Chapter Six
Sitting in my second period class of the day, Government, I decide school is a big joke. The teacher, Ms. Spencer spends the first ten minutes looking at her phone, the next five minutes naming off the rules of her classroom—one of which, ironically, being no cellphone use—and then the rest of the ninety minutes she leaves us to our own devices. In her words, “It’s only the second day, no point in working.”
Yeah, what could possibly be the point in that?
“This is going to suck,” the girl in front of me drawls. She turns around, looking at me. Her long
blonde hair is curly, well past her shoulders. “Hi.”
My nose crinkles. “Hi.”
“I’m Sasha.”
“Dani.”
“Nice to meet you.” She smiles and it seems genuine. She looks like the cheerleader type, preppy and cheerful, but at least she doesn’t seem snooty.
“Same.”
I’m great with words.
Her smile widens. “I think we have another class together.”
“I don’t know.” I’m not trying to be particularly shady. I genuinely don’t know since I haven’t paid attention to anyone in my classes.
“Yeah, I’m pretty sure you were in my Statistics class.”
“Probably. I wasn’t paying much attention.”
She cracks another smile. “That’s okay. What other classes do you have today?”
I rattle them off and we discover we also have Sociology together at the end of the day.
Looking over at the teacher I find her filing her nails, not paying any attention to us.
“Well,” I say to Sasha, picking up my backpack from the floor and slipping it over my shoulders, “I’m out.”
“What do you mean?” she asks in confusion.
When I walk out of the room and the teacher doesn’t even notice, I think she gets it.
There’s a chance I could get in trouble for this, but it’s better than the alternative of being stuck in class for another hour doing absolutely nothing. I doubt Ms. Spencer will even notice my departure.
Strolling down the corridor I stop to look out the massive row of windows. It floods the hallway with light and I pause, soaking it up. The sun has always warmed and soothed my soul.
“Dani?” I startle at Mr. Taylor’s voice.
I turn from the window and find him walking toward me, only a few feet separating us now. He’s dressed similarly to yesterday, except today his pants are gray and his shirt white. My eyes zero in on his hand, noticing the carefully wrapped sandwich.
“Chicken salad?” He looks confused. “The sandwich.” I point to the one in his hand. “Is it chicken salad?”
“Uh, yeah, it is.” He shakes his head as if throwing off the fog of my question. “Shouldn’t you be in class?”
“Shouldn’t my teacher be teaching?” I jest.
He presses his lips together with no clear response.
I look back out the window, resting my hand against the warmed glass.