Specificity At It's Finest.

"Blaise, you should really start working on it," Ravyn warns. I know that she's right. I know Portia's right. I even know that Becca's right, but still, I don't feel like doing it. Fitting in. Becoming just another face in the crowd. Who wants that?
"I know, Ray," I start, looking over at her, and take a deep breath, thinking. "It's just the principal of it. Being shipped off to some university for a couple years, where I won't even fit in, just for more education?"
"It's not some university, Blaise," Ravyn says, looking at me with wide eyes, eager for knowledge. "It's the Academy. The most pres-"
"-tigious school in the entire Sector, I know. It's a once in a lifetime opportunity, I know. And it's the best thing that I could ever do, I know! I've already heard all of this before," I finish, with a huff.
Ravyn rolls her eyes, and exhales. "Blaise, I know you think it's just some place that teaches things we already know. But," she pauses, waiting. "What if it's not?"
But what if it is?
Inside, I'm screaming at her, furious. Unable to understand why she doesn't see it the way I do, why she's content with all of it. Frustrated I can't make her see it the way I see it.
Outside, I'm just mildly discontent. My hands start shaking, and get extremely hot. I look down at them; they're nearly orange.
Orange? I think. That can't be right.