catellarose
Chalkboard. I'm standing at the front of the classroom. I feel eyes boring into the back of my head. In front of me, a green slate of blank. My fingers, clutching the tiny piece of chalk, shiver with nervousness.
"I'm sorry," say in a low voice to the teacher. I wish I had had more time to prepare."
"I'm sorry, too," she says, even though she doesn't look sorry.