Haikus are Asian. This is English class.
Brain cells seem to die
All at once when writing
A freaking haiku
This is incorrect
English class is for English
Haikus are Asian
I’d much rather be
Practicing on my keyboard
Than writing haikus
I hope a giant
Meteor burns the paper
I’m writing this on
Walter sighed exasperatedly and leaned back in his chair. Although he enjoyed the whole “do all your homework in study hall so you can chill later” concept, he just could not keep his focus trained on something as pointless as writing haikus. Every famous haiku-ist was some old Asian dude, so why was Walter, a sixteen year old, maybe-Philippine-with-a-bit-of-Spanish Washington native composing ten of them for an old white lady with an English Major? This inability to seriously focus on the assignment was why he was composing them on the way to school, in the passenger seat of Marc’s jeep.
Car rides are bumpy
And really hard to write in
Especially jeeps
Walt’s teacher had low expectations for him anyway; a couple of half-baked haikus wouldn’t really change the dynamics of the strict teacher / troublesome student relationship. He preferred the “low expectations” approach to school- as long as people didn’t really think him capable of too much, whenever he earned a B on a test people were pretty impressed. This method ensured that he could live a relatively study-free lifestyle with plenty of time for soccer practices and band sessions at Patrick’s place; in other words, a pretty damn awesome high school life.
Of course, actually having a complete band would make said awesome high school life even awesomer. Walter was the keyboard guy, Patrick the drummer, Marc the lead singer and guitarist, and Patrick’s friend Neil the assistant guitarist, which left only the bassist and the assistant singer. Walt hoped that this position would soon be filled by Sharpe, the new kid with the even voice and the long fingers.
One awesome new kid
Plus four awesome band members
Equals awesome tunes
He had practically jumped at the opportunity to show Sharpe around the school yesterday when he’d almost passed him as he left the principal’s office following third period. Originally, it was just Walter being friendly- the kid looked super lost but didn’t seem like the type to ask for any sort of help, if the furrowed eyebrows and determined set of the jaw meant anything. Sure, Walter’s skin had been crawling whenever the guy looked at him, but that kind of stuff only added some mysterious, “don’t mess with us” appeal to up-and-coming bands. Besides- Walter’s next period had been SAT prep or whatever, anyway. And the Sharpe kid didn’t seem like he’d kill their image (once they got one, that is).
After dragging the guy around the school for roughly an hour, showing Sharpe every classroom that he’d never need to know about while conducting his own inspection of a potential band member, he’d concluded that overall, the kid was alright. Standoffish, slightly proud, and kind of quiet (compared to Walt, that is), but alright. All he really needed now was some way to kidnap the guy, drag him to Patrick’s oversized basement, and find him a bass and a mic. Without scaring him. Or calls to the police involved. In fact, he’d been planning to bring up the subject at lunch with the rest of the band, but then he’d had to go to the principal’s office because of some stupid phone call from his dad.
Walter cursed when he glanced up from his paper and noticed that Marc’s car had just driven past the front gates to their school and began furiously scribbling the last four haikus needed for first period.
I need to write ten
Haikus for my English class
This is the seventh
There’s some dance this month
I don’t know whether or not
It’s worth going to
In case of zombies
Don’t forget the machine guns
And chocolate supply
Beware otherworldly plums
Reflected in ancient eyes
Placed on a young face
Walter frowned and looked closely at the bottom of his paper. Something about that one made him uneasy… Would his teacher count ‘chocolate’ as two syllables or three syllables? Because if the pattern was going to work, it would have to be two.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Walter grinned maniacally at Ambrose from his seat in the back of the class. Ambrose sighed and didn’t even bother looking for a different seat. So far, they’d had three classes together. Out of four. And each time, Walter seemed to have personally arranged the one open spot so that it was always next to him. Or perhaps it had always been that way. Another odd occurrence- he’d been getting some odd looks from several people. Not bad looks; it was more like they were trying to determine his value. Each time, he had been sent into a panic. Did they know? Had he been acting abnormally for a human? Would the school figure it out and freak out and have the Grand Council retract their offer of a chance to avoid Hell? How would a human school even contact the Grand Council of the Netherworld, anyway? Wait, they did have the angel…
“It’s like the school administration people are trying to force us to bond!” Walter whispered smilingly as Ambrose took his seat next to him.
“Or make us sick of each other so that they can prevent all the evil plans involving a new student that you seem to be concocting from ever happening.”
Walter nodded thoughtfully. “That,” he conceded, “would be a pretty genius plan on the school’s part. Unfortunately for them, I don’t think I’ll get sick of you that fast, so the evil plots will proceed as planned.” Ambrose rolled his eyes. He knew he was supposed to be befriending these people, not pushing them away, but he had never been the most social being and people like Walter Anders seemed to play on some sort of guitar wired with his nerves and somehow manage to snap every last one of them. On top of that, he was utterly exhausted after remaining awake all night. He had not been able to get a wink of sleep because he was not yet used to sleeping after going so long without it. And by closing his eyes and alienating his senses, any sort of threat or nosy angel could sneak into the small town home he had been given to live in for the month. Looking over at the hyperactive teenager to his left chattering excitedly, Ambrose began wishing for whatever it was Walter ate in the morning. Or a coffee machine. He’d have to go out and buy one of those after school…
Almost an hour later, the lunch bell rang. Ambrose figured that if he was lucky, he would be able to find someplace nice to take a nap. Then again, demons were never lucky, were they? Ambrose clenched his jaw as Walter herded him out of the class and into a group of boys that had been waiting for him outside the room. On the way to the cafeteria they introduced themselves as Marc and Patrick, while the third Ambrose recognized as Neil, one of the boys that he had sat with in the angel’s art class the previous day. After grabbing some lunch (the mysterious brown meat from yesterday appeared to have turned into a broth of some sort), the boys all seated themselves by the table in the very back. While staring rather intently at Ambrose.
“So,” Walter said to them with a smug smile, “what do you think? Am I freaking awesome or what?”
“Luck of the idiots,” Patrick grumbled, flicking Walter’s shoulder. “We look for a bassist all summer and you just walk into one two months into school. Can you play bass? Er, well?”
No. “Yes,” Ambrose replied. He did? Now that he concentrated on it, an odd, sort of nostalgic knowledge of the modern instrument brushed his thoughts. Had the Grand Council foreseen so much as to give him this knowledge? But if they could see so far ahead, wouldn’t they already know how the month would end? If so, why hadn’t they brought him back to the Netherworld? Unless this was just pure luck… But Ambrose could not recall any knowledge of other instruments at all. This hole in his knowledge of the mission on which his afterlife depended bothered him.
“Cool, you do?” Walter asked. Neil and Patrick launched into a full-blown rant to Walter about how he should really actually check these things before enlisting some stranger (“No offense.” “None taken.”), while Marc just rolled his eyes and took another bite out of his sugar cookie.
The Walt attack was cut short when Carly and Noemi strode up to the table. “Hey Neil,” she said, giving both him and Ambrose a friendly smile in greeting. “Mind if we sit?”
Before the boys could figure out how to politely inform her that they were discussing super top secret band stuff, Noemi had placed her tray of food by Ambrose and resumed the unsettling conversation from the day before. “So,” she said sweetly. Carly exhaled wearily and took the seat next to her. “How do you like Orville High so far? I’m so disappointed that we only seem to have that one art class together, but we’ll just have to make the best of our time there, I suppose.” She sighed dramatically. “Also, there is life outside of school, surprising as that may sound. If you ever need somebody to show you around, here’s my number.” Noemi handed him a scrap of what used to be an index card with a scribbled number and a heart adorning the unlined side. “Text me later so I can add you as a contact, ‘kay?”
Ambrose hesitantly nodded his agreement. Soon, he had acquired several other phone numbers for various purposes such as band meetings, homework questions, and general relieving of boredom. Carly managed to shyly sneak hers in, too, without saying a word. Although she was in the process of talking herself out of her stupid, baseless crush on the new student, she did hope that maybe he would text her sometime.
Ambrose, meanwhile, was trying to keep a cordial smile on his face as several people were attempting to talk to him at once in the already obnoxiously loud lunch room. The subjects ranged from a complete schedule for the band he did not remember agreeing to join and several requirements he’d need beforehand to what he was sure was some sort of innuendo about maple syrup being absolutely delectable on anything. Despite putting forth his best effort to be nice to every human he encountered (God knows he needed to if he was going to accomplish this hellish mission), at heart he had always been antisocial, and even with his own afterlife at risk that did not seem to be changing. The near sleepless night he’d had prior to the day merely frazzled his nerves even further. He’d get used to the concept of sleeping eventually, but doing so in the first two days was a little much to ask for. Finally, after another vaguely suggestive comment about there being multiple ways to warm up in winter, Ambrose stood and deposited his uneaten lunch in the garbage can before walking in what he hoped was the direction of the school’s courtyard.
The conversation at the lunch table lulled a bit before quickly resuming its usual breakneck pace. Carly grabbed a bread roll off her tray before stealthily slipping out after him, and after a quick “I’ll be right back,” Walter followed as well. Out in the monotone hallway, the dull thuds of Ambrose’s shoes slowed in pace as Carly and Walter joined him, but did not cease. No one tried breaking the near-silence, even when Carly gently guided Ambrose away from the path to the teachers’ lounge in favor of the hallway leading to the small outdoor courtyard (which, Walter suddenly realized, was going to be frigging cold). A gust of glacial west coast air seemed to pass right through the trio as Ambrose shoved the door open. While he didn’t seem to mind the November cold much, the two with him immediately crossed their arms and clenched their teeth.
The brittle-looking decorative trees were sparse, their colorful leaves having left them months prior. They shivered audibly as the next chilly breeze passed through the small outdoor space. Deadened twigs fell to the rough stone ground and the smooth wooden benches surrounding them. Ambrose brushed them off with a cold hand and sat down and closed his dark eyes. Carly looked to Walter, and upon seemingly reaching a mutual agreement, they seated themselves on either side of him. It was Walter who, after a minute or so of fidgeting around and trying to get used to the sudden cold, broke the silence.
“Hey, what was your old place like, Sharpe? I mean, Washington’s pretty close to the border, but I’m guessing at least some stuff is different. Especially since we’re so close to Seattle and most of Canada’s all nature-y-”
“What about Vancouver and Quebec?” Carly challenged.
“Well, duh, Carly, I just meant-”
“It was quiet,” Ambrose mumbled.
“Sounds boring,” Walter said, not taking the hint. Carly rolled her eyes. “Is that all, then? Quiet?”
Ambrose finally seemed irritated enough by Walter’s pestering to talk. “It was quiet because I liked it that way. I found a place where nobody bothered me and I thought.” He leaned back into the fold of the bench and closed his eyes, several locks of dark blonde hair moving to curtain them.
Carly took a moment to examine this new presence in her life. Two days into Ambrose’s enrollment at her school, she found herself on the way to becoming one of his first friends in Washington. How this happened, she didn’t really know, but Ambrose wasn’t pushing her away or seeking someone different for a friend (besides, Walter and Teddy MacArthur, strange as that combination was), and it wasn’t like she wanted to be rid of him, either. Residual hormone-driven crush aside, Ambrose was not all that bad looking. Although his side-swept hair and cold (violet? Or were they blue?) eyes did not do much to soften his sharp features, he was quietly kind, in his own way. Following the couple of classes they shared, he would patiently wait in the hall or help her collect her books, not because he was new and trying to be polite, but like those polite mannerisms were second nature to him. He didn’t act like a normal highschooler at all, really. His manners were of the sort that her grandparents had attempted to ingratiate into her early childhood, and while not unfriendly, he tended to be more reserved and contemplative than most. Ambrose was… something… Carly couldn’t quite put her finger on it-
“Hey!” The three outside turned and found Teddy in the doorway to the school, breathing slightly harder than usual. “Geez, Ambrose, I’ve been looking everywhere for you! Lunch ended, like, five minutes ago. Come on, we’re late to Chem. Oh, um, hey Carly… and Walter…?” Teddy seemed slightly confused as to why the tall boy was there, but managed to flash him a quick smile in greeting nonetheless. Despite tending to be a bit of a stereotypically popular guy, Walter had never done anything to him, instead preferring to remain on relatively good terms with everybody. Which Teddy thought was a bit ridiculous, but still.
Ambrose nodded and tossed a quick smile over his shoulder before following Teddy back inside. A sigh escaped Carly, visible in the cold air. She’d felt as if she were about to discover something about Ambrose, but the feeling had since slipped between her fingers like sand.
“Which class do you have next?” Walter asked, resting his head upside down on the top of the bench.
“Pre-Calc.”
“Skippable. It’s just a video today.”
Carly sounded her agreement, finding that she had grown used to the cold. So for the rest of third period, the two simply sat outside in the frigid November air and thought.
Reminiscent of
The frigid November wind
Eyes lead to the soul
All at once when writing
A freaking haiku
This is incorrect
English class is for English
Haikus are Asian
I’d much rather be
Practicing on my keyboard
Than writing haikus
I hope a giant
Meteor burns the paper
I’m writing this on
Walter sighed exasperatedly and leaned back in his chair. Although he enjoyed the whole “do all your homework in study hall so you can chill later” concept, he just could not keep his focus trained on something as pointless as writing haikus. Every famous haiku-ist was some old Asian dude, so why was Walter, a sixteen year old, maybe-Philippine-with-a-bit-of-Spanish Washington native composing ten of them for an old white lady with an English Major? This inability to seriously focus on the assignment was why he was composing them on the way to school, in the passenger seat of Marc’s jeep.
Car rides are bumpy
And really hard to write in
Especially jeeps
Walt’s teacher had low expectations for him anyway; a couple of half-baked haikus wouldn’t really change the dynamics of the strict teacher / troublesome student relationship. He preferred the “low expectations” approach to school- as long as people didn’t really think him capable of too much, whenever he earned a B on a test people were pretty impressed. This method ensured that he could live a relatively study-free lifestyle with plenty of time for soccer practices and band sessions at Patrick’s place; in other words, a pretty damn awesome high school life.
Of course, actually having a complete band would make said awesome high school life even awesomer. Walter was the keyboard guy, Patrick the drummer, Marc the lead singer and guitarist, and Patrick’s friend Neil the assistant guitarist, which left only the bassist and the assistant singer. Walt hoped that this position would soon be filled by Sharpe, the new kid with the even voice and the long fingers.
One awesome new kid
Plus four awesome band members
Equals awesome tunes
He had practically jumped at the opportunity to show Sharpe around the school yesterday when he’d almost passed him as he left the principal’s office following third period. Originally, it was just Walter being friendly- the kid looked super lost but didn’t seem like the type to ask for any sort of help, if the furrowed eyebrows and determined set of the jaw meant anything. Sure, Walter’s skin had been crawling whenever the guy looked at him, but that kind of stuff only added some mysterious, “don’t mess with us” appeal to up-and-coming bands. Besides- Walter’s next period had been SAT prep or whatever, anyway. And the Sharpe kid didn’t seem like he’d kill their image (once they got one, that is).
After dragging the guy around the school for roughly an hour, showing Sharpe every classroom that he’d never need to know about while conducting his own inspection of a potential band member, he’d concluded that overall, the kid was alright. Standoffish, slightly proud, and kind of quiet (compared to Walt, that is), but alright. All he really needed now was some way to kidnap the guy, drag him to Patrick’s oversized basement, and find him a bass and a mic. Without scaring him. Or calls to the police involved. In fact, he’d been planning to bring up the subject at lunch with the rest of the band, but then he’d had to go to the principal’s office because of some stupid phone call from his dad.
Walter cursed when he glanced up from his paper and noticed that Marc’s car had just driven past the front gates to their school and began furiously scribbling the last four haikus needed for first period.
I need to write ten
Haikus for my English class
This is the seventh
There’s some dance this month
I don’t know whether or not
It’s worth going to
In case of zombies
Don’t forget the machine guns
And chocolate supply
Beware otherworldly plums
Reflected in ancient eyes
Placed on a young face
Walter frowned and looked closely at the bottom of his paper. Something about that one made him uneasy… Would his teacher count ‘chocolate’ as two syllables or three syllables? Because if the pattern was going to work, it would have to be two.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Walter grinned maniacally at Ambrose from his seat in the back of the class. Ambrose sighed and didn’t even bother looking for a different seat. So far, they’d had three classes together. Out of four. And each time, Walter seemed to have personally arranged the one open spot so that it was always next to him. Or perhaps it had always been that way. Another odd occurrence- he’d been getting some odd looks from several people. Not bad looks; it was more like they were trying to determine his value. Each time, he had been sent into a panic. Did they know? Had he been acting abnormally for a human? Would the school figure it out and freak out and have the Grand Council retract their offer of a chance to avoid Hell? How would a human school even contact the Grand Council of the Netherworld, anyway? Wait, they did have the angel…
“It’s like the school administration people are trying to force us to bond!” Walter whispered smilingly as Ambrose took his seat next to him.
“Or make us sick of each other so that they can prevent all the evil plans involving a new student that you seem to be concocting from ever happening.”
Walter nodded thoughtfully. “That,” he conceded, “would be a pretty genius plan on the school’s part. Unfortunately for them, I don’t think I’ll get sick of you that fast, so the evil plots will proceed as planned.” Ambrose rolled his eyes. He knew he was supposed to be befriending these people, not pushing them away, but he had never been the most social being and people like Walter Anders seemed to play on some sort of guitar wired with his nerves and somehow manage to snap every last one of them. On top of that, he was utterly exhausted after remaining awake all night. He had not been able to get a wink of sleep because he was not yet used to sleeping after going so long without it. And by closing his eyes and alienating his senses, any sort of threat or nosy angel could sneak into the small town home he had been given to live in for the month. Looking over at the hyperactive teenager to his left chattering excitedly, Ambrose began wishing for whatever it was Walter ate in the morning. Or a coffee machine. He’d have to go out and buy one of those after school…
Almost an hour later, the lunch bell rang. Ambrose figured that if he was lucky, he would be able to find someplace nice to take a nap. Then again, demons were never lucky, were they? Ambrose clenched his jaw as Walter herded him out of the class and into a group of boys that had been waiting for him outside the room. On the way to the cafeteria they introduced themselves as Marc and Patrick, while the third Ambrose recognized as Neil, one of the boys that he had sat with in the angel’s art class the previous day. After grabbing some lunch (the mysterious brown meat from yesterday appeared to have turned into a broth of some sort), the boys all seated themselves by the table in the very back. While staring rather intently at Ambrose.
“So,” Walter said to them with a smug smile, “what do you think? Am I freaking awesome or what?”
“Luck of the idiots,” Patrick grumbled, flicking Walter’s shoulder. “We look for a bassist all summer and you just walk into one two months into school. Can you play bass? Er, well?”
No. “Yes,” Ambrose replied. He did? Now that he concentrated on it, an odd, sort of nostalgic knowledge of the modern instrument brushed his thoughts. Had the Grand Council foreseen so much as to give him this knowledge? But if they could see so far ahead, wouldn’t they already know how the month would end? If so, why hadn’t they brought him back to the Netherworld? Unless this was just pure luck… But Ambrose could not recall any knowledge of other instruments at all. This hole in his knowledge of the mission on which his afterlife depended bothered him.
“Cool, you do?” Walter asked. Neil and Patrick launched into a full-blown rant to Walter about how he should really actually check these things before enlisting some stranger (“No offense.” “None taken.”), while Marc just rolled his eyes and took another bite out of his sugar cookie.
The Walt attack was cut short when Carly and Noemi strode up to the table. “Hey Neil,” she said, giving both him and Ambrose a friendly smile in greeting. “Mind if we sit?”
Before the boys could figure out how to politely inform her that they were discussing super top secret band stuff, Noemi had placed her tray of food by Ambrose and resumed the unsettling conversation from the day before. “So,” she said sweetly. Carly exhaled wearily and took the seat next to her. “How do you like Orville High so far? I’m so disappointed that we only seem to have that one art class together, but we’ll just have to make the best of our time there, I suppose.” She sighed dramatically. “Also, there is life outside of school, surprising as that may sound. If you ever need somebody to show you around, here’s my number.” Noemi handed him a scrap of what used to be an index card with a scribbled number and a heart adorning the unlined side. “Text me later so I can add you as a contact, ‘kay?”
Ambrose hesitantly nodded his agreement. Soon, he had acquired several other phone numbers for various purposes such as band meetings, homework questions, and general relieving of boredom. Carly managed to shyly sneak hers in, too, without saying a word. Although she was in the process of talking herself out of her stupid, baseless crush on the new student, she did hope that maybe he would text her sometime.
Ambrose, meanwhile, was trying to keep a cordial smile on his face as several people were attempting to talk to him at once in the already obnoxiously loud lunch room. The subjects ranged from a complete schedule for the band he did not remember agreeing to join and several requirements he’d need beforehand to what he was sure was some sort of innuendo about maple syrup being absolutely delectable on anything. Despite putting forth his best effort to be nice to every human he encountered (God knows he needed to if he was going to accomplish this hellish mission), at heart he had always been antisocial, and even with his own afterlife at risk that did not seem to be changing. The near sleepless night he’d had prior to the day merely frazzled his nerves even further. He’d get used to the concept of sleeping eventually, but doing so in the first two days was a little much to ask for. Finally, after another vaguely suggestive comment about there being multiple ways to warm up in winter, Ambrose stood and deposited his uneaten lunch in the garbage can before walking in what he hoped was the direction of the school’s courtyard.
The conversation at the lunch table lulled a bit before quickly resuming its usual breakneck pace. Carly grabbed a bread roll off her tray before stealthily slipping out after him, and after a quick “I’ll be right back,” Walter followed as well. Out in the monotone hallway, the dull thuds of Ambrose’s shoes slowed in pace as Carly and Walter joined him, but did not cease. No one tried breaking the near-silence, even when Carly gently guided Ambrose away from the path to the teachers’ lounge in favor of the hallway leading to the small outdoor courtyard (which, Walter suddenly realized, was going to be frigging cold). A gust of glacial west coast air seemed to pass right through the trio as Ambrose shoved the door open. While he didn’t seem to mind the November cold much, the two with him immediately crossed their arms and clenched their teeth.
The brittle-looking decorative trees were sparse, their colorful leaves having left them months prior. They shivered audibly as the next chilly breeze passed through the small outdoor space. Deadened twigs fell to the rough stone ground and the smooth wooden benches surrounding them. Ambrose brushed them off with a cold hand and sat down and closed his dark eyes. Carly looked to Walter, and upon seemingly reaching a mutual agreement, they seated themselves on either side of him. It was Walter who, after a minute or so of fidgeting around and trying to get used to the sudden cold, broke the silence.
“Hey, what was your old place like, Sharpe? I mean, Washington’s pretty close to the border, but I’m guessing at least some stuff is different. Especially since we’re so close to Seattle and most of Canada’s all nature-y-”
“What about Vancouver and Quebec?” Carly challenged.
“Well, duh, Carly, I just meant-”
“It was quiet,” Ambrose mumbled.
“Sounds boring,” Walter said, not taking the hint. Carly rolled her eyes. “Is that all, then? Quiet?”
Ambrose finally seemed irritated enough by Walter’s pestering to talk. “It was quiet because I liked it that way. I found a place where nobody bothered me and I thought.” He leaned back into the fold of the bench and closed his eyes, several locks of dark blonde hair moving to curtain them.
Carly took a moment to examine this new presence in her life. Two days into Ambrose’s enrollment at her school, she found herself on the way to becoming one of his first friends in Washington. How this happened, she didn’t really know, but Ambrose wasn’t pushing her away or seeking someone different for a friend (besides, Walter and Teddy MacArthur, strange as that combination was), and it wasn’t like she wanted to be rid of him, either. Residual hormone-driven crush aside, Ambrose was not all that bad looking. Although his side-swept hair and cold (violet? Or were they blue?) eyes did not do much to soften his sharp features, he was quietly kind, in his own way. Following the couple of classes they shared, he would patiently wait in the hall or help her collect her books, not because he was new and trying to be polite, but like those polite mannerisms were second nature to him. He didn’t act like a normal highschooler at all, really. His manners were of the sort that her grandparents had attempted to ingratiate into her early childhood, and while not unfriendly, he tended to be more reserved and contemplative than most. Ambrose was… something… Carly couldn’t quite put her finger on it-
“Hey!” The three outside turned and found Teddy in the doorway to the school, breathing slightly harder than usual. “Geez, Ambrose, I’ve been looking everywhere for you! Lunch ended, like, five minutes ago. Come on, we’re late to Chem. Oh, um, hey Carly… and Walter…?” Teddy seemed slightly confused as to why the tall boy was there, but managed to flash him a quick smile in greeting nonetheless. Despite tending to be a bit of a stereotypically popular guy, Walter had never done anything to him, instead preferring to remain on relatively good terms with everybody. Which Teddy thought was a bit ridiculous, but still.
Ambrose nodded and tossed a quick smile over his shoulder before following Teddy back inside. A sigh escaped Carly, visible in the cold air. She’d felt as if she were about to discover something about Ambrose, but the feeling had since slipped between her fingers like sand.
“Which class do you have next?” Walter asked, resting his head upside down on the top of the bench.
“Pre-Calc.”
“Skippable. It’s just a video today.”
Carly sounded her agreement, finding that she had grown used to the cold. So for the rest of third period, the two simply sat outside in the frigid November air and thought.
Reminiscent of
The frigid November wind
Eyes lead to the soul