Anthony blinked in surprise. He hadn't been expecting it. And how land of the bizarre was that? Had he ever been in a freakin' class and not known how many minutes until his release? Especially when it was the last class of the day. Most of the time he'd had his eyes on the clock, watching the second hand's final rotation, watching the minute hand click into place. Anthony grabbed his binder and his reading book and jammed them in his backpack, then headed for the door. "Got a minute?" Jesperson, Anthony's English teacher, asked. "Uh, sure," Anthony answered, his stomach cramping a little the way it always did when a teacher wanted to talk to him alone. He came to a stop in frontof Jesperson's desk. Jesperson was half sitting, half leaning on the edge. The guy hardly ever sat behind it. "What's up?" "Just wanted to check in with you and see how you're doing. It's a big change moving from Fillmore to here," Jesperson said. "Big, yeah," Anthony agreed. He knew he should say something else, but he'd gotten a case of Bluebird brain.
