Author's Note: The story's still under construction, so it's most likely that the chapters are going to be editted. I was still hesitant on publishing this, but I decided it would be best to get everyone's opinion so far. I know it's not very long, but please review.
PS, if anyone can figure out a better title for the story - please message me. Thanks.
DISCLAIMER: I unfortunately do not own Death Note.
"Mrs. Jeevas, please sit down." A young woman of twenty seven smiled pleasantly, gesturing towards the comfortable chairs placed in front of the desk. Then with a soft chuckle, before she added, "You too, Mail."
"Thank you." 'Mrs. Jeevas' responded politely, before gracefully settling herself on the chair. She then glanced at her watch briefly, before raising her eyes to meet the teacher's. Mail fidgeted uncomfortably in his chair next to her.
His mother rarely attended student conferences, being busy with her work and all. Today was an exception though.
Immediately, Mail knew that this conference wasn't going to be a good one.
"So how is Mail doing in school?" His teacher's friendly smile quickly turned into a frown as she folded her hands.
"I'm afraid his participation in school discussions and socialization is lacking. I'm not sure if it's because he has communication problems, or.."
Mail glared at his fourth grade teacher.
The other students had taken a liking to her, or at least that's what it looked like. But as usual, he contradicted his fellow peers.
Unlike them, and his previous teachers, the woman couldn't seem to leave him alone. In fact, she was the biggest annoyance he had to deal with at school. She just kept pestering him, and pestering him. Mail thought he had made it fairly clear that he had no desire to finish his multiplication sheet. Or pay attention to her read out loud some children's book called 'Stone Soup.'
His eyes narrowed a little more, as his teacher talked in a that tone. The one that basically said, 'I'm very disappointed.' He inwardly scoffed. As if she cared.
"--I know Mail can do better than this. If only he put.."
It was her smile that he didn't particularly like, either.
The quirk of the lips, the overly friendly demeanor, the irritating shine of her blue eyes. The attention she gave him, and how she treated him weirdly.
Who was she to call his mother, and schedule an appointment? The nerve of her, implying that he was incompetent and anti-social. She on the other hand, was too friendly. As expected from a beginning teacher, of course. They were very predictable, over-enthusiastic, and had the same authority as a subsitute's.
She was the one who was incompetent, a pushover if you will.
"In addition to it all, he seems to have trouble in completing his assigned sheets, and school work." The frown deepened even more, and Mail noted that she was wearing neutral pink lipstick. "He's falling very behind, and his withdrawal to the classroom concerns me deeply." At this, Mail's ears seemed to perk up. His mother passed him a quick glance, with raised eyebrows. She was surprised, which was rather interesting because his grades had been dropping steadily throughout the years. There was an awkward silence. Ah, she was still staring at him.
Mail stared straight back, waiting for her disapproval. The lectures, intimidating facial expressions. The things parents usually did to discipline their children. But no words came. His mother merely sighed. He wondered whether or not it was because she didn't care, too tired to care, or just didn't feel like scolding him until they were away from the classroom.
"I didn't know Mail would be so difficult." She stated, a tone of finality in her voice, "Rest assured, he'll be caught up in no time; I'll hire a tutor if needed." She stood up, straightening her shirt before holding out her hand to shake. "It was great to meet you, Ms. Kennedy. But I'm afraid we must get going." Mail blinked.
The conference was done..already? The other children took at least fifteen minutes.
Mail's teacher looked as if she was going to object to having such a short conference as well. But deciding against it, she hesitantly shook Mail's mother's hand before standing up. "Take care. You too, Mail." She called out, as they exited the classroom. Mail ignored her, following his mother by her side until they were in the car.
The car doors slammed shut. His mother started the car.
Silence. There was only the soft hum of the engine.
Mail fidgeted uncomfortably, waiting for his mother to say something. Anything.
"Sweetie, I'm going to drop you off at home. I have another meeting I need to get to." Mail couldn't see his mother's expression from the backseat, only her auburn hair. No relief coursed through his body as expected from her words; in fact, he felt worse. Slightly angry, Mail didn't respond to his mother. He glared at the pedestrians outside the window.
He wasn't sure what he was feeling at the moment. He knew it was one solid emotion, one that wasn't happy, or excited..or really depressed.
He decided to contemplate this on the way home. The street lights passed him as the car picked up speed, turning into one big blur of yellows, greens, and all sorts of colors. Large banners, different stores, other children.
Finally, the car stopped, and Mail swung the door open spitefully. Click.
That was it, he realized.
Mail was feeling disappointed.
