You Are the Shell to My Tortoise | ✓

29

"Why is this so hard?" I clutched at my head.

"Why are you talking to yourself?"

At Nolan's low voice, my head snapped up. He looked over at me as he slid into his chair beside mine.

I glanced at the classroom wall clock. "Wow, you're kind of late. You're normally here way earlier than I am."

"I got held back for a bit after class just now," he said, rubbing an eye.

"Why?"

He shrugged. "The teacher wasn't happy that I was sleeping in class."

"What? I thought the teachers just generally let it slide now when you do it," I said, raising an eyebrow. "I mean—you kind of do that all the time."

The corners of his lips twitched upwards. "Yeah, he's a substitute teacher. The other one has some family emergency and needed to go back home for a bit."

"That makes more sense," I said.

"He's almost as annoying as Mr. Jameson," he said, a deep scowl appearing on his face. "He wouldn't let me sleep the whole lesson."

"Give him a month," I said, snickering. "He'll figure it out eventually even if the other teachers don't say anything to him."

"The original teacher would already have returned by then," he said flatly.

"Oh well." I shrugged, feeling not particularly sympathetic towards his 'plight'. "When life gives you lemons... Hey, maybe this is a sign that you should start sleeping earlier."

Shaking his head, Nolan rolled his eyes at me.

"Not going to happen." He pointed at the math worksheet before me. "Do you need some help?"

I promptly perked up and moved it towards him. "Can you? My friends are all having trouble with this question."

Even Cody couldn't help me with it when we were studying together yesterday.

"Let's see it," Nolan said.

After he took a few seconds to read the problem, he said, "Alright, so you have to start with this..."

As he went over the steps I should have written, I made the necessary corrections. By the time Mr. McMillan entered the classroom, the solution was sitting nice and pretty on my worksheet.

I grinned at Nolan, who raised an eyebrow.

"What?" he said. "Why are you staring at me like that?"

"You're actually pretty good at teaching, did you know that?" I asked.

"No."

"But you are," I insisted. "You can be patient when you want to, and you can explain it a way that's easy for me to understand. Have you ever considered going into teaching?"

"Why are you always asking me weird questions?"

"How is this weird-"

"Is there something you'd like to share with the class, Chelsea?" Mr. McMillan interrupted, glaring at me from the front of the classroom where he was standing. "In case you haven't noticed, class has started."

"No," I said meekly. "Sorry, Mr. McMillan."

Beside me, Nolan took the opportunity to lower his head to the desk and start napping.

I glared down at his sleeping face, partly because I wasn't finished talking with him yet and partly because our teacher had chosen me to single out.