I sit alone in a corner by a file cabinet covered with manilla folders and old newspaper clippings. Miss Schwartz is sorting through a bin of papers while Alexis sits quietly on the other side of the room, clicking away on one of the crappy eMacs that occupy the room. Instead of doing my work, which is basically done, I'm staring at a painting of Chopin, who I find strangely attractive.

Each minute stretches by, seeming like hours at a time. Only two periods into the day, and I'm dying to go home. At least gym is next, which I happen to like. Basketball is one of my few outlets, and hallelujah, because we're playing it today.

There's this quiet urging inside of me to continue the sketch in my sketchbook that lays on the ground beside me. It's almost as if it's calling out to me, telling me to pick up a pencil and let it out. Or maybe that's gas. I can't tell the difference.

If only we were still continuing examinations, because the rest of the classes for the day would be only thirty minutes long. Too bad for me, because we only had three of them.

I have this feeling that Miss Schwartz is going to catch me in the act of not doing my work and illicitly going onto websites that I shouldn't be on. It's not my fault they didn't block deviantART.

And away we go.