The Art Of Magic.

Chapter 9:

My first class was potions. Potions class was in the dungeon. The thought of the dungeon made my stomach turn.
Oliver instructed me to where potions was.
I began to walk inside, but he shut the wooden door in front of me. I frowned.
"What?" I asked.
I looked at his pale green eyes as he scratch the back of his head.
He leaned against the wall, crossed his arms, and squinted his eyes.
"Um..there's this dance, to celebrate a new year...and I was wondering... Ummm..." He began.
I widened my eyes. I was going to be late.
"And....?" I said impatiently.
"And, I was wondering if you want to be my...ummm.."
He almost finished, when suddenly, the door slammed open, knocking me down. My head hit the concrete, making a large thump. I just layed there, flat on my back, and groaned.
I opened my eyes, everything was blurry. I was being sat up by someone. I focused my vision on a boy, not Oliver. This boy was younger. He was a first year like me. He had brown, shaggy hair, freckles dotted across his cheeks and nose, and panic filled his brown, dazzling eyes.
"Oh my god, I had no idea you were there!" He said as he helped Oliver pull me to my feet.
I felt the place to where my head hit the ground. It throbbed with pain, and I winced as I felt the bump growing on the right side of my forehead. 

I shook them both away from my arms.

"I'm alright," I said. "I am perfectly capable of walking!" As I said this, I retrieved my bag, and stumbled into the classroom. I heard snickers behind me, and I turned to lecture them of how much i hate them, and how much of retards they were.