(( hello, everyone! you can call me gryff, GP, or whatever suits your fancy. i'm planning on making some more jocks later since they seem to be lacking, but for now i just have archer. he's brand new to the rp and so he doesn't have any kind of personal relationship --friends, enemies, whatever-- with anyone yet, but if you have an idea or you don't have anyone to rp with you, archer and i'd be happy to oblige you! thank you for accepting me, lost! i look forward to rping with all of you. (= ))
Archer was kind of confused. No, wait. Scratch that. Archer was really confused. He walked into his second period English class fully expecting to see some of his friends, but the classroom was almost depressingly empty, with only a handful of seats filled out of a class that was supposed to have two dozen or so kids. And he was even a little late. What the H-ll? Maybe he walked into the wrong class, he thought to himself, turning on his heel without actually being embarrassed by the notion. It's happened to him before, anyway -- he gets excited sometimes and forgets where he is. But the familiar voice of his teacher stopped him in his tracks, and he realized with a bit of a shock that yes, this was the right class, and apparently everyone had just decided not to show up. Awkwardly he said hello to his surprised-looking teacher and took his seat near the back of the class, though it didn't really feel like the back without anyone sitting in front of him. But hey, look, he could lean back and put his feet up on the chair in front him, so that was something, right?
Being there hardly seemed worth it, Archer considered as he took a look around, putting his hands flat on his desk to see if he could count how many people came on them. Yup, he definitely could. Sad. Then again, he could see why people would skip -- this class was inexplicably boring, after all. What good was a class that focused almost entirely on fiction, anyway? Didn't they know that real life was probably a gazillion times more interesting? The only part he had ever liked was when they got to talk about people like Henry David Thoreau and Ralph Waldo Emerson. Those guys were bad-sses. But, sadly, today was not that day. Instead, as the second bell rang, the teacher stood up as though the weight of the world rested on their shoulders, and tried to begin a half-hearted discussion on Hamlet with him and the other students. Or something. Archer didn't really care and listened only because it gave his restless mind something to do. Such a depressing play, and with one of the most whiny, obnoxious heroes in the history of forever.
And so it was that Archer began to consider asking to go to the bathroom, grabbing all of his things, and leaving without looking back. It would be pretty easy -- he's done that before, too, although usually it was to help a friend with a project rather than just because he felt like it. It would be the perfect crime, if he considered his teacher to be an idiot who wouldn't even notice his disappearance. Fortunately for them and unfortunately for Archer, that was not the case. The class was already so small that it would be hard not to notice it shrinking, and the jock was usually the one who talked the most, anyway, even if he really did hate the subject (actually, that was probably why). Nope, sneaking out was not an option. Besides, if he got an unexcused absence, the school would call his mother, and that was the very last thing that he wanted to do. She worried enough about him as it was; he wasn't going to cause her any more grief than he absolutely had to, even if it did mean that he wasted a perfectly good hour of his life cooped up when it was such a nice day outside.
Outside. D-mn, ditching was really starting to look better and better. Archer glanced out the window and frowned slightly at his reflection, which looked so caged with that gleam of sunlight interrupting it. He couldn't wait for his free period. He could picture the baseball glove sitting in his locker at that very moment so well that he could almost smell the old leather, and his fingers twitched in eager anticipation for the stitches in the ball, hoping that one of his friends would be free to play catch with him or something later. Technically, he should probably be more excited about basketball, since those try-outs were going to come much sooner than baseball's. Still, there was no outdoor court, and he really just wanted to get a breath of fresh air. He wasn't really worried about try-outs -- he'd been playing for the school since his freshman year, so the coach's knew him, and as a talented senior, there was no reason he shouldn't be placed on varsity. Not that he wasn't practicing or getting ready. No, no, no. He was too competitive to let there be any shadow of a doubt over his position on the team.
Wait, what? The English teacher had noticed that Archer was in a completely different world, and told him in an exasperated tone to please pay attention. The jock felt all eyes turn to him, and although he was startled by the sudden jolt to his train of thought, he merely shrugged and offered a mildly sheepish 'sorry.' What was done was done, and there really wasn't anything he could do about it, and he hadn't really been hurting anyone, so why should he be embarrassed? He did, though, make a concerted effort to not look outside the window again in an attempt to focus on the lesson. His teacher's voice droned like a dull buzz in his ears with the occasional high-pitched interruption by the girl sitting two seats to his right, but he did his best to try and distort it into words. He glanced at the clock, hoping it would reward his patience with the assurance that it was almost over, but was disappointed. Ugh. He's got to stay positive, though, otherwise it'll feel even more like an eternity. So he'll doodle a stick figure Hamlet in the margins of his paper to keep himself busy, and it'll all be over soon.
