ONE: the student's pov


I've accidentally made a ruttling sound from the friction of the table's legs against the floor, as the ringing bells wakes me up.

"Geez, I fell asleep again," I whispered as I fix my flannel collar. My seatmate slightly plucks me before he winks at me to tolerate my bad sleeping habit.

Mr. Simpson has left the room, so I found a temporary party inside the classroom.

"Thanks God, Science has passed!" I scream as I yawn.

The chairs are strictly arranged in alphabet, that nobody realizes my profound eye glasses to abandon me in the last seat in spite of my condition. But I have no choice, my last name is Vargas.

Now, here comes Mr. Josh, with his cemented hair and thick charcoal crossing eyebrows, approaching the doorway. The paper throwing like a confetti and the chattering has abruptly turned down.

Mr. Josh is a Mathematics wiz, he solves any mathematical equations by just three rolls of his eyes. But I don't care, I still hate Math. I can't remember the last time I solved a math problem on the board.

"Bring out your homework, class!" greeted the stiff man.

The noise breaks all of a sudden. His announcement resounds in my ears for at least three minutes straight. As usual, I have no preparations. But, Aron, a friend of mine who's sitting on my left side flashes a built-in solution on my table.

"Gotcha, bro!" he said with an unflashy gesture.

I smile at him. I take a deep breathe, yet my head still aches and my eyes give the sign of lethargy. Mr. Josh reaches everyone to check our answers.

After my homework has checked, I comfortably lay my head back on the clean surface of my table to resume my sleep.





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