Not-so-Freshmen

Chapter Fourteen

In one swift motion, I’ve pushed the chair away from the desk, shoved Parker off from on top of me, and I’m out of the seat. Somehow, my fury has given me strange bravery and strength.
I refuse to say a word to Parker, grab my bag full of books from the floor, and swing it around my shoulder.
“P-Paisley? What.. Where are you going?” Parker croaks from the desk we were sitting in front of. I still don’t plan on looking at him.
“Parker, I don’t know what you’re used to getting from girls… But I don’t do that.” I glance at the clock out in the hallway, then finally look at Parker. His face is flushed, and his hand is running through his blonde hair. “It’s time for me to go anyway. And I’d be happy if you would never do that.” I gulp. “Or anything like that… Ever again.”
His eyebrows fall low over his eyes, and in a rush, he’s pinned me up against the wall, his breathing heavy and consuming me.
“Oh, c’mon Paisley,” he whispers smoothly, his fingers grazing my cheek.
I let out a shaky breath; his heat sends a shiver down my spine. Gah, why does he have this effect on me?
I gather myself for a second, and push away the temptations in my mind.
“No Parker,” I mutter, and I push my away out of his grasp, and rush out of the classroom, down the hall, and to the freshmen entrance of the school.
I grab my phone from my skinny jeans pocket, and open my new message from Wesley. It reads, “Be there in five minutes. :)” Conveniently, it was sent four minutes ago.
Soon, a shiny, white SUV pulls up to the entrance. Wesley is in the front seat, wearing a grin. He motions for me to come in, so I gather my stuff, and rush into the SUV.
“Hey, Wesley,” I say cheerily, and notice that Mr. Hawthorne is in the driver’s seat. I’d figured that I would meet Wesley’s parents… But I guess not... “Hey, Mr. Hawthorne.”
I see Mr. Hawthorne smile through the rearview mirror, then I look out of the tinted window to my right. Parker has just rushed out of the glass doors, and is looking for me. His cheeks are red, and he seems guilty. Or anxious. He snatches his iPhone out of his khaki shorts pocket, and hurriedly texts someone. I’m guessing it’s his ride.
But I don’t have time to think about that too long, because I’m soon engaged in a conversation with Wesley and Mr. Hawthorne about our first show choir competition, that is coming up in a week. 
  

Sorry it took so long to post. I'll try to post the next one ASAP. Feeback! :)