11-10-2010, 09:46 PM
Blaise never really cared for Algebra. It wasn't exactly that he was bad at it -- Blaise was actually pretty smart, when he actually gave enough of a damn to do more than the bare minimum for passing -- but it was just so boring. At least in other classes, like history or literature, there was something going on. Math was just numbers on paper.
So, instead of even pretending to listen to the lecture, Blaise had slipped his cellphone in between the pages of his notebook and began text messaging a friend in another class. He doubted the teacher would notice; currently, the elderly woman had her nose practically against the whiteboard as she transcribed problems from the book with all the speed of a glacier. Up until this year, Blaise hadn't thought math could get any more boring, but then, he'd never had it explained to him in geriatric monotone. At least last year his teacher had been hot; that had almost made him want to do the work.
He was about halfway through reading Crystal's explanation of some art class fiasco involving paper-maché and houseplant when he heard the creak of the door. He hastily shoved the phone back in his pocket in case some teacher or other was looking in on the class, then glanced up at doorway.
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