Feeling Reborn

T - Week 10

"Seriously, Joku? We aren't in kindergarten." Nightmare scowled. "Fine. Zachary Jonith, my age is the average age of an eighth grader and I hate the feeling of bones."

The teacher stifled a sigh. This was to be expected. Uppity, snob brats with weak insults like this kid would always exist, no matter where he went.

He scribbled Zachary's name on the paper. "Good. Unless you feel like failing summer school, straighten your act, because I will not tolerate this behavior. Next." The kid had the audacity to scoff, but was cut off short by a freezing look directed his way, courtesy of the teacher.

"I'm Maria Tremblay. I hate history in general and I'm fourteen years old," she said.

Okay, a less extreme student. He tuned out most of the blabber not related to names after the first two, because honestly, who really wanted to sit through hesitant sentences blurted out by hormonal and possibly devitalized teens?

"My name is Jeremiah Smith, and I..."

The silence in between voices was broken only by the scratching of a half dead pen. Nightmare, after tracing the last letter, looked up expectantly and raised a bone brow at the absence of sound. Did they really need his permission to speak? These students knew the order. Repeating 'next' each time would be a waste of his time and brain power.

"That's very nice, mister Smith. Next, I suppose."

"E-Ellie Nyugen."

Nightmare hummed at intervals during her little presentation. Humming was a vital element for anything. At the right moments, it could keep someone entertained or make the other feel at ease with flapping their lips.

"Next, please."

"I am Oslo Regide, I like playing the piano and..."

"...Felicity Summers and I can..."

Breathe in and out through the stuffy air, introductions were almost done. No use getting upset over the disdain in each statement. He hated these white plaster walls, the accusing, drilling stares of the kids at receiving him, a Monster for a social studies teacher.

"My name is Sam MacGovern, I will be fourteen years old as of this July. How are ya, Mr. Nightmare?"

"I'm fine, thank you."

"Hello Mr. Joku, I'm Felix Brown and fourteen years old. I play competitive soccer."

Nightmare recognized a few of the human students, though: Oslo and Sam. Decent people with decent folk, but they had atrocious grades in history and social studies in general, especially when it came to Monster culture and American history respectively.

He subtly focused on those two faces. They were probably some of the only ones worth remembering. Oslo had a head of natural black spikes, brown eyes staring back at his own. He was eager to learn and had a habit of tapping whatever he held in his hand against the desk. Sam was a fairly androgynous person; he didn't want to inquire about their gender either. Their hair rested in a fluffy hazel bird's nest on their crown. Their face was currently planted on the desk.

"MacGovern, head up!" he snapped. To his slight satisfaction, their back shot up ramrod straight.

Nightmare barely caught on the tails of names from the next couple of introductions, now sitting in the plastic chair, head propped up by one hand. It was way too hot for his regular attire and the late night hadn't helped in the slightest. Stupid adaption and evolution. Why couldn't skeletons stay heat and cold resistant if they still didn't need to breathe?

The last kid passed. Finally, he could start the class after ten wasted minutes.

"We're reviewing The Renaissance period today. Please take out a pen or pencil and your notebook to write down key words. This period, not an era, mind you, took place from 1420 to 1600.