TICK to the TOCK (A Coming-of-Age Story) Read Online Free Page B

teacher loathing his ways, but in awe of his intellect.
    "Why can't you apply yourself, Wilbur?" asked Mrs. Smythe, one lesson. "You're fourteen, but this is university worthy."
    "I would, Mrs. Smythe," he answered. "But I'm far too busy writing a poem for Cassandra." He turned around and faced the blushing school girl. "What do you say, Miss Cassandra? You and me... gallivanting away... after lunch, maybe."
    "Wilbur, get the hell out," said Mrs. Smythe, shaking her head.
    The class clown. The teacher's nightmare. But never bad for the sake of being bad. He simply bounces throughout the day because he's unable to settle: free spirited; eccentric; ridiculously intelligent, but never one for applying it. And despite all of this, people are drawn to him. Not always at first, and not usually for long, but most fall to Wil's charming ways.
    A night that demonstrates his rollercoaster approach, is an average Friday night a few years back. Marching through the door, dressed in purple loafers, dirty cream chinos, and a bright yellow shirt with a tweed jacket in hand, he skipped towards the bar and nudged shoulders with a six-foot-three rugby giant.
    "What the hell do you think you're doing?" said the neckless man-child.
    "Beg your pardon, good man," replied Wil, his smile in full beam.
    "You spilt my drink," he spat, stepping towards Wil and squaring his shoulders.
    Looking him up and down, Wil laughed. "My oh my you're a big one, aren't you? Let's get a few shots, shall we?" he said, looping his arm around the stranger and guiding him towards the bar.  
    Watching from a nearby table, Ethan and I laughed, confused at how Wil could seduce a testosterone induced alpha male with such ease. One shot turned to two, and then, a cocktail and a chaser, and soon he stumbled over to join us, leaving the smiling giant alone at the bar.
    "What a good bloke," Wil said, stealing my bottle of beer.
    "What did you say to him?" I asked.
    "Oh, this and that. I told him a few tales about my hikes around Italy with my uncle."
    "Okay," said Ethan, clearing his throat. "First of all, you've never been to Italy. Second, you don't have an uncle."
    "Hmmm, don't I?"
    I shook my head.
    "I see. Tequila?" he asked, jumping up once again and skipping back to the bar.
    Within minutes he'd forgotten about our drinks, talking to a cute blonde with tight curly locks and an adorable button nose. Talking turned to kissing, which transformed into dancing among the crowded crowd.  
    "Dante, m'lad, I must write to her," he said, at the end of the night as the bouncers chaperoned us out of the closing bar.
    "Leave it until tomorrow, mate." I said.
    "Oh no, oh no. I couldn't possibly leave it until then, for I have words to share with her now."
    "What kind of words?"
    "Lovely words. Wonderful words. Words only she can read. Oh yes oh yes, she shall be mine forever and a day, m'lad."
    Sighing, I reached for his phone.
    "Oh no, Dante," he said, spinning away from me and scampering off. "I shall tell you all about it in the morning," he continued, disappearing amongst the hoard of drunken bodies.  
    And so he did, calling me only a few hours later. "Have you even slept?" I asked.
    "Not yet, but I shall. Anyway, let me read you my favourite section," he said. "' Never call me again, you weird little stallker .'" He laughed. "She spelt stalker with two l's. Can you believe that? Can you?" he said, still laughing.
    "What did you send her?" I asked, yawning and closing my eyes.
    "I wrote her a poem, m'lad. A gorgeous poem especially for her. What crazy fool wouldn't adore to be woken up to that?"
    "Wait, did you call her this morning?"
    "Why, yes. Of course. She hadn't replied to her email, and I needed to—"
    "Jesus Christ."
    "I know. Can you believe her? What a strange species the female is. Oh well oh well. Shall we go for breakfast?"
    And that was that, never to be discussed again. It's how Wilbur is, a strange enigma of intrigue and confusion. Where some people are black,