranger's arcade in ten.

Garrett: Will do. :) Day planned. Wicked.

"I'm going out!" I shout and quickly check my makeup in the mirror, making sure to touch up my lip gloss and push my b.o.o.bs up an inch.

Outfit done. Wicked.

"Where are you going?" My dad calls from his man cave.

"Out with Riley, to Ranger's."

"Home by ten thirty. No alcohol!" He says the last part with a growl to his tone.

"Promise!" I make a loud kissing noise and bound down the stairs, taking two at a time, and startle my mum, who's organising the coats on the coat rack in the hallway. I give her a quick kiss on the cheek and leave the house, ready to meet my friends and hopefully my future husband.

Chapter Two.

September 2014 Eloise I walk into the cla.s.sroom with Hayley, my mind on things other than school. The first day back is always the worst. Always. I don't want to be here, not at all.

The minute we take our seats at a random desk, Hayley turns to the left and starts kissing Riley, who's sat at the table beside us, and it's not quiet at all. They hooked up when she came back from her holiday and have spent far too much time together since.

I'm still working on Garret. He seems into me, but mostly he stays away from me. We had a few meetings over the summer, one of them being an accidental meeting down the sweet aisle in the corner shop last week. He shows all of the signs of being infatuated, to a certain extent, and he doesn't seem shy at all. I wonder why he's holding back.

It's not fair.

Doesn't he see that we are made for each other?

Hayley elbows me in the ribs and my head shoots up from the notebook on my desk. I blink and then blink again when I see the person scowling at me from the front of the cla.s.sroom. When my eyes. .h.i.t his, his scowl changes into a look of confusion.

Mine contorts into the same and then I smile widely in remembrance. "Hey."

"Hey," he responds, c.o.c.king his head slightly before shaking it and looking back to the cla.s.s. "So, as I was saying, you can call me Sir, or Mr Price. Yes, I'm the head teacher's son and yes, I also share his zero tolerance policy."

"What was that all about?" Hayley asks, referring to the 'Hey' greeting the teacher and I shared moments ago.

"He's the guy that saved me," I whisper, leaning slightly to her side but keeping my eyes up front on my teacher.

"You didn't say he was a teacher."

I look at her, my gaze saying 'are you stupid?' "We didn't introduce ourselves. He was quite mad at me."

"He is so hot! I mean... you didn't tell me how hot he was... is," Hayley hisses, her eyes never leaving Mr Price as he switches on the smart board and loads up a PowerPoint presentation on Mussolini. "Seriously though, how old is he? He can't be older than twenty nine. Who cares? Look at his a.r.s.e. I would so..."

"Stop, you're putting images in my head that I don't need," I laugh quietly and look to my friends at the desk to the left of me. "Want to swap? I have a feeling I'll be dealing with this all year." Wyatt, the boy in front, chuckles and shakes his head no. Sighing, I relax back in my seat and return my eyes to the teacher.

She is right, though. He is extremely good looking, in that stop and catch your breath kind of way. Definitely.

"What's that?" Riley asks, frowning petulantly at his girl, who only giggles in response.

She leans over and the sloppy noise that is their mouths connecting begins. I shudder, ignoring the giggles from the cla.s.s around us, and look up to our new History teacher, Mr Price. I watch him walk between the two seat desks, a thin book in hand. The way he moves shows a confidence you don't see in most men, but then again, I can understand why he has such confidence. His body is tall, lean, definitely toned from what I can see of the tight white turtleneck top that clings to his skin underneath a dark grey suit jacket.

The grey really brings out the strange blue and green mixture that makes his eyes, especially now they've darkened angrily.

The room stills when he quickly, in one swift move, pushes the book between Hayley and Riley's faces, effectively separating their mouths.

"You," he barks at Riley.

"Sir?" Riley blinks up at him, looking slightly worried. He tries for charming, his smile now lighting up in his face in a way that would definitely work to persuade a girl his age, but would most definitely never work to persuade a man like Mr Price, who is hotter than sin and has probably used the same smile a few times in his life.

"Swap with your friend."

"But..."

"Now."

"f.u.c.k sake," Riley mutters angrily, standing sharply. He waits for Josh to move and plonks himself into the seat he vacated, his eyes shooting daggers at Mr Price, who doesn't seem to notice or just doesn't care.

"Anyway," Mr Price calls, silencing the laughter and chatter immediately. "If all of you could write your names on the cards I'm about to hand out and place them on your desk facing me, that would be a huge help. I'm terrible at remembering names." He gives us all a warm smile before pa.s.sing the cards to Anne, who's sitting at the desk closest to him. She takes one and pa.s.ses it on.

I scribble my name on mine and fold it like everyone else, so it stands up on its own.

"Brilliant." Rubbing his hands together, he moves towards the board. "This year we're learning about Mussolini and Churchill for your A Level studies."

"Yay," I mutter sarcastically and his eyes shoot to me. The look he gives me is long, lingering and chastising and, unfortunately, my cla.s.smates' eyes follow the direction of his. I roll my own back to my notebook.

"It'll be hard. There will be a lot of reading and even more writing. I refuse to teach people who refuse to learn, so if you're planning on being an idiot, I suggest you leave now." n.o.body moves. We all wait, yet not one person moves. "Good. Also, I refuse to accept lower than a B. You're going into the real world. This is your last year before you go to University, or you go on to get a job. In the real world, less than your best will get you fired. I'm going to use the same terminology. I will not accept less than your best. It doesn't matter how stupid you think you are; if you study, if you read the material and if you listen to me and show up, I will make sure you get that grade."

"I've never achieved higher than a C average," Kim mumbles from beside Anne. "No matter how hard I work."

He shrugs, his broad shoulders flexing the material of his jacket. "For those who struggle, I'll pair you with those who aren't. If you still struggle, we'll figure something out, but honestly, this is not difficult. It is all opinion based on fact. As long as you know the facts, there's no wrong answer."

His instructions drone on until finally we're told to put pen to paper and to copy down the information on the board. Taking notes is something I can only just manage on the first day back. If something requires brain power, people best not hope that it'll get done by me, because it won't.

When the bell rings, signifying that cla.s.s has ended, we all stand and pack away our things, giving our name cards back to the teacher on the way out.

"Eloise Blackburn," Mr Price calls, not looking up from the tablet on his desk. As if teachers are allowed phones, tablets and laptops in school. So unfair. "Can you hang back a minute?"

Hayley looks at me expectantly. I sigh and inform her, "I'll catch you up; grab me a Boost bar from the vending machine."

She nods and leaves, her eyes lingering on the teacher as she turns the corner.

Making my way over to his desk, I bunk my bag up my shoulder and wait patiently as he taps at the screen of his tablet.

"How are you?" He suddenly asks, startling me.

Why does he want to know how I am? "Fine."

His eyes slice upwards, catching mine before his brow quirks. "I mean about the almost accident." He leans back in his seat and folds his arms behind his head. My eyes trail up and down his chest. The way it expands when he breathes, forcing the fabric of his turtle neck to press against every contour of his chest and sculpted stomach, makes my mouth go dry. "It was quite a traumatic experience."

"I'm fine."

"I hate that word; use a different one."

My lips twitch. "Honestly, Sir, I'm okay. I was a little dazed about it all but... I haven't really thought about it since."

He stares at me, his eyes narrowing slightly as if trying to figure me out. "Did you talk to your parents about it?"

"Nope. My dad would flip."

"Right," he chuckles. "Because almost dying is so much worse than getting told off."

"But I lived. Why would I want to spend my precious saved life on being yelled at? I know I was careless. I won't make that mistake again." I push my hair behind my ears and check the clock on the wall. "Can I go? I'm going to be late and Miss Hart already despises me."

It takes him a moment, but he finally nods and holds his hand out towards the door. "You're welcome by the way."

I stop in my tracks and look back at him over my shoulder. "I'm genuinely grateful, Mr Price. Don't mistake my lack of wors.h.i.+p as disrespect. It's the first day of school. I'm not even sure what my name is right now."

He smiles slightly, shaking his head in amus.e.m.e.nt, and waves me away. I do as I'm told and race to my next lesson. Unfortunately I'm late by five minutes. Fortunately Hayley has a Boost bar waiting for me.

There's only one thing I learned and remembered last lesson; Mr Price has a very nice smile.

Isaac "Isaac," Katherine Hart beams as I step into the teacher's lounge. "How is your first day going?"

"It's the first day of term, so it's safe to say it hasn't been very productive."

She walks over to me with a coffee in hand, her almost black hair resting against her chin in a perfectly cut bob. "It'll get better. As you probably already know."

I nod, looking past her at Stuart Diplock, one of my old friends from my school days. He catches my eye and smiles before making his way over to greet me. We then share what chicks would describe as a man hug. "How've you been?"

"Good," he answers, pulling his phone from his pocket after taking a step away from me. "You?"

"Same. Heard you got married, had a couple of kids." Why people insist on doing that I have no idea.

"Yeah, two kids, both under five. I'm married to Georgia Becks. You remember her, right?"

I think on it but can't seem to pull a face from memory. "Sorry. It's been a while."

"I get it." He grins at Katherine and throws her his phone. "Doc.u.ment this moment for me."

f.u.c.k that. I try to move away, but he throws his arm around my shoulder. "Really, Stuart?"

"Come on bro, just one small pic." He chuckles when I roll my eyes and turn towards the camera.

"Say cheese," Katherine calls.

She's got to be kidding.

Fortunately she takes the picture without forcing us to say the word that you only say when you're six years old and forced to live through an endless amount of flash induced blindness.

Stuart leads me over to the window and we both take a seat at the table there. "I left everything until last minute." He motions to the papers in front of him. "I really need to stop doing that."

"I thought you went to college to study law?"

"Did, failed, took a teaching course for Maths instead."

"Nice."

"I thought you taught Advanced English and Literature? Don't you have a book published or something?"

I nod. "Yes, but my Dad needed this spot filled and History and literature are one and the same. It's all reading; it's just one is real and one usually isn't."

"Which one?" He asks, smirking.

I chuckle and shrug. "I haven't figured that out yet. I guess we'll know when time machines are invented."

Work ends and, with a box in my arms, I make my way to my car and then home. My new place is decent, save for the stupid, f.u.c.king noisy neighbour who seems to think loud music is a way of life. Loud, c.r.a.ppy music, I might add. The kind with a beat that doesn't match the rhythm and a voice that replicates the sound a cat would make if you put it in a dryer.

It'd be nice to be able to relax in the silence of my own home.

Silence being the key word here.

I've tried banging on the door, but that doesn't have an effect, mostly because the t.w.a.t can't hear me over his stupid a.r.s.e music.

I call my landlord again. Normally I'd deal with it myself, but after the last time I tried that, I really do not want dog c.r.a.p smeared on my door again.

That was quite possibly the worst day of my life. What kind of animal is he?

Also, where the h.e.l.l did he get the dog c.r.a.p from? As far as I'm aware, he doesn't have a dog.

I empty the contents of the box onto the desk that came with the flat and check over last year's work to see who was doing well and who wasn't. My mum has written about all of her students in each exercise book.

There's a few that catch my eye, but the one that really intrigues me is Eloise Blackburn, the girl I saved from getting hit by that car last month. I don't know why I have such an interest in her, but then again I suppose it's normal for one to feel connected to somebody whose life you saved.