I walked down the hall full of beige brick, walls that felt like a prison at times. I have to shove myself through bodies of people, where I am practically invisible. Impossible to believe, but the walls narrow between the buildings, and the smell of sweat fills the air as I pa** the gym.
“I swear they purposely make our cla**es far apart!” I exclaim to Penny as we walk to our advanced math cla**, dodging other teenagers in the halls. This was our last cla** of the day, and it was practically impossible to stay awake for it. Unfortunately, it wasn't game day, which meant there wasn't even anything to look forward to, except three hours of various AP homework.
“I know right?! I think cheer practice was enough exercise enough for today, but I guess our school counselors don't think so.” Penny replied, and I nodded in agreement since the hallway was too noisy to bother with a response.
Beep. Beep. Beep. The minute bell rang signaling we had one more minute until we were counted tardy. Members of administration stood around with walkie talkies in hand, waiting to give anybody who was even a mere second late a detention.
I slide into my seat, Penny slides into the one next to mine, our other two pod members aren't here yet. My leg vibrates, and I just know that it's Josh texting me before his last cla** of the day. The bell rings, and there isn't a point for me to even answer the text. The phone slides easily into the pocket on my backpack, and the cla** continues to buzz with voices while Mrs. Johnson takes roll. Geometry is still written on the board, from the simple Geometry cla** before our advanced Pre-Calculus cla**. These problems are so simple I could solve them while asleep.
I take a look around the room at my cla**mates, we're all set into pods, two brown wood desks facing two more brown desks. This makes it easier for us to solve questions, and ask our cla**mates to help. Of course that calls for excessive chatter sometimes too, but I didn't mind that too much.
“What did Josh say?” Penny finally asks, but I don't answer her since Mrs. Johnson started having us write notes. The e.l.m.o projects the neat handwriting of our math teacher onto the board for us all to read. It's just a continuation of what we learned the day before, so I let my mind wander a bit.
I imagine myself back in the choir cla**room, my face staring through the full wall mirror at Josh. We were practicing for the end of the year spring choir show, which meant we were practicing on the risers. The fake gray carpet on them was worn down from years of choirs, and I feel like I have to watch my every move so I don't fall onto the ground.
Mrs. Johnson is walking around the random a**ortment of desk pods, and I snap back to reality.
--
I thought it would be more comfortable to write this into a story form, focusing on the description of the school. So that's what I experimented with in this experiment.