Going 78 Miles Per Hour | ✓

06 | Take The Pass

MIÉRCOLES
8:46 AM

Dahlia Gray

I'm always late.

I don't know what came over me. I arrived at school at seven am sharp, and the only misstep in my routine was my friends holding me back a little longer than necessary. We were talking about something—I already forgot—and it felt rude to tell them I needed to leave.

It jumped around in topics, and I remember faintly about them bringing up a boy but I couldn't exactly recall his name. It started with an R?

The door was close to closing when I arrive, but I slip my hand in the crack before the teacher closes it. Granted, that could've earn me a broken bone that would've led me to the nurse's office and a great excuse—but Calloway was smarter than that.

The moment my fingers pass the doorframe, he stops himself.

Mr Calloway pulls the door back, and holds a timid look over his features. He had salt-and-pepper hair and a clean face. He was in his mid-forties, working to finish his course in high school education before progressing forward to become a professor.

He likes me—sometimes—and today was on the flip-side of that sometimes.

"Miss Gray," he muses, just as I step into the classroom with my backpack threatening to slip off my shoulders. I look around the room, seeing how everyone was situated into a seat and stares at me with a passive look.

Anxiety pulses through my veins  and I nearly wanted to turn around and leave the room, risking a write-up than facing the looks of my peers.

"Nice of you to join us," he said, holding out his hand. He's asking for a pass. Shoot, I don't have a pass.

"I, um," I take the strap of my backpack, "I don't really have a pass. I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to be this late—"

"It's fine," he said with a wave of his hand, causing my words to fall flat. He looks away, turning back to the board as he picks up the dry-erase marker and returns to writing today's lesson. "Just take a seat."

I look around the room, spotting an empty two-person desk that no one wanted to occupy. It was saved near the front, with a limping leg on one end of the desk and seated near the no-cheating zone. It was fine for me, since I actually study for physics.

I slip onto the chair, dropping my backpack onto the empty seat. I quickly rearrange myself and pull out all my necessities—my laptop, my notebook, my pencil pouch. It was noisy, and I felt a couple of students staring at the back of my head, but it is what it is.

Mr Calloway finishes with writing the final deed of today's class period, and I found it shorter than usual. The first one reads: speaker.

The door knocks and simultaneously, all heads turn towards the door. Mr Calloway sighs, proceeding to walk over as he cracks open the wooden door and reveals a boy.

I know that boy.

He steps inside, his hand holds a paper slip of something as he entertains a bored expression. Mr Calloway takes it from his hand, his eyes quickly scanning over the words before returning to the blue-eyed boy.

"Why are they switching you over now?"

"They said my schedule fucked up or something," he replies, causing the rest of the class to let out a low gasp. I wasn't one of them—I figured he was one to swear—but that doesn't make the situation any better. He looks to us. "What?"

"We don't swear in my classroom," Mr Calloway declares, walking over as he drops the paper slip on his desk. "Let that be your first warning. Take a seat next to Dahlia."