How can Grace Lavine, a 17 year old Senior, bring back everything she lost without even knowing that she'd already became a murderer in just a blink of an eye?
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Grace
It was around 4 pm when I entered today's students' worst and undesired place in the entire human realm. Language Class. But why??
I stepped and plopped onto my seat, sluggish and exhausted like I've been working the entire day.
Well, how can I not be tired?
Literature was second to the last based on my schedule and also - I've been carrying this HUGE BOULDER in my backpack the whole time.
On my seat, I glanced around.
Students inside were buzzing with their different conversations. Some got inside while others chose to stoop their head for a nap.
With ghost of boredness sucking all my interest, I yanked my phone from my pocket and swiped it.
A conversation greeted me that made me remember what happened last night.
While doing a video call and talking to my goof-ass friend, May, the topic somehow shifted onto -
hot boys for some reason.
"You sure you're still not prepared for a new bf??" May combs her red, frizzy hair as her thin eyebrow rear. "I mean, you're gorgeous enough to have a better man unlike that Bozzo who almost killed you"
I sighed and giggled at the same time.
Come on, I got to pursue dreams first. I don't wanna end up being a stripper in the future. Mom's going to murder me if that happens.
"If I were you, Grace, Leroy would be a great choice" May suggested. "I mean he's hot, he's hot, he's hot, he's smart, he's hot, he's - "
"Okay, got it!"
"By the way, he always gave you flowers after school, why ignore him like he didn't exist?"
I got silenced as if I care about him...anymore.
"Hey, you there??"
"Y-Yah, let's just-" I breathe heavily. "talk about something else for a moment"
Eventually, both of us felt drowsy and weary. Our yawns became annoying and we found exasperating. So this is what being a sloth feels like.
Back at the classroom, our language professor finally arrived but it was a shock.
An unknown teacher entered.
He was skinny and lengthy, wearing a knitted long-sleeve polo shirt making him look like a kite ready to glide in a windy afternoon.
He stepped inside, walk towards the table upfront.
With his back more crooked than a rusty hundred ol' grandma, he shook his head. His long messy hair dances with its flow, exposing his pale and sober face. Am I dreaming? He looked like a hangover man.
