Going back to school felt like a chore with all the other duties I had at home and overwhelming thoughts hitting the walls of my head. Mr. Gregory gave us a formative assessment on the first day back, and not one student had a smile on.
Beside me, Crimson was nearly dead. Her hair, dyed all purple today, was in a messy bun, and her green plaid shirt was wrinkled. Even if she was tired and drowsy, her style could never disappoint.
“I don’t want to do this s**t,” she groaned, head falling on the desk.
“You’re doing better in calculus,” I told her, picking up my pencil. “Give it a few months.”
“Kill me now.” She flipped her head to the left, and I smiled. Though she appeared to be formal in her own funky way, her words were the opposite. It amazed me that she was my friend.
Towards the
