to happen. I glance up at the clock: 2:43. Two more minutes. I doodle on my paper, trying to distract myself. Mr Jonas is wearing a golf shirt, and I can see his biceps. They tense as he writes the homework on the board. “Gosh Demi, you’re pathetic,” I think to myself, catching my breath as I look up at him again. And then the bell rings. Most of the kids around me rush off – it’s the last period of the day. Some girls linger around his desk, asking stupid questions about their tests just …
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