eight

"Alright class, pencils down." Ms. Lively, my AP Literature teacher, announced. I looked up at the clock, noticing it was just two minutes until the bell rang, meaning it was lunchtime. "Exams on my desk on your way out." The young teacher finished. She was easily one of my favorite teachers I'd ever had, and I think it came with being in her mid-twenties. She'd graduated college early, and came back to Barton almost immediately. She didn't have the easiest curriculum, which I appreciated, but a lot of other students detested.

I slipped my pencil back into my book bag, and stood up from my desk. I didn't hurry getting my bag like everyone else, knowing Danny was standing outside the door waiting for my class to finish. He'd missed school yesterday, claiming he had caught a stomach bug over the weekend, but I knew it was from the embarrassment of poking his friend mid-tackle with his unwarranted hard on.

As the bell rang, I slung my bag over my shoulders and watched everyone else fil