Fred tiptoed into his room and slid into his desk chair, casting a worried glance over his shoulder as he opened his laptop. Typing as quietly as he could, he logged onto Artium Obscurorum and ... [+]
Tick-tock, tick-tock; the sound the clock would be making if it were actually working, but instead we're stuck at 5:47. It's only a practice test, but practice or not my pulse quickens and my body freezes. I just need to pass this class. I try not to let myself think too much, but my brain is moving too fast to decipher what's important or not. Kayla's plaid pants? Charlie whistling "To Life" from Fiddler on the Roof? Practice test? No. Tick-tock, tick-tock; my brain decides that what's important is to make up for what the clock failed to accomplish on its own.