Dreams can only be achieved if you reach, nightmares await at the bottom of the chain
The cold classroom that served as the teaching room for English was below frigid. Students sat, huddled together, keeping their heavy jackets locked tightly on their bodies, coversing in loud and quiet voices. The teacher's desk was, once more, ravished with drawings of Pokemon balls and random squiggles. Possibly the thirteen year olds. Hmph. I'll deal with them later. A cold, icy voice that matched the temperuture of the room itself. The voice belonged to a girl, slouching nicely in a black sweater with her boots on the middle of the desk, covering her ratted hand-me-down textbook over a billion years old.
Blue eyes flickered to the cracked clock, ticking endlessly, the noise ringing softly in her ears although several feet away in the small, cramped class. There were only fifteen desks and over twenty five students int hat class alone. Talk about small space! A soft chuckle escaped her lips, quick and sharp, like that of the wind. Several girls in matching tan coats turned and looked at the slouching girl, mouths in tight lines. The cold blue eyes never met with their penetrating gazes. She knew the whispers among the halls and other children.
Ugh. She's such a show-off, showing off what she doesn't even have!
I wonder if she's really leading those stupid hunts. Maybe...no, Carrie would kill me.
Bitch.
Angela laughed loudly, breaking the icy atmosphere that had settled in the class. Heads turned to her open mouth, barking out sweet laughter. But it was humorless, a mockery of the girls. It took the two blonds and brunette to figure out what she had done, but then their eyes widened in instant anger and fury. Blond number one, who thought she was showing off, flipped the finger. "Don't read our minds, brat!" she shrieked in a high voice. Brat? Who do you think you are?
"It surely takes on to know one, Carrie. Take a look in the mirror. Oh no, I don't think you should, you'd break it," Angela winked, smiling like a devil. The girl's face twisted into a red tomato as she stomped her feet, cracking the already damaged linelouem below her Converse feet. Angela barked out a laugh once more. She turned, stomping out, flashing a furious glare at Angela Barsoe. The small girl who slouched waved daintly at her, blowing a soft kiss in her direction. The blond whipped her head around and left the room, just as the English professor, Mr. Jones, walked in, fixing his glasses on his nose.
The class glanced at Angela, who only smiled.