Wronged

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- Anna's POV -

Let's be real here: If life doesn't hand you sugar and water along with those lemons, your lemonade is going to suck.

For one, it won't even fill the pitcher one fourth of the way full unless you've got, like, thirty lemons. Two, it'll just be sour and full of pulp, which is nasty in my opinion. And three, real lemons are gross. You need some of that Country Lemonade Mix stuff or whatever it is. That's the good crap.

Sadly, I'm never handed lemons, lemonade, or anything along the lines of a delicious drink from life. My silver platter is shattered into a billion pieces, and has unfortunately tarnished. Therefore, I don't get a good life handed on a silver platter.

My phone sits horizontally to me on the wooden desk, ear buds plugged into the side and also into my ears. My hood covers my head as a substitute appliance for shade, and my head rests on my arms, which are folded on the desk as my eyes take in the wonderful world of YouTube. I'm watching "conspiracy math" in science class.

"-leads us to our next equation that proves that one plus one equals three. You see, we have two ones. Spelled out twice, because we have two ones, there are six letters: O-N-E plus O-N-E. Six letters. You with me? Good. Now, since we have two numbers: 1 and 1, we have to divide the six letters by the two actual numbers, which equals three. One plus one equals three. Now onto how four plus four equals nine. We take-"

Suddenly a knocking sound is heard, and I look up, bored with whoever disturbed my very important math lesson. I take out my right ear bud and pause the video, looking up at a teacher-looking person expectantly.

"Ms. Cardale, correct?" The teacher asks. At least I hope he's a teacher, because if he's not, his style needs help. And that's coming from someone who knows nothing about fashion whatsoever.

I nod.

"I don't know how things worked for you in other schools or at home, but I do not tolerate phones in class. I'll give you a warning since you're new, but any other time I see the device out, I will have to confiscate it," he explains.

I roll my eyes but do what I'm told nonetheless, unplugging the ear buds and stuffing the phone into my hood's pockets. A few people to my right snicker as the teacher gives me a tight smile and goes back up to the board that has a bunch of chemical compounds on it.

They're insanely easy to understand. But so is everything else here. Or in any school for that matter. For some reason, everything comes so easily to me. Learning. But I'm not even learning, really. I could just look and absorb information. It's...too easy sometimes. But I never speak up, so no one knows how I comprehend information so simply. I don't need them to know.

I look over at the people who'd quietly chuckled and send them a hard glare. The guys just let out some amused sounds, and the girls just snort and roll their eyes.

If you think I'm such an unreliable threat then why don't you come over here and allow me to demonstrate?

I'd say it out loud, but it's my first day back, and I don't need anymore attention drawn to me than there already is going to be. Hopefully everyone soon realizes that I'm a stuck-up girl with no interest in any other person on the planet.

I just let out a breath and keep my emotions pent-up before turning back to the board. My eyes scan over a random question, and I almost have to scoff at the simplicity of it.

The compound with the molecular formula, Nitrogen • Ozone, would be called:

It's not that hard of a question, really. They try to throw you off by using the small numbers and single letters and such, but it's not that difficult to read. The answer is dinitrogen trioxide.