Tick.

No..

Tock.

No no no...

Tick.

How could this happen?

Tock.

How could I let this happen?

Tick.

This can't be possible.

Tock.

Alright, just... Focus.

Tick.

Focus.

Tock.

FOCUS DAMN YOU!

Tick.

SHUT-

"-UP!" I jerk my head upwards to glare at the self-righteous piece of mechanical shit hanging from the wall as the second hand clicks forward yet another derisive count, the numerals seeming to stare smugly at me.

Someone behind me clears their throat. It's only at this point that I realize I had actually shouted what was in my mind out loud,
for the whole class to hear. God damni-

"Excuse me, Miss Sirvard?"

I hear a few kids off to either side of me snigger. I keep my head and eyes facing forward as I respond.

"... Yes, Mr. Andrews?"

"Do keep the class disruptions to a minimum in the future."

That was one time! Five months ago! Bastard!

"Yes, Mr. Andrews."

There's a moment of silence, he's probably nodding that great, misshapen head of his.

"Good. Continue with the test, class."

The snickering slowly quiets down as I turn my eyes back down to the satanic abomination that engineered this latest public embarrassment for me.

A test.

A math test.

Kill me now.

I take a deep breath in, and slowly let it out. I can do this. C'mon, Adara, you know this stuff. You studied it.
You got this. You got this.

I got this.

I don't got this.

I'm left staring at the same problem I was ten minutes ago. The tick of that sadistic clock the only noise echoing throughout the classroom.

Determine the coordinates of the vertices of the image of trapezoid WXYZ, when scaled through a factor of 5 with the center of dilation at the origin. Explain your reasoning.

What does it mean, 'explain your reasoning'? If I multiply this, it equals that! That's my goddamned reasoning!
Am I missing something? Is it not as obvious as it looks? Are there multiple answers, somehow?
Andrews would shove a trick question in here, wouldn't he, the sleazy, balding-

My train of thought is cut off by the soft, yet loud 'ding, dong' of the bell. All around me, chairs are shoved backwards, letting out shrill shrieks as the students kick and shove each other in their path out of the classroom and into the mass of chattering students heading home.

Except me. I'm still staring at my paper.

A hand comes down and slides the unfinished test off my desk. I look up to see the disappointed eyes of Mr. Andrews roving over my mediocre answers. When he notices my gaze, he turns his stare to me and slowly shakes his head before walking back to his desk. His shoes squeaking against the tile floor the only sound reverberating through the room.

That and the damnable clock.

I glumly pick myself up from the desk, secure my faded yellow backpack around my shoulder, and exit the classroom.

I make it all of ten steps before I'm accosted by the 'popular crowd'. I'd be willing to bet all the money I've ever saved that most, if not all of the kids who laughed at me in the classroom were standing somewhere in this crowd of bitches and bastards.

I turn my back on them and walk the other way.

"Hey Sirvard, heard you failed your test."

They're not going to quit today, are they?
I don't bother to point out to whoever that high and bubbly voice belongs to that my test hasn't been graded yet.

I made it halfway down the page. There's no way I didn't fail.

"You know what that means, riiiiiiight?"

A failed test means a failed grade. A failed grade means summer school. Summer school means no Journey.

"Hey bitch, answer me when I'm talking to yaaaAAAHHHH!"

I whip my head around when I hear the derisive comment turn into a garbled scream.
What I see makes me eyes open wide, and I quickly open my bag to find an opened Poke Ball staring back up at me.
How the hell does he keep getting out?!

I turn my eyes back up to the spectacle and shout, "Gastly! No! STOP! Get OFF her!"

A perfect sphere, colored purple and at least three times the size of my head, is glaring murder at a tall brunette. Copious amounts of a neon blue gas roll off him, and the scowl on his face is getting larger by the second. The girl is writhing on the ground, her head engulfed by the noxious gas and her eyes bulging.

He glances at me when I speak, but otherwise continues chocking her. I open my mouth to try to call him off again when a hated voice indignantly squawks from behind me,

"What is going on here?"

The crowd of people, who were dumbly standing and watching their friend dying in front of them, finally seems to come to life and multiple people all start yelling their own versions of what happened at Mr. Andrews. I use the opportunity to quietly slip out my Poke Ball and suck a protesting ghost pokemon into it. I turn my back and walk briskly around the crowd, hoping against hope that-

"Miss Sirvard, where do you think you're going?"

Could this day get any worse?