[Sigh]
The young teen stood in front of the school's gates, looking over the gray, scraped bars.
Everything was so mundane in this place, from the school's system and constant rebukes from the teachers, to his failing grades.
But he couldn't help it, school just had to be so complicated.
Who's this young man?
His name is Nicoló.
A teen in his 12 years of age, attending a school in Italy.
He's the type of kid that everyone, no matter where from, has in their class.
You know the listless, hyperactive kid that doesn't pay attention to class and is always chewing on a piece of plastic that originally belonged to his broken blue pen?
Yeah, him.
Now that he was starting 7th grade, the exasperation of having all the teachers up his ass was once again swelling up his chest.
He knew this year was yet going to be a very long and boring one, just like the others.
He at least hoped to have different teachers this year.
at least.
[Where are the other guys?]
The thought crossed his mind once he came back from his day dreaming, noticing that he'd be staring at the school closed entrance for the past few minutes.
He'd usually walk up to school or by bike with his friends. He had many.
But he guessed that maybe he just felt like going on his own today.
Maybe it's just pre-school post depression.
The thought reminded him of Samanta.
Who's that, you may ask?
Uh, nobody.
