AP National History, in this school system, was apparently the equivalent of Hell.
Mark had yet to be in the class for more than 20 minutes, yet he was already swimming in assignments, struggling to keep his head above the water with the sheer amount of work the teacher, Ms. Pelan, was dishing out. It was incredible. And not the good kind of incredible.
Back where he'd come from, they didn't have AP, only IB. And IB National History was respected as a class that was relatively difficult, but appropriately so. It was not known to be more, nor less, difficult than it should have been. How he longed for the IB system today.
Although . . . all that being said, Mark would take this to seething speciesist canines like Gauge any day. He'd gotten only, like, two dirty looks so far. Although the teacher had ignored him so far with the exception of the two times when he'd raised his hand and directly asked a question. Otherwise, she hadn't even made eye contact with him.
This semester only became more and more fun as the day went on, didn't it?
Given a temporary lapse as Ms. Pelan went to start a movie (it was apparently a musical about the creation of the Proclamation of Self-Sovereignty in 1776?), Mark fingered the business card in his pocket, wondering idly about Rocket. He'd been interesting and mysterious, to say the least. And he'd been a friend, and he'd been the first one to step in to Mark's aid. Those, Mark suddenly decided, were more than enough of a suitable combination to warrant a text.
Double checking that his phone was on silent (it wasn't, so Mark wasn't entirely certain what the outcome of his first check had been), Mark quickly tapped in the number and name, labelling the contact as "Rocket Fox?", because there was no way in hell that was his real name, and Mark was curious to know his actual title.
Tapping as quickly as he could, Mark created a quick message to the mysterious guy. It was a lesser known fact amongst many that otters had some of the harder times using phones because of the webbing in their paws. Fingers, see, were made for manipulation of objects, sure, but in otters, they served the equal purpose of moving in unison to aid in swimming. Now, otters could move their fingers and the webbing in between the digits would stretch just fine, but moving in the way that texting or typing on a computer demanded was rather difficult, and painful if the otter tried to do so too much.
Finally finishing the message, Mark quickly breezed his eyes over it, looking for typos and proper grammar, things he always, always typed with. "Hey, Rocket, this is Mark. Thanks again for the help this morning. I didn't get the chance to ask, but are you okay yourself?" Looked good.
Pressing send, Mark slipped the phone down on the chair in between his legs - the place where he always put his phone while it wasn't in his pocket or on his nightstand - and leaned back, watching as their founding fathers began dancing across the screen and singing about independence . . .
Topic: Pellicius High School, 4200 Hanso Lane (Read 14629 times)