Page 6 of Tattooed Love

Amber

What was the point of history?

It was a pointless subject.In fact, I found nearly all subjects at school pointless, but history was the one I found most pointless. I knew I would never use it. I was either going to end up in a juvenile center before I turned eighteen, or, if I got it my way, I was going be on the known criminal list.

Regardless of what happened, I knew this subject ‘history’ would not play a part in my life.

So I was staringout the window, watching intently as the school gardener tried to mow over the rocks.

“Amber.” I heard my teacher’s voice and whipped my head to the front of the class.

Our teacher, Mr Woods, had his back to us and was writing on the whiteboard. I looked closely, and I noticed he was pairing students together, writing our names down next to each other.

I skimmed the list and stopped at my name, waiting for Mr Woods to finish writing my partner’s name. He finished and moved aside.

Jackson.

Just bloody great.

I glanced around the room, and spotted the pinhead in the middle, talking to one of his mates.

“Ok class, listen up” Mr Woods spoke loudly trying to get our attention. “So, as you can see, I have paired each of you up with a classmate. Your partner will be your partner for the following assignment. Some of you already know what you have to do – put together a written report on World War II, and then research one soldier from the war, which you will present in an oral report at the end of the month.”

I groaned inwardly.

“Go on then,” he continued. “Pair up, and complete the question sheet on my desk.”

All of a sudden, I was filled with more unreasonable hatred towards him. I hated Mr Woods.

He had just forced me into a whole month of one-on-one time with Jackson bloody Johnston.

What was he thinking pairing me up with that pinhead!

I angrily looked out the window, trying to remember what car Mr Woods drove so I could key some friendly advice into his paint work.

The sound of a chair scraping against the floor brought my attention back to the classroom.

Jackson sat in front of me, a bored expression on his face.

I could honestly see why so many girls found him attractive, even with his cut lip and bruised jaw.

He had black hair that spiked up in every direction, and a defined jaw with a six o’ clock shadow, though it was safe to state that his most attractive feature was his piercing dark eyes. I had only been able to look at them closely a few times; Jackson usually kept them hidden behind sunglasses, but the few times I had made eye contact, my breath had caught in my throat; those eyes were hauntingly dark.

Pity he was such a pinhead.

“Jackson.” His husky voice introduced himself.

I let out a slow sigh.

“Seriously? You’re introducing yourself?” I questioned.

He shrugged his shoulders.

“You know me, and I know you,” I stated, pushing my sunglasses up to the top of my head.

“Think rather highly of ourselves, don’t we, Miss Amber Shields,” he said cockily.

I rolled my eyes. “Point proven,” I replied, and I leaned back into my chair.

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