Tessa
History class is as boring as ever. Actually, I always liked the subject relatively much, but now it is somehow no longer exciting. Every lesson can be compared to a wet chewing gum that feels endlessly long. Our teacher herself says that.
So I pull a pencil out of my case and start looking at the table I'm sitting at. Already in the previous hours I scribbled on it and now I go on the search for new drawings, which in the meantime perhaps have come to it. Unfortunately, there isn't much. Just a small sheep that eats someone's homework and the typical 'school is s**t', which I have smeared on the most different surfaces myself countless times.
Suddenly something hard hits me from behind. My eyebrows lift automatically before I drive around with a questioning look.
There is a boy
