"Oh Jesus, what have I done?" You looked ahead at the classroom chalkboard. "Shit, I'm dead."
You sighed as you sat down at the desk closest to the board and pinched yourself. Yep, this definitely was not a dream.
This was all Eren's fault. He must not have known you so well if he thought you were able to clean a chalkboard.
He knew that you loved helping out, especially for teachers, but he should have known by now how bad you were with other people's stuff. Seriously, how many of his comics had you ripped as a child, or action figures had you destroyed?
Besides, since when was he allowed to volunteer you up for tribute for the teacher? You liked to help, but cleaning chalkboards before school wasn't exactly what you had had in mind for this morning. Eren just had to tell Professor Pirstun that you were free.
And now this, the chalkboard cracked straight down the middle, a jagged line cutting through the old-fashioned dark grey sheet.
You grabbed your Starbucks coffee and took a huge sip. You had to finish the latte off before your friends arrived, or the white girl jokes would never end. It had happened so many times in the past, and you definitely didn't need it happening today of all days.
"Why do I have to be so clumsy?" you moaned quietly. Now all you could do was wait for your strict professor to arrive and scold you.
While you waited, an idea struck you. Why not clean up the broken shards of chalkboard that fell down?! Then the professor might not end up being so angry, and be more lenient for your punishment. At this point, you'd be happy if you managed to get off without a week-long suspension.
You bent down to pick one up, but they were sharper than you expected. You cut your hand, and stumbled backwards, pressing your fingers onto the burning gash.
Landing on the weak trash can, you groaned and got up. One problem: the trash can was stuck on your butt!
You reached around for the can, your [h/c], [h/t] hair whipping in your face.
Keeping it [h/l] had seemed like a good idea at the time, but right now it was just plain annoying.
The trash can still stuck, you were circling around like a dog after his tail. Next thing you knew, your left foot was caught underneath your right foot, and you tripped, hitting a bookshelf with your chin. Predictable. There was a reason your parents had you removed from cheerleading (then again, they had also done it to punish you for biting a girl when she had called Sasha fat. It wasn't so much of a punishment as a release though. You had only felt sorry that Sasha was all alone in that class at the time.)
"Ow!" you shouted, blood trickling into your mouth. Of all things, you had to bite your tongue, smash your chin, STILL have a trash can stuck to your butt, and break a chalkboard. Now all you needed to do was break your nose. The icing on the cake.
You instantly took that thought back, afraid that if you didn't, the bitch known as karma would soon be after you to make it a reality.
Your latte was still on the desk, and you made for it. Wash your sorrows down with coffee and whipped cream. Bringing your hand up to your mouth, you blew on your wound, trying to relieve some of the searing pain. You hardly took a step when you heard an ominous creak behind you.
Slowly turning around, you noticed the bookcase looming forward, tipping on the edge. It didn't seem to be moving anymore though. How was this even possible? Didn't these kinds of things only happen in super cheesy, predictable movies?
You stood frozen in place, not wanting to make any noise and cause the shelves to fall. From behind the up heaved piece of furniture came a bunch of those tiny little lint swirls. The janitor must have been slacking off again. Typical of the lazy twenty-year old Mr. Klein, or as he asked you to call him, Cal.
They seemed to float towards you, and just your luck. Dust allergies. Fuck.
One particularly huge swirl fell onto the bridge of your nose. Holding your breath, you tried to blow it off, but that only made the situation worse.
There was a little quirk about you that you hoped would end up saving your sorry ass (that seemed to have glued itself to the stupid trash can!). You could end up sneezing softly like a kitten, or like a roaring bear.
Kitten, kitten, kitten, you chanted in your head. Kitten, kitten, kitten.
Accidentally, you inhaled the dust clump, and instinctively sneezed it out. Like a bear. The bookcase fell over on top of you before you could move, pinning you to the ground.
Luckily, it wasn't very heavy, so you weren't injured. By some luck, the teacher had taken all the heavy textbooks home, probably to prepare something for his class. You didn't know whether to be happy that that fact probably saved you life, or sad because that meant an extra long lecture today. If you survived today, that was.
But you had bigger things to worry about, like how due to the force that you fell with, the trash can was now shattered to bits, and poking you in every place possible.
However, the chaos still wasn't over. You heard another large cracking noise, and the pressure on your chest came off. You gasped in horror as you stood up and surveyed the damage.
The bookcase had split in half, the books that had been inside of it were lying on the ground in a heap, as were the shattered remains of that stupid trash receptacle. The bookcase was broken, deceased, damaged. And you were dead.
Coffee couldn't fix this.
You were seriously going to throw a bitch fit.
"Holy fuck how the hell does this kind of shit happen everyday where I get debris stuck up my ass because some cunt decided to offer me up as tribute and some jackass couldn't buy stronger supplies!" you cursed loudly. You weren't usually vulgar, but in a situation like this, you felt you deserved to make an exception for that rule.
"Miss [y/n]?!" The voice belonged to Professor Pirstun, alarmed. Crap, he heard your hissy fit. And judging by the shocked expression on his face, he had heard it all.
Oh my gosh. You broke a chalkboard, shattered a trash can, turned a professor's bookcase into firewood, and used profanity in front of the faculty of an uptight school for the elite and best of the best.
As you stared wide-eyed at the professor, excuses flitted through your mind as one huge realization settled in your mind.
You were totally, royally screwed.