?So here we have a standard differential coefficient??My math teacher?s monotonous voice droned on and on, putting me in a zombie-like stupor. It was last block on Friday, and the stuffy room combined with the sheer dullness of the stuff and nonsense we were covering had managed, as always, to weigh down my eyelids like a ton of bricks. As I struggled to keep my head lifted, I glanced around the room at the other students. Except for the a couple of(prenominal) overachievers who had somehow mastered the art of functioning with out sleep, everyone felt the same as I did; tired, listless, and bored out of their minds.
After fight with my eyelids for a few minutes, I finally allowed them to settle at half-mast; neither asleep nor awake. I knew how I must look to the teacher?legs sprawled, one hand twirling a draw and the other hanging limply off the edge of my desk? except I didn?t really care. Screw this, I?ll anatomy out this derivative stuff later. I mean, how hard could it be?The teacher continued to ramble on. I fixed my look on the clock, focusing and re-focusing my drowsy vision until I could lie with the time. It was 2:15, only 10 more minutes originally the last bell. The clock then faded away as my eyes glazed over and I began to plan out my Friday night. Maybe I?ll crash at Brent?s.
Or John?s, even thought I went there yesterday?Suddenly, a soft tap between my shoulder blades shock me out of my reverie.
I whipped around to see Sherrie, the eighth interview of the world. Sherrie herself was nothing special, but the fact that her petite structure could suffer and support such a large chest was beyond anyone?s understanding. In fact, at that moment I be it difficult to focus on anything else.
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