For the first time in my life, I felt way too young in my class. I was a sophomore and no one seemed to believe that. It was ridiculous. Walking across the hallway, as I was looking for my class, I saw the perfect example of a high school student. He was with a perfect outfit and was hanging by his locker with a smartphone in his hands. Even the senior girls were drooling over him. The one thing that I was sure of was that this guy was going to ruin my high school and he did.
We had adjacent lockers, so it was painfully disturbing to listen to his non sense conversation about his spring break in New York. The day was getting lame and lame with each second passing. Luckily I had literature in my first class.
The class was a simple 18th century room. It had those old lamps, ragged curtains, dusty desks and a big picture of the Napoleon's fight. I thought maybe this was because no one took literature. But within five minutes, the room was full of people, each of them wondering why is the room so dull.
Out of nowhere a figure appeared. A middle-aged man, perfectly shaved in a blue shirt and glasses. It was evident that everyone was clueless of the surroundings. He remarked about the surrounding and asked us the reason. Believe me, you don't wanna be the guy who raised his hands with an answer on the first day of high school.
With a vague of nervousness, somehow I survived the undesirable fate of the first day.
