"Daphne Westlake."
The sleepy me jerked my head towards Mr. Jenkins. The Algebra teacher was on his hips, tapping his shoes on the floor over and over while I needed to point at myself like an idiot.
"Who else is the student here named Daphne Westlake?" Next to Mr. Jenkins was pulled up, causing me to swallow hard. Hell, I don't like people calling my surname 'Westlake'.
"Yes, sir?"
"Do question number three." Mr. index finger Jenkins held up the pages of my book. I looked at him once more, giving him my 'wtf' look hoping he was pointing the wrong way.
Bloody fucking hell. I'm the dumbest in math. Don't be asked to do one question in the future. Just doing homework I often overslept and ended up being punished in class the next morning.
"Eh, but, sir..." I tried to dodge. "I'm a transfer student. At my old school, the chapter didn't end here, sir." I crossed my fingers behind my back.
Mr. Jenkins raised his squinted glasses. "Where was your school before?"
"Florida Stalag 14 High School."
"Florida Stalag 14 High School has even passed this chapter."
I could feel a rat squeak in my stomach at Mr. Jenkins. Some of the students in this class held back their amused grins at my stupid face. I scratched my hair, cursing in my head. For the potato cakes I've ever made, I can't do this thing! What am I supposed to do up front while my friends see me back there—and my idiotic mind says some of the guys over there are peeking at my short uniform skirt? Dead already.
Lifting myself off the bench, I started walking past the other benches. Looking back, I seemed to be confronted by dozens of demons waiting for me to be executed. Then when I looked ahead, I saw flames rising high, licking almost to my feet, like it was on Hades' throne.
Spontaneously I screamed and moved backward until I bumped into someone's body.