Welcome To Correcamp

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A/N: this is my first time writing a story featuring a character who prefers the they/them pronouns. So, if you identify any mistakes where I've used the pronouns incorrectly, don't hesitate to comment on it; let me know.
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I watch the clock tick slowly. Its second hand lazily meanders round on its pivot, whilst the minute hand and the hour hand watch with impatience. I empathise with them.

I look down from the wall clock to my wristwatch, as if I'm comparing both times: which clock could be ticking faster? If one does so, which time shall I follow? Are either even correct? Shall I ask someone else for their time; get a third comparison?

Mindless thoughts pass through my head as I zone out into the vast emptiness of my mind, idly focused on a freckle on my bony knuckle.

Someone's pencil drops and I'm thrust back into reality with a start. The kid sitting next to me lifts his bored eyes from the empty white table surface to glance at me. His face contorts in a manner to display an odd mixture of confusion and judgement. Not sure how to interpret it, I frown at him, giving him that expression that reads "What are you looking at?" Boredom has obviously tainted his brain similarly to mine, as he returns to aimlessly admiring the table's clean surface, eyes half-closed with overcoming fatigue.

I look around me, hoping to find refuge from this mind-numbing boredom. I'm sitting at the front of my English class, at one of the tables pushed up against the wall. My teacher's desk is across from me, but a few metres away, and out of reach. More desks like mine pattern the space of the classroom, each table offering seats for two people.

Adjacent to my desk is Amy's and Leah's. They both seem to be asleep, their arms crossed on the table and their heads resting on them, sitting so close to one another that their shoulders look like they're touching from where I sit. Their only movement is the steady rise and fall of their shoulders as they breathe in and out. Besides their soft breaths, they barely utter a sound, which is very unusual, to be honest.

I think I can just about make out their hands delicately holding each other's. Out of close friendship or closer intimacy, I'm not sure, but regardless, the thought fills me with warmth, and I feel a smile creep onto my face. Once I'm aware of it, my hand instantly flies to my mouth and I look ahead again. God, I probably looked like a pervert, staring at two sleeping girls and smiling like that.

I hear muffled snickering coming from the same direction as Amy and Leah. I turn my head again to look and the first thing I see is Nate where they sit in the desk right next to Amy's and Leah's; their bouncy black curls move as their shoulders jerk with spasms of stifled laughter. Regardless of their attempt to be quiet, they still make an audible noise in contrast to the lifeless class.

My attention shoots to the front of the class where our teacher sits with his glasses perched on the edge of his nose, as if about to take off and fly away, whilst he scrolls through something on his computer. He obviously didn't take notice of Nate, as otherwise he probably would have sent them on their way to the principal's office by now, or finally put his threat of keeping us in for lunch (which evidently worked really well as none of us dared to breathe a word since) into action.

Mr. Fisher wants us quieter than the dead.

I take a moment longer to reassure myself that he didn't hear anything before I turn back to Nate, who has taken off their glasses to wipe the tears that formed during their hysteria. That's a typical Nate Thing: to laugh so hard at anything so that they end up in tears. Something you would roll your eyes at but at the same time join in with their laughter. I don't think that any of my friends nor I would be the same people we are today without Nate's vitality.