Oh. My. Gods. - Weebly

one year than I’ve read in my entire life. So much for Cesca’s fantasy
of me lounging on the beach—I’ll be spending all my free time reading
Kafka and Orwell and writing a twenty-five-page term paper.
She even teaches for the whole period—on the first day!—diving
into the influences of Freud and Einstein on modern thought and
the ramifications on everything from literature to war. By the time
she dismisses us—the Academy doesn’t have bells at the end of
class—my brain is fried.
Only three more classes until lunch.
We walk out into the hall and there are students everywhere.
Unlike the hall inside the front entrance, the rest of the building
looks pretty much like a school. The halls and floors are typical offwhite
and lined with lockers. Classrooms branch off on both sides,
with big windows that look out over either the hills surrounding the
school or the inner courtyard. All of the upper-grade classes meet
on the second floor, while the lower grades take up the first. I guess
that’s so the younger kids can have recess out in the courtyard.
“Who do you have next?” Nicole asks.
I glance at the schedule Damian made for me. “Algebra II with
Mr. C—”
“Cornball,” she says and snatches the schedule out of my hand.
“Me, too.”
“—Cornelius,” I finish.
“Look.” She waves a finger at the schedule and the bottom half
glows for a second. “Our afternoon schedule is the same.”
Leaning in, I read the last three classes. Physics II, Art History, and
Philosophy. “I’m supposed to be in Computer Applications and Biology,”
I argue. “I hate Art and I never had Physics I.”
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