I was late. As usual.
I strolled down the school driveway, scuffing my old black lace-ups against the pebbles and shielding my face from the rain. I hated September, back to school, and what was the fuss about autumn anyway? If you ask me, Winters best.
But no one asked me.
It was me and my rock bands. I had JetWay, blasting in both my freakishly small ears, the deep voices booming oddly specific lyrics from my green headphones. I shut the world around me out.
Unfortunately, not all of the world.
Mr Grover was standing outside the back doors of the main hall, where I could usually sneak in. His brown tight fitted suit and maroon loafers stuck to is scrawny body like glue. The sun reflected of his small bald head, and his glasses lay crookedly on his bony nose. His snarl was icy like the wind.
I tried to cover my face with my bundle of brown corkscrew curls. But, he had noticed me already.