The English Wing housed the teachers that I knew better than the rest of those at Davinci. Not that there were any teachers who would call me a bad student (I had a 3.6 average), but the English Wing was the only wing where I was likely to be recognized. The other classes - economics, trigonometry, biology - I was the one girl, whatshername, who was a quiet student, always did satasfactory work, and always handed it in on time.
In the English Wing, I was , the ascerbic girl who had poignant statements to be made about Sylvia Plath, Ambrose Bierce, and Nathaniel Hawthorne.
The reason to avoid this anonymity was plain. If I was caught somewhere else, if I was caught where I was an unknown, it was off to Officer 4862 for a talking to, which I'm sure would be unpleasant, as that would mean he'd actually have to do something.
If I was caught be the English Wing, I had an out. I wasn't the type that would skip school. I was the type that would reflect.
"Oh, hey Mr. Gnoblè... sorry - 'Charles' - I just wanted to go out and stare at the grass for a minute before trig. I hope that's not a problem." It was an excuse I knew would work, if I did get caught walking right out this...
FUCK!
Locked.
The English Wing doors, which I had heard a number of times were always opened, resisted my push. Not being in Trish's car by the time she got there was unacceptable, of course, so I needed to think decisively. |