Eventually the fight breaks up, and both parties return to class unscathed. I sigh and fall into my chair while Gustafa checks me over for battle scars.

"They're not going to stop you know," Nami says, staring straight ahead as she leaned in her chair with her arms crossed.

The bell rings, sending waves of students rushing in.

"They don't know how to deal with their problems, and so they'll attack what's different from them first. Once they're done with that, they'll start attacking each other. It's all one big supernova waiting to happen. It's inevitable, and it's a waste of energy to go out there every day and break up their stupid fights. Maybe if someone got a black eye or a broken arm, they'd realize just how stupid they're being," Nami explains, still not looking at me.

"But-," Gustafa interrupts, "violence is never the answer."

Nami gruffly gets up and mumbles something along the lines of, "Tell that to my dad," before grabbing her burlap sack and getting ready to leave.

Just then, an old woman with a tight bun, pencil skirt, wired glasses and pink blouse walks into the room. She oozes the look of modern, and wrinkles her nose when she looks at us. For the most part, our class was filled with kids like me; ranchers. Some had parents, some didn't. Still, we didn't pay much to clothing during school hours. It just wasn't a main concern, what with the heavy loads of work we had to do.

The woman sets down a briefcase at her desk and opens it up. She organizes herself before staring straight at Nami.

"What on Earth do you think you're doing?" she demands, her voice sharp and unwielding to any sort of emotion.

Nami furrows her brow. "According to the law, if the teacher is more than 15 minutes late, we're legally allowed to leave."

"Well then, I do believe that I took my 15 minutes to make myself look proper, something I can't say the same for you." The woman was definitely defensive, and crazily snooty.

Nami rolls her eyes. "Look Miss, I don't know what right you think you have to talk to me that way but I can assure you that no one in this class cares about how cheap your makeup is."

"Of course you don't," she says, narrowing her eyes. "You're kind wouldn't even know what makeup is."

"Excuse me?" a girl's voice calls from the back. "Who do you think you are? You can't talk to her like that! And you can't address us like that either!"

"Oh honey," the teacher says, smiling evilly. "I can do whatever I want."