Chapter 5: Chapter Four

I never thought there'd come a day when I actually, actually honest to god, was irritated by Jonah Gibbs' presence.

I guess I just thought that I'd be immune by his tendencies to get on your nerves—whether he actually meant to do it on purpose or not—because I'd been in love with him for so long. Things had been sunshine and rainbows for me whenever I'd used to look/admire/drool at him, and  I guess I'd always been staring at him through rose-colored glasses and never actually realized why, while a lot of girls admired him the way that I was, there were some people who could actually be grateful that I dumped my drink all over his chest.

But truthfully, I couldn't pinpoint exactly which factor that got me all irritated and bothered, because he'd never made me feel this way before. Maybe it could be how he had insulted my hair; or maybe it could be how he managed to make me look and feel stupid twice in a row. Either way, this was probably the first time I'd ever felt anything remotely close to actual "hatred" toward him, which was the weirdest thing ever.

But no, I didn't actually hate him—how could I possibly? He just annoyed the crap out of me for leaving me standing dumbly there this morning, but I was sure that I would get over it soon.

That being said, I was so pumped to get through with Operation Bite the Apple. My annoyance toward him should be able to help me annoy him back, so let the game begin.

[]

During Life Skills, which was one of the classes that I had in common with Jonah this school year, I asked the guy who sat next to him to switch seats with me.

I stopped him in front of the classroom, and he instantly paled at the sight of me. He was actually bigger than me—he was a few inches taller and noticeably broader than me, and my petite figure shouldn't be able to intimidate him, but I did anyway.

I clicked my tongue when he just kept shifting his weight from one leg to another. "Well? Will you switch with me?"

"W-why?" he stuttered.

I looked at him as if I was stating the obvious and he was just too dumb to get it. "Because I said so?"

"But—but I sit in the back," he said nervously. "I'll just block the whiteboard. You won't be able to see, uh, the front of the classroom."

I tilted my head and shrugged. "I don't mind."

"But—but—" he tried to insist, but I raised one of my eyebrows and he instantly looked down, only to look up again and nodded at me. He fixed the glasses that was perched on his nose and spoke defeatedly, "Alright."

"Thanks, Tommy!" I said brightly, and his eyes widened as if he couldn't believe that I actually knew his name. I leaned up and gave him a peck on the cheek in a form of gratefulness and brushed past him into the classroom, leaving him standing in front of the door, stunned in silence.

Jonah was already there when I got into the class, slouched at his desk with the earphones stuffed into each one of his earbuds. His eyes were closed and one of his feet was tapping rhythmically to the beat of the song he was listening, so I immediately rushed toward the seat next to him—which previously belonged to Tommy—and sat down obnoxiously, bumping into his desk in purpose and making him jerk up in surprise.

I pretended not to notice my surroundings though, seeming as if I was in a rush as I dropped my bag onto the floor next to my leg and bent down to rummage through it, pieces of my hair falling all over my face. I felt his eyes on me, hearing the stifled groan of irritation that was emitted through his lips, and feeling my own cheeks getting warm at the thought of him staring at me.

When I sat back up, I noticed from the corner of my eye that he was no longer looking at me, his eyes already closed again. Seeing now that he wasn't looking, I turned my head to stare at him. He was now crossing his arms in front of him, his lips pulled into a straight line. I immediately looked away before he opened his eyes.

Mr. Herberg, a man who couldn't be older than thirty, walked into the classroom just as the bell rang, indicating the start of the period. To be honest, Mr. Herberg wasn't a pain to look at—meaning that he was okay-ish to look at. Of course, my perspective had been biased due to the moody boy sitting next to me, but while I think he was okay-looking, most of the girls in this school looked at him as if he was some sort of a God who fell down to earth and had to endure the pain of teaching immature high school students the life skills they needed once they graduate.

I got a feeling that Mr. Herberg actually knew how much effect he had on the students he was teaching—especially the girls. It was a refreshing entertainment to watch—the desperate senior girls trying to catch his attention.

He lightly brushed his dark blonde hair, letting his fingers swipe through as he made his way toward his desk. Contrary to Tommy's worries, I was still able to look at the front of the class, even though he did block it out a little bit. So from here, I could see how Mr. Herberg had turned his back to us to scribble something on the whiteboard.

After a while, he turned around and moved to the side so we could read what he had just written.

Life Skills Semester-Long Project: Parenting Simulation

I glanced at Jonah, seeing that he was still oblivious that the class had started, and then hesitated for a few seconds before declaring what the hell and kicked him in the leg. He jolted, hissing, and glared at me.

I calmly gestured at the teacher in front of us, trying to ignore the way my heart was pounding erratically when Jonah's dark grey eyes glared into mine. The guy rolled his eyes before ripping the earphones out of his earbuds and shoved his music player into his backpack on the floor.

"I'm sure by now you've heard all those senior kids before you have said about the infamous project," Mr. Herberg started, before clearing his throat. "Oh, and good morning, students."

We all murmured "good morning", and he smiled in response.

"Alright, before we start with the actual lesson, I'd like to announce this required project first," he continued. "Since the project will be one semester long, I think it would be best if we start from now.

"The official title of the project is a bit mouthful, but I'm sure you guys are more familiar with this."

He then wrote on the whiteboard: The Baby Project.

Half of the class groaned while the other half just sighed.

"I know, I know. It's a lame project, but it's a required assignment and Mrs. Boone had been doing this project for years, so who am I to take out the tradition now that she's not here to teach you guys anymore?" he said. "We'll be doing the project, and of course it will be in pairs. Thankfully, we have an even number of students in this class this semester, so pairing you guys up won't be a problem."

He then proceeded to erase what he had written on the board.

"Before we start, though, I need to have your parents or your guardians to sign out the consent form that I will be handing out," he said, gesturing to the stack of papers on his desk. He pointed his finger at a guy who sat right in front of his desk. "Come help me hand out these papers to your friends."

The guy nodded and stood up, doing what he was told.

Mr. Herberg continued, "Every pair will be given one fake baby that they will need to take care of. It's literally a doll, and it will cry at the most random times and both of you, the fake parents, have to take care of it and execute every attempt you can think of that will shut the baby up."

He then reached down to get something under his desk. Turned out that it was the said doll itself, all in its ugly glory.

"You and your partner can discuss about the schedule of taking care of it—maybe you can have daily shifts, or maybe weekly, or maybe you can switch to take care of it every few days, it's up to you. But each one of you have to take care of the baby at some point, because every week you will write up the summary of the progress.

"Taking care of the fake-baby will undoubtedly be annoying. It will cry every few while, and it will always demand your attention. It might cry during midnight and disturb everyone in the house—that's why I need your parents' permission. You also have to be very thoroughly responsible; you need to have the baby with you at all times, feed and change its diaper every few hours, and rock them to sleep. If you take good care of it, it may cry less. Though, during school, you should bring the baby to me or other life skill teachers to turn on the daycare function so it won't go off during your classes."

And then his eyes lit up mischievously.

"Though, this semester I'm adding a little bit spice to the recipe," he added. "You won't only be taking care of the fake-baby. Heck, taking care of it won't even start in a few weeks or maybe months. You and your partner are going to have a full experience in starting a family."

I propped my elbows on the table and put my chin on my open palms, listening intently at Mr. Herberg now in full interest. I noticed that most of the kids had gotten interested as well, because from what we'd heard, the previous years the seniors were only required to just take care of the baby for a few months.

"Further information will be announced tomorrow, as we're running out of time to start with the lesson. You should be able to return the permission slip to me tomorrow, and after that, we're gonna start with pairing you guys up."

I quietly groaned in disappointment, because just as things were getting interesting, Mr. Herberg had to cut it off.

Our teacher sat down at his desk, typing at his laptop before a PowerPoint slideshow was projected to the whiteboard. "Now, get your textbook as well as your notebook ready. There are some things that you should take notes on."

I pulled out my books from my bag, and paused when I felt my hand touching my pencil case. After thinking for a while, a smile began to crept up on my face and I dropped the case from my grip, and sat up with only my books.

"Hey," I whispered to Jonah who had just dropped his books on his desk.

He clearly heard me, because he paused in his movement, but he didn't turn his head toward me.

So I repeated, "Psst, hey."

Silence.

I clicked my tongue, glanced up front to see if Mr. Herberg noticed me, and then repeated again, "Hey, did you hear me?"

When he was still pretending not to hear me after my fifth attempt, I reached out and tapped on his desk, and he finally groaned. "What?" he whisper-hissed, turning his head to me.

I held in my grin. "Do you have any spare pen or pencil? I think I left mine inside my locker."

He just stared at me, his eyes narrowing.

So I tried to elaborate, "You know... those utensils that you use to write something down on a paper?"

"No," he said curtly, looking away to focus on Mr. Herberg's slideshow.

I scoffed and called him bluff, "I saw your pencil case. It looked pretty heavy, I'm sure you have some spare I can borrow."

He glanced at me again, seeing how I was looking pointedly at his own pencil case on his desk, and then scowled.

"Come on. What's the harm in lending me a pen?" I cooed lowly, trying not to catch Mr. Herberg's attention.

"Hannah Taylors, shut up," he murmured warningly, but that did nothing to calm down my eager heart.

He actually got my name memorized! He actually knew my name! HE ACTUALLY KNEW MY NAME!

I blinked my feelings away, because I didn't need to abruptly fangirl in front of him. "Please? Can I borrow your pen?"

When he heaved a deep sigh and looked at me, I was giving him one of my infamous puppy dog look. No one, and I meant no one, had been able to resist this look on my eyes. As Gina had stated: my big doe eyes could as well be anyone's weakness.

But he didn't even reacted. He kept glowering at me. "One more time you open that mouth, and I swear..."

"Pleeease?" I pouted.

"I swear to God—"

"Is there any problem back there Mr. and Miss..." Mr. Herberg trailed off because he didn't know our names.

I glanced at Jonah, who was glaring, and then diverted my eyes to the teacher. "I was just, uh, asking to borrow a pen. I think I lost mine."

The thirty-one year old man sighed, and then simply raised an eyebrow at Jonah.

A grin threatened to break out on my face when Jonah clucked his tongue and practically ripped his pencil case open to get his pen. He handed it out to me stiffly, and I took it gratefully.

"Thanks," I chirped at Jonah, only to be met with another annoyed stare. "And I'm sorry Mr. Herberg. It won't happen again."

"It better not, Miss..."

"Taylors," I finished.

"Miss Taylors," he said with a nod. "Next time, make sure to bring your own."

"Will do, Sir."

"Alright, where were we?" Mr. Herberg continued on, and I sat back in satisfaction, feeling the glare that Jonah Gibbs occasionally sent my way.