They're Playing Our Song

After the slow and painful grind that was math, I walked into Mr. Way's room slowly. I sighed as I slumped into my padded metal stool. He was standing at the chalkboard and watched me from the corner of his eye. With an amused smirk, he wrote the day's assignment on the board. It was something to do with shading techniques. The other students filed in slowly, taking their time and chatting by the doorway. By now they weren't surprised to see me as the first one there.

“'Kay guys.” Mr. Way smiled as the late bell rang. “Read the board for me while I look for those damn papers.” The room erupted with chatter as soon as he finished his sentence.

“They're in the top shelf in the gray cabinet.” I muttered absentmindedly as I dug in my bag for a pencil. The room silenced quickly. I looked up slowly, my cheeks burning crimson as I realized what I said.

“Oh, right. Thanks Louie.” Mr. Way muttered, almost to himself. He strolled over to the cabinet, and wrenched out a stack of thick papers. “Whoa,” he laughed as he passed them out. “Who died?” Everyone started talking again, but many were whispering softly to their neighbor. I just smiled.

“Today,” Mr. Way said as he waltzed back up to the front of the room. “We are going to start going over some different types of shading.”