07-19-2015, 12:22 AM
(Nice new avi. And sorry for the wait!)
The prospect of Shop class haunted him through French. It made him stutter words and trip over sentences. His writing, well that was more of a hopping mess then his usual elegant script. By the time the bell rang, Chance wanted nothing more then to march to the office and tell them he was sick, or jump into his car and speed away home, where no one would bother him. The household staff knew better then to try and parent him.
At least one good thing had happened because of the morning fiasco; Chance found the dreaded class with ease. That didn't stop him from grumbling when he walked inside, glancing at the punk kid who'd bumped into him that morning and trying not to take out his frustration on him. Chance, as part of the popular crowd, held a certain disdain for anyone who dared to be different. Of course, there was a boiling stew of other emotions beneath the surface, but putting them on display would mark him as different too; the others on top of the social ladder wouldn't fail to throw him down at any sign of weakness.
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