I waited outside of the principal’s office. He was busy with another student. On one hand I was grateful that he called me in. I didn't want to still through econ. I hated that teacher since my first day here. I hoped that this would take all of the first half day. But to my disappointment, the other student stepped out. "Anna Whitmore," a deep British voice sounded in the office. I sighed dropping my head. When I stepped into the office, I was taken aback a bit.
Behind a small oak table sat a man in a suit, with broad shoulders, the muscles bulged underneath the fabric. He had short black hair that was cut neatly. He was concentrating on a piece of paper in front of him, his brows furrowed, and he held his bent index finger against his mouth, completing the image of concentration. It
