Time to get through the rest of the day.

Once the excitement of the morning wears off, the rest of class is a comparatively boring slog, and upon the ringing of the bell you sluggishly leave the room. Your head is pounding something fierce and the backpack slung across your shoulder is even heavier than before, filled to the brim with yet more homework. The grind never ends, you think to yourself as you shove the leaden bag into your locker, slamming the door shut and sighing. Luckily for you, math class is immediately followed by a study block, providing you ample time to zone out and give your fried brain a respite from the constant mental bombardment of the American education system.

As you walk through the hallways towards the study hall, you spot a large group of people huddled around a bulletin board, their concerted voices alight with excitement as they all discuss… something. Interest piqued, you join the mass and manage to push your way to the front. The item of their intrigue appears to be a cast list for the annual school musical, displaying the roles and actors for this year’s production of Guys and Dolls. You quickly scan the list, and most of the names written upon it don’t surprise you. Your school isn’t exactly big, so it’s almost always the same group of people that get cast every year: hardcore theatre kids. Pretty much every single person on the list was also in last year’s musical, and the year before that, and the year before that…

Shrugging, you step back and prepare to squeeze yourself back through the heap of people when a loud voice rises from behind you.

“Out of my way, coming through!” The voice commands, emitting from a lone person who’s managed to push herself through the crowd and up to the bulletin board. You watch as she bends over at the waist - no doubt giving some of the male onlookers a good look at her sequined designer jeans - and begins eagerly examining the cast list. She doesn’t have to search for long, as her name is firmly plastered near the top, in the lead female role.

“YES!” She shouts, pumping her fist in the air and turning towards the crowd, the hem of her unbuttoned slate-gray blazer flowing unattachedly behind her. Her wide grin sparkles with charm, but also a hint of egotism. There were never any doubts that she’d be given the role, and she knows it.

You look on with disdain. Kendall Summers. Born thespian, social butterfly, and, as of 3 years ago, your Ex-Girlfriend.

It had been a… complicated breakup. While nowadays, she’d be the first to say that you’d been dumped by her, the truth is that she’d been the one left by the wayside. For you, it wasn’t anything dramatic: you’d been together all of two months, you didn’t feel like the relationship was going anywhere, so you decided to break it off while it was still new. Not quite the 30 days the Old Woman in the shop had accused you of, but still, nowhere near a long time. Unfortunately, it wasn’t long enough for Kendall, so she’d taken to getting ‘****’ on you in any way she found fit: Rumors, petty gossip, telling her friends anything to make sure you stayed single, all while in the meantime, she slowly rose up to the top of the food chain.

She’s had plenty of boyfriends since; you hate to admit it, but she’s got looks, and her acting skills aren’t anything to scoff at either, meaning a lot of connections and relationships with those in the theater department. She’s also had that many breakups, but she’s never treated those the same way she treated, and still does treat, yours. What makes you such a special case?

Whatever. It’s hard to not be angry with her, but at the same time, you don’t want to sink to her level of pettiness. You’ll just have to accept the fact that you probably won’t get another girlfriend until college. Although, a small part of you can’t help but wonder what would happen if she were taken down a peg…

Kendall’s smile widens as she basks in the reverence from the crowd. “I got the part!” She exclaims effervescently, her long brown hair flowing in the air as she giddily jumps up and down. God, she really is an actor. You roll your eyes and turn to leave, hoping to discreetly slip into the crowd before she notices you, when...

Whack!

An open palm suddenly strikes the back of your head, causing you to lose your balance and crash into the crowd. Head spinning, you turn to face your attacker and are met with the blurred image of Kendall standing over you, sleeved hands on her mouth.

“S-sorry about that!” she exclaims, her amber eyes wide as dinner plates. “I was excited, and I guess I accidentally spun around, and…”

As she stares down at you, a glimmer of recognition flies across her face, and her eyes narrow.

“Bennet? What are you doing here?”

“Urgh… Just checking out the cast list. Ow, by the way,” you sputter, rubbing the back of your head.

A confident smirk appears on her face. “Oh, suck it up, it was a tap at best. Or, are you really that weak?”

A tap? Your head is still reeling. You wouldn’t be surprised if one of Kendall's gaudy fingernail extensions had managed to break off and embed itself in the back of your skull.

“And don’t give me that crap,” she goads, glancing around at the crowd. “You’re here to beg me to take you back, aren’t you?”

Again. Three years. How can one person be this petty?

“Well, too bad,” she grins, now wholly unempathetic to the fact that she’d decked you just seconds earlier. “I’m taken.”

“Oh, get over yourself,” you mutter, pushing yourself through the whooping crowd and heading back down the hall. You don’t have the temperament for Kendall’s bullshit today.

Still peeved, your anger dampens slightly as you walk past Ms. Spruce’s room, morphing into uneasiness as you turn back and slowly peek inside. She’d been uncharacteristically calm last class after you’d used the ink, and her good mood hasn’t seemed to have worn off, seeing as she’s practically whistling as she marks homework. You have no idea if it has anything to do with the ink, but a small part of you doesn’t mind the temporary change in personality. She’d be a lot more pleasant of a teacher if she was like this all the time.

Still, though, you’re curious about how the ink has affected her. Your mom was a pretty tame example, seeing as her mood barely shifted when the ink was used on her, but Ms. Spruce went from 60 to 0 almost instantly without so much as an acknowledgment after the fact. Even after the incident, during the rest of class, her usual fiery-hot temper wasn't nearly as omnipresent as usual. Was it something to do with the ink? Or maybe she just had no reason to get angry? Knowing her, that’s unlikely, but not impossible.

Well, whatever it was, she certainly seems more… docile now. Let’s hope she stays that way until tomorrow.

Natalie Spruce sat busily at her desk, quickly marking page after page of last weekend's homework. She’d finished marking most of the homework during the latter half of the last period, but there were still a few notable outliers that she planned to finish before the end of recess - an easily achievable task, seeing as most of the job involved checking the work of her student’s correct answers, and unfortunately, there weren’t too many of those.

As frustrating as it was for her to admit, there were very few students who actively tried in Natalie's class. Many saw her teaching style as angry and impersonal, and she wasn’t shy of the occasional public humiliation, but few understood that it was for their own good. Students nowadays learned nothing from soft-spoken wusses that encouraged them no matter what they did - this generation’s skin was too soft as it is. No pain, no gain. She’d had too many friends and colleagues back in her hometown just like her students - Weak. They’d become so comfortable in their shitty lives living out in the sticks that they had no motivation to do anything else with their lives. Natalie’s move into the city to teach was a shock to the community she’d grown up in because nobody besides her had ever had the balls to do it. It was her job to place her students on the same path of motivated freedom that she'd walked years prior - whatever it took. And right now, that path involved math homework. So, she marked.

Placing her pen down and rubbing her temples after having finished marking yet another C grade paper, Natalie sighed with discontent. She briefly considered retreating to the teacher's lounge for a swig of the ol' brew, leaving the rest of the papers for later that evening... but as she prepared to stand, a certain page caught her eye from her pile of "to-mark" sheets. Smiling, she reached for the paper, already sure of who it had belonged to.

In her long list of students, only a handful consistently handed in quality assignments, putting in actual time and effort and thus being rewarded with good grades. It was always a pleasure marking these assignments, and although they weren’t always perfect, they were a far cry from the results of almost everyone else. Ms. Spruce had gotten so familiar with the works of these students in fact, that she had eventually found herself able to identify their work by their handwriting alone. There was Charlotte, with her perfectly neat handwriting and dashed sevens, Amanda, with her curvy and eccentric lettering, and finally, Jeremy, whose borderline typeface-like penmanship dominated the page she was about to mark.

Wait… Jeremy? Something about that didn't add up.

Thinking back to the end of the first period, Natalie remembered a very quick conversation she’d had with Jeremy as the other students funneled out of the classroom. He’d been apologizing profusely, for the fact that he’d apparently forgotten his homework. Such behavior was quite unusual for a student of Jeremy’s caliber, and so she’d uncharacteristically given him an extra day to hand it in… with 20% taken off, of course. But, if he hadn’t finished his homework…

Whose paper was she holding in her hands right now?

She rapidly scanned the page for a name, before realizing that she’d been viewing the backside of the homework the whole time. Although, another quick lookover of each completed question confirmed to her that this was indeed Jeremy’s work. Perhaps he had actually handed it in and simply forgot?

Either way, she was ready to mark the page. Flipping it over, her gaze flew to the top of the page, her marking pen hovering over the sheet. As her eyes rested on the name written boldly at the top of the page, she read it.

Something changed.

Wait a minute! This wasn’t Jeremy’s homework at all! Now that she could see the page clearly, it was obvious that it belonged to Bennet. It had always belonged to Bennet. How could she have forgotten?

Not usually one to forget something so obvious, Ms. Spruce chuckled quietly to herself at her foolishness and began to mark. To her surprise, she quickly found that every question had been answered correctly, and had their work neatly shown - a far cry from Bennet’s previous performance, but she certainly wasn’t complaining. Looks like Bennet’s been paying attention for once, she surmised to herself, her eyes dimming ever-so-slightly.

She didn’t bother questioning why Bennet’s handwriting was so similar to Jeremy’s - in fact, the thought never even crossed her mind. There was nothing suspicious about it, after all.

As she finished marking the page, Natalie found herself absent-mindedly raising her gaze to the jet-black name at the top of the sheet. She couldn’t put her finger on it, but something about it seemed so… Alluring. So calming. The deep, dark ink that had soaked into the paper seemed to pull away at her mind, giving her a sense of relaxation that she hadn’t felt for a long time. As she sleepily stared, she almost noticed that the name seemed to be covering something else, but she simply couldn’t find the energy to decipher what. Had she always been this tired?

As she blissfully stared, a tiny, minuscule voice in the back of her mind screamed voicelessly at her, trying to warn her that something wasn’t right, but it was so easy to ignore. Effortless, even. There was no reason to worry about such frivolous things, so she happily accepted the truth in front of her.

Placing the sheet on the completed pile, while fully embracing the natural feelings that washed over her, Natalie suddenly found the will to continue marking. No need to head to the teacher's lounge after all - the bottle of Jack Daniel's she hid in the lounge refrigerator could be a reward for her hard work... or, that's how she justified it, at least.

As she continued marking down the pile, Natalie would every so often find herself sneaking yet more glances at the name on Bennet’s page. Some part of her found this tendency strange, even unnatural, but the feeling that came over her with every look was almost addicting. This was… normal.

Right?

Soon enough, the task was completed. Placing the final marked sheet down on her desk and sighing contentedly, Natalie capped her pen. She felt… wonderful. Far more relaxed than usual, that’s for sure. She vaguely remembered feeling angry about… something earlier, but she couldn’t seem to remember what.

In any case, just the simple act of looking at the name made her feel better than any anger management class she’d been **** to take before. She briefly considered taking it home with her as some sort of meditative trinket, but the thought left her head just as soon as it arrived. She was only borrowing it after all, and she’d never steal anything that belonged to Bennet.