Next is a girl from French, Rachel Townsend. She’s pretty, with fair skin and red hair, but I’ve already discovered that she’s painfully shy. As she turns to face us, her face grows almost as red as her hair. She ducks her head to stare at her feet. I wince in sympathy for her.
She gives a response of belt sander, but it’s hard for the others in class to hear her quiet voice. Mr. Ray has to ask her to speak up twice, and I can tell this embarrasses her even further. She finally escapes to her chair as the bell finally rings. I was going to go over and talk with her, but she’s the first out the door, in almost an exact replica of my exit the class before. Her red hair is swallowed by taller people in the hallway outside, and I give up trying to catch her.
Last class. I can do this. I keep
