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AFTER THE MOMENTOUS introduction of our 'new classmate', Mr. Belarmy kindly burst everyone's bubble with the reminder that we only had ten minutes left to resume the five-paragraph essay, so with loud groans of disappointment, we went back to our work and tried to refocus, even though it was hard, what with France filling the space with his commanding presence.
Yes, even for me.
Especially when I saw in my peripheral vision as he stepped down the platform and made his way to the remaining vacant table, which, unfortunately for me, was right behind me. I felt him slow down when he passed by my side, and it was all I could do not to raise my head and meet his taunting eyes with my murderous ones. I was sure he was trying to goad me into doing something violent while the class was ongoing.
Boy, it was tempting enough that my grip on my pen tightened so hard it would have snapped in two if it was a pencil. That made the bastard chuckle under his breath as if getting under my skin was his personal source of entertainment. I was this close to stabbing his stomach. But I knew if I did I would be letting him win, so summoning all my willpower, I went to my happy place where he didn't exist and concentrated on what I was writing.
Eventually, France went to take his seat without any side-comment, and I hid my sigh of relief.
The rest of the morning passed without trouble, but that didn't mean I sat down calmly in the next following subjects, because France Kinsley was in all of them, and he also happened to always sit in front of me, on the table next to me, or right behind me.
He was, like, everywhere!
And what's worse than that was, before the teacher would arrive in every class, all the girls except maybe me, Marga and two others who seemed unaffected by his presence, flocked around him like fricking moths to flame, but even then, even when you couldn't see him in his chair anymore because of the ladybugs that swarmed all over him, the prick would still manage to catch my eye and throw a wink at me.
A wink!
The nerve of that poop-faced bastard.
Have I already mentioned that I hated the prick as much as I hated witnessing stray cats being hit-and-run? If not, then I would love to say it with the conviction of a winning lawyer:
I. Hate. France. Kinsley. To. The. Core.
The rest of the school might think he's gorgeous and dreamy and hot and very much "fuckable" (I just happen to overhear that from random girls I'd pass by in the hallways), but the truth was, he was the evilest, vilest creature to ever walk this planet and if I was ever given the chance, I would very much love to execute him myself for all the sins he had committed towards me and the rest if the universe. Next to my brother, of course. Oh no, wait. I couldn't really hate my brother because he was my flesh and blood. So my brother was now next to him on that previously-mentioned to-kill list of mine.
He was now my top one.
What has he ever done to me to make me hate him so much? Well, I'd gladly recall those unfortunate events of my life if only to prove that beneath those good looks and panty-dropping smiles, there lies a devil whose horns were probably longer than Satan's himself.
Nope. No innuendos allowed.
~~~~~