17. She said, 'let her go.'

Mrs. Turner's hooded eyes examined the class down her crooked nose and proceeded with her lecture. It didn't matter that continuous shuffling, clicking,  sniffing, and murmuring filled the void of her high-pitched voice when she turned to write something on the board or nobody bothered interrupting her or answered her indirect questions.

The only thing Adana could focus on was her growing discomfort as a lone drop of sweat traveled down her back and between her breasts. The little bulges right below her high-waisted skirt gathered moisture in between each other. A shower sounded like heaven to her at this point.

A unified round of thankful sighs sounded through the class when the bell saved them from the torment that was History.

She assembled the notebooks on her desk and stayed back letting the more eager students wrestle their way to the doors. No use risking grinding clammy bodies with others.

Wal