Pretzels crunch under my molars on my way to my most sufferable class. Now reduced to damp molds of whole grain flour and salt, I run my tongue through it to keep it from being glued to my upper gums. I hope no one catches me digging for gold, but I'm not that worried because all the other drama kids enter the stage through the forest green curtain. Next to the gap that divides the curtain sits a conspicuous peephole Brendan, a troublesome, but humorous class clown "accidentally" made last Tuesday to check the time out in the lunch room. Man, our school's too poor to get a clock for the stage. Drama class wasn't even originally on a stage before! I guess since the nearby elementary school started checking out our classes like Hampton Inn rooms, things got tight. They're been over a couple years, I've heard, because their school's getting renovated.


I keep walking with a little embarrassment hung over me as I carry my lunch box. Such a loser. glasses, lunch box, frizzy hair, and for the icing on the cake, I'm the only Asian in my grade. Swallow it, I tell myself as I squeeze through a couple scenery flats. Stupid things make me feel like a spy, slipping through lasers. Mrs. Robinson's already got the class huddled up around her desk. Whoops, guess I'm late. Don't care. I lumber over and stand there, wobbling around, with my arms swaying back and legs walking in place. Bored. What's she even saying? I examine her desk. Two Pepsi Max's popped open and a box of Kellogg's Special K over by her filing cabinet. So. She's trying to drop a few pounds. Good, she's fat anyways. Wait, no. I-She's not even fat, just- Mrs. Robinson's nice. Stop thinking about her. She's not fat-just um. Uh. I swiftly focus my attention on the flake of dry skin on her nose instead. Aw jeez, and how she's got to pull up her shirt, ugh. Plus she's so old and-

"Emily?" she calls.

NOOO. What does she want this time?"

"Yeah?" I blatantly strike back.

"Can you head over to Mr. Loving's to drop this off to Charlie?"

Ooh, haha. Charlie got kicked out of the class last week because he kept bugging her too much.

"I...would, but I dunno where his room is."

She rolls her eyes and throws a hand at me. What the ----? Sure, like I know where art is, coming here this semester, and only having drama and gym. Dumbo.

"I'm sorry?" I mumble, not meaning it whatsoever.

She wraps up her lecture and shoos us off. I put my lunch box on one of the very few clean chairs and mosey along from her desk to the animal cage she keeps all the props and costumes in until 11:08. I need some friends. Forty-five minutes later she sets us free and we rush out like untamed gorillas. Wonder what a day tomorrow's going to be.