Comedy is certainly not my forte...
She pushed through the door and found that the class had been rearranged. She froze. Each desk sat alone, spaced apart from its neighbours. There was a test today, one that had been forgotten until that moment. She forced herself from the threshold and found a desk that was still unoccupied. The rest of the class flooded in behind her as the bell finished ringing, and she found comfort in their faces. Most were like her: the pause at the door, the widening of the eyes, and the unabashed horror that slowly took over their features as reality set in. The others, the ones that had clearly been aware of the test looked to be in worse shape the rest; they had hair sticking up at all angles and the telling shadows beneath their eyes. The few prodigies traipsed in, they were rested, groomed, and of course had every answer neatly folded in their heads.
Everyone got settled in their seats, unloading their necessities, dumping the contents of their bag directly onto the desk, and rummaging for the notes that they had never actually taken, to do some last minute studying. She however, held none of these delusions. She chose to focus on getting comfortable in her chair; she knew she had no notes with her, she knew that that half hour of studying she did last week would not bring her within grasp of a passing grade, but she also knew that she, unlike everyone else, had accepted this. Unfortunately her parade was halted by the boy next to her. He was one of the golden ones. His hair and clothes were perfect, there was no toothpaste stains on his shirt, or drool trails beside his mouth. He was calm, and collected, with his row of pencils laid out meticulously at the top left corner of his desk. He was handsome, he was smart, and he, just like all the others like him, was in danger of finding her pencil trust in his temple. The beaming smile he sent around the class only encouraged this. A piece of paper fell before her and brought her attention away from the blinding ball of sunshine. Here it was – the bane of her day. She quickly glanced over the sheet, flipped through the pages, and gauged the damage this would do. She was doomed. There were no bones being thrown here.
She pulled out her pen none the less and went to write in her name. By the last letter the ink ran dry. She tested it on the corner of the page, scribbling to urge the black out of its tube. When that failed, she started to shake it. The ink shot out and covered the sheet. Annoyed, she began to push around the blob of ink with the tip of her pen, shaping it. “Cat,” she mumbled to herself as she drew in some paws. “I think he wants a hat.” The creation on the page grew, taking up most of the sheet.
A tapping brought her back from her own little world. The boy in front of her was tapping his foot furiously. His whole body was shaking; she wouldn’t have been surprised if the tiles beneath his feet started to crack. Perplexed by the intense anxiety before her she found him more interesting than the test. Finally he managed to shake himself out of his seat, the tremors emanating from him, shaking the pens from the desk of Mr. Golden boy beside her. The kid made his way to the teacher’s desk. He was reluctant to give up his test, but eventually the teacher was able to pry it out of his hands. And so the grading began. The teacher glanced over the sheets. He was taking his time, milking the torture the student was putting himself through. Finally he nodded in approval, and placed the test in a pile to be formally marked later. She thought she could see the kid’s brain explode within his head. The relief almost seemed lethal. He skipped through the door, and into a more relaxing place.
Realizing that this must mean that she’d wasted more of the time than she thought she quickly returned her attention back to the page before her. However, it wasn’t long before the people around her started to pull at her attention again. The kid on her right, one who seemed to be stuck between genders, the figure said male, but the product filled hair, and foundationed face suggested otherwise. Not even his makeup could cover the panic on his face. He stared at the paper, writing and rewriting his answer. She watched him, witnessing the gears click in his head before he put it down on paper. The cologne that wafted off of him wrapped around her and began to suffocate. What kind of punishment was this? Wasn’t failing the test enough retribution for her apathy towards the class?
The handle on the door began to turn, it opened without hesitation, and a lazy face appeared in the doorway. Upon noting the desk orientation the student quickly turned on her heel and fled the class. Jealousy blossomed at every seat. Unable to take the blaring fluorescent lights any longer she picked up her sheet and handed her cat to the teacher. He glanced at it, and gave her a weary look. “Meow,” she said frankly, and turned to leave, relishing her ability to move beyond this class.
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