By the time I reached my last class of the day, I was a trainwreck. I was mush. To say I walked in would be a disgusting exaggeration. More accurately, I dribbled and sagged into 6th period Study Hall.

School is my own personal demon, but I suppose it’s a necessary evil. I slumped into a chair and stared moodily into space.

“Lena, get working!” a shrill voice barked out. Ms. Evil-Redheaded-Bipolar-Study-Hall-Teacher. She made school about as fun as…as….....words fail me.

I glared, and began doodling on my paper most conscientiously. Hearts, stars, smiley faces, red-headed prison guards…

My artistic talents soon failed to amuse me. What should I do when I get home? I mused.

...Math hw…Clean my room…Babysit the 4-year-old nightmare…

...Get a life…They’ve got cheap ones at Walmart! 50% off! My inner self was annoyingly chipper. My mood darkened. I crumpled up the piece of doodled paper and hurled it away from me.

And hit him in the face. He didn’t look too happy.

Oh crap.