15 | Poisoned

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"I'm seriously shocked about how fast you guys did your school assignment!" Mr. Jonovach exclaimed his face molded into a cocky expression, arms crossed. "Telling you guys about it yesterday and then giving me your homework yesterday afternoon, then at dinner, and as soon as I got in the classroom way before class started? Wow!"

The senior Vanmourian class inside the medieval-looking classroom all looked delighted at our teacher's praise. It was totally surprising to know that these rich, spoiled snobs (mostly, anyway) were all hard workers. I saw some of the students gather in the library, in the Great Hall, in the lobby; all doing their homework for English lit. Of course they didn't exactly tell me that they were doing their school assignment, but I actually heard all of them, even if I was a several yards away from them.

"I'm glad to say that I am very, very happy and proud for all your determination in doing your first insanely hard homework, but I am not so happy to say that only some of you passed."

He eyed the students who all looked queasy and guilty, while me and three other students all looked perfectly casual and normal in our seats.

I was doodling a huge heart on my legal pad, but it was shocking to know that I was actually good at drawing; more likely, sketching: I never really had the talent, but then I started to draw in my dorm room while Georgie was chattering on her cordless phone with Liz who was still at the mansion. I drew Venus, if you seem so skeptical. I kept it in my locker, her eyes dark and her face beautiful as the Goddess of Love that she was. I finished the sketch in only thirty minutes. Maybe my drawing skill was a part of my past, or maybe my mother just passed it along to me. Either way, I had to say that I was an artist.

"Further more," our teacher announced, leaning away from his table and walking around the room slowly, "it's obvious that most of you did only the copy and paste maneuver. Clever, fellas," he said with a grin. "But I know a copy-paste when I see one. For the others who did the same, when you do such a move, make sure you change the highlights that are in blue to black with no underlines and sources. You guys have to learn. You'll read the book later till you can comprehend it-after I tell you about the students who didn't follow suit with your copy and paste trick.

"I know that the three students here love computers, and that I know also that you guys store up some major memory files inside your large heads," Mr. Jonovach kidded, his eyes glittering, "but there's also one particular student here who is the same as the three. Only this particular person did a handwritten homework, while the words containing the paper are remarkable." All the students began to look at each other, wondering who it was. But I knew better.

Mr. Jonovach gestured an arm to my seat, and he tapped my desk with a knuckle. "Miss D'Onofrio, I think your paper is badass."

"Badass?" I asked dumbly, blinking twice. "Sir, I don't do...badass."

He howled a laugh and the other students did too. I would have become completely at ease if my teacher hadn't exposed me to all about my "remarkable work" and hearing the two cheerleaders -- or lacrosse -- snobs, but there you go. "Good joke, Venise," Mr. Jonovach said jovially, "but you ain't fooling us! Now, I want you to stand in front of the whole class and read your paper. I'm sure it'll give these kids some new thoughts about the other life besides being a mortal as we all are."

I gulped. I mean, really, why did I have to stand in front of all these students and read it? It wasn't even my intention to get a totally impressive work on my assignment! I didn't know. I just read the book, got so engrossed, then I began writing what I felt about immortality, and there you had it. But I didn't know that Mr. Jonovach would actually like it. Not at all.

"Go on," he urged.

The room fell silent and all eyes were on me as I began to reluctantly get up from my chair, walk my way to the center of the room, and grab my paper that my teacher pointed which was on his desk, separated from the others' stacked work. My handwriting was -- truth be told -- elegantly beautiful. It was like from one of those 18th century writings.

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