I pushed my scarf up on my face and pushed the metal door open. It was heavy in my cold, gloved hands. I took my seat in the back, waiting for Jane to take the seat next to me. Her perfect, golden hair glissened underneath the dingy lights. This could hardly be considered a classroom. A janitors' closet, maybe. But there were 13 chairs jammed into the dimly lit room. There was a white board in the back corner, but not a projector like the rest of the school. A tall, narrow woman took her spot as the bell rang.
"Welcome to Hollowed Studies," the lady said. "I am Mrs. Belcwood. But you can call me Mrs. B. I'm sure you all are wondering why you are not currently in Study Hall right now."
Jane slid back into the seat next to mine.
"Oh," said the lady. "Jane, you're late."
