Chapter 85

His first class was Spanish. He was certain the old woman had done it on purpose. He would picture her drawing the schedule on her computer, laughing evilly in triumph. She probably tackled words like "let him suffer every Monday spiting shat about Jose Arcadio and Gabriel Garcia's Cien Anos de Soledad." 

He tucked his tongue in his cheek; it helped to keep him from talking on impulse; glanced at his black tee and jeans and opened the door. 

Of course 

It was the first day of school and while Adams High boasted of unrivalled excellence, no teacher in their sanity would dare teach on the first day of school. It was treachery. Everyone wanted to catch up with their buddies on what they missed over the summer. Well everyone but him.