My kind of Grey

Chapter 1

Before beginning, I'd like to acknowledge a few things.

A) I know the cover is pitiful. Well, my creative skills can take me only this further. I'd be extremely happy if you guys can come up with something amazing.

B) I haven't finalized the cast, not even in my 3 am subconscious. Feel free to suggest your own.

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12:35 am

That's what the alarm clock reads when my mother scurries into my room and wakes me up, the frilly skirt of her long maroon silk nightgown swirling around her long and shapely legs.

"Seriously Ana, do you have to switch off your cell so early? Your friends have been calling me non stop and my cell is practically overflowing with texts from unknown people. Here, handle them if you will", she states before chucking her traumatized cell phone on my lap and sashaying out much like she sashayed in.

I settle at rolling my eyes rather than giving her an explanation, which is best since she doesn't bother waiting for one either, and unlock the screen before going through the 'overflowing texts' one by one. Knowing my mother's penchant for exaggeration I hadn't taken her seriously, but scrolling through the texts now, I am forced to admit that she wasn't exaggerating. Poor mom must have really been pissed, having to wake up because of her daughter.

Just as I am about to open the latest one and read it, the cell begins to ring with those practical corporate hushed tones and truecaller alerts me of the caller, even before I could begin to speculate or even guess.

She does not even give me a chance to say hello

"Ana, oh my God, I've been trying to call you all night, why the hell is your phone switched off', Kate, my best friend, screeches in a half-assed attempt to punish me with a pierced ear drum. I move it away and cover my ears before she could do some real damage while she continues in the same tones "I know that you need your beauty sleep and everything, but seriously, could you not switch it off so early? And how can you sleep girl? Do you not know the tortures lined up for us this week. I mean, I've always known that our school is full of sadistic monsters but this cruelty at a whole new level. How can they expect us .."

"Kate", I interrupt before her rambling gives me a headache and shoot down my already tired neurons "what is the matter, what are you talking about"?

"Oh my God, what is the matt.,,,, Don't you know? Mr Lincoln has added two new chapters for tomorrow's exam. Two whole new chapters one night before the exam. The entire senior class was in an uproar while you were sleeping, but Ethan couldn't reach Mr Lincoln, seeing as his cell phone was turned off like someone else I know", she finishes sarcastically and I know that a headache is now inevitable.

That was highly unlike Mr. Lincoln. He may have been labeled as the president of the Lord Voldemort's fan club after announcing that the chem paper was based less on theory and more on application based questions, but the truth was that he was one of the very few teachers who encouraged us to think out of the box. In a world of perfect 4.0 GPAs and same old college essays and all that drone work, he was the only teacher who encouraged us to think, to question, and to widen our understanding of the basics and the elemental, and not just of chemistry. Obviously he wasn't a favorite with the majority of the students who detested everything to do with 'thinking'. But he wasn't a cruel teacher, not by a far shot. Something was very wrong here.

"Who told you about the addition Kate. And did you confirm it with Ethan"? I ask, smelling something very obviously fishy.

"What does it matter. The whole school knows. And I told you that Mr. Lincoln is sleeping or whatever it is that he's doing, and ewww, lets not even go there. Suffice it to say that we, my friend, have to pull an all-nighter just to score a B minus."

That may be true for people like me and her, but a lot of the others would be scoring an F at this rate. And this is exactly why I'm having a difficult time accepting the fact that Lincoln could've done something like this.

She continues her tirade for a few more minutes where I oooh and aaahh at the appropriate places before disconnecting the call and preparing a cup of coffee, as I prepare myself for a long tedious night ahead.

And then I do something I reserve only for very special occassions, occassions such as these where my hatred for the activity is overcome by my need for justice.

I scheme.