Madison was trying to focus on the blackboard, she really was, but those annoying boys behind her wouldn't shut up. She tightened her fist under the wooden desk to control the sudden wave of rage. Letting anger out was never the ideal solution, but neither was ignoring those stupid kids. The girl withdrew her arm from under the desk and pressed her hand hard against the chair.
"Madison, are you feeling alright?" The history teacher asked.
"Yes, Mrs. Fortuna."
"Then can you explain why your face is covered in mud?"
By that time, most of the class had started laughing at her; the students sitting near Madison, at the front rows, had turned to her and some even grabbed their phones and started taking pictures or God knows what else. The girl wanted to hide her face. What was happening? What did Mrs. Fortuna mean with covered in mud? Was there dirt in her chair?
"I think there was something in my chair..." she said silently as the teacher gave her the restroom pass.
Once in the girls' lavatory, Madison noticed not only her hands looked like wood, but her arms, neck and face did, too. No, that wasn't mud: that was exactly the color of the chair she'd been sitting on. Was she unknowingly Pinocchio? What the heck is happening to me?
