I sit in my usual desk in the second row of Mr. Frank's calculus class, already bored out of my mind not ten minutes into it. Frank goes over formulas I mastered months ago, thank to Bits and her home-tutors. I scowl down at the homework I actually had to take the time to do last night, no less annoyed that Frank is going to screw with my GPA if I don't make up last semester's "laziness" by volunteering as a student-tutor. It's total bullshit. I know the course work, and score nearly perfectly on every test. He's on a goddamned power trip. I raise my hand and he rolls his eyes. "Bathroom," I tell him, though really I'm just looking for an excuse to kill ten or so minutes of this boring as hell subject. Mr. Frank scribbles his signature on a pass and tears it from the pad without ever pausing his lecture or looking away from the rest of the class. I jump out of my seat, grab it, and head out the door. But there's someone in the usually empty hall. A girl. A girl crying against the lockers.
