Him...

Maths, the bane of my existence.

Sitting at the back of this damp, dark and dingy classroom makes me realise what a sham my life is.
This school is one of the worst in London, yet I decided to go here for college. I hoped that my parents would see the place and be so disgusted that they would let me pursue my writing career rather than continue with my education, but my plan obviously backfired.

I should be at home right now in my pj's typing away on my typewriter rather than sitting in this godforsaken room, staring out into the torrential rain just praying for something, anything to save me from this hell hole.

Falling into a daydream I picture a dark shadow walking towards me. A tall hooded figure slowly pacing up the pathway and placing their hand on the window. I follow suit and place mine on top of theirs.

"Who are you?" I mouth at the hooded stranger.

Just as they're about to respond, I'm brought back to reality by the gruff voice of Mr Jones.

"Would you please pay attention Miss Stanley? At this rate you're going to fail your final exam, so I think you should concentrate on what's on the board rather than what's going on outside."

"Yes sir, right away sir." I quip, saluting him.

For a short second I think he's going to give me a detention but instead I receive one of his menacing looks.

He's always on my case about something, he tries to say that it's because he wants me to "achieve my full potential" but maths just isn't for me. It wasn't for me in secondary school, so it's definitely not for me now in college. I guess if I would've cracked on in year 11 I wouldn't have to re-sit now but it is what it is.

In the beginning of secondary school all I wanted to do was get A's and A*s but then I discovered something, something that I hadn't noticed before.

Boys.

Now boys are like a subject of their own. It's like I had to monitor them and watch their movements in order to understand them. Well in short, I found myself a boyfriend. Now I'm not ugly, I'm the average girl with long brown hair, brown eyes, mixed skin and a few curves, but there is one thing I have that attracts most guys, I have boobs. Big ones, so I found that I had a fair amount of male attention by the time I reached year 9. This is the year where it all counts, you start to learn the important things that will count when it's time to take your GCSE's well during the majority of years 9 and 10 I was dating Bobby.

Bobby was handsome but he wasn't very smart so I found myself studying less when I was around him and if we had a class together I wouldn't concentrate as much. At the end of year 10 right before my maths exam, Bobby thought it'd be wise to break up with me so I failed the exam. After that I studied day in day out so that I would pass the rest of my exams and I did, however maths is still a challenge.

That's why I'm sitting here, 18 years old and still trying to wrap my head around the Pythagoras theorem. Maths as a whole just makes my head want to explode but I have to leave this place with at least a C. 

Looking up at the board as to make a start on the notes, I see someone walking into the classroom. It looks like the same person from my day dream, tall and hooded they stand in the door way just staring in.

"Can I help you?" Mr Jones asks the mysterious stranger.

Lifting his head, he slowly slides of his hood and looks at Mr Jones.

"My names Douglas, Douglas Armstrong and I've been assigned to your class." He says in a strong Scottish accent.

Hmm, a Scotsman. I wonder if he wears a kilt when he's at home. I probably shouldn't stereotype him like that. 

"LISA! pay attention." Mr. Jones shouts across the classroom.

"What now sir?" I reply, clearly agitated.

"Would you please clear the seat next to you so that Mr Armstrong can sit next to you. Thank you."

I clear the seat and look up to see Douglas walking towards me.

He's a least 6ft give or take a few inches, rugby players build, so wide set shoulders. He has pitch black hair with tight curls, the kind of hair you could play with all day. His eyes are a dark blue like the ocean. His jawline is envious. So prominent and sharp; he has the faint shadow of stubble creeping up his jaw, the last time he shaved must've been a few days ago. I feel the urge to touch him, to run my fingers along his jawline, his lips.

I catch myself stretching my hand out to him but recover quickly by reaching up into a stretch.

What the hell was that? It's like my hand was moving on its own. What is this guy doing to me? Who is he?

He sits down and turns to me. Reaching out he brushes a hair off my face.

"Lisa was it?" He asks in that delicious Scottish accent.

I nod, trying to find my words.

"Nice to meet you." Douglas says and smiles.

That was the first time he spoke to me and it definitely wasn't the last.