You Are the Shell to My Tortoise | ✓

1

"...sleeping!" he yelled, hurling the book in our direction.

Fantastic.

Several of my classmates started yelling at me, most of the yelling being "Dodge, Chelsea!"

Squealing, I leaped out of my chair into Ashley's waiting open arms. Just how many times did this have to happen in a week? This guy was always asleep in every class.

There was a heavy thwack as the book hit him smack in the head, and bounced off it to land on the floor, sliding to a stop just a little distance away from the table. Mr. Jameson's deep-blue eyes blazed with fury, narrowed with focus on the still sleeping Nolan. A couple of girls stared dreamily at Mr. Jameson, and I would've gladly joined them if I wasn't still leaning into Ashley.

"Chels—get off of me," she said, nudging me in my side. Her attention was already on the scene that was unfolding before us.

Complying, I plopped myself down on the floor right next to her seat—I was definitely not stupid enough to seek death by returning to my own table. Thankful that our classroom floors were pretty much always clean due to regular maintenance, I settled down comfortably to watch what was going on.

Nolan stirred a little, and several classmates stiffened in their seats; he really was legendary in school for a reason. He freaked me out, especially when he spoke in that scarily low, husky voice of his. Slowly, he lifted his head off the table.

He raised a hand to rub the back of his head. Most of the girls, including Ashley and I, and some of the boys, cringed when he finally spoke.

"Who," he began in a soft and dangerous tone, "hit my head?"

And Mr. Jameson, standing tall and towering over Nolan's sitting figure, folded his arms and replied in an equally furious voice, "I did."

Nolan's eyes flared open. His irises were this bright piercing green, and it was always unnerving whenever his eyes were trained on you; it was like he could see through you. Not that he looked people in the eye that often. It just so happened that I was occasionally the unfortunate recipient of the Nolan Scary Eye Contact because I ended up having to wake him every so often in English class. He gave Mr. Jameson the stink-eye but said nothing.

"Nolan, you need to stop sleeping in class. It distracts the people around you, and you're not learning anything from sleeping through classes," said Mr. Jameson, beginning to launch into the same speech he gave Nolan almost every day.

"That is so not true," Melissa, one of my good friends, whispered.

Ashley and I nodded in agreement, but none of us bothered to speak up to refute Mr. Jameson's point. Nolan didn't distract anybody by sleeping in class. It was now considered a norm for him to nap in class, so we all just ignored him. Besides, despite never paying attention in class, he still managed to land himself a spot among the top five scorers in every single one of his classes. Pretty amazing, really, and most of us suspected that he secretly spent all day studying after classes. There was no other way to explain his fantastic grades.

Still, none of us were death-seeking enough to risk Mr. Jameson's wrath. The rest of the class stayed silent and stared at the wall clock in boredom, watching the seconds tick away, as he lectured and nagged and reprimanded Nolan for the next five minutes. When he was finally done, he sent Nolan off to the principal's office—like he usually did. In a way, his persistence was kind of impressive and his unrelenting attitude made me admire him even more.

All the other teachers had given up and just let him sleep in class, because it didn't seem to matter how frequently they lectured him or sent him down to the office. He'd probably never received any punishment for his behavior; or at least, if he did, none of it mattered to him since he just continued sleeping in class anyway. Maybe it was because this was a private boarding school, and the principal didn't really care about much except for collecting astounding sums of money from the parents.