It's official. I've been sitting here for exactly thirty-five minutes and it feels like my butt is about to fall off.
Get your head out of the gutter. It's not like I did anything to said butt, it's just that I've been sitting still for way too long and my ass seriously aches. I couldn't stifle the groan of discomfort that left my lips as I wiggled in my chair, watching as our teacher droned on and on about fractions or something like that. I stopped listening a while ago; actually, to be specific, exactly twenty-five minutes ago.
I shifted again, deciding that I must be fat if sitting made my butt hurt so much. Isn't that why people's butts hurt just from sitting? Well, whatever, doesn't matter. My butt still hurt like hell and I couldn't gather the courage to raise my hand and ask to be excused for a bathroom break. Our teacher wouldn't be too happy about that; she'd probably drill me asking how bad I had to go. No lie, either. Last time a girl asked to go to the bathroom the teacher asked how bad she had go, if she had to pee right this very second during my lecture, until the student burst into tears and sobbed out that she started her period.
Yeah. Poor girl didn't come to school for days after that.
At the risk of admitting my mysterious butt ache and hinting that I had done something I most certainly have not, I stayed quiet and pushed through it. Besides, we only had another twenty or thirty minutes left of class.
My attention was pulled away from my silent woes when I felt a tap on my shoulder. I peeked up at my desk neighbor, some kid I didn't know (not even his name), as he mutely handed me a note. I accepted it, brows furrowed in confusion as I unfolded it under the desk so the teacher wouldn't see. I knew nobody in my math class. None of my friends took the same lower-level class that I did, so getting a note was sort of random and made absolutely no sense.
Then I read it and suddenly it made perfect sense.
Kenny McCormick. He was in my math class, and he had just passed me a note that clearly said, and I quote, "If your ass hurts so much why don't I just give it a nice massage and make it feel all better?"
Seriously? I knew Kenny flirted with anything that breathed, but that was just ridiculous. How did he even notice my butt hurt anyway? Was he staring at me the whole time, or was I really that obvious? I was so sure I was subtle about it, too...
I frowned and glanced at the blonde, who looked as innocent as a McCormick could look as he watched the teacher. My frown deepened and a frustrated sigh left me as I balled up the paper and shoved it in my bag for later disposal. I didn't have the patience to deal with McCormick's perverted jokes and sad attempts at flirting.
Yet mere moments later another note landed on my desk, and when I opened it there was yet another tasteless comment in there. From then on, the war of the notes began.
Don't ignore me, babe. I was just trying to help.
No you weren't, you were being a perv. Stop writing me notes. We'll get in trouble.
I wish I was the one who made your ass hurt that much.
Kenny! I'm serious!
I'd pound into that delicious ass like a drill into cement.
This is sexual harassment.
Can I have a picture of you so I can prove to my friends that angels exist?
Oh my god, are you seriously doing this?
Can I borrow a bandaid, cause I scraped my knee falling for you.
This is horrible. I am seriously getting physically ill just reading this.
Are your legs tired from running through my mind all day?
Did you get these pick-up lines from the back of a cereal box?
Baby, if you be my flower I'll be your bee.
I think I actually got that one. That is disgusting.
Is that a mirror in your pocket? Cause I can see myself in your pants.
Why are your notes getting dirtier and dirtier? Better yet, why the hell am I encouraging this by replying every time?
Your ass is so nice, it's a shame you have to sit on it.
Wow. That one was actually relevant.
I'm actually pretty good at math.
Well, that was random...
I should have seen that one coming.
You can watch me coming, if you'd like.
Can we stop doing this?
Why? You seem to be enjoying it. You keep grinning.
Because as gross as it is, it's kind of funny. And I'm bored!
I wouldn't mind entertaining you. ;)
Don't deny it. I'd like a taste of your hotdog.
Kenny, I'm serious this time! Stop sending me these inappropriate notes! We'll get in trouble! And they make me uncomfortable.
I'm just telling you the truth.
...uh, that you want to have sex with me?
And that was when the note wars ended and I ripped up the notebook paper scribbled with Kenny's messy writing and my neat writing. I swept the scraps into my palm and shoved them into my coat pocket, casting Kenny a long, hard glare at which the blonde smirked and winked in return.
My butt still hurt, and now so did my head.
Finally, the bell rung and I jumped out of my seat, grabbed my bag, and ran for the door. I tossed the notes and scraps in the trash, but not fast enough. Just as I finished emptying my pocket Kenny appeared and murmured into my ear as he passed; "That massage offer is still on the table."
Then he squeezed my ass and disappeared around the corner.
Weirdly enough, my butt stopped hurting.