"Sh*t. Damn. B*tch. Crap. F*ck. Hell."
When Kelita Thompson gets involved in something grave, resulting in her having to repeat her junior year of high school, her parents make the executive decision to move their family across the country to escape...
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Hot diggity damn.
Okay, wait, let me slow down. Back to the beginning.
"Hello, children! How are we feeling this morning?" Ms. Somerset projected across the large classroom, and I peered around at drowsy students who hid behind their hoodies and yawned.
"Let's try that again! HOW ARE WE FEELING THIS MORNING?" Dean Wilhelm chimed in abrasively, causing us to jump.
"Good!" the chorus of our voices rang.
"Much better!" Ms. Somerset smiled before continuing, "Now, I'm sure you're all wondering what's on the agenda for today since we haven't posted it to our announcement blog - which, by the way, if you aren't following, what are you doing?"
"Thank you for the introduction, Ms. Somerset," the dean cut in, "Let's keep this brief. Each of you are seated in groups of four. Before the end of the day, we need you to come up with a project. The topic is anything you want it to be, but you only have these seven hours to thoroughly bring it to completion. Do not slack off on this! It'll go towards your grade, because this counts as a class. Any poor work you do now will be irreversible, and you need these credits to graduate, so I suggest you and your group get very comfortable with one another very quickly. Every hour we'll have fifteen minute breaks, and at half point we'll have a full hour for lunch. Poster boards, note cards, papers, borrowed laptops and such will all be passed out upon request from your teachers."
Blinking rapidly, Ms. Somerset intervened, "Of course! And as I was saying, check the blog for notifs daily! Oh, and no you will not have to present this. Once your group is done, you can submit your project, collect a college guidebook at the front desk, and go home. You can use any media you want for it! Be creative! Your time begins...now!"
I finally registered the existence of my group partners. There was a tall, thin girl with mocha skin who wore a heather grey tank top, a dark green army jacket, and black leggings. Her hair was long, straight and dark brown. She had on shades, though we were inside. Beside her was a plump, shorter girl with wavy hair in an ombre that went from black to fiery orange. Her skin was much more pale, and rosacea peppered her round cheeks. She wore white overalls and a yellow top patterned with sunflowers, matching the clips in her hair.
But...where was the fourth? Or was I exceptionally bad at math that morning?
As if on cue - because it totally is, because I'm telling this story - the fourth partner rushed in, hastily grabbing the remaining seat at our table.
And who was it? You guessed it! Or maybe you didn't. Anyway. It was none other than the employee from the café! Barista Boy!
Upon recognizing me, he chuckled.
"What's up, Window Girl?" he addressed me, "And don't worry y'all, my brother went here. I already know the rules. So, what's the plan?"
I took in Barista Boy's appearance. What a beautiful chocolate man!
