Chapter 6
Phoebe
Bang.
I jerked my head from the desk then wiped drool from my mouth and glanced around, hoping no one saw me napping.
Phil, a classmate with a shock of brown hair always sticking straight from his head no matter how many times he ran his fingers through it, raised an eyebrow then pointed to his temple and pulled an imaginary trigger.
I snickered then yawned.
Why am I so tired today?
On the other side of my desk, Tara rested her chin in a palm. With her other hand, she twirled a red lock of hair. Eyelids at half-mast, she gave her laptop a bored stare.
At the front of the classroom, Professor Mac, an elderly man with snow-white hair and red-rimmed eyes, droned on about the important battles of The Civil War.
My phone vibrated, and I snatched it from a pocket, reading the text notification from Tara.
Tara: There’s drool on your shirt. I admire your ability to sleep through the old fart’s ramble about his Air Force days.
I gave her a grin, slipped the phone under the safety of the desk, and typed.
Me:Did I miss anything important?
Tara:Just the reminder of the fifty-question quiz due Friday and his ridiculous expectation of three complete-sentence answers for each question.
Me:I’ll be glad when I’m finished with core classes. He’s crazy, expecting us to memorize so much information.
Tara:Yep. He needs to retire already. Guess we’ll be hitting the books this week. FML.
“And what was the prelude to the First Battle of Bullrun?” Professor Mac’s bright stare swept across the classroom.
I fumbled the phone into my back pocket.
From behind, someone snapped bubble gum, the sweet fragrance drifting in the air.
“Anyone?” He propped a gnarled hand on his hip, then adjusted his wire-rimmed glasses. “Come on, people. We talked about this last Wednesday, and it was in this week’s readings.”
I dug myself deeper into the chair, not wanting to call his attention. Ever since yesterday, when I’d awoken in the dirt, I’d had a mild headache and couldn’t focus on this week’s assignments.
Normally, I didn’t mind listening to Dr. Mac’s lectures even if they did tend to turn into stories about his missions in the Gulf War, but today, all I wanted was to go home and sleep.
Dings from phones and watches sounded, indicating three o’clock, the end of class.
Freedom. Thank God.
Chairs scraped across the tiled floor, books slammed shut, and crinkling papers were shoved into backpacks.
